Volume One, Chapter Seventeen: A Gift from the Cousin

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Qin Songting noticed the look in Qin Yuanjue’s eyes and let out a cold snort. The household servants disliked Song Xianwan, and coincidentally, they also harbored a dislike for him. Just as Qin Yuanjue was about to speak again, Qin Songting strode forward, disappearing around the corner shortly after. Watching Qin Songting’s retreating figure, Song Xianwan bowed respectfully to Qin Yuanjue before hurrying to catch up with him. Qin Yuanjue remained standing, his gaze darkening in an instant as he watched them walk away.

Naturally, Song Xianwan failed to catch up with Qin Songting and had no choice but to return to Jinghe Garden to report to Old Madam Qin. Upon hearing that the assassin had been captured, Old Madam Qin finally breathed a sigh of relief.

“Grandmother, the way that assassin looked at me was terrifying,” Song Xianwan said, sitting beside Old Madam Qin and leaning against her. “I was afraid he’d say something vengeful.”

Since the assassin claimed to know who she was, Song Xianwan couldn’t let him live. But if she acted herself, she would expose too much. It was better to let others make the move; compared to one assassin, Old Madam Qin would trust her words more.

“Don’t worry, I’ll have Nurse Kang speak with Wei Qian. No matter what he says, it won’t get out,” Old Madam Qin assured her.

Hearing this, Song Xianwan grasped her hand warmly. “Grandmother, you’ve always been the kindest to me.”

But a trace of sorrow flickered in Old Madam Qin’s eyes as she sighed. “Your mother was my only daughter, and it was I who arranged this marriage. I feel a deep guilt in my heart.”

Upon hearing this, Song Xianwan rose and stood before her. “Grandmother, please don’t say that. Mother never blamed you. She said she’s happy to have you as her mother in this life.”

Song Xianwan’s comforting words brought tears to Old Madam Qin’s eyes. The two spoke for a while longer before Song Xianwan returned to Haitang Garden after Old Madam Qin retired. As for what the assassin might have told Wei Qian in prison, with Old Madam Qin’s intervention, he likely wouldn’t meddle further. However, Song Xianwan was determined to find out who had sent the assassin.

A few days later, news came from Nurse Kang that the assassin had suddenly died in prison, officially declared as having succumbed to a sudden illness. Song Xianwan understood immediately that this was Old Madam Qin’s doing. She smiled faintly, a barely perceptible coldness flickering in her eyes. With the assassin dead, it was like removing a hidden thorn—she could finally breathe a little easier. The people she had sent to investigate Liuzhou had yet to return, but she was in no rush.

That day, Song Xianwan and Fuling were arranging flowers when a subtle aroma wafted from the small kitchen, making it difficult to focus.

“Fuling, go see what Song Mama is making,” Song Xianwan said.

Fuling smiled. “Miss, are you craving something?”

“You little troublemaker, I told you to go check.”

“Yes, Miss. I’m going right away.”

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Fuling rose and left, her words making it seem as if Song Xianwan was eager to eat. Soon, Fuling and Song Mama returned carrying trays of hibiscus cakes.

“I thought it smelled like hibiscus cake—and it really is,” Song Xianwan said, smiling as she looked at the cakes placed on the table.

“Old servant just wanted to make some Liuzhou pastries to satisfy the young lady’s cravings,” Song Mama said.

Liuzhou was in the south, while the capital was in the north. Southern cuisine tended to be light and sweet, whereas northern dishes were rich and varied. Song Xianwan wasn’t particularly fond of the northern fare.

Seeing this, Song Mama felt sympathetic and prepared some southern snacks for her.

“They’re delicious—just like when I was a child,” Song Xianwan murmured appreciatively.

Hearing this, Song Mama smiled warmly. “I’m glad the young lady likes them. I’ll bring some more for you.”

As Song Mama prepared to leave, Song Xianwan held a piece of hibiscus cake thoughtfully.

After Fuling and Song Mama brought out the remaining southern treats, Song Xianwan suddenly said, “Fuling, divide these snacks up and send some to Jinghe Garden and Liao Ting Courtyard.”

Fuling hesitated, understanding sending treats to Old Madam Qin made sense. But sending them to the eldest young master—what did that mean?

“When you deliver to Liao Ting Courtyard, also bring the flower arrangement I made,” Song Xianwan added. “Say it’s a token of thanks to my cousin for helping me several times.”

Fuling didn’t know Song Xianwan’s intentions but nodded obediently.

Song Mama personally went to Jinghe Garden, while Fuling delivered the items to Liao Ting Courtyard. Qin Songting was resting at home that day. When the servant at the door told him the young lady had sent something, his eyes darkened momentarily.

“I’ll send him away,” he ordered.

Bai Lin, seeing Qin Songting’s silence, bowed and prepared to leave.

“Let her in,” Qin Songting said unexpectedly.

“Yes, sir...” Bai Lin was taken aback by the sudden change.

“Let her in? Didn’t you hear me?”

Bai Lin hurriedly lowered his head. “I’m going right now.”

Stepping outside, he wondered if his master had suddenly changed.

Fuling was led inside by Bai Lin. She respectfully bowed to Qin Songting before speaking.

“My lady sent some southern snacks and a pot of flowers she arranged herself.”

“She said it’s a small token of thanks to the eldest young master for helping her several times.”

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The aroma from the snack box was tempting, making one want to open it immediately. The flower pot Fuling held was beautifully arranged—bright and vibrant, starkly contrasting with the dark, somber colors of Liao Ting Courtyard.

“Your lady is quite thoughtful,” Qin Songting remarked with a faint smile, holding a book in one hand.

“Put the items down. I’ll keep them.”

Hearing this, Fuling relaxed, relieved that no further persuasion was needed.

Bai Lin took the items from her hands. After she bowed again, she left Liao Ting Courtyard.

Once she left, Qin Songting sat upright and opened the snack box on the table. It had two layers containing five kinds of treats—glutinous rice cakes, red bean pastries, and other sweets. Qin Songting disliked sweets the most.

“Should I take care of these for you?” Bai Lin asked.

Qin Songting looked up sharply. “Why are you so talkative today?”

Bai Lin lowered his head, thinking his master was acting unusually.

Qin Songting reached in, took a red bean pastry, bit into it, then threw it back onto the table.

“Too sweet. Disgusting.”

He wiped his hands with a handkerchief and then glanced at the flower pot again.

It seemed Song Xianwan indeed had some hidden agenda.

“Have the people sent to Liuzhou returned yet?”

Bai Lin shook his head. “Not yet.”

Qin Songting’s hand rested on the flower pot, plucking the best bloom from the branch.

She didn’t seem simple at all.

Her thoughts were certainly deep.

“Keep an eye on her.”

Bai Lin nodded—this was the decisive and ruthless master he knew. Just now, he had thought someone else had taken his place.

“But Master, do you think this young lady harbors feelings for you? Otherwise, why would she be the only one eager to get close to you while others keep their distance?”

“Do I look that pitiful?” Qin Songting countered.