Bai Yaoyao was positively animated, saying they were going purely for the visual enjoyment. Seeing more beautiful things, she claimed, was good for one’s health and broadened the mind—so one wouldn’t be so easily duped by a sweet tongue in the future.

Bai Qingqing was amused into laughter, and true to her word, she accompanied Yaoyao to the poetry gathering the next day.

In her past life, Bai Qingqing had seldom attended such events. She’d thought them dull—or perhaps, she’d simply believed no one could compare to Fu Yi. But now, standing there, she realized how narrow-minded she’d been.

“So many people?”

Stepping down from the carriage, Bai Qingqing was taken aback. It seemed half the young men and women of Xuancheng had gathered here. Everywhere she looked was vibrant youthfulness—it truly was a feast for the eyes.

“We’re not early or late. Look, it hasn’t even started yet,” Bai Yaoyao said, pulling her along. “The best part of a poetry gathering is watching the various young talents show off their skills. Even if you don’t understand everything, you’ll still be impressed.”

The grounds, aside from the central arena for poetry, had been decorated with remarkable elegance—refined and delicate, a perfect match for the atmosphere of cultured young ladies and gentlemen. Just walking through it made one feel more learned.

Bai Qingqing found it delightful. When Yuan Yin and others came to chat with Yaoyao, she let her go. “I’ll stroll around on my own. Go enjoy yourself.”

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To Bai Qingqing, even wandering aimlessly in this place was fresh and intriguing. She let her steps guide her without aim, only to hear voices ahead. She was just about to step aside politely when she recognized the voices—three people, all familiar.

“Miss Mo, please don’t misunderstand. Aunt asked Cousin to take me out for a walk. Did I interrupt your conversation with him? I don’t even know where to go in this unfamiliar place. Please, just pretend I’m not here—I won’t bother you two.”

Such soft, considerate words. If she were that cousin, Bai Qingqing thought, she might also feel moved by such gentleness. But she doubted Mo Kexin saw it that way.

Impatience already clouded Mo Kexin’s expression. “I didn’t mean to speak to you in the first place. What is there for you to interrupt?”

She turned directly to Fu Yi. “Tell me this—is it true what they’re saying? That you and your cousin are in love?”

Lu Qingyun’s face paled slightly, her eyes turning misty in an instant. “How could a young lady speak so freely of such things?”

Mo Kexin raised an eyebrow. “Why not? If it’s mutual affection, why the secrecy? What’s the shame in it?”

Behind the tree, Bai Qingqing covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. Mo Kexin’s bluntness hadn’t changed. She’d seen it before, in her past life—back then, despite the Mo family arranging a marriage between her and Fu Yi’s elder brother, Mo Kexin had openly declared her affection for Fu Yi instead.

If one set aside prejudice, Bai Qingqing actually admired that kind of temperament.

But Lu Qingyun, it seemed, did not. Her delicate face had gone crimson, and though she wanted to say something, Fu Yi’s presence kept her tongue tied. Her expressive eyes turned toward him, full of anxious, veiled emotion.

Fu Yi didn’t notice. To him, Mo Kexin had always been a strange one. What well-bred girl, with a marriage in the works, would behave with such flagrant disregard for propriety?

He hadn’t paid her much attention in his past life either, though his mother often mentioned her—a reckless girl, she’d said, but one who had unexpectedly pleased her. Meant to be Fu Xiao’s fiancée, yet she’d boldly professed admiration for Fu Yi instead. His mother had been utterly delighted.