After Yan Xiurong put all the clothes into the wooden basin, she saw the drying rack Ci Mang had chopped apart and sighed softly.
Uncle Qi had built all these things for her. How would she know how to make them herself?
"Miss Yan," Xia Qianhui suddenly called.
Yan Xiurong turned, looking surprised. "Why are you still here?"
"Let me fix this for you. I'm sorry for causing you so much trouble. If you won't let me do something for you, my conscience won't rest easy."
For some reason, when Xia Qianhui spoke of doing something for her, his heart began pounding wildly.
Yan Xiurong shook her head. "You're an imperial prince. How would you know how to do these things?"
"I work in the Mess Hall at the Death Warrior Camp. I've been doing odd jobs there lately-chopping wood, carrying water, cooking, repairing things, all that rough work. And I'm pretty good at it. This rack of yours is nothing."
As Xia Qianhui spoke of this, his eyes brightened slightly.
Without waiting for Yan Xiurong to refuse again, he strode over to her, picked up the wooden rack lying on the ground, and sized it up before saying with a smile, "Easy."
Yan Xiurong felt too embarrassed to say anything more. She could only nod. "Sorry for the trouble, then."
She returned to the wooden basin, sat on the steps, and washed the clothes with the well water Xia Qianhui had carried up.
A gentle breeze swept into the quiet courtyard, carrying the fragrance of the flowers blooming there.
The man and woman bustled about the little courtyard, each tending to their own work without speaking.
As the breeze passed, Yan Xiurong lifted her head slightly and wiped the fine sweat from her brow, inadvertently catching sight of the