Just as Duan Jin was brooding, a sudden flash of inspiration struck him.

Wait—eggs themselves might not make a suitable gift, but something made from eggs might just work.

“A cake,” he muttered to himself, his eyes growing brighter and brighter.

The prince had seen every kind of delicacy in the palace, but he had never encountered anything created in later generations. Considering how much the prince usually enjoyed all kinds of pastries, he already had an idea.

Just then, Liu Cheng walked in carrying a fresh pot of tea. Hearing those two words, he looked completely bewildered. “Your Highness, what kind of cake are you talking about? Do you want some pastries?” Duan Jin stared at Liu Cheng. “Do you know if there’s a baker in our county who makes flatbread?”

“Of course,” Liu Cheng replied, startled by the sudden question. “The man who sells naan at the east end of the street—his flatbread is incredibly crispy.”

“Not flatbread,” Duan Jin rubbed his hands together, as if something had ignited within him, “I’m talking about baking a kind of… a kind of extremely soft, fluffy, cloud-like. It needs milk, eggs, flour, sugar, and something that can be whipped into a froth…”

“Where on earth would he make that?” Liu Cheng exclaimed. “Even if he’s the Prince’s chef, he probably couldn’t whip up a pastry like that!” He’d never even heard of such a thing.

He seriously doubted that even the Emperor himself had ever tasted such a pastry.

Duan Jin knew full well how absurd this request was, but once he had made up his mind, there was no turning back.

That very afternoon, he changed into his civilian clothes, tucked a few taels of loose silver into his pocket, and plunged headlong into the county town’s most bustling East Street. First, he went to see Old Man Liu, the cattle farmer.

Old Man Liu’s cow had just given birth, and the milk was usually reserved for the calf. After much persuasion, Duan Jin managed to buy three pounds of fresh milk for two cash.

“What on earth do you need this for?” Old Man Liu asked curiously as he milked the cow.

“To make something to eat,” Duan Jin replied earnestly as he placed the wooden bucket under the cow’s belly. A few drops of milk splashed onto his cuff, but he didn’t have time to wipe them off. Next came the sugar.

Duan Jin had to visit three different general stores before he found a packet of top-quality rock sugar—snow-white in color, with fine grains, and absurdly expensive.

It cost eighty wen per catty, and Duan Jin gritted his teeth as he handed over the money.

Flour and eggs were easy to come by; Aunt Wang had plenty of eggs. As for the flour, he had specifically bought the finest, most refined flour—made from newly harvested wheat—from the shop, which had been sifted three times and felt as smooth as silk to the touch.

The biggest problem was—he had no oven.

Duan Jin pored over the county annals and sought advice from a master pastry chef who had spent his entire life baking in the county seat. Finally, he drew up a blueprint and hired a craftsman to build a half-height vertical oven.

The furnace wasn’t large, but it was stoked with charcoal at both the top and bottom, and the furnace door was fitted with a hinged panel to regulate the heat, ensuring the heat was distributed evenly. By the time everything was ready, three days had passed.

He had been leaving early and returning late these past few days, and Xiao Yunqing assumed he was busy with official duties, so he didn’t dare disturb him too much. Whenever there was something delicious to eat, he had his own attendant send a portion over to him.

This made Duan Jin feel even more ashamed.

However, things weren’t going as smoothly as he’d imagined.

Now, his makeshift kitchen was piled high with discarded dough and charred experimental creations.

In his first attempt, he added lemon juice while the milk was boiling, causing it to curdle into a cheese-like consistency; when baked, it turned out as hard as a brick. The second time, he didn’t beat the eggs enough, so the batter didn’t rise, and the result was a flat, lifeless pancake.

The third time, he used too little sugar, and the result was bland.

The fourth time, the heat was too high, leaving the outside charred while the inside remained raw.

Duan Jin crouched in front of the stove, staring at the failed batch, his face covered in soot and dust, with dark circles under his eyes. He gave a wry smile and was just about to toss the failed batch away when a voice suddenly came from behind him. “What is this?”

He spun around. The young prince had appeared at the kitchen doorway at some point and was now tilting his head to look at him.

“N-nothing.” Duan Jin frantically hid the item behind his back. “Your Highness, I was just tinkering with some… some things unfit for polite company. Your Highness, please return to your chambers. The kitchen is full of grease fumes…”

Xiao Yunqing didn’t leave; instead, he took two steps forward, leaned in to examine the charred remains in his hand, then glanced at the soot on his face, and suddenly smiled.

His smile was truly charming, with his eyes crinkling at the corners. Duan Jin was so captivated that he even forgot to hide the items.

“You’re baking,” Xiao Yunqing said with certainty, his gaze resting on the neatly arranged eggshells, flour, and powdered sugar on the cutting board. These were common ingredients for pastries, but looking around the entire county office, who else would love pastries enough to have the county magistrate roll up his sleeves and do the work himself?

The corners of his mouth turned up in a pleased smile. “A birthday gift?”

Duan Jin opened his mouth, unsure how to respond. Deciding to just go with the flow, he nodded honestly: “Yes. This humble servant wanted to try making a cake from a foreign land, but my skills are lacking, and I’ve tried several times without success.”

Xiao Yunqing fell silent for a moment, then suddenly rolled up his sleeves.

“Wait, Your Highness, you’re of royal blood…” 

Xiao Yunqing waved his hand dismissively. “You weren’t this long-winded before.”

Duan Jin said no more, but just as he was about to finish, he suddenly realized where the problem lay.

The order was wrong.

He carefully recalled the modern method for making cakes; it seemed one was supposed to beat the egg whites and yolks separately before combining them at the end. That night, Xiao Yunqing spent a full hour in the kitchen.

He helped Duan Jin crack a few eggs—though he wasn’t very skilled at it, and eggshell fragments fell into the bowl twice—and then helped stir the batter, getting several splatters on his clothes.

As Duan Jin taught him, he stole glances at his focused profile. They didn’t succeed that night.

But on the second and third days, the young prince came to the kitchen every day to “help,” ending up with flour all over his hands and soot smudged across his face.

Facing one failed batch after another, the two would laugh in frustration, then fall silent—and in that silence, something seemed to be quietly taking root. On the fifth day, the evening before the prince’s birthday.

Duan Jin placed the last batch of batter into the oven, closed the door, and sat on a small stool to wait.

Xiao Yunqing sat beside him, their shoulders touching, a fist’s width between them.

“Duan Jin…” Xiao Yunqing suddenly spoke. This time, he didn’t call him “Scholar Duan” as he usually did. “Hmm?”

“Why are you so kind to me?”

Duan Jin froze, turning to look at him.

Xiao Yunqing, however, wasn’t looking at him. He stared at the oven door, his expression calm, though there was a barely perceptible tremor in his voice.

“…This humble subject is a local official, while Your Highness is of royal blood.” Duan Jin chose his words carefully. “It is this official’s duty to treat Your Highness well.”

“It is not a duty,” Xiao Yunqing interrupted him.

The air suddenly grew very still; even the cicadas, usually so noisy, had fallen silent. Duan Jin could hear his own heartbeat—thump, thump, thump—each beat heavier than the last.

“Your humble servant…” Duan Jin’s throat went dry, and he couldn’t bring himself to say a word.

Xiao Yunqing no longer pressed him for an answer; instead, he shifted his body slightly, his shoulder gently brushing against Duan Jin’s.

The distance of that contact had vanished.

Duan Jin froze, not daring to move a muscle.

Just then, a rich, sweet, milky aroma wafted from the oven—more intense and alluring than ever before. The two stood up at the same time, nearly bumping into each other.

Duan Jin frantically pulled open the oven door and carefully carried out the baking sheet, using a thick cloth as a pad.

The golden, plump cake trembled slightly on the tray, its aroma of milk and eggs intertwining to fill the entire room.

“Did it work?” Xiao Yunqing’s voice had changed.

Duan Jin cut a small slice, placed it on a small plate, and handed it to him.

Xiao Yunqing blew on it to cool it down, took a bite, and froze in place.

“How is it?” Duan Jin asked nervously.

Xiao Yunqing chewed, swallowed, took another bite, his cheeks puffing out as he mumbled, “Delicious.”

It was just one simple word, but to Duan Jin, it sounded better than anything else in the world.

Standing by the stove, he watched the young prince finish the small piece of cake. The joy in his heart rose like rising dough, swelling until it felt as though it might overflow from his chest.

Just then, the night watchman passed by the county office, beating his wooden block. It was midnight.

“Your Highness, happy birthday,” Duan Jin said with a smile. “Tomorrow, I’ll bake another cake for you—one even better than this.”

Xiao Yunqing licked the crumbs from the corner of his mouth and looked up at him. “You said it. Don’t go back on your word.”

Duan Jin slept for three hours. As soon as dawn broke, he rose.

He bought the freshest milk from Old Man Liu and boiled it to pasteurize it. He also prepared the fresh ingredients he had purchased at the market and the docks.

By the time everything was ready, it was already noon.

Looking at the blazing sun outside, Duan Jin let out a long sigh. He had worked as quickly as possible, but it seemed he still wouldn’t make it in time for the luncheon. Today, Duan Jin strictly forbade the young prince from entering the kitchen.

Xiao Yunqing was filled with anticipation, curiosity, speculation, and inner conflict all at once.

What on earth did that mean?

On one hand, he was kind to him, making him wonder about this and that.

Yet he hesitated to say a single word that would reveal his true feelings, causing him to wonder from time to time if he had misinterpreted his intentions.

“Sigh!”

The young prince let out a deep, wistful sigh.

Eunuch Liu heard the sound, looked up, and felt his heart suddenly skip a beat. The prince looked just like one of those noble young ladies in the palace, waiting anxiously for the emperor. Could it be that he’s just fallen in love for the first time?

Eunuch Liu racked his brain, racking his brains, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t think of a single virtuous young lady in this godforsaken place who could make the Prince so preoccupied.

For dinner, Duan Jin prepared six dishes.

The first course was steamed perch. The fish had been bought fresh that very morning at the dock—still wriggling with life, its scales glistening silver.

Duan Jin scored the fish with a crisscross pattern, stuffed the cavity with ginger slices and scallions, and steamed it until tender. When it was done, he drained the fishy liquid that had seeped out, replaced it with fresh ginger slices and scallion leaves, and poured a spoonful of scalding hot oil over the top. With a sizzle, the aroma of ginger and scallions burst forth.

The second dish was osmanthus glutinous rice lotus root. Glutinous rice soaked overnight was stuffed into the holes of the lotus root, the openings sealed, and the whole thing simmered over low heat with brown sugar and dried osmanthus blossoms for over an hour. After cooling, it was sliced and drizzled with a sweet osmanthus sauce.

Next came scallion-braised sea cucumber, stir-fried seasonal vegetables, and chicken soup with radish. The final dish—and the most difficult to prepare—was candied yam. The yam was cut into irregular chunks and deep-fried until golden brown, while sugar was simmered in a separate pot.

Getting the timing right is extremely difficult—if you stop too early, the sugar won’t form threads; if you wait too long, it will turn bitter.

Duan Jin tried three times before finally, on the fourth attempt, producing a pot of amber-colored syrup. He poured the fried yam into it and quickly tossed it, coating each piece with an even layer of sugar.

Liu Cheng stood by his side, assisting him. Seeing him working up a sweat, he couldn’t help but mutter, “Sir, are you preparing a birthday gift or the Full Manchu Banquet?”

Duan Jin didn’t answer; he simply said, “Keep an eye on the heat.”

By the time the dishes were served one by one onto the large table in the inner hall, it was already dark.

Today, the young prince wore a long robe of red brocade woven with gold thread; the fabric reflected a deep golden sheen in the candlelight. It was not a garish red, but a cinnabar-red satin achieved through repeated dyeing.

From their first meeting until now, the young prince had never dressed so flamboyantly. Yet Duan Jin felt that this color suited him perfectly.