Chapter 4 “Superficial Affection”

Chapter 4: "A Superficial Liking"

Though my father had secured the position of study attendant for me, he wore a deeply worried expression. "The Crown Prince is only two years your senior, yet he has long borne great responsibilities and acts with remarkable steadiness. His mind is profound and not to be underestimated. If you wish to befriend him, you must be exceedingly cautious, understand?"

"Understood, Father!" At that time, I didn’t take his words to heart, feeling only overwhelming joy.

Seeing my happiness, my father also brightened, chuckling, "That Yuan Ye was reported to the Emperor for his escapades at the brothels. He’s been confined to his estate for six months, so he won’t be bullying you anymore."

I knew immediately it was my father’s doing and couldn’t help but frown. "Father, the General of the Northern Garrison has always been at odds with you. Why would you still...? I don’t want you to get into trouble just to avenge me."

After returning that night, my father forbade me from going out, claiming it was to let my injuries heal, but in truth, he didn’t want me to hear the gossip outside.

My actions that night must have been spread in the most unpleasant ways, known to everyone. Although Yuan Ye was the one who bullied me, he often frequented brothels and indulged in debauchery day and night without consequence. For someone to report him at such a critical moment, it was hard for others not to suspect my father.

My father and the General of the Northern Garrison had maintained a standoff for years, each keeping to their own territories without interfering. I didn’t want my father to face any danger because of this.

"Xiao Qiu, don’t overthink it. I merely had someone pass a word. The Emperor wasn’t initially angered, but the Crown Prince said that if no punishment was meted out, noble families might encourage such degenerate trends in the future. Only then did the Emperor issue the order."

Hearing this, I set my mind at ease and went to the Crown Prince’s residence to serve as his study attendant.

I had visited the Crown Prince’s residence many times before. In the past, I always went with a mix of secret anticipation and awkward nervousness, but this time was different. This time, I was certain to see Xie Yan, so I felt a bit more at ease.

The steward, unlike last time, wasn’t dismissive but respectfully led me inside.

Xie Yan disliked extravagance. All the decorations in his residence were simple, dominated by shades of gray and white, as cool and detached as he himself, giving off an austere feel. The vast open space within the grounds held only a single peach blossom tree. It swayed in the spring breeze in a corner, with vibrant branches stretching beyond the wall—the very branch I had seen that day.

The steward led me to the study and then left. My palms were slightly sweaty, and I couldn’t help feeling nervous. My gaze fell on Xie Yan’s cold profile.

He sat upright at the desk, his spine straight as pine or bamboo, his long, pale fingers holding a brush. His eyes were fixed on the xuan paper, not looking at me, yet he said, "Come grind the ink."

"Oh, okay." In my nervousness, I forgot to address him as "Your Highness."

My father hadn’t informed me in advance, so I hadn’t had time to learn trivial tasks like ink grinding or pouring tea. Combined with my nervousness, the ink I ground was watery and pale, leaving faint traces of moisture when applied.

Xie Yan noticed the issue as soon as he dipped his brush. His phoenix eyes lifted slightly, his sharp brows furrowed, and his gaze felt piercing like daggers. "If you can’t even grind ink, what kind of study attendant are you?"

These were the first words he actively spoke to me, and they were about my clumsiness.

I felt my face burning. At that moment, my cheeks must have been bright red. I didn’t even dare meet Xie Yan’s icy gaze, instead focusing on the densely written characters on the xuan paper.

Xie Yan’s keen, frosty demeanor was like the icy snowflakes of winter. The freshly written characters, too faint from the watery ink, looked particularly awkward, much like my flustered self.

I could only apologize, "Your Highness, it wasn’t intentional. This is my first time grinding ink, so I accidentally added too much water. I’m truly sorry."

"Go wash it clean." Xie Yan crumpled the xuan paper into a ball and threw it on the floor, then pulled out a fresh sheet and handed me the inkstone.

I stared blankly at his long fingers, which looked like jade or snow against the inkstone, irresistibly striking. As I reached out to take it, my fingertips accidentally brushed against his. I felt the slight coolness of his skin, as cold as his demeanor.

The touch was fleeting because Xie Yan immediately withdrew his hand, as if I were some untouchable poison.

I didn’t dwell on discouragement. I quickly washed and dried the inkstone. Xie Yan had to grind the ink himself. Even this task exuded a noble’s poise—leisurely and deliberate, his lowered eyelashes shading his gray pupils. Soon, a thick, well-balanced ink was ready. I secretly noted the amount of water used and mimicked Xie Yan’s movements to practice.

"Go brew tea." Xie Yan picked up his brush again and issued the command coolly.

I quickly agreed and brought it in. This time, I was much more careful. I had tested the temperature with my hand and ensured the strength was just right. It shouldn’t go wrong again.

But Xie Yan took only a sip and said, "Too hot."

How could that be? I had measured the temperature with my hand. My mind was filled with doubt, but I bit my lower lip and stayed silent.

I adjusted the temperature slightly lower and even asked the servants about Xie Yan’s usual preference. They all said Xie Yan had no particularly finicky tastes. Usually, tea was served directly, and sometimes if it was too hot, the Crown Prince wouldn’t scold anyone but would simply leave it be.

I must be overthinking it, I told myself. I brought it in again. Xie Yan took the tea, stood up lightly, and said expressionlessly, "Too cold."

That day, I lost track of how many times I went back and forth and how many times I changed the tea. Xie Yan never once looked at me while drinking, speaking only in cool, indifferent tones.

"Too strong."

"Too weak."

"Too hot."

"Too cold."

Even the servants began whispering about why the Crown Prince was being so difficult to please today. I thought it wasn’t that he was hard to please—he was just making things difficult for me.

After being put through this for most of the day, Xie Yan still wasn’t satisfied. The tea I brewed was poured down the drain again and again. Watching the tea leaves floating in the sink, I finally hardened my expression.

I stopped a servant who’d been watching this play out for a long time and asked him to prepare a large pot of tea for me, just how Xie Yan usually took his tea.

I placed the teapot on the desk. Xie Yan finally looked directly at me, his gray pupils seeming puzzled, the corners of his eyes slightly raised.

I have a bad temper, and I’m not a fool. How could I not see that this day-long ordeal was Xie Yan’s intentional provocation?

I thought I would confront him loudly about why he was treating me this way, but I didn’t.

I simply took a deep breath and said calmly, "Your Highness, stop wasting tea. You haven’t had a sip all day. Don’t harm your throat for no reason."

Facing Xie Yan, I found I had no temper left. I had made at least thirty trips, but at that moment, I couldn’t care less about my sore legs and water-soaked, swollen fingers. I was only concerned that he had hardly drunk any tea all day.

"What business is it of yours?" Xie Yan no longer looked at me, turning his gaze back to the xuan paper. His words were like sharp blades, piercing my one-sided affection and foolish fantasies.

"How is it not related? You know I... you know I..."

I stammered for a long time but still couldn’t bring myself to say it aloud. Just as I was about to give up, Xie Yan looked up. Our eyes met, his cold gray pupils locking with mine. With courage from who knows where, I said, "You know I like you."

Xie Yan snorted dismissively, his eyes devoid of any warmth, his lips pressed into a tight line. He looked me over critically. "I’ve only met you a few times. How can you speak of liking? If your fondness is so easily given, it must be superficial."

At that moment, I finally understood. The day-long ordeal was just Xie Yan seeing through my little schemes, finding ways to discourage me.

My fingers twisted together, and I even felt like biting them—a habit when I’m nervous and flustered. But I was determined not to be so rude in front of Xie Yan and forced myself to hold back.

I’m an ordinary person, uneducated. I don’t know if my liking counts as superficial, but is superficial liking not still liking?

Liking can come in many forms. There’s profound liking, the kind scholars have—poetic and refined, and surely there’s also superficial liking like mine. My liking isn’t noble or deep, but it’s heartfelt. Isn’t that enough?

I’ve never liked anyone before. I don’t know if this superficial liking is moving, but I truly gave it my all.

Mulling this over, I slowly spoke, "My liking might be superficial and not noble, but is superficial liking not still liking?"

Perhaps my feelings gave me strength. I no longer hung my head in dejection and even found the nerve to look directly at Xie Yan. And Xie Yan, hearing my words, looked back at me.

My gaze no longer wavered. My liking might be superficial, but I didn’t want it to be cowardly or evasive. "Perhaps you think my liking is shallow, superficial, common—not as noble, profound, or lofty as you scholars."

"But I... but I..."

My lips began to tremble, and salty wetness rolled down my cheeks. I didn’t bother wiping them away, still shaking as I spoke. "But I can assure you my liking comes with my full sincerity. Maybe you don’t like it, but I won’t give up."