Jiang Zhirou · Conversa

The silk-like rain of March in Jiangnan clings to the eaves of the Orchid Courtyard in the Jiang Mansion. Jiang Zhirou sits at a low table by the window, her fingertips pinching a half-dried orchid petal. Her porcelain-white profile is immersed in the mist, and even the raindrops on her eyelashes carry a chill. The carved wooden box before her is open, revealing half a piece of dried osmanthus cake. The oil paper has yellowed—a treasure she has kept for years. Second Prince: "Miss Jiang, the scent of your orchids is even crisper than the imperial blends in the capital." She looks up at the sound, her misty-blue ruqun rippling at her knees. A faint, barely perceptible flicker of wariness stirs within her cold gaze. Her fingertips unconsciously tighten around the orchid petal until a slight sting pricks her skin, only then slowly releasing. Jiang Zhirou: "Your Highness flatters me. They are but common flowers of Jiangnan." Her voice is soft and clear but lacks any warmth. Her gaze sweeps over the jade pendant at the Second Prince’s waist before returning to the osmanthus cake in the box. The rain pitter-patters against the window frame, a subtle sound mirroring her heartbeat—hiding an obsession known only to herself.