For Lu Huan, his birthday was merely one of countless cold and desolate days — nothing special about it.
No one in Prince Ning’s manor would remember it; even the Fourth Concubine had never cared. Today, when Lu Huan went to deliver medicine, the Fourth Concubine clutched her illegitimate daughter, weeping with gratitude as she thanked him again and again — yet she didn’t recall that today was his birthday.
Her forgetfulness was only natural. Prince Ning had long since forbidden anyone in the household from mentioning Lu Huan’s birth date and eight characters. Even if she had remembered, there was nothing she could have done for him.
So, Lu Huan simply treated it as if the day didn’t exist.
After all, if not for the capital’s streets being bright with lanterns every year on this date to celebrate the Crown Prince’s birthday, he himself would likely have forgotten long ago.
Birthday.
The two characters sheng chen — Lu Huan only knew them from reading books, and from watching the Crown Prince’s birthday celebration or Lu Yuan’s grand birthday banquets.
Every year during Lu Yuan’s birthday feast, the manor was bustling with excitement; even the kitchens were endlessly busy.
The Lady of Prince Ning’s household would specially prepare two things for her legitimate eldest son, Lu Yuan.
One was longevity noodles — a single unbroken noodle folded into a full bowl; after eating, he would drink the soup, symbolizing a long and prosperous life.
The other was a longevity peach bun, its top dyed red with paper, to ward off misfortune.
And at that same time, Lu Huan could only stand with the servants beneath the dark, cold courtyard wall, waiting to receive a small reward.
No one had ever remembered his birthday. He had long grown used to that. So he never imagined that one day, after returning from wind and snow, he would see —
quietly resting on the stove — a bowl of longevity noodles.
In the faint remaining firelight of the stove, the noodles in the bowl were long and glistening, the broth thick and fragrant. A soft-boiled egg lay on top, its red-white color nearly overflowing, sprinkled with chopped scallions and steaming hot.
…It looked almost unreal.
Lu Huan’s throat tightened.
He walked forward without thinking, slowly picking up the bowl of noodles. Warmth spread instantly through his palms, making the corner of his brow twitch slightly — it wasn’t a dream!
But… were these longevity noodles truly made for him?
…How could anyone remember his birthday…
…How could anyone celebrate it for him… how could anyone offer him such kindness on purpose?
What was their purpose… what did they want from him…?
Lu Huan’s heart was in turmoil. He forced his unsteady breathing to calm down.
Yet as he held tightly to this first bowl of longevity noodles he had ever received in his life, he couldn’t help but clutch it even tighter — feeling the heat seep into his cold hands — unable to put it down for a long time.
After a while, he took a deep breath and forced himself to steady his mind.
Lifting his gaze around the kitchen, he froze slightly.
Just now, when he saw the rabbit lantern under the eaves and this bowl of longevity noodles, he’d been too shocked to notice —but now he did.
The messy pile of firewood he’d left in the corner of the kitchen days ago — a tripping hazard — had somehow been neatly stacked.
And the soot and grime on the stove that he hadn’t cleaned because of his recent illness — all scrubbed away. Even the pots and bowls were spotless, stacked neatly together.
The whole kitchen had been tidied by someone. Food ingredients were strung up and hung along the wall — it almost looked no worse than Prince Ning’s main kitchen.
As if sensing something, Lu Huan, still holding the bowl of noodles, turned to walk out.
He took down the rabbit lantern swaying under the eaves, lifted it in his palm, and walked through the courtyard.
Only then did he notice — at some point, the outer edge of the bamboo grove had been trimmed; the branches that might have tripped him were gone.
Near the chicken coop, there was now a small shelter against the cold. He hadn’t noticed this morning when he’d left in a hurry.
Someone had done all this, quietly, in secret.
Besides that—
Holding the lantern and carrying the bowl of noodles, Lu Huan returned to his room, trying to find more traces of the person who had been there. Sure enough—when he opened the wardrobe, he found that his robe had been mended.
The stitches were fine and dense; animal hide had been neatly sewn onto the original cloth, making it look especially warm. It seemed the person had noticed his earlier, failed attempt to patch it, and had quietly finished the task for him.
Lu Huan’s dark lashes trembled lightly.
One thing after another—why?
Making a bowl of noodles was no easy task, and hanging up the rabbit lantern felt like an intentional act of kindness. Beyond that, this person had been so attentive—tidying the kitchen, trimming the bamboo grove, repairing his robe—doing so much for him.
It was the first time in his life anyone had treated him this way.
He sat down at the table, emotions surging and tangled within him. With his sleeve, he carefully wiped the rabbit lantern clean, studied the vividly painted grazing rabbit for a moment, and then gently set it down by the table.
He placed the longevity noodles before him, picked up his chopsticks, and stared at them for a long while. The rising steam brushed across his face—warm and soft, almost tenderly real.
This kind of goodness was something he had never once received.
In all his life, he had never encountered such fortune.
Though he could not begin to understand the person’s intent—why they would give him these things, why they never showed themselves, why they had yet to reveal any desire to take something in return.
Was it mockery? Or something else?
Would it only be after he was fully ensnared that they would finally bare the blade?
…But even so, for him—for these fourteen cold and lonely years—this single bowl of noodles still held immense meaning.
So this time, he could not, as he had before, coldly pour the longevity noodles into the stable trough.
He gazed at the bowl, then—as always—pulled a silver needle from his sleeve to test for poison once more—
No poison.
Seeing no change on the needle’s tip, his face remained impassive, but in the depths of his dark eyes, faint light flickered.
Cradling the bowl in his hands, he slowly lowered his head, drank a mouthful of soup, then lifted a strand of noodles with his chopsticks and finally took a bite.
Warmth flowed into his stomach, and the light in his eyes shimmered, rippling faintly.
───♡───
Outside the screen, Su Xi had no idea how complicated and turbulent the little game character’s emotions were.
From her perspective, her Zai Zai was simply stunned in the kitchen!
Then he went outside—only to be stunned again by the changes in the bamboo grove and chicken coop!
Back inside the room—he was stunned yet again by the mended fur-lined robe—!
Whenever he was stunned, the whole screen froze—his tiny figure standing still with clenched fists, utterly at a loss!
Su Xi: Pffthahaha I’m dying, this is too cute!
Then she saw her Zai Zai sit at the table.
This time, although he still cautiously tested for poison with the silver needle, unlike last time with the preserved pork and mustard greens, this time—he finally ate it.
On-screen, the tiny figure held a bowl as big as his head, slurping noodles in small mouthfuls—his little bun face puffing up round and full.
He ate so happily!
Su Xi let out a prairie-dog scream in her heart—Aaaahhh this game character is way too cute!
───♡───
Outside the firewood hut, the wind and snow howled endlessly. Inside, a single yellow rabbit lantern glowed faintly.
The door wasn’t closed. The small figure sat alone at the table, cradling a bowl of longevity noodles in his hands, quietly eating.
Outside the screen, Su Xi rested her chin in her palms as she watched, unable to resist taking a screenshot.
An unexpected sense of fulfillment rose in her heart.
That satisfaction didn’t come merely from seeing her little one go from being bullied by servants to finally having his own courtyard, able to wear warm clothes and eat his fill—
though that sense of progress from nothing to something certainly made her happy too.
What truly drew her in was watching, with her own eyes, how the once-defensive, bristling little hedgehog of a boy was now, little by little, beginning to uncurl—and showing, at last, the faintest hint of trust toward her.
Her nose stung slightly.
Of course, her little hedgehog still had countless worries, countless walls. His soft belly would never be so easily rua-ed.
But Su Xi wasn’t in a hurry. There was time—plenty of it. She could keep playing this game for as long as she wanted.
…She thought, because of this one-of-a-kind game character, she was completely addicted.
───♡───
After finishing the longevity noodles, Lu Huan went to inspect the newly modified chicken coop. He had to admit—the improvements made in secret by that person truly worked. The coop was warmer now, and the chickens were visibly livelier.
Then Lu Huan returned indoors and quietly marked the date in his mind.
He had a faint feeling there was a pattern to that person’s appearances. Every time, it seemed to be once every two days and one night, and always when he was either asleep or away from the courtyard.
In other words, the other party clearly did not wish to meet him face-to-face.
Lu Huan stared at the now-empty bowl of noodles. He brought it back into his room and placed it by the bed. He knew all too well that he was far too passive in this.
The other appeared and disappeared at will, while he knew nothing about them—not their identity, not their precise timing, nor how they could come and go within Prince Ning’s manor without disturbing a single trace of the traps and marks he had laid.
That person was truly mysterious.
But no matter what, he had to find out who it was.
Not only because ignorance of their identity and motives made him uneasy, but also because this very passivity itself made him feel endangered.
And more than that—because tonight, he had received from that person a bowl of longevity noodles that he would remember for the rest of his life.
In his empty, lonely existence, it was the first act of kindness he had ever been given.
He wanted to know who that person was.
He wanted to see them.
No matter what their purpose, no matter their status—if they meant to use or toy with him, then he would…
Lu Huan’s brow twitched faintly.
In the silent night, he clenched the warm, newly sewn robe in his hands.
Suddenly, he turned over and got out of bed, dressed only in a thin inner garment. He walked to the desk, spread out paper, ink, and brush, and wrote a few words:
——“Who are you?”
Who was it that had suddenly broken into the stagnant pool of his life?
When he finished, he blew the ink dry, then pressed the paper down with the inkstone so it wouldn’t be blown away by the wind.
Lifting his gaze toward the endless darkness and swirling snow outside the window, his expression, under the flickering candlelight, was shadowed and unreadable.
He couldn’t be sure whether, when that person came again, they would see it—
