Chu Xiangtian shrugged off his loose outer robe and tossed it to Zhou Chuanqing, revealing a sleek set of black riding gear underneath.
He led over the horse that Daifu had ridden in on, vaulted into the saddle with practiced ease, and gave Wen Tian a brief, reassuring glance.
“Don’t worry,” he said, then kicked his heels and galloped off in pursuit.
Hooves stirred up a trail of dust. Watching Chu Xiangtian’s silhouette disappear into the distance, Wen Tian found himself thinking—maybe he wasn’t such a bad person after all.
“Shall we sit somewhere for a bit?” Zhou Chuanqing hugged the robe to his chest and suggested casually, “The boss won’t lose them. Let’s just wait here.”
Wen Tian nodded.
Then, remembering that Zhou Chuanqing had come to the temple seeking a marriage blessing, he hesitated before asking, “Aren’t you going to the Flower Deity’s Temple?”
Zhou Chuanqing’s eyelid twitched slightly. He cleared his throat.
“Already been.”
Wen Tian wasn’t particularly surprised. He nodded and followed Zhou Chuanqing back to the carriage.
Inside, tea had been prepared. Wen Tian set out a lacquered food box filled with flower pastries and poured some tea. The two of them nibbled on the treats as they waited for news.
Zhou Chuanqing didn’t stand on ceremony. He picked up one of the pastries—a delicate peach blossom shape with a faint pink blush against white.
One bite, and the subtle fragrance of peach blossoms bloomed across his tongue.
Surprisingly delicious.
Finishing the first, he immediately reached for a second, praising as he chewed, “Whoever made these has the hands of an artist.”
The shape, color, fragrance, and taste were all exquisite—better than any he’d had before.
“My sister made them,” Wen Tian said proudly, glowing at the compliment.
“Her flower pastries always taste better than anyone else’s.”
That seemed to spark something in him. Wen Tian reached into a hidden compartment beneath the small table and pulled out a tiny wine flask.
It was sealed tight, but once he carefully removed the stopper, the carriage was filled with a soft aroma—peach blossoms and wine intermingled in the air.
He poured two small cups and pushed one toward Zhou Chuanqing.
“This peach blossom wine is also my sister’s creation. Have a taste.”
Zhou Chuanqing brought the cup to his nose and inhaled. The sweet, floral fragrance was mellow and inviting.
He sipped—just a little—and the wine slipped smoothly down his throat, leaving behind a lingering, fragrant warmth that made him take another sip without thinking.
After downing the whole cup, Zhou Chuanqing gave an earnest nod of praise.
“Miss Wen truly has an exceptional gift.”
Then, recalling the incident when Wen Tian had been kidnapped—on the very day of Miss Wen’s wedding, if he remembered correctly—he asked, “That foolish stunt Changxi pulled… it didn’t ruin your sister’s marriage, did it?”
“It’s already been called off,” Wen Tian replied calmly, with no sign of embarrassment.
“Jiao Changxian’s character is lacking—he’s not worthy of my sister.”
Zhou Chuanqing had heard some gossip about that man—how he spent his nights in brothels and had a reputation as a debauched dandy. He nodded in agreement.
“Someone like that definitely doesn’t deserve her.”
There wasn’t a trace of disdain or judgment in Zhou Chuanqing’s tone, and Wen Tian’s opinion of him quietly rose. The stiff air between them softened.
They chatted over wine and pastries, letting time drift by.
Around midday, a sudden commotion broke out outside.
Several large carriages stopped along the road, and servants in short jackets bustled about, unloading low tables and cushions and heading into the peach blossom grove.
Curious, Wen Tian leaned out to look and saw a group of young men stepping down from the most ornate carriage. Dressed in lavish finery, their faces were all familiar.
After all, there weren’t that many wealthy families in Sifang Town—they all knew each other.
The young men spotted him, too. The one in front brightened as soon as he saw Wen Tian, and strode over with a grin.
“We just went to your house looking for you! Didn’t expect you to beat us here.”
“What are you all doing?” Wen Tian asked as he stepped down from the carriage, nodding toward the busy servants.
“Flower-viewing banquet! Don’t tell me you forgot?” The speaker was Li Qingnian, the youngest son of the Li family.
He was a year younger than Wen Tian and born to aging parents who spoiled him silly, so he’d grown up carefree and mischievous.
Wen Tian had never been particularly fond of him, but Li Qingnian had always been enthusiastic, never giving up on dragging him along to play.
Back then, Wen Tian, influenced by his father Wen Boli, had looked down on this crowd of idle, pleasure-chasing rich kids.
Even when Li Qingnian invited him three times, he might go once out of politeness.
But when his family fell from grace, those so-called family friends had all abandoned them to avoid offending Wen Boli—except Li Qingnian.
He’d stepped in to help when no one else would.
The Li family wasn’t as rich as the Wens. They had made their fortune in brewing, and though the parents spoiled all three sons, the boys weren’t bad at heart.
Compared to Jiao Changxian’s reckless cruelty, the Lis were merely mischievous kids.
Sadly, good people don’t always get good endings. Wen Tian vaguely remembered that after a major famine, the Li family fell into decline.
Their estate was auctioned off, Lady Li passed away, and he never saw the family again.
“I didn’t forget,” Wen Tian said.
“I just came early with my sister.”
He remembered seeing an invitation delivered to the household earlier, but things had been gloomy then—he hadn’t given it much thought. So it had been from Li Qingnian.
For the first time in years, Wen Tian responded to him kindly. Li Qingnian’s round face lit up with surprise and joy.
“I had people go ahead to set everything up. We’re still waiting on a few more.”
Wen Tian glanced at Zhou Chuanqing.
“A friend of mine’s here too. Can he join?”
“Of course!” Li Qingnian beamed.
“Your friend is my friend.”
And just like that, Zhou Chuanqing was swept up by a group of teenage boys—none older than eighteen—and taken off to admire flowers with them.
Li Qingnian was especially chatty today. Maybe Wen Tian’s sudden warmth had stunned him, because he stuck close by, chattering nonstop.
Surprisingly, Wen Tian didn’t seem annoyed. He listened quietly and even responded from time to time with genuine courtesy.
“You’ve really changed…” Li Qingnian suddenly remarked.
Wen Tian blinked.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know,” Li Qingnian grinned, scratching his head.
“You just seem easier to talk to today. You used to ignore me all the time.”
Wen Tian hadn’t realized his past indifference had been so obvious. Seeing Li Qingnian’s goofy smile, he felt a twinge of guilt.
“Sorry about before…”
Li Qingnian waved it off.
“Eh, who cares? You’re good-looking. I like hanging out with you anyway.”
Wen Tian: …
He awkwardly scratched his cheek, unsure how to reply.
After wandering around for a bit, a servant came to announce the venue was ready. Everyone headed deeper into the peach grove.
The spot was a peaceful clearing. Low tables and cushions had been neatly arranged, and gauzy curtains had been strung from the flowering branches.
When the breeze blew, they fluttered like whispers—very elegant, very poetic.
But Wen Tian’s attention wasn’t on the decor. His ears were filled with the noisy chatter of the peach blossom trees.
They were excited by all the new faces, gossiping about what these humans would be doing, complaining that the fabric was strangling their blossoms…
The noise gave Wen Tian a headache. It felt like standing in the middle of a noisy market square.
Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he approached the thickest peach tree he could find and whispered, “Could you please quiet them down?”
The old tree swayed slightly. Unlike the other timid plants he’d met, this one wasn’t shy at all. Its ancient voice rumbled softly, “I think… I’ve seen you before.”
Wen Tian: “…???”
“But it’s been so long, I can’t recall clearly,” the old peach tree murmured. Then it abruptly changed the subject.
“What did you say just now?”
Wen Tian repeated himself, “They’re too noisy. Could you ask them to quiet down?”
“Oh… that’s easy,” the tree replied with a hint of laughter.
Just as Wen Tian was wondering how it would go about that, a deep, thunderous voice suddenly boomed in his ears:
“QUIET, ALL OF YOU!”
The sound reverberated through the grove, leaving Wen Tian’s ears ringing. But the peach trees all instantly fell silent.
Then the old tree resumed its lazy tone.
“Better?”
Wen Tian nodded, still dazed. He rubbed his ears, whispered a thank-you, and drifted back to the gathering like he was sleepwalking.
Li Qingnian and Zhou Chuanqing were already seated. Li had even saved him a spot in the middle.
Wen Tian looked around—and saw a few unfamiliar faces had joined them. As his gaze swept across the circle, his expression abruptly froze.
There, seated across from him… was someone he knew all too well.
Wen Zeming.