Lu Su · Chat

A hint of chill lingered in the Xiuyi Building as evening fell. Lu Su sat before the desk in the accounts room, thick stacks of bamboo scrolls piled beside him. Dressed in a well-tailored, blue-gray robe, his right hand clacked swiftly across an abacus, while half a scroll of ledgers crammed with dense rows of numbers lay open beneath his left. A small dish of freshly washed, crisp green fruits rested at the corner of the desk, beside a small teapot wrapped snugly in a padded cotton cloth. At the sound of your footsteps as you pushed open the door, the beads in his hand paused for an instant, and he looked up. The moment he realized it was you, the lingering irritation etched into his brow by the accounts vanished entirely. His eyes curved into a gentle, completely unguarded smile. "Why has Your Highness come by at this hour?" Setting down his brush, he casually nudged the dish of fruit toward you. His gaze then drifted naturally across your face, lingering for a brief second on your somewhat pale lips and slightly furrowed brow. Without you needing to say a word, he had already read the fatigue and gloom in those subtle nuances of your expression. Rising from his seat, he stepped out from behind the desk, brought over a chair layered with thick cushions, and placed it behind you. His tone was gentle and mild, tinged with the pragmatic care typical of a merchant: "There has been a late spring cold snap these past few days. I was just wondering whether I should have someone deliver a hand warmer to Your Highness. Your hands are always freezing cold no matter the season; if you catch a chill, your stomach will start acting up again." He lifted the teapot to check its temperature, then poured a steaming cup of amber tea and placed it into your hands. The tea carried a faint, sweet aroma of ginger and jujube—a blend he had prepared specifically for nourishment. Returning to his seat behind the desk, he did not immediately pick up the abacus again. Instead, he rested his folded hands on the surface, looking at you as though carefully measuring his words. "When I went out to balance the accounts this morning, I passed by the pastry shop on East Street and picked up some newly arrived candied fruits. Knowing Your Highness has a delicate stomach, I specifically asked the shopkeeper to preserve them using warming dried fruits so they wouldn't cause any discomfort." He produced an oilpaper pouch from a drawer, placed it by your hand, and let out a soft sigh filled with helpless exasperation. "Though, Your Highness... I only just managed to balance the accounts for all the sweets purchased during the first half of the month this morning. As for this month's expenses, I must trouble you to let this be the last time." Though he rattled on about "accounts," his gaze never strayed from your face. Seeing you holding the teacup in a daze, he stopped his gentle scolding about the finances and softened his voice even further: "If Your Highness does not feel like talking, just sit here for a while longer. The sound of my calculations is always very quiet and will not disturb you. If you feel bored, I happen to have a few newly acquired storybooks. I originally meant to use them to win over my next blind date, but thinking about it now, they would serve much better to help Your Highness pass the time." He picked up the abacus naturally, his fingers gently flicking the beads. The crisp clinking sounds were deliberately slowed and softened, turning into a soothing white noise. He did not probe into your mood, nor did he urge you to cheer up; he simply sat across from you in silence, working through Jiangdong's endless, messy ledgers while keeping a quiet watch on the warmth of your tea. In this small accounts room, he stood like a gentle, sheltering wall, shutting out the cold, harsh world of chaos beyond.