During the Festival of Blossoms, even the lanterns had to follow tradition. The flower deity for the second lunar month was none other than the famed imperial consort Yang Guifei.
As such, many lanterns bore her image in delicate brushstrokes.
Wen Shuyue was a master painter, and every year, she personally illustrated the thin paper used for these lanterns.
With a steady hand, she colored the paper carefully with her brush, while Wen Tian sat across from her, threading slender bamboo strips into a frame using lead wire.
The shape of the lantern was one she’d designed herself—styled like a peach blossom in full bloom.
At the heart of the blossom, a cylindrical core stood in place of the stamen, hollowed out perfectly to house a candle.
On the outer shell of the cylinder, a miniature portrait of Yang Guifei was mounted.
Once lit, the flickering candle cast a graceful silhouette of the legendary beauty through the flower’s center.
Wen Tian was deft and nimble, and he and his sister worked seamlessly together.
In no time, they completed the peach-blossom lantern, attaching six fluttering slips of colored paper to its base with red thread. The little charms swayed gently with the breeze.
On the twelfth day of the first lunar month, the Festival of Blossoms arrived.
After breakfast, Wen Tian accompanied Wen Shuyue in a carriage headed to the Flower Deity Temple to pay their respects.
Before leaving, Wen Tian made sure to leave Daifu behind at home with instructions: keep an eye on the house and send word immediately if Wen Boli went out.
Daifu didn’t fully understand the reason, but he was used to following Wen Tian’s lead without question.
Only after making these arrangements did Wen Tian feel secure enough to leave.
There was already a carriage parked at the front gates of the Wen residence.
It belonged to a young lady who was close friends with Wen Shuyue—the two were bosom friends and had planned in advance to visit the Flower Deity Temple together.
The temple stood in a peach blossom grove on the eastern edge of the city. It had been built by the government and housed statues of the twelve seasonal flower deities.
The incense never stopped burning there, and on the Festival of Blossoms, worshippers flocked in from every direction.
Hooves clattered as their carriage made its way eastward. The streets were bustling with early risers heading to the same destination.
When Wen Tian lifted the curtain to look outside, he immediately drew the attention of passing girls.
Some giggled behind their sleeves, and the bolder ones plucked the hairpins from their buns, wrapped them in silk handkerchiefs, and tossed them straight into the carriage.
Wen Tian dodged nimbly, but a jeweled pin still rolled twice across the carriage floor.
Wen Shuyue picked it up, placed it on the small side table, and said with a laugh, “Better close the curtain quickly.”
She had barely finished speaking when in flew a bracelet and a jade pendant.
With a sigh, Wen Tian silently dropped the curtain, cutting off the outside world.
In Great Chu, admiration of beauty was the norm, and the culture was open—so scenes like these were common.
Whenever a handsome young man appeared in public, ladies would “throw flowers” in admiration. If there were no flowers at hand, hairpins or decorative silk would do just fine.
A few years ago, Wen Tian had been too young to draw much attention—his features hadn’t yet matured. But after turning sixteen, his looks had changed rapidly.
The boyish softness had faded, revealing sharper, more refined features.
His body, too, had shot up like bamboo after rain—tall, lean, and striking.
He was no longer mistaken for a child. More often now, he found himself on the receiving end of bashful stares.
Wen Shuyue teased him the entire ride, and by the time they reached the Flower Deity Temple, Wen Tian couldn’t wait to hop off the carriage.
His sister and her friend’s laughter followed behind him, making his ears burn red.
Still, he had to maintain his composure—playing the part of a dignified escort.
Carrying the flower cakes and blossom wine they’d brought along, the three of them, followed by servants, made their way into the temple.
The temple grounds were filled with elegantly dressed young ladies, each carrying small baskets filled with seasonal offerings—flower cakes, wine, and fresh blossoms—all meant to win the flower deity’s blessing for a good match.
As they walked in, Wen Tian’s arms were quickly filled with gifts—flowers and dainty snacks wrapped in handkerchiefs.
People meant well, and it would be rude to throw them away, so he could only clutch them awkwardly to his chest, cheeks flushed from embarrassment.
While Wen Shuyue and her friend entered the temple to offer prayers, Wen Tian waited outside.
He anxiously counted the moments until they returned, and the second they emerged, he urged them to leave quickly.
Once they were far enough from the crowd, he finally passed the pile of offerings to a servant and let out a breath of relief.
After visiting the flower deity, most of the young women would continue on to view the peach blossoms. The trees were in full bloom, casting a sea of pink and white.
Wen Shuyue ran into a few other close friends and joined them for a stroll.
Wen Tian, wary of receiving more gifts—and feeling out of place among a group of ladies—chose to stay behind in the carriage.
He asked the driver to move the carriage to the main road and pulled up the curtain on one side to keep watch.
This road connected directly to the main highway. If Wen Boli left home, he would have to pass this way.
“Hey, isn’t that the Wen family’s carriage?” Zhou Chuanqing pointed to a nearby vehicle.
Chu Xiangtian followed his gaze. It was indeed from the Wen household. But at this time of day, it was most likely the Wen family’s daughter.
His interest dimmed as he gave it a cursory glance—then paused.
A gust of wind lifted half the curtain, revealing a quick glimpse of the figure inside. Chu Xiangtian’s eyes sharpened, and then a slow smile crept across his face.
He tapped his folding fan against his palm and said, “Come on. Let’s go say hello.”
Zhou Chuanqing couldn’t help but twitch at the corners of his mouth. He was always amazed at how fast this man could switch faces.
Inside the carriage, Wen Tian lounged idly against the window, slowly nibbling a piece of flower cake.
A sudden knock on the window startled him, and the cake tumbled onto his clothes, scattering crumbs all over his lap.
Chu Xiangtian had only meant to greet him.
Flustered, Wen Tian hurriedly brushed himself off, then looked up in annoyance—only to lock eyes with a familiar face.
Chu Xiangtian greeted him with a warm smile.
Wen Tian shot him a glare, his chin still dotted with crumbs. Despite his irritation, he looked adorably fierce.
“You again?!”
Chu Xiangtian raised both hands in mock innocence.
“I saw the Wen carriage and thought I’d say hello.” A beat, then he added with mock regret, “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Seeing that the scare hadn’t been on purpose, Wen Tian’s glare softened a little. He took the opportunity to study Chu Xiangtian anew.
Today, the bandit leader had shed his usual fitted garb for flowing robes. His hair was tied neatly with a white jade crown, giving him the refined look of a noble young master.
For once, he didn’t look like a bandit at all—more like someone from a prominent family.
Honestly? He looked… quite good.
“What are you doing here? Don’t tell me you’re out flower viewing?” Wen Tian squinted in suspicion.
He didn’t take Chu Xiangtian for someone with an appreciation for blossoms.
As expected, Chu Xiangtian jerked his chin toward Zhou Chuanqing, voice laced with disdain.
“I’m here with him. He’s come to pray for a good marriage.”
Zhou Chuanqing: …
Clearing his throat, Zhou Chuanqing nodded calmly under Wen Tian’s scrutiny.
“That’s right.”
Wen Tian thought both of them were acting oddly, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. Daifu came running toward him in a panic.
“Young Master! Young Master!” Daifu panted.
“The master’s left the house—he’s heading to Hongfa Temple!”
Wen Tian’s expression changed. He turned to Chu Xiangtian without hesitation.
“I’ve got something urgent—please excuse me.”
He motioned Daifu into the carriage and ordered the driver to move ahead quietly.
His eyes locked onto the road. Moments later, the Wen family’s carriage indeed came into view from the opposite direction.
Wen Boli had no reason to hide his departure. Wen Tian stared hard at the carriage, ready to follow it—but then hesitated.
A carriage was too conspicuous. With no time to lose, he leapt out and jogged forward.
But how could a person outrun a carriage?
Watching it pull away, Wen Tian felt like an ant on a hot griddle. He had no idea when another opportunity like this would come.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Chu Xiangtian and Zhou Chuanqing still nearby. A sudden idea struck.
He ran up to Chu Xiangtian, a little uncertain, and asked, “Can I ask you for a favor?”
“What kind of favor?” Chu Xiangtian raised a brow.
“Can you follow that carriage? I want to know where it goes.” Wen Tian pointed at the distant vehicle.
The request felt awkward—asking someone to tail his own father was difficult to explain no matter how he spun it.
“That’s… your father’s carriage, isn’t it?”
Wen Tian bit his lip and nodded, clearly conflicted. This was a private family matter—he didn’t want to say more.
But Chu Xiangtian didn’t press. His eyes narrowed slightly, and he reached out to tousle Wen Tian’s hair.
“Alright,” he said.
“Leave it to me.”