If Fu Jing had previously been capable of handling anything with ease, with every matter flowing smoothly and effortlessly, he now found himself needing to carve out a separate space in his life to deal with Fu Sili.
After arriving at the Imperial Academy, both parties initially coexisted peacefully, neither interfering with the other. Only after several days did Fu Jing realize that this was not a matter of mutual non-interference; it was that Fu Sili was still angry and unwilling to speak.
He had secretly asked Li Xia to deliver meat porridge, a recipe he had specifically sought out. It was made by mincing beef into a paste, seasoned to remove the gamey taste, and paired with longan, red dates, and diced carrots to nourish Fu Sili’s body.
It was the only way he could trick Fu Sili into improving his health. However, when the meat porridge was placed on the table, Fu Sili did not even glance at it, turning his head to eat the pickled vegetables and steamed buns from the canteen with the others instead.
Fu Jing spoke to him twice, asking him to stay and eat, but the other party continued to head to the canteen with others. Fu Jing watched with cold eyes as the boy, who had finally begun to show some color in his cheeks, grew thin again. The displeasure in his heart deepened.
Fu Sili was not happy either.
Fu Sili was skilled at making friends, but the methods he used at the Imperial Academy were different from those he had used outside. His previous ability to make friends was learned from trailing behind others, influenced by the social graces of play and leisure over many years. But the Imperial Academy was strictly regulated; the teachers forbade indulging in play, and these scholars were proud, burying their heads in their books all day long.
Fu Sili understood none of this. Having spent his life running around, being able to recognize some characters and calculate good accounts in those circumstances was already quite an achievement.
In other words, if Fu Sili wanted to break into these people’s circles, his scholarship had to at least keep up; otherwise, he would be a figure of ridicule. Even if he truly had the desire to study at the Academy, attending lectures felt like trying to read braille.
He recognized the characters, but when put together, he had no idea what they meant.
As such, his days at the Imperial Academy were quite torturous.
Fu Jing, on the other hand, was in his element. Every time he walked down the path, people would greet him. Fu Sili saw this, and his heart was filled with knots. He would even take a detour if he saw him coming. They spent their days leaving early and returning late; although they lived under the same roof, they had not exchanged a single word.
“Where are Du Wensong and Fu Sili?”
A teaching assistant in green robes stood before the platform, holding two thin sheets of paper, his gaze sweeping downward.
Fu Sili was stunned, returning to his senses as he looked at the assistant.
The assistant slapped the table: “Stay behind after the lecture ends.”
Fu Sili’s face turned ashen; he tilted his head, wishing he could collapse on the spot.
When the lecture ended, the person staying behind with him was a youth of eighteen or nineteen, delicate and pretty, but with sleepy eyes.
Fu Sili took an extra look at him, then stood honestly before the assistant, his gaze falling subtly on the characters he had handed in.
The assistant was over fifty. He wrinkled his white eyebrows and said to Fu Sili, “My old eyes were not very clear even when I was young. After looking at your handwriting last night, my eyes have ached all night.”
The one beside him, named Du Wensong, suddenly woke from his stupor and leaned in to take a look.
The assistant continued, “This is my first time seeing characters that look like they have thorns. Have you never written before?”
The brush was a consumable tool, and Fu Sili had only encountered it while working as an accountant. His writing could only be described as good enough to be understood.
Fu Sili laughed embarrassedly, “The student will practice more upon returning.”
The assistant’s beard bristled with anger: “Did I tell you to laugh? How can you still laugh after writing such characters?”
Fu Sili: “…”
He lowered his head obediently, humbly asking for advice: “I will certainly practice diligently when I return.”
The assistant sighed deeply and pressed down on the paper Fu Sili had written: “Your older brother is Fu Jing. Do you not know to ask your brother for guidance?”
“In all my time at the Imperial Academy, I have never seen such ugly handwriting. It was because the assistant instructor trusted your brother Fu Jing so much that your entrance exam was waived. If you had shown this handwriting at the time, you would have been sent right back home.”
Fu Sili shifted his gaze silently, remaining quiet.
Given Fu Jing’s attitude back then, never mind showing his ugly handwriting, even if he were illiterate, Fu Jing would have found a way to get him into the Imperial Academy.
“Take back what you have written. Practice your calligraphy daily, and have your brother look at it.”
Fu Sili received the paper: “Yes, yes.”
After the assistant let him go, he turned to Du Wensong beside him.
This person was not very tall and was clearly a veteran troublemaker, navigating the assistant’s reprimands with ease. Fu Sili folded his paper, bowed to take his leave, and quickly ran off with his belongings.
The Imperial Academy canteen had fixed meal times. Fu Sili arrived late, and by the time he reached the front of the line, only corn buns remained. Seeing there was truly nothing else to eat, he took two buns and ate them on his way back.
“Brother Sili?”
Brother Sili? Why so intimate?
Fu Sili turned his head to see it was Du Wensong, who had stayed behind with him earlier. The man walked right up to Fu Sili’s side without hesitation, his expression friendly.
Are we familiar?
Fu Sili remained silent for a moment, assuming he was like the others—trying to use him to get closer to Fu Jing.
Du Wensong took a quick step to Fu Sili’s side, warmly leaning against his shoulder: “Such handwriting belongs only in the heavens; how often can one hear it in the human world? Brother Sili, upon seeing your writing, I was shocked! It is very unique; do not let the words of that old stubborn assistant hurt you.”
Fu Sili stopped in his tracks: “Does your conscience not hurt when you say such things?”
Du Wensong paused, looking at the corn bun in his hand, about to say something else, but Fu Sili interrupted him, walking away quickly and leaving behind one sentence: “Trying to get to know Fu Jing through me is a waste of effort.”
These scholars were shameless; they could say anything.
Fu Sili shook his head internally and ran all the way back to his courtyard.
Just then, the wooden door was pulled open from inside, and he came face-to-face with Fu Jing.
Fu Sili glanced at Fu Jing, stepped aside expressionlessly, and Fu Jing’s gaze swept over him before he retracted his sight and turned back into the room.
Fu Jing sat at the table in the main hall, watching as Fu Sili finished washing up in the side room and came in: “How have you been feeling lately?”
Fu Sili paused, his hand holding the curtain, then walked into his West Wing without a word.
Many times, Fu Jing did not understand Fu Sili’s thoughts. Just as when Fu Sili decided to stay but handed over the bracelet Ming Suye had left behind, it was like this now—there was no intention of a subtle reconciliation.
But had they not reconciled like this before?
Fu Sili entered the room and lit the lamp. He slowly unfolded his crumpled paper, looking at it under the light. The evaluation of “characters like thorns” echoed in his mind, and a sense of bitterness welled up in his heart.
He pressed his fingers against the curled edges of the paper, spread out a book, and carefully traced the characters.
The footsteps outside the curtain grew softer and softer. Fu Sili’s eyes began to blur as he practiced, and when he closed his eyes to rest, he heard rustling from next door.
Fu Sili opened his eyes in suspicion. Why was Fu Jing resting at this hour? Was he not usually someone who could stay up late?
He put down his brush, quietly stood up with his chair, and leaned his ear close to the wardrobe to eavesdrop. A moment later, he heard the creak of the bed rubbing against the floor next door, confirming that Fu Jing really was going to sleep.
Fu Sili was dazed for a while before he continued practicing his calligraphy.
After arriving at the Academy, in order to keep up with the progress, he poured all his focus into reading, working day and night.
Rustle, rustle.
Hearing the sound from behind him, Fu Sili frowned. He remembered the mice crawling on the windowsill in the middle of the night back in Yangzhou. Irritated, he opened his eyes—only then realizing he did not know when he had fallen asleep.
He felt guilty that he had drifted off like that. He turned his head and was so startled he jumped up from his chair: “What are you doing!”
The wooden table shook with a thud, and the oil lamp nearly toppled. Fu Jing moved quickly to steady it, turning his eyes toward the youth: “Did I wake you? I apologize.”
The man was dressed in a thin undergarment. Unlike his daytime clothes, it was tighter and more form-fitting, accentuating the superior proportions of his broad shoulders and long legs, as if he did not feel the winter chill at all.
Fu Sili did not feel the cold; he noticed he was draped in a dark outer robe: “Are you not sleeping? What are you doing in my room in the middle of the night!”
He thought he might have been hallucinating in the middle of the night, but when he noticed that the paper in Fu Jing’s hand was his own practice sheet, his blood surged. He snatched it back.
The paper was covered in red ink annotations—some were explanations, others were adjustments to his font.
Fu Sili was so angry that blood flushed his face. He said in disbelief, “Who told you to touch my things?”
Fu Jing said gently, “You returned late today. Were you kept behind by the assistant?”
Fu Sili took a deep breath, folded the paper in half, and tore it, crumpling it into a ball and tossing it away right in front of Fu Jing: “Get out.”
“Eldest Brother, the West Wing is where I am living now. Please do not just walk in.”
Fu Jing smiled: “You have been angry for days and still haven’t cooled off. It is late now; rest if you are sleepy. We shall talk tomorrow when there is time.”
Fu Sili watched him leave and suddenly called out: “No need.”
Fu Jing’s motion of pulling the curtain halted. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes seeming to narrow, and he said gently: “No need for what? Do you want to talk to me now?”
“There is nothing to talk about. Everyone is very busy. I hope you can find time in your busy schedule. If there is news about my mother, please let me know.”
Fu Jing’s hand tightened on the curtain, the bamboo slats emitting a brittle sound of strain. Fu Sili glanced at it and turned to tidy his desk.
A few breaths later, the bamboo curtain rattled behind him, and the person was gone.
Fu Sili put down his book.
He tidied his things and slipped into the cold bed, tossing and turning like a pancake. After a long while, he opened his eyes and cursed silently.
He threw off the quilt, climbed out of bed on tiptoe, and crawled on the floor to find the paper ball he had thrown out earlier.
…Breaking ties was one thing, but this piece of paper was filled with the power of knowledge.
Fu Sili crawled until he was covered in dust, holding the crumpled ball like a thief. He reached into his bed, smoothed the paper, lowered the sound, and snuck it under the candlelight to look at it.
Tsk, this handwriting.
The next day, just as Fu Sili had packed his things and was heading out, the gate was knocked on twice with a heavy thud.
He pulled back the curtain to find that Fu Jing had just emerged from the East Wing as well. He looked away and strode toward the gate with his things.
“Coming, coming.” Fu Sili opened the gate and saw it was Du Wensong, who had been punished with him the day before.
Du Wensong waved his hands, his voice loud: “Finally waited for you to come out. Let us go to the Justice Hall together.”
Seeing someone emerge from the courtyard behind Fu Sili, he realized it was Fu Jing’s residence and lowered his voice instinctively.
Fu Sili looked back at the courtyard. Du Wensong pulled him out, grabbed him, and ran.
Fu Sili was hungry and tired, his head spinning as he ran. Seeing he was about to be tripped by Du Wensong, he slapped his hand away and leaned panting against a jujube tree.
“Hey, hey. That is enough. Are we close enough for you to drag me along?”
Fu Sili waved his hand: “If you want to run, run by yourself.”
Du Wensong released him and smiled shamefacedly: “Apologies, apologies. I am just genuinely terrified of top students who study well, so I ended up dragging Brother Sili along with me.”
Fu Sili wiped the sweat from his forehead and, after catching his breath, continued walking. Du Wensong, however, remained persistent, filled with confusion: “Why has Fu Jing not left at this hour?”
“I heard people say he goes to the Shuaixing Hall before dawn, so our schedules never clash. That is why I came to find you.”
Fu Sili did not know what Fu Jing’s schedule used to be; he only knew that Fu Jing usually returned earlier than him and left later. But he had no time to think about such things, as he began to look toward the eaves of the canteen behind the rockery from afar.
“Hey, Brother Sili, you are going the wrong way. This is the road to the Justice Hall.”
Du Wensong kindly held him back.
Fu Sili: “I am going to eat.”
Du Wensong raised his eyebrows in surprise: “You have not eaten? You are in Fu Jing’s courtyard; did he not prepare a private meal for you?”
“I wanted to say something yesterday when I saw you eating canteen food…” Du Wensong took a package wrapped in oil paper from his sleeve and stuffed it into Fu Sili’s hand, whispering: “How about this? Why not come to my place in the future? I brought a servant who can bring food from my family estate.”
Fu Sili stepped back and looked him up and down.
“Although the food will only be cold, it just needs to be heated over a fire.”
“…”
The Imperial Academy had clear regulations strictly forbidding private cooking; this was a deliberate act of defiance.
Fu Sili opened the oil paper and found several jujube cakes—exquisite, lovely, and filled with the rich scent of red dates. Fu Sili pressed his lips together, feeling his mouth water: “If you want to know Fu Jing, it is not impossible. I will speak to him for you when I go back.”
Du Wensong looked bewildered: “Know who? Know Fu Jing? Why would I want to know him?”
“If you do not want to know Fu Jing, why are you walking so close to me?”
Du Wensong held back his frustration for a long while before saying: “…Can it not be because I get along with you? Once your handwriting is seen, you will be kept behind by the assistant instructor forever.”
Among the students who entered the Justice Hall with Du Wensong, all those who had not dropped out had moved on to the Cultivation Hall or the Honesty Hall. Two years later, Du Wensong remained alone in the Justice Hall.
Fu Sili had only been here for a few days, but he had already heard the famous name of this Du Wensong in the Justice Hall.
Fu Sili stared slightly.
Was this meant to humiliate him?
“Practicing calligraphy will not happen overnight. The teacher knows my writing is bad, so why would he keep me behind? I will just practice until it is good.”
Fu Sili felt embarrassed, then looked at the snacks Du Wensong had given him. He accepted them awkwardly, his expression softening toward Du Wensong, and he did not immediately stuff the tempting snacks into his mouth.
“Next time I come to the Academy, I will bring you snacks too.”
In the following days, Fu Sili was indeed kept behind by the assistant instructor—always with Du Wensong.
Fu Sili was puzzled. Since the assistant said the same thing every time, why keep them behind to be scolded? After a few times, he became calm. He and Du Wensong often returned to their quarters together, and he could be considered the first person he had truly befriended at the Academy.
On this day, after being scolded, Fu Sili saw Du Wensong’s face filled with a strange excitement. As soon as they left the door, he dragged him toward the courtyard.
When the gate was closed, Fu Sili scanned the items laid out in the courtyard and understood.
Charcoal brazier, wooden rack, bucket chicken, and a freshly plucked, washed pigeon.
“Bucket chicken is cold food, so I can see why you brought that, but how did you bring a pigeon?”
Lou Xiaobao was the study boy in Du Wensong’s courtyard. He was young with large eyes and a small face, and a slight stutter: “C-caught it. Caught it at noon. Used a s-slingshot.”
Fu Sili said in surprise: “That is impressive. I used to play with a slingshot, but I only shot cicadas in the trees because they were too noisy in the summer.”
“N-no, cicadas are small, you are i-impressive.”
“Cicadas do not move; a pigeon flies in the sky. You are the impressive one.”
Seeing them chatting, Du Wensong clapped his hands vigorously: “Hurry and roast the pigeon! I am dying of impatience! You two are just standing there talking.”
Fu Sili did not eat meat, but he could roast it. Whenever his mother didn’t want to cook, he was the one who did it. He took a look and went over to help prepare the ingredients.
Du Wensong covered his mouth with his sleeve: “My saliva is about to flow out. Hurry, hurry. One pigeon leg for me, one for Brother Sili, a pair of wings for Xiaobao, and the rest… will be mine.” He added, “You two can eat the bucket chicken as you please; no need to leave any for me.”
Fu Sili smiled: “I will pass. I do not eat meat; Brother Wensong, keep it for yourself.”
Du Wensong was incredulous: “You do not eat meat? You believe in Buddha? Even the monks in the temples eat it in secret!”
The matter of not eating meat was a long story.
Fu Sili nodded vaguely. Watching Lou Xiaobao burning the charcoal, he hesitated: “However, is there much smoke from roasting meat in the Imperial Academy? If the commotion is too big, it will be easy to be discovered, right?”
Du Wensong waved a hand: “It will not. If someone comes, we just hide the things. The charcoal brazier was already in the courtyard; it is fine.”
Fu Sili thought to himself that while they could hide the cookware, they could not hide the smell of roast pigeon on them. He then reflected that Du Wensong might have some spices to mask the scent. He set his mind at ease and helped tidy up.
Seeing that Lou Xiaobao was unfamiliar with roasting, Fu Sili stepped forward to take over. He timed it, and feeling it was just about right, he picked up the dagger on the side and gave it a gentle slice—the skin was crispy and the meat tender, golden and glistening with oil.
“Just about done.”
He turned his head. Du Wensong, who was possessed by a gluttonous ghost, trembled as he received it. He took a deep breath and pulled off a pigeon leg: “Fragrant!!”
“Too fragrant!”
“Master!”
Du Wensong exclaimed with passion. The moment the pigeon meat hit his mouth, he looked as if tears were about to fall, his face filled with worship.
Fu Sili looked at him with amusement and went to the wooden basin to wash his hands: “You two eat slowly; I should go back.”
Lou Xiaobao held out a towel: “L-leaving already?”
Du Wensong had his mouth stuffed with meat: “Hey, hey? I have some snacks in my room. Wait a moment; Xiaobao, go get them for Brother Sili, bring them all!”
Lou Xiaobao turned around nimbly. Fu Sili had not even wiped the water from his hands, rubbing them hastily on his robe: “No need, I am not hungry today!”
“Brother Sili, do not be polite with me. How can you roast this well if you do not eat meat…” Du Wensong sniffed, tore off a piece of tender meat, and handed it to Fu Sili: “Taste what you roasted yourself.”
“No need, no need…”
Fu Sili raised a hand to block him. The aroma of meat drilled into his nose, churning his stomach. He held his breath instinctively.
“Just one bite, Brother Sili, Brother Sili—”
Fu Sili felt dizzy and stumbled back a step. The large, wide sleeve of his Imperial Academy robe brushed against the charcoal brazier, burning a hole.
Lou Xiaobao came out of the room holding the snacks. Seeing Fu Sili on fire, he was so shocked that the snacks in his hand fell to the ground. He instinctively picked up the water scoop nearby to extinguish it. Du Wensong also saw it. Holding the pigeon in one hand, he swiped over with the other, screaming: “Fire! Fire!”
The master and servant rushed over. Not seeing each other, they collided. The water from the scoop splashed onto the ground, and one of them kicked over the charcoal brazier.
With several loud, crashing sounds, Fu Sili recovered from the discomfort and clapped his hands to extinguish the fire on his body. It took only a few moments.
Fu Sili looked at the two lying on the ground, his eyelids twitching: “You two…”
Knock, knock.
Knock, knock.
The courtyard gate was knocked on twice in a very restrained rhythm; each sound was even identical in volume.
Fu Sili: “…”
The two lying on the ground: “…”
Lou Xiaobao sprang up from the ground like a carp, snatched the pigeon from his master’s hand, and dragged the cookware away to hide it. Fu Sili picked up the water scoop, intending to douse the overturned brazier…
The two moved quickly, but no matter how fast they were, they were not as fast as the person pushing the gate from outside. The knocking had just sounded, followed immediately by the gate being pushed open.
Creak.
Fu Sili’s heart jumped with fear; he was so nervous that his stomach began to cramp.
Du Wensong let out two cries and lay peacefully on the ground with his eyes closed.
Knock, knock.
“Fu Sili.”
A low, pleasant voice came from behind, every word striking Fu Sili’s heart. His heart tightened, and he turned around to see Fu Jing standing outside the gate.
Fu Sili exhaled quietly, rubbed his outer robe with his fingers, and replied honestly: “Eldest Brother.”
Calling him Eldest Brother properly in public was definitely not because he felt guilty.
He lowered his head and flicked his sleeve at Du Wensong, who was lying on the ground: “Get up, get up. It’s one of our own.”
Du Wensong breathed a sigh of relief, supporting his waist as he reached out: “Oh, you scared me to death…” Fu Sili rolled up his sleeve and was about to help him up when a hand reached out from behind to grasp his arm.
Du Wensong went silent immediately. He retracted his outstretched hand and lay on the ground like a dead fish.
Fu Sili turned his head to look at Fu Jing. The man stood tall against the light; he could only vaguely see Fu Jing’s slightly lowered eyes.
Fu Jing pressed Fu Sili’s hand back inch by inch.
In the chaotic courtyard, several people had gathered intimately, eating, drinking, playing, and getting into trouble together.
Fu Jing deliberately reined in his gaze, but the information from the courtyard still squeezed in forcefully.
He noticed the worry in Fu Sili’s eyes for Du Wensong, an emotion that was very pure. He also saw the hole burned into Fu Sili’s robe by the fire.
The arm in his hand felt as if it were holding a wisp of air. Skin touched skin, and that strange, indescribable itchiness crept from his palm all the way to his heart. He was angry and enraged, feeling a senseless urge to break something, to grit his teeth and tear something apart.
He did not clench Fu Sili’s arm with force, yet even as the boy struggled, he made it difficult for him to break free.
He calmed himself for a few breaths, pulled Fu Sili to his side, and looked down at the person lying on the ground: “Young Master Du, the academic examiner is coming. I will take Fu Sili back first.”
As soon as Fu Sili heard that the academic examiner was coming to investigate, he wanted to tidy up the courtyard first, but Fu Jing rested his arm on his shoulder and pushed him out directly.
“Behave yourself.” Fu Jing smiled as he looked at the person struggling in his arms, then tilted his head and said to Du Wensong, who was climbing up from the ground: “As for today’s events, Young Master Du, just pretend that Sili was never here.”
Fu Sili: “…”