His Grave Mistake, My Second Life - Chapter 9

Helian Yi’s words-“If there is anything you want, tell me, I will get it all for you”-were not an empty promise made in the heat of the moment.

He had heard from somewhere that noble ladies from the Central Plains could not get through the winter without a delicate hand warmer.

And so, a few days later, a… gigantic, brass… “hand warmer” that looked more like a small brazier appeared on my table. The charcoal inside was burning fiercely, radiating heat. The maids were trying their best not to laugh, and even the usually stern old palace matron’s lips were twitching.

Helian Yi himself, however, was completely oblivious, looking at me with an expression that was practically begging for praise. “This one is warm enough! The craftsmen of the Southern Kingdom worked through the night to make it. It’s much more effective than those little trinkets from the Central Plains!”

Looking at the “warmer,” which required two maids to lift, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. But my heart was filled with a gentle warmth. I took his hand, my fingertips brushing over a small red mark, likely from a burn he got while supervising the work. “My King, you have gone to great trouble. It is very warm, and I like it very much.”

The tips of his ears turned slightly red. “As long as you like it,” he said gruffly.

I, too, did not remain idle.

I redoubled my efforts to learn the language of the Southern Kingdom. From my initial stumbling attempts, I could now converse fluently with the maids and palace staff, and could even understand parts of the discussions in the royal court.

I began to try expressing simple concerns to Helian Yi in his native tongue. “My King, the wind and snow are heavy today. Please have a bowl of hot soup when you return from your meeting.”

Every time he heard me, a light would flicker in his eyes. Though he would only grunt in response, he always drank the soup much faster.

Helian Yi’s way of showing happiness was even more direct.

He sent riders on a thousand-mile journey to a town on the border of the Jing Kingdom to buy what were said to be the most authentic Central Plains pastries. When the exquisite box was delivered to me, the pastries inside had been shaken and frozen into an unrecognizable mess. The frosting and fillings were all mixed together.

Helian Yi stared at the box of “pastry mush,” his thick brows furrowed, his eagle eyes full of frustration and displeasure, as if he had just lost a battle.

But I couldn’t bear to disappoint him. I used a small silver spoon to taste a little, my eyes curving into crescents. “My King, though the pastries have lost their shape, their flavor is still here. It’s the taste of home. I am very happy.”

He stared at me for a long time, making sure I wasn’t just comforting him, before grunting, “Next time, I’ll tell them to ride faster!”

Later, through some method I never learned, he actually managed to have the pastries delivered in a relatively intact state.

Watching me take small, satisfied bites, a pleased curve finally appeared on his stern lips.