Chapter 30
Chapter 30: Forcing an Apology
Gu Yan drifted up behind Li Yin Zhu and Little Nan, who were pressed shoulder-to-shoulder at the stall counter. He lifted his folding fan, about to tap Little Nan on the head in what was surely going to be a very innocent, very gentlemanly way, when she let out a long, world-weary sigh and shoved Li Yin Zhu backward.
“Stop looking,” she said. “We’re leaving.”
Li Yin Zhu stumbled, spun around, and barely got “All right—” out before she walked straight into Gu Yan.
Gu Yan reacted fast. His foot lifted to step back—then, halfway through, he changed his mind and stepped forward instead, colliding solidly with both sisters.
After the bump, he immediately retreated, cupped his hands, and bowed. The apology slid out smooth and sincere, like a line he’d practiced in front of a mirror for years.
“Two young ladies,” he said warmly, “I was watching the street and failed to see you. I am ashamed.”
Shi Gun hadn’t noticed the subtle step-back-then-step-forward. What he had noticed was Little Nan’s shove and Li Yin Zhu’s clumsy retreat. When he realized the Heir Apparent not only didn’t glare but apologized with such gentle polish, his brain stalled. He just stood there with his mouth slightly open, as if he’d forgotten how closing worked.
Wang Gui, who’d been at Gu Yan’s side since childhood as both guard and sparring partner, saw the footwork perfectly. He tried to keep his face neutral. His eyes still widened—just a fraction—before he forced them calm again and carefully studied Little Nan and Li Yin Zhu.
A moment ago, when the Heir Apparent had stared at the crab-shell cake stall without blinking, Wang Gui had been guessing why. He’d assumed Gu Yan was reading the city’s pulse: public mood, local customs, the conduct of officials, the state of the economy—something lofty.
After all, crab-shell cakes cost ten copper coins each and still sold like wildfire. From a small thing you could see the bigger picture: Ping Jiang’s reputation for wealth wasn’t a brag. It was a fact.
Wang Gui had been praising that cold, sharp “see the world in a single leaf” kind of insight in his heart.
Now he wasn’t so sure.
Because what his master had been watching… looked suspiciously like these two country girls.
They were the young licentiate’s sisters. So the order to investigate that young licentiate—was it for the licentiate himself, or for—
Wang Gui’s thoughts skidded to a stop, like a cart hitting mud.
Li Yin Zhu stared at Gu Yan as if she’d been struck by lightning. “No… no… no…” she muttered, not even aware she was speaking out loud.
The man in front of her was too handsome. Not just “good-looking,” but unreal. Even in opera—what little she’d ever seen—she’d never seen anyone like this.
Little Nan, on the other hand, had once been properly “worldly.” Back in her idol-chasing days, she’d seen pretty faces up close under cruel lighting. The second she noticed Third Sister going slack-jawed, she slapped Li Yin Zhu’s cheek and shoved her face toward the cakes like she was correcting a crooked picture frame.
“Sorry,” Little Nan said flatly, grabbing Li Yin Zhu by the arm to haul her away. “We bumped into you.”
“It was clearly I who bumped into you,” Gu Yan replied. His gaze stayed on Little Nan. His fan tilted, pointing toward Li Yin Zhu. “Are you hurt? This sister of yours—she doesn’t seem quite all right.”
The flirtation was so blatant it may as well have come with an official stamp.
Little Nan shot him a cold sideways glance and shoved Li Yin Zhu hard. “Third Sister. Move.”
“Miss,” Gu Yan added, letting his eyes sweep over Li Yin Zhu, “are you truly all right?”
“Move, move!” Little Nan hissed.
Li Yin Zhu was still dizzy with shock. On instinct, she threw an arm out to shield Little Nan, slapped Gu Yan’s arm away, and bolted.
Gu Yan turned and let them through, then flicked his fan open with a sharp snap and followed after them at an easy pace, as if he were simply taking the pleasantest stroll in the world.
Shi Gun nearly forgot to follow at all. It took Wang Gui’s quiet shove to jolt him into motion.
Little Nan and Li Yin Zhu half-ran past seven or eight storefronts and ducked behind the enormous fan sign outside a fan shop, panting.
“Was that… a real person?” Li Yin Zhu blurted, still staring toward the street.
“He’s a lowlife,” Little Nan said. Then, to be safe, she switched into Kun Shan dialect and muttered, “Don’t bother with him. Come on—let’s go.”
“Girl,” Gu Yan said, strolling out from the other side of the fan sign and replying in the same dialect with irritating ease, “I bumped into you two and wanted to apologize. How am I a lowlife? Someone like me—do I look like a lowlife?”
Li Yin Zhu shrieked. “He understood!”
Gu Yan leaned back a little at the shout, then tipped his fan toward Li Yin Zhu again. “Is this sister of yours all right?”
Little Nan dragged Li Yin Zhu a step back and bowed, stiffly formal. “You didn’t bump into us. We bumped into you. Please, my lord, be generous and don’t argue with two women.”
“It was clearly I who bumped into you,” Gu Yan began, smooth as silk. “I meant to apologize sincerely, but instead I startled you. My guilt—”
“Since you’re not going to make trouble, we’re even!” Little Nan cut him off, grabbed Li Yin Zhu, and ran.
“Hey, young lady,” Gu Yan called—only half the words out before the sisters disappeared into the crowd.
He waved his fan for a moment, then let out a slow, thoughtful hum. Closing the fan, he pointed it at Shi Gun.
“Go,” he ordered, “buy a cart of eggs and deliver it to those two young ladies’ home. Tell them it’s your master’s apology.”
Shi Gun stared. For a man who prided himself on keeping composure even if a mountain fell on him, he still managed a stunned, deeply undignified, “Huh?”