The Vegetable Basket Project was in full swing, and another “project” was quietly underway as well.
Sixth Princess Xiao Mingyan’s “pursuit project” of Lin Zhaoye.
Ever since her coming-of-age ceremony, this princess had been acting as if possessed, running off to Little Lin Manor every few days.
Under the pretense of “visiting Shuying,” her eyes kept drifting toward Lin Zhaoye.
Lin Zhaoye had been having a headache lately.
He had originally been focusing on preparing for the spring imperial examinations. In the autumn provincial exams, perhaps he had pushed himself too hard—and against all odds, he had actually passed.
But he knew he wasn’t cut out for scholarly pursuits—it was just that his family had high expectations, so he had to at least try.
But whenever the Sixth Princess came, he couldn’t focus on his studies at all.
“Third Young Master Lin!” Xiao Mingyan had come again today, dressed in a canary-yellow palace gown. She lifted her skirts as she stepped down from the carriage, running like a little oriole just released from its cage. She pushed open the study door and poked half her body in: “What are you reading?”
Lin Zhaoye didn’t even look up. His brush paused for a moment as he rose to bow, then sat back down: “The Analects.”
“Oh, The Analects.” Xiao Mingyan walked over, circled around to his side, bent down, and tilted her head to look at the page in his hand. “Confucius said: ‘Is it not a pleasure to learn and practice what you have learned from time to time?’ Right?”
“…Right.”
“Do you know what the next line is?”
“‘Is it not delightful to have friends coming from afar?’”
“And the one after that?”
Lin Zhaoye finally looked up, setting his brush on the rest, and gazed at her with resignation.
Sunlight streamed through the window lattice, falling on her face. Her eyes sparkled, with no intention of leaving.
“Your Highness, what exactly do you want?”
“I want to talk to you.” Xiao Mingyan said with perfect justification, sitting down on the chair beside him. She rested her elbows on the edge of the table and her chin on her hands. “The palace is so boring. Mother is always making me learn etiquette—it’s maddening. Your place is wonderful—there’s melons to eat, a canteen, and I can watch you work the abacus~ Oh, you look really handsome when you use the abacus!”
Lin Zhaoye’s face flushed instantly, his ears burning. He instinctively leaned back, putting some distance between them, and said stiffly: “Your Highness, please watch your words.”
“I mean it!” Xiao Mingyan sat up straight, cupping her chin in her hands, her eyes curving into crescent moons. “Those noble sons from the great families are either too bookish and dull, or they’re insufferable wastrels. You’re different—you can read, you can do accounts, and you help Shuying run the estate—how impressive!”
Lin Zhaoye opened his mouth, then closed it again.
He looked down at the pages on his desk, unable to take in a single word.
One thought churned in his mind over and over: What do I know about running an estate? My little sister gives the orders—I just run errands.
“Your Highness,” he tried to keep his tone even, “you are of royal blood, and I am but a commoner. We—”
“What’s wrong with being a commoner?” Xiao Mingyan cut him off, pouting with disapproval. “My father says true heroes come from all walks of life. Besides, you’re the third son of the wealthiest family in the city—your standing is not low.”
“But you are a princess…”
“A princess is still a person!” Xiao Mingyan stood up, hands on her hips, chin lifted slightly. “Lin Zhaoye, let me tell you—this princess has set her sights on you! If you want to take the imperial exams, I’ll wait for you. If you want to manage the family business, I’ll support you. One way or another… you will become this princess’s consort!”
With that, she turned and left.
She walked quickly, her skirt catching on the threshold as she stepped over it. She stumbled half a step but didn’t look back, steadying herself against the doorframe, then hurried off down the corridor until she disappeared from sight.
Lin Zhaoye sat alone in the study, his mind buzzing.
Marry a princess?
Him?
Lin Zhaoye?
A merchant’s son who couldn’t even pass the provincial exam and only got through by sheer luck?
What a joke.
— —
At dinner, Lin Zhaoye was distracted, poking at his bowl with his chopsticks without bringing a single grain of rice to his mouth.
“Third Brother,” Lin Shuying set down her bowl and looked at him, “something on your mind?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Lin Zhaoye told them about what had happened during the day.
The table fell silent.
Wei Fuyu’s chopsticks froze mid-air, Zhao Di’er’s chopsticks rested on the rim of her bowl, and Lin Jingshen paused with his soup bowl halfway to his lips.
“The Sixth Princess… wants to marry you?” Wei Fuyu’s eyes went wide.
Zhao Di’er blinked in astonishment too: “The princess is that direct?”
Lin Jingshen set down his soup bowl, reached over, and patted his brother’s shoulder, a smile tugging at his lips: “Nice going, Third Brother—a princess has her eye on you! That’s something!”
“Don’t make fun of me.” Lin Zhaoye set down his chopsticks and leaned back in his chair, his voice low. “How is this possible? She’s a princess—I’m a merchant’s son. We don’t match.”
“That’s not necessarily true.” Lin Shuying leaned forward slightly, looking into his eyes. “Third Brother, setting aside status for a moment—what do you think of the Sixth Princess?”
Lin Zhaoye was taken aback.
He dropped his gaze, his fingers tracing unconscious lines on his palm.
Setting aside status… the Sixth Princess was lively and open-hearted, simple-minded, a bit spoiled but not malicious.
She was cute too—like a little oriole, chirping away all day.
“She’s… alright, I suppose…” he mumbled.
Lin Shuying smiled, sat back in her chair, and took a sip of tea: “Exactly. Status—it matters, but it also doesn’t. Our Lin family may not be nobles, but we’re immensely wealthy—we’re the court’s largest taxpayer. You may not hold an official title, but you’re skilled at managing the family business. If we really compare, you might not be unworthy of a princess after all.”
Lin Zhaoye looked up at her, his lips parting as if to speak, then dropping back down: “But will the Empress agree?”
“That depends on the Sixth Princess’s resolve.” Lin Shuying set down her teacup. “If she truly insists on marrying no one but you, the Empress—who dotes on her—might very well relent. Besides, you’re a commoner now, but that doesn’t mean you’ll always be one. If you do well in the spring examinations—even if you just pass the jinshi level—your standing will be completely different.”
“But I—”
“I know you’re not good at studying.” Lin Shuying cut him off, her tone unhurried. “But human effort can accomplish much. You still have three months—I’ll help you with your lessons.”
“You’ll help me?” Lin Zhaoye looked up, skepticism in his eyes. “You yourself—” He stopped mid-sentence, suddenly remembering his little sister’s essay on grain reserves.
Oh, right. Little Sister was actually quite learned—she just didn’t show it off.
He opened his mouth, swallowed the rest of his words, and slapped the table: “Fine! I’ll do it!” His palm struck the tabletop, reddening from the impact. “I’ll study!”
From that day on, Lin Zhaoye began an infernal exam preparation regimen.
Lin Shuying spent two hours each day tutoring him.
Not in the eight-legged essay—she wasn’t skilled at that either.
She taught him practical subjects: agricultural policy, grain transport, taxation, and people’s livelihoods.
These were common topics for policy essays and her strong suit.
She also taught him her own method of writing: how to establish a thesis, how to argue it, and how to use data to support his points.
Lin Zhaoye struggled—his brow often furrowed, his brush tip hovering over the paper without moving for long stretches.
But his progress was noticeable. He was naturally intelligent, just constrained by the rigid eight-legged essay format. Now that he had a new approach, he gradually began to find his footing.
When Sixth Princess Xiao Mingyan found out, she started coming even more often.
But she no longer pestered him to talk—she just sat quietly beside him.
When he turned pages, she turned pages too.
When he worked on policy essays, she cupped her chin and watched, occasionally getting up to pour a cup of tea and place it within his reach, without a word.
— —
Sometimes she would pester Lin Shuying to tell her farming anecdotes.
“Shuying,” Xiao Mingyan asked one day, unconsciously twisting the hem of her sleeve, “if I told Mother I want to marry your brother, do you think she’d agree?”
Lin Shuying thought for a moment, picking seeds one by one and placing them into seedling trays: “She might be upset, but she wouldn’t necessarily rule it out. But Your Highness, you need to think carefully about this—marriage is a big matter. My third brother is a good person, but he’s just an ordinary man.”
“I don’t care.” Xiao Mingyan’s voice was soft but firm.
She closed the book in her hands, her fingers tracing the cover twice. “The palace may look splendid, but it’s suffocating—so many rules, so much scheming. I just want to be like you—have my own estate, do whatever I want. So free.”
Lin Shuying looked up at her. This girl was usually a chatterbox, but in this quiet moment, there was a serious glint in her eyes. “Then you should talk to the Empress properly,” she said, lowering her gaze back to the seeds. “But don’t rush—take it slowly. Wait until my third brother’s spring exam results are out before bringing it up. That would be better.”
“Alright!”
— —
After the rumor storm completely subsided, the canteen’s business not only recovered but became even more prosperous than before.
The reputation of “the auspicious land” had spread, and even many people from the city made special trips to eat here.
A Li had also developed a new business—delivery.
For a small delivery fee, they would deliver canteen meals to people’s homes, convenient for wealthy households too lazy to go out.
Lin Shuying, however, didn’t let her guard down.
She had Wei Fuyu and Zhao Di’er tighten the estate’s defenses and enlisted Steward Zheng’s help to set up several hidden watch posts around the estate. General Wei readily agreed—after all, Lin Shuying’s supply prices to the city garrison were extremely favorable.
It was at this time that Yang Wanli arrived.
When Lin Shuying received him in the front hall, her heart stirred slightly, though her face showed nothing. She bowed in greeting.
“Master Yang.”
“Country Lady.” Yang Wanli returned the greeting with a warm smile, carrying a food box in his hand.
The two sat down in the front hall.
A Li served tea, then stepped back to the side, but her gaze never left Yang Wanli.
The young mistress had warned her: this man was deep—she needed to be on guard.
Yang Wanli opened the food box and set out several plates of pastries: “I heard you’ve been facing some trouble recently, Country Lady. My mother made these pastries—a small gesture of concern.”
“Thank you for your kindness, Master Yang.” Lin Shuying picked up her teacup, using it as a shield to study him briefly before setting it down. “They were just rumors—already resolved.”
“That’s good.” Yang Wanli looked at her, his gaze pausing on her face for a moment before shifting to the melon fields outside the window. “But Country Lady—tall trees catch the wind. Your estate is now famous, and naturally, many eyes are on it. In the future… you must be more careful.”
His words were sincere, catching Lin Shuying somewhat off guard.
She tightened her grip on the teacup slightly, then relaxed: “Master Yang… is that a warning?”
“Consider it friendly advice.” Yang Wanli lifted his cup, took a sip, and lowered his gaze to the tea leaves within. “I have some acquaintance with your brother Lin Moqian, and I’m also familiar with the Seventh Prince. It’s only proper that I should offer a word of caution.”
Their eyes met for a moment.
Yang Wanli’s gaze carried a hint of inquiry—as if trying to confirm something, or searching for something.
Lin Shuying didn’t look away, but she didn’t speak either, simply waiting in silence.
A Li stood to the side, her palms slick with sweat.
Yang Wanli paused, then continued: “With your talents, Country Lady, to be confined to this small corner of the world… it’s truly a waste.”
Lin Shuying’s heart jolted.
She hadn’t expected Yang Wanli to say that.
In this era, a woman’s talent was rarely seen as a good thing. Yet Yang Wanli had called it… a waste? She lowered her gaze, her finger tracing the rim of her cup: “You flatter me, Master Yang. I merely farm and run a small business—hardly any talent to speak of.”
Yang Wanli didn’t press further. He sat for a while longer, occasionally glancing outside, his gaze sweeping across the courtyard as if looking for someone.
Lin Shuying noticed his wandering eyes but didn’t ask.
After another moment, he rose to take his leave.
Lin Shuying walked him to the gate and stood there, watching his carriage recede into the distance, motionless for a long time.
A Li came over, hesitated, and asked softly: “Miss, Master Yang, he…”
Lin Shuying withdrew her gaze, turned, and walked back inside: “Go attend to your work.”
— —
That afternoon, Xiao Shengrui arrived, holding a thin booklet in his hand.
As soon as he entered, he said: “More fresh news.”
Lin Shuying took the booklet and flipped it open.
Inside were recent anecdotes from court and beyond: a minister’s cat had given birth to a litter of colorful kittens; in a certain place in Jiangnan, beans that could “dance” had appeared; and then—
Her gaze stopped on one line.
“Master Yang Wanli has been saying of late: The talent of the Jiahe Country Lady is rarely seen in this age; her insights on agricultural policy are so exquisite that even many senior officials at court cannot match them.”
Lin Shuying finished reading without any particular expression, flipping the page to the next entry.
Xiao Shengrui sat across from her, holding a teacup without drinking, his eyes fixed on her face: “Master Yang’s words have spread quite far,” he said, his tone deliberately neutral.
Lin Shuying closed the booklet, set it back on the table, and took a sip of her own tea: “He’s not wrong. My insights on agricultural policy are indeed better than those court officials who only know how to sift through old documents.”
Xiao Shengrui glanced at her, set down his cup, and curled his fingers a little awkwardly: “You’re not modest.”
“Just stating the facts.” Lin Shuying pushed the booklet back toward him and leaned back in her chair. “Besides, he was talking about ‘talent,’ not anything else. If I can’t even accept that much praise, then all these years of farming would have been for nothing.”
Xiao Shengrui didn’t respond. He tucked the booklet into his sleeve and was silent for a moment, eyes lowered.
“Still, the fact that he said that means he truly values you.” His voice was softer than before, though his tone remained even.
Lin Shuying looked at him.
The young man sat upright, his expression unchanged, but his fingers resting on his knees had curled slightly inward.
“Let him value me, then,” she said, as naturally as if commenting on the weather. “I can’t stop people from thinking what they want.”
Xiao Shengrui looked up at her: “Shuying,” he paused, “if someone proposed to you, what would you do?”
Lin Shuying set down her cup, rested her hands on the armrests, and thought for a moment: “That would depend on who it was. But I’d most likely refuse. My heart is set on the countryside—I have no interest in marriage.”
“What if that person was willing to farm with you?” Xiao Shengrui asked, his voice steady but his words coming slightly faster than usual. “Willing to grow melons with you, run a canteen with you, do everything you want to do. Would you consider it then?”
Lin Shuying met his eyes.
The young man didn’t look away—only the tips of his ears reddened slightly.
She knew exactly what he was asking.
Not unaware. Not uncomprehending.
“How old are you?” she suddenly asked.
Xiao Shengrui was taken aback: “Thirteen.”
“Thirteen.” Lin Shuying repeated, then nodded. “Come back when you’re sixteen.”
Xiao Shengrui opened his mouth, then closed it.
“I’m not rejecting you,” Lin Shuying said first, her tone calm. “I’m saying—it’s too early for you to be talking about this now. How much of the world have you seen? How many books have you read? How much statecraft have you handled? When you’re capable of standing on your own, come ask me this question again.”
Xiao Shengrui was silent for a while. He lowered his eyes, looked at the tassel on his jade pendant, and unconsciously rubbed it between his fingers.
“Alright,” he looked up, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “Then I’ll come ask again at sixteen.”
Lin Shuying nodded and didn’t continue the topic.
“The Listening Wind Pavilion has news of some more overseas melon seeds,” Xiao Shengrui said, brushing off his robe as if nothing had happened. “Some seeds are already on their way. Also, Father asked me—at the spring hunt, would you like to come with me?”
Lin Shuying thought for a moment, then nodded: “Alright.”
“Then it’s settled.” Xiao Shengrui stood. “I’ll introduce you to some friends then.” With that, he took his leave.
A Li walked in, saw her sitting there drinking tea, and couldn’t help but steal a few glances: “Miss, what did the Seventh Prince say to you? You were talking for so long.”
“Nothing much.” Lin Shuying set down her cup. “Just the spring hunt.”
“Oh, the spring hunt!” A Li’s eyes lit up. “Then we need to prepare properly! What will you wear, Miss? What jewelry? Should we have new clothes made?”
Lin Shuying, slightly annoyed by the barrage of questions, waved her hand: “Whatever.”
She stood up and walked to the window, looking at the newly built grape trellis in the courtyard.
Sunlight filtered through the tender leaves, scattering dappled shadows on the ground.
Thirteen.
She repeated the number silently in her mind, then shook her head.
Still just a child, really.
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