What does it feel like to like someone?
He lay staring at the canopy overhead, brow furrowed in thought — who could say? He didn’t even like himself; how could he possibly like someone else?
And yet now, here inside Chen Baoxiang’s body, he felt a strange sensation — something sour and bitter — and his heart was beating in an odd, irregular way, and his face was burning terribly hot.
What a complete mess. And it wasn’t even as quick and pleasant as the happiness she felt when she saw gold and silver.
Zhang Zhixu was deeply vexed. He turned onto his left side, then turned back onto his right.
The pale grey-white at the edge of the sky gradually brightened into the full blaze of midday.
Chen Baoxiang opened her eyes drowsily, yawning as she muttered: “Strange — I went to bed early enough last night. Why do I feel more worn out than if I’d been up all night stealing cattle?”
“Who knows,” the instigator said, somewhat guiltily. “Perhaps you’re not used to other people’s beds.”
“I’m not as finicky as that famously fussy young master of the Zhang Family they talk about — the one who has his own bed carted along whenever he travels, and can’t sleep without it.” She clicked her tongue and shook her head.
The famously finicky young master choked on his words and could not find a single thing to say back.
Chen Baoxiang sat down at the dressing table and became excited once again: “Great Immortal, look — everything she sent over is genuine Wanbao Tower merchandise!”
Zhang Zhixu looked at the hairpins and accessories and was puzzled: “Are there fake versions of such things?”
Chen Baoxiang guiltily glanced sideways at her own discarded pile.
Zhang Zhixu slanted his eyes toward it. He wasn’t looking to begin with, but the moment he looked, he couldn’t help but laugh despite his irritation: “You bought fakes?”
Seen individually they were not entirely obvious, but set beside the real things, her gold hairpins and ornamental combs were wrong in their make — and even their color was off.
“I have no money,” she muttered. “Wanbao Tower’s hairpins start at over ten taels. Why on earth would I spend that when I can get imitations for a few hundred coins?”
“If you don’t have any, you simply don’t wear them.”
“That won’t do at all — in this world, people judge you by the quality of your clothes first and your person second. If I dress plainly, how could I ever mingle with them?”
Zhang Zhixu pressed his hand to his temples and closed his eyes.
He had always most despised those who flattered the powerful and craved vanity — and yet somehow he had stumbled upon the finest example of the type.
“You’re hungry,” he reminded her.
Chen Baoxiang put on her last ornamental flower pin and gazed at her reflection in the mirror with great satisfaction: “A person of my kind of captivating beauty is no ordinary mortal — I can only be a celestial fairy. And celestial fairies do not need to eat.”
“Is it that you’ve run out of money?” he said, ruthlessly exposing the truth.
Chen Baoxiang’s face fell, and she deflated, poking listlessly at the things on the table: “I saved up for half a year — all told I had two thousand coins. And then it was learning to dance here and buying outfits there, and every last one of them is long gone.”
“Then pawn one of the Wanbao Tower accessories to buy food.”
“Absolutely not.” She immediately protectively covered the things on her head. “I only have one step ornament and two flower pins to begin with — it’s already embarrassingly little. Losing one more would be unseemly.”
“But Great Immortal, don’t worry — I have a way to fill my stomach.”