“M-Master?”
Bai Lan and Sanleng turned in surprise to see Ning Muyan standing behind them, having appeared unnoticed.
Qing Mo took out silver and paid the vendor, who happily wrapped the mortar and handed it over.
Bai Lan hurriedly protested, “Master, there’s no need to spend your money—”
“Deduct it from your monthly allowance,” Ning Muyan interrupted.
Bai Lan fell silent, astonished at his generosity. “Master, what are you doing here?”
“Passing by,” Ning Muyan said simply.
“Oh~”
With the mortar in hand, Bai Lan followed Ning Muyan without hesitation. The group walked in silence for a while, the air slightly tense.
Ning Muyan glanced around. “Where else do you plan to go?”
“And you, Master? Want to browse?”
He paused briefly. “No, we need to return; there’s work at the estate.”
Bai Lan immediately said, “Then I’ll go back with you, Master.”
Ning Muyan was momentarily surprised. Bai Lan, on a rare day off, was choosing to accompany him home! He calmly composed himself. “Very well, let’s go.”
Bai Lan grinned. Free carriage ride—no need to walk back. He happily grabbed Sanleng’s hand and followed Ning Muyan. One by one, they boarded the carriage. Though spacious, Qing Mo chose to sit outside with the coachman, leaving only Ning Muyan and Bai Lan inside.
Summer carriages had larger windows without curtains. Bai Lan craned his neck, observing Zhuque Street, now even more bustling than in the early morning. Teahouses were already filled with patrons.
It was Sanleng’s first time riding in the same carriage with Ning Muyan. Usually, he served close at hand but never rode with him. He sat upright and cautious, careful not to offend.
His eyes noticed Bai Lan leaning toward the window, looking around. Alarmed, Sanleng tugged at Bai Lan’s sleeve, about to caution him, when Ning Muyan himself glanced outside.
“What are you looking at?”
Bai Lan pointed at a stall. “It wasn’t set up this morning when we passed.”
“That’s a stall selling cold drinks. Early this morning, the weather was cool; now, with the heat, they’ve begun selling refreshments.”
Ning Muyan signaled the carriage to stop. About to send Qing Mo to fetch drinks, he paused, noticing others in the carriage. “Qing Mo, go to Shangguan Zhai ahead and bring some fruit cakes for Grandmother.”
Qing Mo acknowledged with a smile. “It’s the fifteenth today. The old pastry chef at Shangguan Zhai is making cakes personally—Grandmother loves their cherry pancakes. You always worry about her, Master.”
Ning Muyan said nothing further, adding only, “Also, pick up some thirst-quenching drinks.”
Qing Mo hesitated. “Grandmother doesn’t like cold drinks?”
A sidelong glance from Ning Muyan clarified everything. Qing Mo’s mind lit up. “Shangguan Zhai’s refreshments are excellent, with many varieties. Which would you like, Master?”
Ning Muyan remained silent, his gaze drifting toward Bai Lan.
Bai Lan’s eyes brightened—Ning Muyan actually wanted to buy him a refreshing drink, but after a moment, he thought better of it. “No, I’ll pass.”
“What is it?”
“I’m afraid if I take it now, I’ll have already spent my monthly allowance in advance,” Bai Lan replied.
“…”
“The summer heat is intense, and you usually work hard. Since today is a rare day off, a little leisure will help you return to your duties more refreshed,” Ning Muyan said. Then he turned to Sanleng: “If your master doesn’t want one, then you may take two.”
Bai Lan quickly said, “No, no, I’ll have a papaya drink!” After all, he could not let the host’s generosity go to waste.
Both the cautious Sanleng and Qing Mo, standing by the carriage window, smiled quietly at his resolve.
Shangguan Zhai’s pastries were quite famous; their master pastry chef had once been summoned to prepare desserts for the emperor’s birthday feast. Though the chef was now older and seldom worked with his own hands, his apprentices—taught directly by him—still maintained almost the same skill. To all but connoisseurs, the taste was indistinguishable from the master’s.
Today, hearing that the master himself would prepare the desserts, many patrons had come, making Shangguan Zhai especially lively.
Qing Mo returned after a while, bearing two boxes. Bai Lan, craning his neck, had nearly gone stiff waiting.
Ning Muyan wanted to pull him back, but it would have seemed rude, so he said, “You’ve been wandering South Gate Temple for hours. Haven’t you eaten enough?”
“The street food is good, but it’s still just small stalls,” Bai Lan replied. “The flavors differ from those of larger restaurants, and each has its own charm. Even if I’m full, I’ve been looking forward to Shangguan Zhai’s treats.”
Ning Muyan shook his head slightly and glanced at Bai Lan’s slender arms and legs. “After eating so much, you still won’t grow taller.”
Bai Lan frowned. “I’m not short. My bones are just smaller than most people’s, that’s why I appear petite.”
“You do have a point.”
“I’m a doctor, of course I’m right.”
Sanleng, sitting nearby, felt sweat prickling her palms. Bai Lan’s words bordered on impertinence, yet Ning Muyan seemed to enjoy the conversation rather than scold him. She found it curious—both had changed from their usual selves: one normally stern and reserved now spoke more, the other usually cautious and obedient now bolder.
“What’s this?” she wondered.
“Here it comes!” Qing Mo returned first, carrying two boxes: one for the grandmother’s cherry pancakes, the other holding refreshing drinks.
Sanleng carefully opened the drinks box. Ice cubes kept the contents cold, and a cool mist immediately rose from the box—perfectly refreshing.
Though they had heard much about Shangguan Zhai’s desserts, none besides Ning Muyan had ever tasted them.
“Master, here’s your papaya drink. And Qing Mo’s snow-cold yuanzi.”
Bai Lan eagerly picked up his chilled drink. Seeing the others already served, he looked at Ning Muyan. “Where’s yours?”
Qing Mo explained, “Master doesn’t like these kinds of treats, so I didn’t get any.”
Bai Lan raised his eyebrows. Such a picky eater, and yet he’d grown so tall.
He took a sip. The drink was sweet and refreshing, with a strong papaya aroma—perfect for summer.
Though simple in appearance, the drink required intricate preparation. Fresh fruit was peeled, cored, and simmered over low heat until the juice was nearly gone. After straining, the residue was boiled again to form a thick fruit jelly. The jelly was cut into shapes and placed in chilled water, creating the final drink—balanced in sweetness and highly enjoyable.
Because of the labor and real fruit ingredients, it was pricier than meat dishes. Street vendors sold it cheaper than large restaurants, but even so, one had to pay a little more for a quality bowl.
Back at the estate, Ning Muyan did not return with Bai Lan to the Mu Garden. He had Qing Mo deliver the cherry pancakes to Bao’an Hall. Bai Lan guessed that Ning Muyan intended to have lunch with his grandmother. Since he had brought pastries, he would naturally be invited to eat.
Having stuffed themselves at the stalls, Bai Lan and Sanleng had no plans to eat again and were ready for an afternoon nap.
“Eh, the courtyard seems to have been cleaned,” Bai Lan remarked as he entered the hall, noting the faint scent of lime mixed with pest-repelling herbs.
Sanleng explained, “In summer, there are more insects than other seasons. The estate sprinkles each room with pest-repelling herbs.” She scratched her head. “Normally, I would handle this, but since Master went out today, others in the garden helped.”
Bai Lan nodded. “I have my own repelling herbs—they work better—but since it’s already been done, no need to bother.”
Back in his village, insects had been far fiercer. His father spread herb residues and made mosquito incense, far more effective than store-bought versions, and neighbors often bought from him—a profitable little business, if he had not been wholly devoted to medicine.
An idea struck Bai Lan’s eyes. “Ah, it’s summer. I could make some mosquito incense to sell! That way, I won’t have to worry about my pockets being empty.”
“Sanleng, next day off, let’s also set up a stall at South Gate Temple.”
The young Sanleng’s eyes sparkled. “Yes! Master, your cooling balm works so well, it will surely sell for a good price. I’ve never run a stall before!”
Bai Lan thought for a moment. “We should make more small items in our spare time to sell as well. But anything we sell—especially herbs—must be accounted for separately from the estate’s funds. It has to come from our own pocket.”
Sanleng nodded. “The estate provides plenty of herbs, but all are recorded in the ledgers. If we sell them for silver, that would violate household rules. Using our private funds keeps the estate uninvolved. Master, you really think of everything.”
Bai Lan hugged the mortar and pestle he had purchased on credit today, ready to place it in his private cabinet so he could later take it home for Jiang Zichun. “In a large estate, one must always be careful.”
He opened the cabinet and lowered the mortar inside, then suddenly frowned. “My jade pendant… where is it?”
“What jade pendant?” Sanleng asked, stepping closer.
Bai Lan didn’t have many valuables. Apart from a little private money he had brought, he had not accepted any funds from Jiang Zichun, saying his monthly allowance covered his needs. All his possessions were kept in the drawer by his bed, including the jade piece Ning Muyan had given him earlier.
When he first entered the estate, Ning Muyan had asked for it, but he had claimed he left it at home—though he had actually brought it along. Today, he had only brought some money out, and now the few silver pieces in his small purse were still there, but the jade wrapped in a handkerchief was missing.
A sense of unease settled in Bai Lan. He had assumed that, with the strict rules of the Ning estate, no one would dare steal from him. After all, he was a lowly herbalist boy with little of value, and nothing like this had ever happened before.
Sanleng stood cautiously beside him. “Master, we should report it to Qing Mo. If anything valuable is lost, the estate will take it seriously!”
Bai Lan shook his head calmly. “No. Investigating might drag in too many people.”
Before Sanleng could speak further, a maid’s voice called from outside: “Is Little Doctor Jiang here?”
Bai Lan stepped out and saw a young woman he didn’t recognize. She didn’t work in the Di Mu Garden, but her uniform suggested she wasn’t a lowly servant.
Sanleng instinctively moved closer to him. Bai Lan, still polite, asked, “May I ask what you need, Miss?”
“Our Madam requests your presence,” the maid said.