"You... you ca."
Seeing Li Chang’an again, Shui Bing’er couldn’t help sounding a little stiff. No matter how gifted she was, in front of this man she struggled to lift her gaze. She would never forget how he stood against the world to protect Xiao Wu in Spirit City.
"I gave my word, and I keep my word," Li Chang’an said evenly. "Co on—let’s go et this Northern King."
"W-wait. Could I... at least treat you to a al first?" Shui Bing’er pinched the hem of her dress, cheeks flushing.
"As thanks?" he asked, a little puzzled.
"Yes. You’re Spirit Hall’s Holy Son. I don’t know what gift would be worthy, so... I can only cook for you." She lowered her head, face rosy. The usually cool beauty, shy like this, had a different kind of charm.
"No need to fuss. Just promise yourself to —that’s enough," he teased.
"Ah?" Caught flat-footed, she had no idea how to respond.
"I’m kidding," he smiled. "Dinner is perfect." Hands in his pockets, he started forward.
Behind him, Shui Bing’er whispered to herself, "Actually... that may not be impossible." Then she hurried to catch up.
She didn’t choose a fancy restaurant. Too expensive, and she feared he wouldn’t like anything too cheap either. So she suggested the market—buy ingredients and cook at ho.
Li Chang’an approved. "My favorite."
The Heaven Dou City market was no ordinary bazaar. Even spirit masters shopped here for spirit beast cuts and rare ingredients. It was, after all, the capital’s marketplace.
"Auntie, how much for the scallions?" Shui Bing’er asked with practiced ease. Clearly, she was no stranger to grocery runs.
"Three copper soul coins a 500 gram," the vendor said, weighing as she spoke. "But you’re a pretty girl—three coins for 750 grams."
"Auntie, could you make it a little cheaper?" Bing’er asked, embarrassed. As a commoner spirit master, she saved where she could—cultivation only grew costlier.
"Cheaper? Look at your clothes, child. I’m up before dawn to make an honest living," the auntie scolded, half-jesting.
"Then... all right." She reached for her coins—only for Li Chang’an to gently stop her hand. He smiled at the vendor. "Auntie, the stall in East City sells scallions for two coins per 750 grams. Yours are a bit steep."
"And I know produce," he added lightly. "My family has land."
"Fine, fine. Two coins for a 750 grams. But don’t go to East City—co to next ti," the auntie huffed, but she adjusted the price and handed over the bag.
Only then did Li Chang’an release Bing’er’s hand and, taking two copper coins from her palm, pay the vendor.
"Let’s go," he said, giving her sleeve a gentle tug. She blinked, a little dazed; the suddenness of his touch had short-circuited her thoughts. Her first hand-hold—gone, just like that.
"Y-you..." she stamred, trailing after him.
"What about ?" He glanced back with a crooked grin. "Not bad at bargaining, right? And yes, we do have land—but it’s a farm. I’m not so lofty untouchable. You know my policies: Spirit Hall stands with the common folk."
"Why?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.
"Because I never want to see rulers tell a starving people: ’Why not eat minced at?’"
For once, his tone was solemn.
The words struck her like lightning. She stood frozen for three seconds, then hurried after him—her steps suddenly sure and steady.
They bought beef, mutton, greens, mushrooms, pork, chilies—and each ti, he haggled ruthlessly while she paid. It was her thank-you dinner; if he also footed the bill, that would be crossing a line.
With fruit and drinks added, they headed to her place.
Shui Bing’er lived in the western quarter, a typical commoner district. She and her half-sister Shui Yue’er had co to Heaven Dou City young, saved together, and bought a modest but decent ho—over one hundred square ters, two bedrooms and a living room.
Inside was warm and tidy, decorated in cool blues—simple, clean, and carefully arranged.
As soon as he stepped in, Li Chang’an caught a faint fragrance—subtle and fresh, the sa scent he noticed only when he stood close to Bing’er. He could only conclude: she had a natural body fragrance.
"My ho’s nothing like yours. Have a look around—I’ll start cooking," she said. She tied her hair back with a plain ribbon, slipped on an apron, and turned into the picture of a gentle neighborhood chef.
She poured him a glass of juice and went to the kitchen.
He walked the living room—spotless, everything in its place. The furniture was ordinary in material but exquisitely kept. He opened a bedroom door—an even lighter, cooler scent. Her room. Pale-blue sheets, an unmade quilt, a few clothes left out in a hurry. He shut the door at once—no need to risk a misunderstanding—and rolled up his sleeves for the kitchen.
"Let help—prep work at least," he said, taking the knife before she could protest and setting to work with quick, clean strokes.
"Th-thank you," she said softly.
The kitchen was small; their shoulders brushed as they moved. A stray, improbable thought flitted through Bing’er’s mind:
’So this is... what married life feels like?’
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