I traveled back to the Southern Song Dynasty and was actually outmaneuvered by Yue Fei.

Chapter 035: Shen Qingci

"Inns in Lin'an are not cheap, and it's not safe for you to stay in an inn alone."

Zhao Bocong glanced at Liu An.

Liu An understood, and left, closing the door behind him.

Zhao Bozong lowered his voice and thought for a moment before saying, "There is an empty room in the side courtyard of the Prince's Mansion. It was originally prepared for the women of the household. No one has ever lived there, so it is quite clean."

"If Miss Shen doesn't mind, please stay here for now. I'll also have someone inquire about places in the west of the city for you."

Shen Qingci was somewhat at a loss. She didn't know how to answer. She could tell that Zhao Bozong was subtly taking her in. She just lowered her head and stared at the embroidered shoes with worn-out soles below her knees.

"Your Highness—"

"Your father and my father were old friends. If I let the daughter of an old friend stay at an inn in Lin'an, Uncle Shen will curse me in heaven."

Zhao Bozong was referring to Uncle Shen, not Registrar Shen. He could understand Shen Qingci's current state of mind—sensitive and fragile.

Sure enough, Shen Qingci's eyelashes trembled.

"Then I'll trouble you. Once I find a place to stay and work, I'll move out."

Zhao Bozong did not respond to that, but instead asked Liu An to arrange the rooms in the side courtyard and to send hot water and clean clothes over.

After doing all this, and watching Shen Qingci being led away by Liu An, he finally breathed a sigh of relief.

"Miss, this way please." As Liu An returned with the tea tray, he casually pointed towards the side courtyard.

Shen Qingci followed Liu An out with her bundle in her arms. Her steps were lighter than when she came, probably because the tension that had been building all the way had finally eased a little.

When she reached the door of the study, she paused, took a small cloth bag from the side pocket of her bundle, and turned to hand it over.

"My sister-in-law had me sew this cloth bag by hand, saying that His Highness has loved eating this since he was a child, so he won't have to worry about bumping into things on the road."

Zhao Bozong took the cloth bag.

The cloth was coarse linen, and it had faded a bit from washing. He pinched it through the cloth and found that it was about half full. It made a rustling sound when he shook it.

He remembered the jar of plums his older brother had brought last time; the sour and astringent taste that exploded on his tongue was still fresh in his memory. Now there was another half-jar.

"Qingci," Zhao Bozong called out her name.

Shen Qingci raised her head.

He saw a faint expectation in those eyes, not for the wealth of the Prince's mansion, nor for the dependence on the identity of his fiancé.

This is a person who has been burdened by life for too long, and when faced with a newly opened window, instinctively glances into the light.

"I've had the room in the side courtyard cleaned up. The bedding is new, and there's paper and pen on the table. If you need anything, just tell Liu An."

Zhao Bozong paused for a moment, then said, "You can stay as long as you want."

Shen Qingci's lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but she swallowed it back in the end.

She hugged the bundle tighter, bowed again, and then turned to follow Liu An toward the side courtyard.

Zhao Bozong stood by the study window, holding the cloth bag in his hand, watching Shen Qingci's departing figure and the lights in the side courtyard, thinking about many things.

Only then did they open the cloth bag.

Inside was half a jar of pickled plums, the mouth of the jar was sealed tightly with wax, and a small piece of red paper was pasted on the jar with the character "Shen" written on it.

The handwriting above is neat and beautiful, exactly the same as on that letter.

He picked one up and put it in his mouth. The sour and astringent taste exploded on his tongue. It was made with the same recipe as the jar his older brother had brought last time, but it had been pickled for a longer time and had a richer aftertaste.

It started raining outside the window.

Just as Zhao Bozong was about to close the jar, Liu An turned back, carrying a plate of steaming hot steamed buns.

"Your Highness, Miss Shen said these are the dried provisions she brought on her journey. She steamed them and asked me to bring them over. She said Your Highness has been sitting in the study all afternoon and probably hasn't had dinner yet."

Zhao Bozong looked at the plate of steamed cakes. The cakes were made of mixed flour, steamed until soft, and had more than a dozen fine pleats pinched along the edges.

Where is she?

"Your Highness, Miss Shen is tidying up her room in the side courtyard. I had someone send her some hot water, but she said she brought a change of clothes and there's no need for the household to provide anything."

"But..." Liu An paused, "The young lady asked me if there is any needle and thread in the mansion, because the cuffs of her clothes are worn out and she wants to mend them before going to bed."

Zhao Bozong was silent for a moment.

"Take that sewing kit from the study to her and tell Miss Shen that I will have someone make her two new outfits tomorrow."

Liu An acknowledged and withdrew. Zhao Bozong broke open a steamed bun, and the aroma of the bun mixed with the tartness of the plum melted on his tongue.

The next morning, Zhao Bocong got up earlier than usual.

"Your Highness, Miss Shen got up very early this morning."

"What are you doing?"

"She's in the kitchen." Liu An's voice carried a hint of uncertainty. "Miss Shen said she wanted to use the kitchen for a bit, and I couldn't stop her."

Zhao Bozong put down his pen, put on an outer robe, and went to the kitchen.

The kitchen of the Prince's mansion was located in the east corner of the side courtyard. It was not large and was usually only used by a few eunuchs to heat up meals and boil water.

Before Zhao Bozong even reached the door, he smelled the aroma of rice porridge. It didn't seem like plain porridge; it seemed like something had been added to it, and the aroma carried a very faint sweetness.

Shen Qingci stood in front of the stove, still wearing that light blue dress, with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, revealing a section of her fair arm.

She slowly stirred the porridge in the pot with a wooden spoon, her movements neither too light nor too heavy, very calm, as if she were doing something that required complete concentration.

There was a small cloth bag next to the stove, made of homespun cloth with patterns from my hometown of Xiuzhou.

She heard footsteps, turned around and saw him, and froze for a moment, almost slipping the wooden spoon into the pot.

"Your Highness." She quickly bowed, her sleeves slightly damp from the steam, clinging to her wrists. She instinctively pulled her sleeves down, as if trying to cover something.

Zhao Bozong had already seen it; there was an old scar on the inside of her wrist, not long, but very dark in color, like a burn mark from something.

"Qingci, what are you doing?"

"Porridge." Shen Qingci lowered her head. "I saw some new rice in the kitchen and wanted to cook some porridge for Your Highness. It's the lotus seed porridge that Your Highness often drank when you were a child in Xiuzhou. I wonder if Your Highness still remembers it?"

Zhao Bozong was somewhat speechless.

He remembered that summer when he was six years old, under the plum tree in the courtyard of the old house, his mother and Aunt Shen were sitting on bamboo chairs talking. Shen Qingci ran over with a bowl of lotus seed porridge, took a sip herself first and then handed it to him, saying, "It's not hot anymore, you can drink it now."

A grain of rice clung to the corner of her mouth, and when she smiled, a missing front tooth was visible.

That was his last summer before he left Xiuzhou.

"You can do this too?" Zhao Bozong said.

"My sister-in-law taught me this. She said that His Highness loved lotus seed porridge when he was a child, but he probably won't be able to eat it when he gets to Lin'an."

Shen Qingci ladled the porridge into a bowl and placed it in front of him. "Your Highness, please try it. My cooking skills are rough and cannot compare to those of the imperial chefs in the palace."

The porridge was warm, the rice grains were cooked until soft and tender, and the lotus seeds had their bitter core removed. It was sticky but not greasy. He took a sip and said nothing.

Shen Qingci stood to the side, her hands clasped in front of her, looking somewhat uneasy.

"It's delicious," Zhao Bozong said.

Shen Qingci's shoulders relaxed a little.

"I'm glad Your Highness likes it. I used to get up early every day to cook porridge when I was in Xiuzhou. I've been practicing for a long time." As soon as she said this, she seemed to realize something and quickly stopped talking, her ear tips turning slightly red.

Zhao Bozong noticed the pause. He had been practicing making porridge every morning for a long time, not for himself, but so that one day he could make it for someone else.

He didn't ask any further questions, but simply took another sip.

"When did you get that wound on your hand?" he said softly.

Shen Qingci pulled her right hand back behind her back and remained silent for a moment.

"The winter my father passed away. We ran out of firewood, so I went to the kitchen to boil water and accidentally knocked over the copper kettle. It was nothing serious; it's been fine for a while now."

She spoke very calmly, as if she were talking about someone else's affairs.

Zhao Bozong nodded.

He placed the empty bowl on the stove and watched as Shen Qingci took out a small packet of dried lotus seeds from her cloth bag and soaked them in water.

Her movements were very light and slow. She would first check each lotus seed in her palm to see if there were any moldy or rotten ones before putting them into the bowl.

"Celadon".

Zhao Bocong said, "You don't need to ask me what you want to do in the future. The kitchen is yours, the side courtyard is yours. You are not a guest in this mansion."

Shen Qingci's hand froze in mid-air, still holding a lotus seed. She didn't look up, her eyelashes trembling slightly.

"Your Highness has treated me too well, I'm afraid... I can't repay you."

"It's just a pot of porridge, nothing special." Zhao Bozong picked up the empty bowl. "It's enough for me. Make me a bowl every morning from now on."

After Zhao Bozong finished speaking, he left without looking back at Shen Qingci's expression.

As he walked out of the kitchen, he heard a very faint sniffing sound behind him.