Eleven thousand and eleven

Chapter 11: Has He Lost His Mind?

Song Jinhe quickly averted her gaze, as if she had never glanced out the window. Yet the intense look cast toward the window lingered, impossible to dispel. He was still watching her.

As the carriage came to a halt, Song Xiao was the first to step down. Song Jinhe remained seated inside, showing no sign of getting out. It wasn’t until Song Xiao called from outside, “Jinhe, why aren’t you coming out? What are you doing?” that she responded.

Hearing his voice, she glared angrily at the carriage curtain, silently blaming Song Xiao for being too loud. After a moment’s composure, she lowered her voice as she rose, “Stop rushing me, I’m coming.”

The curtain lifted, and Song Jinhe kept her eyes down, unwilling to let her gaze wander recklessly, fearful of locking eyes again with the tall man waiting at the door to welcome guests.

She had no desire to shamelessly flatter herself in such a manner. Yet the moment their eyes met earlier left her uneasy and filled with wild thoughts. Could it be that Sheng Congyuan had come to the door to greet guests just for her? He was utterly reckless. Didn’t he fear someone would notice?

Lost in thought, Song Xiao suddenly murmured beside her, “Why is that Sheng Young Master looking this way so often?”

Song Jinhe’s spine stiffened; she kept her gaze straight ahead, her guilt overwhelming. She grabbed Song Xiao’s sleeve to shield herself and strode forward briskly. “Let’s go, inside now.”

Puzzled, Song Xiao was pulled along without pause into the Sheng residence. Only after rounding the corner beyond the front hall, out of sight from the entrance, did Song Jinhe finally breathe a slight sigh and release him.

“What are you so flustered about?” Song Xiao asked.

She slowed her pace to a normal stroll. “We’re here for the banquet. What’s the rush?”

“No dawdling,” Song Xiao said suddenly, as if recalling something. “Are you hiding from someone?”

Song Jinhe’s eyes flickered uneasily, as if stung, and she immediately denied it. “Hiding from whom? I don’t need to hide from anyone!”

Song Xiao eyed her suspiciously, daring to press on. “That family of the Minister of Revenue who arrived with us earlier?”

Song Jinhe tightened her lips, unwilling to respond.

“General Gao?”

“Lord Liu?”

Song Xiao scratched the back of his head. “No, that’s all I saw at the Sheng residence entrance.”

Her brow twitched twice, suppressing her temper. “You’re annoying.”

Ignoring her warning, Song Xiao gasped softly, “Sheng Congyuan?”

Song Jinhe froze, her whole body taut. “Where? Behind us?”

“No, I mean—are you hiding from Sheng Congyuan?”

She glared and lifted her leg to kick him. Song Xiao jumped back nimbly like a monkey, disbelief written all over his face. “So it really is him! You’ve got a grudge? Since when? Didn’t you say you didn’t know him?”

Song Jinhe moved her arm slightly, lifting her skirt’s hem, closing the distance with big strides. Song Xiao had nowhere to dodge; she raised her leg and struck his calf sharply.

“Ah!” he shrieked.

After the outburst, Song Jinhe dropped her skirt, her hair swirling as she turned, a light breeze following her as she strode alone toward the banquet.

***

Today, Yu Lan was unwell, and so Song Qingcang stayed home to care for his wife, leaving Song Jinhe to sit alone among the female guests of the Song family.

Having just returned to the capital, most of the noble ladies gathered around her were strangers. She sat silently, overhearing their occasional raised voices mentioning unfamiliar names before lowering their tones again, whispering unknown gossip.

Bored, Song Jinhe glanced across the table.

Like her, Song Xiao disliked such occasions; he didn’t converse with others, merely toying absentmindedly with his empty wine cup.

Not far from Song Xiao, their eldest brother Song Ning skillfully mingled with others.

At most banquets Song Jinhe had attended in the capital, this was the usual scene. Song Ning handled most socializing, while she and Song Xiao kept to themselves, indifferent to outside affairs.

Years had passed, yet nothing had changed. With Song Ning as the pillar, the two of them remained idle bystanders.

Lost in thought, murmurs suddenly stirred nearby.

“He’s here, the Sheng Young Master.”

“Did you see him at the door? Never thought he’d personally come out to greet guests. I’ve never seen him up close before.”

“I saw him from inside the carriage and was so excited. But once I got out, I was too nervous to say a word. I only heard him exchange greetings with my father.”

“Same here. Last time at Madam Sheng’s birthday, he wasn’t at the door. Otherwise, I’d have prepared to say something this time.”

Song Jinhe turned to see a figure emerging at the edge of the crowd.

He walked with steady, upright steps—radiant and commanding.

Sheng Congyuan’s expression was cold and stern, his sharp features unwavering as he passed through the crowd. The sunlight gleamed off his black and gold satin robe, highlighting his unparalleled handsomeness, cold and aloof like a celestial exile beyond reach.

This was the impression Sheng Congyuan left: icy, inaccessible, authoritative, and overwhelming.

His peach blossom-shaped eyes, like Madam Sheng’s, paired with thick, arched brows, exuded a chilling, murderous aura.

His delicately curved lips were like a blade, cold and bloodthirsty.

Though barely of age, his pressure rivaled that of Lord Li in his prime.

Nearly all eyes were fixed on this young power broker, rendering Song Jinhe’s glance insignificant, no need to hide it.

Watching him from afar once more, she was certain she could never like him.

Perhaps having spent more time outside, Song Jinhe did not, like most noble ladies in the capital, judge a man by appearance, family status, ability, background, wealth, or power.

A man like Sheng Congyuan, possessing any one of those qualities, would cause women nearby to swoon.

Yet she found him glaringly obvious, cold, deep, and inscrutable.

He was no husband material, nor the type she would ever fancy.

At first, she had agreed without hesitation to an engagement with Zhu Mingxuan—not only to return to the capital but because Zhu Mingxuan seemed ordinary in every way, neither bad nor outstanding, just right for a husband.

Yet even an ordinary man harbors a restless heart.

Thinking this, Song Jinhe instinctively shifted her gaze, scanning the crowd for Zhu Mingxuan.

But whether because Sheng Congyuan’s arrival stirred the crowd or Zhu Mingxuan had not yet arrived, she found no trace of him.

Lowering her eyes, she failed to notice a man passing through the crowd to stand by the table, quietly exhaling with relief.

He turned his head, his gaze locking onto her spot as if he had known she would be there.

But seeing her bow her head without so much as a glance, a flicker of loneliness crossed his eyes.

As the banquet began and guests took their seats, Song Jinhe paid no attention to the polished small talk, focusing only on the food before her.

She had to admit, the dishes at the Sheng family banquet were the most delicious she had encountered since returning to the capital.

It was said Madam Sheng was skilled in cooking from a young age. Though she rarely cooked now, she still oversaw the banquet menus.

Song Jinhe’s mind wandered. Though Sheng Congyuan had few redeeming qualities in her eyes, the exquisite cuisine at his home was an advantage money could scarcely buy.

She dared not imagine how well the father and son must eat when Madam Sheng took it upon herself to cook.

As she savored the meal, someone suddenly approached.

Startled, she turned to find Zhu Mingxuan—who had been nowhere to be seen—now seated beside her.

“Jinhe, I couldn’t find you anywhere earlier. Finally I did. The Sheng family has arranged your seat here.”

Song Jinhe narrowed her eyes, feeling a bit annoyed.

This was typical of Zhu Mingxuan’s way with her—explaining himself thoroughly before she could even ask.

But the explanation was hardly true.

Earlier, she had scanned the banquet several times. If Zhu Mingxuan had been searching for her, she would have seen him—and he should have spotted her immediately.

She turned away coldly to continue eating, but Zhu Mingxuan’s presence sapped her appetite.

“Why are you here? This is the ladies’ seating,” she said bluntly.

Zhu Mingxuan was taken aback, seemingly unprepared for such words.

He smiled awkwardly, then softened his tone kindly: “Are you upset that I haven’t come to see you lately? I’ve been busy with affairs and couldn’t spare the time. It’s my fault. I apologize.”

Zhu Mingxuan was quick to admit fault, lowering himself, allowing Song Jinhe to appear dominant on the surface.

But in truth, it changed nothing.

Apologies like this passed his lips and vanished without effect.

Though Song Jinhe knew she should use such moments to extract more information, gather evidence, she lost patience after a few exchanges and just wanted him gone.

“Fine, you’ve apologized. Now go back to your seat. This is the ladies’ side; it would be improper if someone saw you here.”

“We’re engaged. What’s improper about me seeking you out? It’s only natural.”

Those words only increased her unease.

She had long been spoiled, accustomed to having things her way since childhood. Rarely did she need to exercise patience or restraint.

Now, with so many factors unclear, she was already intolerant of being defined by the status of Zhu Mingxuan’s fiancée.

It was time for her to say the words: she wanted to call off the engagement.

But at Lord Li’s birthday banquet, this was hardly the moment to cause a scene.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself calm and coldly dismissed him: “No, that won’t do. We’ll talk later. You should return to your seat.”

Zhu Mingxuan’s face, hidden from her view, revealed a trace of impatient indifference.

Perhaps preoccupied with other matters, he lacked the energy to soothe her inexplicable mood.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, a sharp, piercing gaze struck him like a knife at the neck.

An odd discomfort forced him to turn his head.

His silence made Song Jinhe impatiently lift her eyes.

She saw across the table a gaze fixed directly on them—Sheng Congyuan.

Though distant and their expressions barely visible, the aggressive intensity of his stare sent a chill up her spine.

Just one look.

Sheng Congyuan then suddenly lowered his head, as if that glance had been casual, not deliberately focused.

Zhu Mingxuan was unnerved by that gaze.

Perhaps guilty at heart, clearing his throat with tension, he said stiffly, “Alright, I’ll go now. After the banquet, I’ll accompany you home. We’ll meet at the Sheng residence entrance.”

Song Jinhe gave no reply, her gaze unwavering on the man opposite.

Sheng Congyuan displayed that awkward, candid demeanor once more—his eyes darting, expression stiff, face barely clear, yet unmistakably broadcasting: I’m sneaking a look at you.

Song Jinhe paused, silently cursing his incomprehensible act. Was he playing dumb again?