THE NEXT DAY -
The palace kitchen looked like the aftermath of a tiny (and very noisy) storm. Flour floated in lazy clouds, spoons lay scattered like defeated soldiers, and Xiaoxi stood in the middle of it all, face smeared with white and a wooden spoon clutched like a trophy.
Xiaoxi slammed the spoon on the counter. "Why will this dumpling not stay round? It keeps turning into a sad pancake!"
At that exact moment Haoran stepped into the doorway, arms folded, expression trying very hard to be intimidating and failing spectacularly.
Haoran: "What are you doing — cooking, or starting a war with the kitchen?"
Xiaoxi spun, flour puffing around her. "What do you know? You only ever order people around! If you're so clever, do it yourself."
Haoran's response came with a small, arrogant smile. "Who said I can't? My cooking is better than half the palace chefs. I'll show you."
He rolled up his sleeves and started working with calm, precise movements. Xiaoxi watched him — for reasons she refused to admit, his focused face made her heart thud in a curious way.
Haoran (noticing): "Stop staring. I'm teaching you to cook, not to admire me."
Xiaoxi (mischief dancing in her eyes): "Oh, sure. You're handsome and brave and—"
Before he could finish his dramatic self-praise, Xiaoxi grabbed a handful of flour and pressed it playfully onto his cheek.
Haoran: "You—!"
The chase was instantaneous: the Crown Prince after a giggling princess, feet slipping on flour, laughter and shouted apologies flying. In a tumble of movement, Haoran lunged and in the scramble his flour-coated cheek landed right on Xiaoxi's face. For a breathless moment they stood frozen, faces inches apart, white and ridiculous and oddly intimate.
"Fine," Haoran muttered, voice half-smile, "you're impossible."
They were both about to laugh when a soft voice floated in from the doorway.
"Haoran…"
Both turned. Standing there was a woman wrapped in gentle grace — the kind of person who seemed to make the air calmer just by being present. She smiled like sunlight slipping through leaves.
Before Haoran could form a proper sentence, Xiaoxi — flour still on her cheeks, eyes wide and prickly with curiosity — shoved herself forward.
Xiaoxi (blunt): "Who is she?"
There was a small, perfectly timed pause, and then the lady stepped forward with a warm, composed tone.
Mingzhu (softly): "I am his childhood friend. My name is Mingzhu."
Xiaoxi blinked. Mingzhu's voice was gentle and kind; her presence felt effortless and calm, which made Xiaoxi's chest tighten in a way she didn't like.
Mingzhu's gaze then slipped to Haoran with a little question in it.
Mingzhu: "Haoran, have you visited the palace hall today? Have you met your family?"
Haoran (pleasant, softened): "Not yet. I was… practicing here. Did you come to the palace already?"
Mingzhu (smiling): "No. I heard your voice from the courtyard and wanted to see you first."
She then turned her attention to Xiaoxi with the same composed curiosity.
Mingzhu (politely): "And… who is this girl?"
Haoran hesitated for the first time that morning; his expression grew complicated, like a fold in silk.
Haoran: "It's a long story. I can't really explain it here."
He gave Xiaoxi a look that was quick and apologetic, then extended his arm toward Mingzhu.
Haoran: "Come — let's go inside and meet everyone."
Mingzhu nodded, offering Xiaoxi a gentle, polite smile as she linked arms with Haoran. Her smile had none of the teasing spark Xiaoxi was used to seeing from others — instead it was calm, familiar, as if two people sharing a secret language of small gestures.
Xiaoxi stood in the kitchen, flour warming on her skin, watching Haoran move with Mingzhu as if he'd slipped into a different rhythm — softer words, kinder posture, a tone she had never heard reserved for her. Her chest swelled in a mix of confusion and something very much like jealousy.
Xiaoxi (under her breath): "With me, he's a frog Prince who shouts… but with her he's a gentle breeze? Really?"
She scuffed the floor with the toe of her slipper and stomped toward the basin to try and wash the flour off, but the sting of the sight stayed with her. Mingzhu's hand brushed Haoran's sleeve as they walked; he smiled in reply, gentle as a bell. Xiaoxi's mouth set into a determined little line.
Xiaoxi (muttering to herself): "Okay. Fine. If she's 'childhood friend,' then I shall be… childhood rival. Team Chaos activates. Watch me."
The kitchen, a few moments ago battlefield and dance floor, settled back into its regular, less romantic rhythm — but for Xiaoxi, something new and troublesome had been planted: a rival with a soft voice and polite smiles.