Xin Yidao leaned back nonchalantly, his brocade boots landing precisely on the guard's instep. Jiang Songyi watched as the guard suddenly straightened his back, like a gate god struck by lightning.
"If Your Highness is worried about spending money..." She glanced at Xin Yidao's plain white dress, and remembered the rumors that the prince relied on selling calligraphy and paintings to pay for his medicine. "In fact, my monthly allowance is enough." As she spoke, she pushed the box towards him again, fearing that she would offend the man.
Xin Yidao glanced at the gilded characters "Purple Bamboo" on the book's spine, and a knot in his throat clung to his throat. This volume cost only three taels of silver, but the bookshop had driven it down to one tael, and it was being snapped up like crazy. He suddenly reached for his waist, and the tassel of his dragon-patterned jade pendant swept across the table. "This will pay for the book."
The sweet-scented osmanthus pastry Jiang Qinghe was chewing fell to the plate with a plop. A five-clawed golden dragon coiled on the mutton-fat jade, with the seal-script character "Tao" engraved in the center—clearly a token of the Eastern Palace bestowed by the emperor himself.
"No!" Jiang Qingzhi anxiously pulled her sister's sleeve, "This thing is too valuable."
"That's fine," Xin Yi said, the jade pendant still lingering on his fingertips. "Just consider it a down payment for our business partnership." His eyes swept over the wooden hairpin in Jiang Songyi's hair, a gift he had carved himself as a disciple in his previous life. Since they couldn't recognize each other in this life, he had to find a reason to protect her.
Jiang Songyi's hand trembled slightly as she clutched the jade pendant. In her previous life, her master always gave her important items for safekeeping, saying, "It's safest to leave them with Yi'er." She deliberately raised her chin and said, "If the shop makes money, Your Highness must treat us to Eight Treasure Duck."
"And me!" Jiang Qingmo looked up from the candied fruit jar, his cheeks puffed up like a squirrel. "The rose pastry Song Yi made last time."
"I can't forget that little greedy cat." Jiang Songyi reached out and pinched her round face, the jade bracelet on her wrist jingling. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Xinyi Daoyi rubbing his brow, his pale skin revealing faint purple veins—a sign of a heart attack.
The secret guard was staring at the gestures on the table in worry. He had seen the prince's "borrow money" gesture clearly, but with the five hundred taels of bonus he had just received from the study this morning in his pocket, he really didn't dare to pay.
Xinyi Daoyi suddenly coughed twice and said, "Actually, I am lonely."
Before she finished speaking, Jiang Songyi had already stuffed the jade pendant into her purse. "Don't worry, Your Highness. I'll leave this message with the most gilded edge." As she stood up, her pomegranate skirt swept across the blue bricks, bringing a gust of fragrant wind. "When the shop opens, the first batch of dim sum will be sent to the East Palace."
A sudden draft blew through the window, rustling the pages open. Xin Yidao stared at the dried magnolia flower tucked inside—in his previous life, he had always used it as a bookmark during his lectures, and his young apprentice had laughed at him for being "elegant but pedantic."
Jiang Qinghe suddenly exclaimed, "Huh?" "Why does the general in this storybook look like my third brother?" She pointed to an illustration on a certain page. The person in the illustration was wearing black armor, and the scar between his eyebrows was exactly the same as Jiang Yihan's.
"Just a coincidence," Xinyi said calmly, closing the book. The secret guard behind her rolled his eyes, the silver note for writing fees he had just received this morning still tucked into his boot.
Jiang Songyi's fingertips were numb from trying so hard to contain her laughter. She knew, of course, that Mr. Zizhu loved to use the capital's nobles as prototypes. Last month's book, "The Cold-Faced Prince and the Pretty Coroner," was clearly a copy of the Sixth Prince's embarrassing investigative exploits.
As the tea's aroma faded, Xin Yidao stood up to say goodbye. As she passed Jiang Qingmo, an oil-paper bag suddenly fell out of her sleeve, and the rich aroma of milk instantly filled the air.
"Your Highness also likes to eat nougat?" Jiang Qingmo's eyes lit up.
"I just bought it on the way." Xin Yi said as she walked out quickly, her ears turning slightly red. The secret guard sighed as he looked at his master's back - who would have to travel thirty miles to the western suburbs to make freshly made candy just for free?
Jiang Songyi stroked the jade pendant in her purse, suddenly remembering her master's words from her previous life: "Objects are not as important as living people." A magnolia petal drifted in from the window, landing in the prince's unfinished teacup, creating ripples.
…
A few crows cackle past the bamboo curtains. The scent of ambergris mixed with cinnabar ink from the imperial study tingles the nose. Piles of memorials pile up like a small mountain on the rosewood desk, the one on top still stained with the agarwood incense commonly used by the Second Prince's followers.
"Investigate! Investigate everything for me!" The emperor, his bright yellow robe sleeve sweeping down the jade pen holder, stared at the secret report presented by the Embroidered Uniform Guards, his knuckles rapping against the six cinnabar characters: "Dongling Hostage Dies Sudden." The unfinished Luban lock in the Duobao Pavilion trembled from the shock, a half-piece of wood shavings still lodged in the mortise and tenon joints.
Fresh bloodstains hadn't yet dried on the stone walls of the imperial prison. As Ji Cheng knelt in the torture chamber to receive the caning, the embroidered spring sword at his waist reflected the trembling spiderwebs in the corners of the wall. After forty lashes of the cane, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and caught a glimpse of the golden python pattern embroidered on the toes of the East Factory guards' boots—the very mark of Gu Zheyuan's confidants.
As dusk drifted into the flower hall of the Yongding Marquis's mansion, the rouge goose breast on the porcelain plate with a lotus pattern was still steaming. Jiang Dinglian bit into a lamb leg bone, and oil splashed onto Xu's newly embroidered tablecloth with a poem about his descendants. "That leaky wing in Xizhuyuan doesn't need to be repaired for now."
"But the Dongling hostage is moving?" Xu set down her crab roe soup dumplings, her gilded armor jingling against the rim of her sweet white glaze bowl. She remembered the honeysuckle vines that always climbed the courtyard walls; last year, Yue Qingyang had had his sleeve scratched by them.
The emerald shrimp on the tip of Jiang Songyi's bamboo chopsticks suddenly fell into the soup bowl, splashing a few drops of clear soup onto Yuehua's skirt. She lowered her eyes to stare at the greasy surface of the soup, and heard her heartbeat like a drum.
"Dead." Jiang Dinglian suddenly increased the force with which he tore the mutton, and the mutton bones snapped in two. "The rat poison in the imperial prison is more effective than the arrows at the border."
I killed him.
【Gu Zheyuan is a man of his word.】
[One hundred thousand taels to buy his head, it's a good deal.]
"Clang!" The blue-glazed teacup beside Xu fell over, and the Junshan silver needle left a mark on the gilded tablecloth, like a dead branch. The Buddhist beads in Madam Jiang's hand suddenly broke, and the sandalwood beads rolled past Jiang Yihuan's feet and were crushed into pieces by the sole of his boot.
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