Wen Zhi was finally hauled out like a discarded rag.
Bruises mottled her arms and face, all hidden beneath a long coat. It was nearly summer—her choice of clothing was odd enough to draw suspicion. But Qi Siran had already scoped things out. Madam Qi had stayed holed up in the study on the second floor, so Qi Siran had taken advantage of the lull and ordered the servants to carry Wen Zhi off and send her home.
After she’d vented her anger, Qi Siran sat at the bedside with a cold, narrowed stare. Her investigation needed to change. She had to find the real Qi heiress at all costs; otherwise her own position could be threatened at any moment.
Meanwhile, Wen Yin finally enjoyed a rare calm afternoon at the dessert shop. Li Xiangwei had invited her over early; Wen Yin drove straight to the hotel. The front desk staff, used to her face, escorted her with polite deference to Li Xiangwei’s office.
It was only two in the afternoon, and Xiangwei hadn’t eaten. Wen Yin glanced at her hunched over a pile of files and sat on the sofa opposite.
“You buried in work?” she asked.
“Not exactly—just a new project file came in and I needed to glance through it.” Xiangwei barely looked up before returning to the paperwork. “Have you eaten yet? If not, we can grab something.”
Wen Yin nodded. She’d snatched a couple of pastries between customers earlier, nothing substantial. Seeing Xiangwei hadn’t eaten either, she kept quiet and picked up a book on the side table, not wanting to interrupt.
Half an hour later Xiangwei finally set the file down. Wen Yin stood.
“What do you feel like?” she asked.
Xiangwei rose to stretch; she’d been sitting for a while. “Anything. You choose.”
They walked side by side toward the kitchen. “Let’s see what they’re making back there and just pick something,” Xiangwei said, shrugging. She didn’t know what she wanted either.
Wen Yin grinned. “So the house special is 'random eating,' huh?”
Xiangwei couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at her mouth. They’d been friends long enough to trade barbs like that.
They ordered a couple of dishes on a whim. When they’d finished, Chef Li came out, his face clouded with worry. In his hands he carried a simple plate of pickled vegetables—one of his pride-and-joy dishes—but he looked anything but proud.
“Chef Li, is it the same again?” Xiangwei asked at once, alarmed.
At those words Chef Li practically rushed over, relief showing that someone might finally take action. “That gentleman hardly ate anything today,” he said. The worry in his voice made the air tense.
Xiangwei’s smile faded. She looked down at the little plate as if it could tell her something. “It seems his loss of appetite is getting worse,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Find out what he’s been eating lately and make a whole table around that—try to tempt him.”
She let out a long, helpless sigh. The problem was getting worse by the day. On one level, she worried for Old Master Shao’s health—she truly didn’t want to see an elderly man suffer. On another, the Shao family weren’t people you wanted to offend. If they failed to take good care of him, a hundred Li Hotels wouldn’t be enough to make amends.
Chef Li nodded briskly. There wasn’t much choice; they would do as the general manager asked.
Wen Yin, who’d been listening, looked puzzled. Once the kitchen was quieter and just the two of them remained, she leaned forward. “What’s the story? Is this the same old gentleman I helped before?”
Xiangwei’s eyes brightened at the mention. “You’re right—I almost forgot, because it was ages ago…but yes.” She lowered her voice. “His loss of appetite started years back after an illness, and it’s been stubborn. Lately it’s been getting worse.”
Wen Yin thought of the kind, lively old man she’d met before, now reduced and tormented by his inability to eat. Her heart tugged. “So you’re saying it worked last time? He ate the dish you made?”
Xiangwei’s face took on a hopeful look. “Last time he hardly touched anything except the one dish you made. Maybe your taste suited him—could you try again?”
Wen Yin didn’t hesitate. She agreed, and they went back into the kitchen.
Xiangwei waved Chef Li off the stove. “Chef, hold on. Let Yin have a turn.”
Chef Li, who’d been briefed earlier, understood and stepped aside without a word.
Wen Yin began prepping. Xiangwei watched, curious. “What are you going to make? Keep it quick—Old Master Shao’s waiting.”
Wen Yin nodded. “Then I’ll make something simple: a clear broth noodle.”
One of the junior cooks, who’d been watching, couldn’t help but speak up, a trace of awkwardness in his tone. “Teacher Wen, forgive me for saying—last time, my master’s clear-broth noodles were set out untouched.”