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Chapter 22 – Chapter 22 Didn’t Say a Word, Yet Expected Others…

Pitch-pot was Xu Yang’s strongest game since childhood. At the start of the game, she was full of fighting spirit, determined to win the night’s top score.

But tonight, she met her match.

The rules were to draw lots for teams—two people per group, scores added together each round, and only the top team wins. All losers had to drink.

Despite the randomness, Xu Yang ended up paired with Yuan Zheng again. Who knew what karmic tie was at work? Still, Yuan Zheng’s archery was excellent—just the ideal teammate she had in mind.

She sat beside him, interested, and looked around to find that Ju Chen had drawn lots with Xiao Shu and now sat across from her.

That must be some kind of karmic pottery fate…

Truth be told, the two sitting together were quite a pleasing sight. They didn’t say a word to each other, but somehow it didn’t seem awkward—almost like they matched.

Xu Yang quickly realized that Song Mi was formidable at pitch-pot and showed no mercy even though it was her birthday.

Ju Chen, normally terrible at archery, was surprisingly spared from drinking thanks to him.

Xu Yang couldn’t win a single round and grew increasingly frustrated. Eventually, she scowled, threw down her arrows, and protested to change the game.

The group was happy to oblige.

As a seasoned host from the Eastern Capital taverns, Lin Zongbai knew all the best party games. When Lu Feng asked if there were any new popular ones in the city, Lin thought for a moment, went downstairs, and ordered his attendant to fetch a brocade box from his carriage.

Being frequently invited to parties, his carriage was well stocked with entertaining props.

As the host, Xu Yang was the first to receive the brocade box, and her opinion was sought first.

Opening it, she found dozens of small silk pouches, each containing near-identical slips of paper.

Lin Zongbai explained: “This game is simple. It’s called ‘Catching the Ghost’ in the entertainment districts.”

“Each pouch contains several slips of paper. Only one is subtly different from the others.”

“Players take turns describing the word on their slip without saying it directly. Their statements must be both cryptic and hinting.”

“The person with the odd slip—the ‘ghost’—doesn’t know they are the ghost. They must figure it out through clues, and try to describe their word to blend in, all without giving themselves away.”

“You win by correctly identifying the ghost. If no one finds them, the ghost wins.”

Xu Yang laughed, “Sounds interesting.”

Lin Zongbai asked, “Shall we give it a try?”

She gave him a sidelong glance and smiled, “Sure,” then drew one pouch from the easier category.

“Let’s start with something simple. We’ve never played before.”

To prevent accidental peeking, the pitch-pot tables were separated for individual privacy.

Finally away from Song Mi, Ju Chen’s heart returned to calm—but not without a faint trace of sadness.

She hadn’t realized how conflicted she was, so she focused on her slip of paper.

Xu Yang was the first to speak, frowning as she read the word, then smiled: “Nobody likes this, right?”

Everyone exchanged knowing looks and chuckled.

Next, going clockwise:

“This always feels awful before you do it.”

“Waking up and remembering this, I wish I could rewind time.”

“Not having to do it every day is a joy.”

“It’s usually on a fixed schedule, sometimes not.”

…

Round after round passed—despite it being an easy set, they went five rounds without identifying the ghost.

Were their wits really being outdone by commoners at a tavern?

Finally, Song Yun said with visible pain, “I did it last year, haven’t done it this year.”

Everyone immediately turned toward him.

Song Yun blinked, confused. “What?”

Xu Yang pointed a slender finger at his nose. “It’s you.”

He looked shocked. “What? You’ve all done it already this year? It’s not even time yet!”

Groans erupted around the room.

Ju Chen chuckled at him, “I started right after spring.”

The two deputy ministers from the Court of Judicature wailed, “We do this almost every day!”

Seeing Song Yun’s bewilderment, Lin Zongbai laughed and announced the ghost had been caught—the villagers had won.

When they revealed the slips, Song Yun’s jaw dropped. Everyone else had “Morning Duty.” His said “Grave Visit.”

Lu Feng burst out laughing, “Wait—‘morning duty’ and ‘grave visit’? How did we not catch that sooner?”

“I seriously thought I was a villager!” Song Yun said, stunned.

The group booed him jokingly.

Having discovered the fun of the game, they excitedly launched into more rounds.

After three, Lin Zongbai smiled and said, “Let’s raise the difficulty.”

This time, Ju Chen drew a slip with two bold characters: “Like.”

She didn’t know she was the ghost—and luckily, she was last to describe her word.

As the game started, she listened carefully:

“It’s something that ends rationality.”

“The brain may heed advice, but this doesn’t.”

“Like the wind—you don’t need to see it to feel it.”

“It easily makes you lose yourself.”

“Once it appears, you can’t draw a clean ending.”

…

Ju Chen silently marveled. These poetic, obscure descriptions—these truly were students taught by Princess Xianning. Each line described her word perfectly, yet it was still hard to pinpoint.

Then came Song Mi, right before her. After a pause, he said:

“It’s something never mentioned, but always hoped someone else will bring up.”

Ju Chen froze, as if a drop of dew had fallen from a leaf into her chest.

His words were just as vague as the others—but would his “liking” truly remain unspoken?

She didn’t know him completely, but after years of silent rivalry, she understood his temperament.

Prince Pengshan wasn’t someone who avoided expressing his preferences. He liked what he liked, disliked what he didn’t. Yet there had been one thing—only one—that he hid entirely from beginning to end. No one knew until after he had passed.

Xu Yang nudged her to speak.

None of the others seemed suspicious of Song Mi’s phrasing. Ju Chen’s heart gave a painful tug.

After a moment, she smiled faintly: “It’s pure. And the only true purity in this world—is not thinking.”

She passed the round. She sensed her word was subtly different from the others’.

And so, she began paying even more attention to Song Mi’s clues.

Second round: “You can’t say when or where it began. By the time you noticed, you were already in too deep.”

Third round: “From that moment on, your joy and sorrow no longer belong to you.”

Fourth: “Your heart is tangled, but your mind is blank.”

Fifth: “You thought time would be the cure. You thought it was just passing rain. But after the rain, the marsh never returned to a flowing stream.”

Everyone around let out quiet gasps.

His words were so beautiful—so moving—that no one cared about catching the ghost anymore.

Even though Ju Chen won, she felt like she had lost—completely.

When the slips were revealed, Xu Yang saw Ju Chen’s word and exclaimed, “Ah—so it was ‘Secret Love’ and ‘Like’! No wonder we couldn’t tell. They’re practically the same.”

Ju Chen smiled faintly. Not that different?

Then why had she never realized it in her past life?

Was she just too slow—or was he too good at hiding?

If they weren’t different, how had she so clearly recognized the gap in that one phrase: “never mentioned, but always hoped others will bring up”?

Why did her heart feel like it was sinking in mud?

Her heart had long since become a marsh, trapped by this endless rain.

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Despite the fun, the game was mentally exhausting. After several rounds, everyone grew tired.

Xu Yang suggested a simpler game to rest their minds. On Lin Zongbai’s advice, they chose Passing the Flower with Drumbeats.

The rules were simple—whoever the flower landed on had to either perform a talent or answer a question.

Lin Zongbai had prepared everything—drum, flower, question pouches.

The game began.

Usually, Ju Chen would show off her skills—playing instruments, dancing, singing. She was good at all of it and preferred that over answering questions.

But tonight, for some reason—maybe because of a certain someone—she realized all her talents were surface-level. None had reached excellence.

So when the flower landed on her, everyone expected her to perform. But after a brief pause, she chose to answer a question.

Xu Yang blinked in surprise—only now realizing how proper Ju Chen’s posture was tonight. Sitting straight and neatly.

Lin Zongbai, hosting, opened the pouch and read aloud gently: “How do you distinguish between gratitude and love?”

Xu Yang laughed, “Wow, philosophical questions now?”

Lin Zongbai smiled, “Not all of them—but some might get awkward. No backing out!”

Xu Yang exclaimed, and the group murmured, secretly intrigued. Ju Chen had once been asked some truly intense questions.

Ju Chen thought for a moment, frowned slightly, and said, “Is there a need to distinguish? How many people in this world truly do you favors? Some acts of kindness alone are enough to fall for someone.”

Xu Yang laughed, “Sounds like Ah Chen is someone who would repay kindness with her heart.”

Ju Chen smirked back playfully, “And you wouldn’t?”

Xu Yang made a face, then seriously considered it. “Only if they saved my life.”

No wonder they were best friends.

They both agreed—few people would risk their lives for someone. This sparked a lively discussion.

From love vs. gratitude, to life-saving debts, the differences in perception between men and women were laid bare.

Lu Feng rejected his sister’s notion that one should marry the man who saved them from drowning, saying women should marry whom they love—not someone they met just once.

To support his point, he turned to Song Mi: “Zhengzhi, if you saved someone’s life with no thought of reward—you wouldn’t expect repayment, right?”

His voice was loud enough to draw everyone’s attention.

Song Mi traced the rim of his cup, paused, then smiled:

“If I’ve already given my life, would I care if she repaid me? I’d only hope she lives well.”

His tone was teasing, yet the words were like a naked sword—sharp and clear.

Who was it—knowing that sword was sharp—still let it cut through their heart?