“Did you wash your feet?”
By this point, Wang Chao had already stepped into the Cool Pavilion, past the screen. He froze in place, staring at Wang Cang Hai, whose cool, slightly furrowed brows framed a face of unparalleled beauty.
Wang Chao had never felt so utterly humiliated. With a reverent heart akin to a pilgrim meeting his god, he had finally laid eyes on the man he idolized. Yet that god, as pristine and transparent as ice, was now looking at him with distaste, repulsed by the idea of his filthy, sweaty feet sullying the clean, orderly grass mat beneath them.
Wang Chao felt as if his very soul had fled his body in that instant, leaving him rooted to the spot, incapable of movement.
Wan San, however, seemed completely unfazed. He walked closer to Wang Cang Hai, leaned in slightly, and scrutinized his face with exaggerated curiosity. “How are you so pale? It’s been two whole years in the desert—why hasn’t the sun here darkened or ruined your skin?”
Wang Cang Hai glanced at the sweat dripping from Wan San’s temples and replied with his usual indifference, “You should wash your face, too.”
Wan San misunderstood and asked, “Washing my face will make me paler? Should I use milk or fragrant soap?”
Wang Cang Hai turned his head away, unwilling to waste any more energy on explaining. He had already exceeded his daily allowance for pointless conversations with fools.
Moments later, Pipa returned, leading two servants who carried sets of washing supplies: copper basins, clean water, soap pods, and cloth towels.
Wan San, looking at the arrangement, couldn’t help but laugh in both frustration and amusement. “I’m not washing my feet! Wang Cang Hai, don’t push your luck!”
Still leaning lazily on the chaise, Wang Cang Hai half-closed his eyes as if he were genuinely tired, paying no attention to the protest.
Wang Chao, meanwhile, slumped his head, sat on the low stool, and obediently washed his feet without saying a word.
Soon after, Xia Xia approached with two more servants, each carrying a tray. One tray held two fine cotton facial towels, while the other bore two pairs of silver-white satin socks.
With a polite smile, Xia Xia addressed Wan San, “Young Master Wan, please apply this to your face. The towel is infused with white peony flower essence and seaweed gel. It helps to whiten and soften the skin.”
Wan San, intrigued, took a towel and began rubbing it roughly over his sweaty face, grumbling, “Why do Wang Cang Hai’s maids talk so eloquently? It’s just wiping your face—why call it ‘applying a facial mask’? So pretentious.”
Wang Chao, having finished washing his feet, put on the clean new socks and then picked up the other towel. Following Xia Xia’s instructions, he gently pressed it to his face, carefully “applying the mask.”
Wang Cang Hai turned to look at Wang Chao and said, “You there, the messenger. You’re quite obedient. What’s your name?”
Startled, Wang Chao realized Wang Cang Hai was speaking to him. Nervous, his voice trembled as he replied, “Y-Young Master… my name is Wang Chao. I’m the second son of Wang Liang. I used to tend horses in the outer courtyard, but later—”
“Oh.” Wang Cang Hai cut him off with a single dismissive syllable, paused briefly, and then asked, “The letter?”
Wang Chao quickly retrieved a waterproof oil-paper package from inside his tunic. Unwrapping it layer by layer, he revealed a small water buffalo leather envelope. After opening it, he pulled out a letter sealed with wax. The leather pouch also contained a few dried flowers, likely added to keep the letter fresh and fragrant.
He’s quite meticulous, Wang Cang Hai thought to himself.
Xia Xia stepped forward, took the letter with both hands, and handed it to Wang Cang Hai.
The young master didn’t even bother opening it. He tossed it onto the small table next to him and turned to Wan San. “You came running here in such a hurry. What’s the matter?”
0 Comments