Drinking Tea and Your Needlework Is Said to Be Excellent

Inside the carriage, Nolan Dongling—Ninth Royal Uncle—was a little different from usual. He seemed less cold and rigid, more relaxed; less distant, and more human.

Gone was his usual strictness and maturity. Nolan half-reclined on the small couch, hair falling loosely over his chest, long lashes gently fluttering—radiating a lazy, effortless ease.

Serena Feng had seen this version of Ninth Royal Uncle before, but every time she did, her heart would start racing. She’d feel awkward, not knowing where to put her hands and feet; if she didn’t know medicine, she might have thought she was ill.

The phrase ‘a feast for the eyes’ wasn’t just for women—men could be just as striking. William Wang Jinling, for instance, or Nolan Dongling. Facing such eye candy, especially when it was someone she secretly liked, staying calm was nearly impossible.

Serena half-squatted at the carriage door, steadying her nerves before finally closing it. She hesitated, unsure whether to sit or kneel, when Nolan spoke: “Sit.”

“Thank you, Ninth Royal Uncle, for permitting me to sit.” Serena’s words were respectful, but she didn’t just perch on the edge of the seat out of politeness.

Nolan’s carriage was spacious, almost like a small room, but no matter how large, it was still a carriage. If you didn’t sit properly, a single bump could make you look ridiculous.

Last time, she’d already embarrassed herself once—Nolan had joked that she was throwing herself into his arms. She absolutely would not make the same mistake twice. Swooning was one thing, but losing face twice in front of the same person was out of the question.

Once Serena was seated securely, the carriage resumed its journey. The carriage’s shock absorption was superb, and with smooth roads, she could barely feel any jolting.

Nolan set his book down by his feet, straightened up, pulled out a low table, and took a tea set and a packet of tea leaves from a hidden compartment.

What was Nolan doing—having tea in the carriage?

Serena looked puzzled, but since Nolan didn’t speak, she had no idea how to start. She quickly glanced at his calm face, then lowered her eyes to watch him make tea.

She had to admit, when a beautiful person did anything, it looked beautiful. Maybe ‘beautiful’ wasn’t quite the right word for Nolan, but he was, without a doubt, a stunning man.

Nolan seemed to know a lot about tea ceremony. ‘Seemed’ because Serena herself knew nothing about it. No matter how well she faked it, she was no proper ancient noblewoman—zither, chess, calligraphy, painting, poetry, wine, tea; except for wine, she didn’t understand any of it.

She watched as he handled the tea set again and again, finding it novel and fascinating—before she knew it, she was completely absorbed.

Soon, the carriage was filled with the scent of tea. Serena closed her eyes and quietly breathed it in, instantly feeling refreshed.

“Pre‑Rain Snow Mist Tea. Try it.” Nolan handed Serena the first cup, and she was caught off guard by the gesture.

The teacup was so small that their fingers inevitably touched—warm tea, cool fingertips. Serena’s heart skipped a beat. Before she could steady the cup, she hurriedly pulled her hand back.

“Careful.” The cup nearly fell, but Nolan reacted quickly, catching it and grabbing Serena’s hand, placing the cup firmly in her palm. “Don’t waste my tea.”

His tone was soft, with a barely perceptible hint of tenderness.

"Yes." Serena accepted the tea with both hands, carefully avoiding any physical contact with Nolan.

Sure, during those days when she was injured, Nolan had held her, hugged her, even kissed her—but that was at night, and she’d been a helpless patient. In broad daylight, Serena really didn’t want to get too close.

Full of thoughts, Serena drained the tea in one gulp, inwardly wondering—wasn’t Nolan supposed to be a germaphobe, not liking physical contact? So what was his deal with her?

He acted like she was special, but then kept his distance; and yet, she was the only woman who’d ever gotten this close to him.

Serena found it all maddening. She couldn’t figure out Nolan’s heart, and he didn’t seem interested in making things clear for her.

Such a tiny cup of tea—hardly enough to quench her thirst. As for its flavor, Serena couldn’t taste anything special; she was a commoner, after all, with no understanding of tea.

After finishing, she set the cup aside and waited as Nolan slowly savored his tea. The carriage was quiet, the tea fragrance soothing, and Serena gradually let go of her worries.

Nolan set his cup down. “How do you find the tea?”

He was asking her? That was barely a question. Serena replied, perfectly proper, “Of course, Ninth Royal Uncle’s tea must be excellent!”

“I thought you couldn’t tell, but it seems you do know this tea is excellent.” Nolan was clearly mocking Serena’s peasant-like gulping. She wasn’t bothered; she answered cheerfully, “You’re absolutely right, Ninth Royal Uncle. I don’t know how to appreciate tea. I drink it like a cow chewing peonies—wasting good tea for nothing.”

“At least you’re self-aware. This Pre‑Rain Snow Mist Tea—there’s only about three jin produced in the entire Nine Provinces Realm each year. Letting you drink it really is a waste.” Though his words were full of sarcasm, coming from Nolan they didn’t sting; his cold, slow tone lacked its usual authority, sounding almost lazy.

Serena truly couldn’t figure out what this lord was playing at. Following the principle of ‘less said, fewer mistakes,’ she obediently kept quiet.

Serena said nothing, but Nolan, for once, was talkative: “Serena Feng, you drank my tea. Shouldn’t you give me something in return?”

It sounded like a question, but he gave Serena no chance to refuse. His deep eyes stared straight at her, clearly saying: If you dare say no, you’re in trouble.

Return something?

Serena was stunned. The words she’d meant to say died in her throat under Nolan’s gaze, and inside she wailed…

Ugh, she hadn’t even wanted to drink this tea—couldn’t she just spit it back out?

Under Nolan’s intimidating presence, Serena could only swallow her complaints. “How does Ninth Royal Uncle want me to repay him?”

Like a magician, Nolan produced an old embroidered purse from nowhere. “I’ve heard your needlework is excellent. This sachet of mine is torn—mend it for me.”

(End of this chapter. Please click next page to continue reading!)

With that, Nolan tossed the purse into Serena’s arms. She hadn’t even processed his words before she fumbled to catch it.

She nearly fainted—how was she supposed to know embroidery? Well, her stitching skills were good, but only for sewing flesh. She was about to refuse, but as soon as she said, “Ninth Royal Uncle…,” Nolan cut her off: “Don’t move.”

His serious tone and focused expression startled Serena, and she sat frozen, not daring to budge.

Nolan leaned in, inch by inch, drawing closer…

Serena’s eyes grew wide as Nolan’s handsome face loomed larger and larger. For a moment, she didn’t know how to react. Her hands clutched the purse tightly; she wanted to push him away, but her arms wouldn’t obey.

The faint scent of bamboo replaced the tea aroma between them. They were so close, only a strand of hair apart. Their breaths mingled; Serena could feel the warmth of Nolan’s exhale. She swallowed nervously, even her breathing turning cautious.

Thump, thump, thump… Serena could almost hear her own thunderous heartbeat. Her mouth went dry; she shifted uneasily, but with Nolan right in front of her, she didn’t dare move.

This was nothing like nighttime—then, there’d been no lights, and though they’d been close, darkness hid everything. Plus, she’d been injured and distracted by pain, not thinking about anything else.

Now, in the cramped carriage, Nolan was so close the atmosphere turned undeniably intimate. Serena wanted to break the spell, but she was powerless to do so…

Faced with Nolan’s relentless approach, she could only ask silently in her heart: Ninth Royal Uncle, what are you trying to do? Whatever it is, can you just get it over with? You’re making me nervous…