Weaving tassels wasn’t difficult for Bai Qingqing—especially this one of Ning Yan’s. She had examined it closely before; there was nothing special about it, just an ordinary braid.
The difficulty lay elsewhere. Every time she laid eyes on it, the memory of that awkward day would come flooding back, making her toes curl in secondhand embarrassment. And then she’d pretend, quite pathetically, that she hadn’t seen it at all.
It had already been some time. Bai Qingqing wrestled with herself, then decided she’d better get it over with before it dragged on any longer—before Ning Yan used it as yet another excuse to trouble her.
Once decided, she wasted no time. With her nimble hands, she picked out silk threads identical in color to the broken ones, and spent the entire afternoon weaving. When it was done, the new tassel, laid beside the old one, looked nearly identical—except, of course, for being brand new.
Bai Qingqing felt quite satisfied with her work. She packed it neatly in a little cloth pouch and sent someone to deliver it to the Embroidered Guard office. A huge weight lifted from her chest, as if she had completed some great task.
But just as easily as it had been sent, it was sent right back.
“He didn’t accept it?” Bai Qingqing stared in disbelief. “Does he think I didn’t do a good job? That can’t be—I checked, it’s identical.”
“No, miss,” the servant replied. “That gentleman said the tassel broke because of you, so you must deliver it to him personally. He also said he’d be waiting for you at Yanlai Pavilion tomorrow.”
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Well. Fair enough. Though it would’ve been better if he’d just quietly accepted it and been done with it. Tch. What a shame.
Even though Bai Qingqing had returned the wooden token, the staff at Yanlai Pavilion already recognized her. When they saw her, they greeted her with practiced ease and led her straight upstairs—as if she’d never left.
“This way, miss. Please rest here for a moment.”
The attendant quietly withdrew, returning shortly with tea and pastries before leaving her undisturbed.
Bai Qingqing hadn’t had much time to rest lately. Now, sitting comfortably, she could hear faint strains of music drifting in from somewhere. She also noticed the scent wafting through the room—it was from Qingxin Pavilion, her own blend, calming and familiar, like the embrace of home.
Her whole body softened, as though she could finally relax, breathe easy, and think about nothing at all. She laid her head gently on the crook of her arm. This place was… really quite nice.
Ning Yan arrived in a bit of a rush, flecks of mud still clinging to his shoes. The staff at Yanlai Pavilion told him Bai Qingqing had come early. He lengthened his stride.
She must be tired of waiting by now, probably fuming. She was delicate, spoiled, prone to sulking and tears… Had she cried already?
He reached the door to the private room and suddenly paused. His ears caught something—a whisper of breath—and he instantly softened his steps.
Inside, the breathing was shallow and light. He eased the door open, stepping silently onto the thick carpet. Rounding the screen, he saw exactly what he expected: Bai Qingqing, asleep at the table.
A slow smile curled on Ning Yan’s lips. Truly… not a hint of caution. Did she trust him that much?
With a rough knuckle, he gently lifted a small lock of her hair. Silky strands, scented faintly with her fragrance, slid through his fingers. Ning Yan’s eyes narrowed with a dangerous glint. Alone, man and woman, behind closed doors—such a delicate thing, utterly defenseless. If he had any wicked intentions, what could she possibly do?
The strand of hair brushed against her cheek, and she stirred, brow faintly twitching. Her face nuzzled sleepily into the crook of her arm. Ning Yan drew back his hand, lips pressed tight, and sat beside her, scowling at that innocent sleeping face.
Even asleep, she was infuriatingly precious.