Chapter 49: Osmanthus Cake Warms the Emperor's Heart
As the sweet aroma wafted from the Fang family's kitchen, Xiaoyanzi was crouching over the stove, her nose almost touching the steamer. Mrs. Fang stood nearby, chopsticks in hand, patiently teaching her how to stir the batter: "Stir slowly, in a clockwise motion, and avoid creating lumps. This way, the steamed cake will be softer."
The sweet fragrance of osmanthus mixed with the fresh aroma of glutinous rice wafted out of the steamer. Xiaoyanzi sniffed, and the red ribbon on the end of her braid swayed gently with her movements: "Mom, is this really okay? I always feel that it is not as delicious as the multi-grain cakes made by Sister Hong." The wooden spoon in her hand drew circles in the porcelain basin, and the batter stained the back of her hand, like a layer of milky white frost.
Madam Fang smiled and patted the back of her hand. "Silly child, the pastries in the palace are exquisitely made, how can they compare to the coarse grains in the courtyard? But our sweet-scented osmanthus cake has the charm of Jiangnan. The emperor will definitely like it." She wiped the flour off her daughter's nose, worry hidden in her eyes. "Send her to the palace later. Keep your mouth shut and follow Xiao Jian. Don't run around."
"I know, mother," Xiaoyanzi replied glumly, pouring the last spoonful of batter into the steamer and sprinkling a layer of golden osmanthus petals on top. She watched the osmanthus petals tremble slightly in the heat, and suddenly remembered Liu Hong pickling radishes in the courtyard, the coarse porcelain jars, the salt grains rustling, simple yet down-to-earth. It was nothing like this, where even a single piece of pastry was shrouded in meticulous care and discipline.
When Xiao Jian walked into the kitchen, he saw his sister staring blankly at the steamer. The cuffs of her blue cotton gown were stained with ink—she had just finished copying the ritual rules. "Is everything ready?" He picked up a piece of freshly steamed osmanthus cake and sniffed it. "My mother's craftsmanship is unmistakable."
Xiaoyanzi looked up at him, her eyes red. "Brother, I really don't want to go. This osmanthus cake is like bait, and I'm the fish on the hook." Her fingers, gripping the wooden spoon, turned white. "What should I say if he asks me more questions? Say that the apricot blossoms I painted were random? That Liu Qing and Liu Hong and I are just ordinary neighbors?"
Xiao Jian placed the osmanthus cake on a plate and carefully wrapped it in a brocade handkerchief. "Tell the truth, but don't say too much. If he asks about the compound, tell him the people there are simple and honest. If he asks about painting, tell him you like the free scenery. Remember, don't mention your past life, don't reveal any flaws." He pulled a small sachet filled with dried mugwort from his sleeve pocket. "Carry it with you to calm your mind."
As the carriage pulled into the palace, Xiaoyanzi's fingers, gripping the sachet, began to sweat slightly. The red walls and yellow tiles outside the carriage window flashed by, a scene she had seen countless times in her past lives, yet it made her heart flutter. She opened the handkerchief, and the sweet aroma of osmanthus cake wafted out, mingling with the delicate fragrance of mugwort, slightly subduing the chill in her heart.
As the sweet fragrance of sandalwood and osmanthus mingled in the imperial study, Emperor Qianlong was leafing through Fang Zhihang's "Records of Jiangnan Scenery," his fingertips gently tracing a map of Tongcheng. Upon hearing Eunuch Su announce, "Miss Fang has arrived," he paused as he closed the scroll, a subtle flicker of anticipation flashing in his eyes before regaining his imperial composure.
"Let her in."
Xiaoyanzi followed Eunuch Su into the imperial study, her lilac skirt rustling softly on the golden tile floor. She lowered her head and placed the brocade box containing the osmanthus cake on the rosewood table. Her voice, as soft as a mosquito's, was as soft as a mosquito's: "Your humble servant... has been ordered by my father to deliver the osmanthus cake to His Majesty."
Qianlong's gaze fell on the pearl hairpin in her hair. The beads swayed gently with her breathing, just like the red silk ribbon that Xiaoyanzi clutched when she was nervous in her previous life. He didn't look at the cake immediately. Instead, he asked, "Did you make this cake yourself?"
Xiaoyanzi twisted the hem of her skirt with her fingers. "Mother taught me to make this. My craftsmanship is crude, and I'm afraid it won't suit the Emperor's taste."
"I'll try it and see." Qianlong picked up a piece of osmanthus cake, his fingertips touching the warm, fluffy, handmade texture. He took a small bite, and the sweet aroma spread across his tongue, with a faint fragrance of osmanthus. It had a more earthy flavor than the delicate yet cold cakes in the imperial kitchen, and resembled the coarse cloth-wrapped pastries that Xiaoyanzi had secretly slipped to him in his memory.
"It's delicious." He said softly, his eyes fixed on her drooping brows. "It's more thoughtful than the ones in the imperial kitchen."
Xiaoyanzi's cheeks felt slightly hot, and she lowered her head even more: "Your Majesty, you are so kind."
Qianlong put down his pastry and suddenly changed the subject. "I heard you painted the apricot blossoms in Tongcheng. I saw the illustrations in Jiangnan Fengwuzhi, but I always felt they weren't as vivid as yours." He picked up the wolf-hair brush on the table and dipped it into the inkstone. "Could you paint a picture for me? I'd like to paint a picture of apricot blossoms falling all over the bluestone in March?"
Xiaoyanzi's heart skipped a beat, and she dug her fingers, gripping the sachet, into her palms. She dreaded painting, especially in front of him, where every stroke seemed to reveal her innermost thoughts. But she didn't dare refuse, so she could only bite the bullet and say, "Your humble servant... is honored to present your humble work."
As she spread the rice paper, her hands trembled slightly. The ink smudged onto the paper, leaving a tiny dot, like the frantic state of her heart. Qianlong stood behind her, observing her hand gripping the brush. Her fingertips were slender, her knuckles white with exertion. Her gesture gradually became reminiscent of the girl in his memory, doodling on the table in Shufangzhai.
She didn't draw elaborate pavilions or towers; instead, she sketched a winding bluestone path on the paper. On either side were crooked apricot trees, petals cascading down, covering the ground in a pale pink. At the end of the path, a small figure, with pigtails tied with a red ribbon, chased a butterfly. The hem of her skirt swept across the petal-strewn flagstones, stirring up a breeze.
Qianlong's breathing paused slightly. That red ribbon, that gesture of chasing butterflies—it was clearly the image he had hidden deep in his heart! He thought she had forgotten, that the stability of this life had dulled her nature, but the freedom and liveliness of her writing had never changed.
"This girl..." he whispered, with an indescribable warmth in his voice, "Is it you?"
Xiaoyanzi's pen paused, the ink leaving a small black stain on the red silk ribbon. She turned sharply, her gaze meeting his deep eyes, filled with longing, cherishing, and a hint of tenderness she dared not delve into. Her heart felt like it had been struck by something, and the grievances and dependence of her past life suddenly surged back, nearly threatening to burst out.
But she finally lowered her head, her voice trembling: "Your Highness...it's just an ordinary scene."
Qianlong didn't ask any more questions. He simply stared at the red ribbon on the painting, his fingertips gently brushing against it, as if he could touch the lost warmth he had regained. He suddenly said, "I'll keep this painting. Next time... you can paint the old locust tree in the courtyard. I saw that your last painting was very lively."
Xiaoyanzi looked up suddenly, her eyes filled with shock. Not only did he remember the compound, but he also wanted her to draw it? Was this a test, or... something else?
"Your servant...your servant takes leave." She knelt hurriedly and saluted, turning to leave, but the hem of her skirt accidentally caught on the table leg, and she stumbled forward.
"Be careful!" Qianlong subconsciously reached out to hold her arm, his palm touching her slightly cool skin, which was delicate yet with a hint of stubborn warmth.
Xiaoyanzi pulled her hand back suddenly as if she was scalded, and her cheeks turned red instantly: "Thank you, Your Majesty." She almost ran out of the imperial study as if escaping, and the red ribbon at the end of her braid swayed in the air in panic, like a frightened butterfly.
Qianlong watched her disappear through the doorway before slowly withdrawing his hand. Her warmth still seemed to linger on his palm. He picked up the apricot blossom painting, gently stroking his fingertips along the red silk ribbon, unable to hide the smile in his eyes.
It was her, it was really her. In this life, he would never let her go.
Eunuch Su walked in and saw the emperor smiling tenderly at the painting. He was secretly amazed: "Your Majesty, Miss Fang's osmanthus cake..."
"Put it away and keep it for me to enjoy slowly." Qianlong carefully rolled up the painting. "Tell the imperial kitchen to make more Jiangnan snacks and send them to the Fang family. Say they are...a reward from me."
Eunuch Su bowed and replied, "I obey your order." He watched the emperor put the scroll away like a treasure, and suddenly realized that the osmanthus cake was not bait, but the key to Xiaoyanzi's heart that the emperor carefully handed to him.
Xiaoyanzi sat in the carriage, her heart still pounding. She touched the arm Qianlong had supported, and it felt as if his warmth still lingered there, burning her heart. The sandalwood in the imperial study, the sweet aroma of osmanthus cake, and his words about the "old locust tree in the painting courtyard"—like a net, enveloping her tightly.
Little did she know, this encounter, in the name of sweet-scented osmanthus cake, was only the beginning. The emperor's heart was becoming increasingly clear, and the peace she had so carefully guarded was being pushed, bit by bit, towards a new trajectory of fate by this quietly growing concern.
As the carriage pulled away from the palace gates, she lifted the curtains and gazed at the distant red walls. Suddenly, she remembered the smoke from the courtyard. The aroma of pancakes, Liu Hong's laughter, and Xiao Douzi's playfulness there were her true home.
But the gaze that followed her had already penetrated the palace walls and landed on her heart, making it impossible for her to pretend to be calm. After all, the fate of this life could not be avoided.
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