【01 · Ancient Texts】

The belt of a thin trench coat was cinched tight, drawing the wearer a few steps closer. Zhou Tan lowered his eyes to look at Qu You, who had leaned in close to tie the bow for him, and said gently, “A gentleman does not trim his robes with dark blue or maroon, nor wear red or purple for everyday clothing… In summer, when wearing single-layer linen, one must always wear an outer garment over it.”

Qu You looked up, entirely earnest. “Wearing an outer robe in the height of summer—as long as you’re not hot, I certainly don’t mind.”

Having finished tying the bow, she suddenly noticed the hairpin at the top of his head was crooked, so she reached up to fix it for him.

Zhou Tan bowed his head slightly toward her, an intimate gesture.

“Today… take me to get my hair cut.”

Qu You looked a little surprised. “What made you suddenly come around to it?”

Zhou Tan reached up and touched her hair, which now fell just past her shoulders, black and smooth.

The reason he’d said that just now was because he’d suddenly remembered the previous evening—when he’d opened the door and seen Qu You standing on the balcony.

The warm evening breeze had tousled her hair, unadorned by any pin, into gentle disarray, still touched with the dusky glow of the setting sun. Hearing movement behind her, she’d turned to look, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes crinkled into a smile.

In that moment, he’d suddenly felt that no elaborately styled coiffure, no midnight incense of sandalwood, could compare to how beautiful she was then.

Zhou Tan thought it over for a long moment before finally settling on the right word to describe how he’d felt. “You looked… beautifully unrestrained.”

Qu You was thoroughly delighted. “That’s a remarkably precise compliment.”

After a pause, she added, “Oh, but there’s no time today—you clearly didn’t check the note I stuck on the fridge again.”

Zhou Tan caught himself. “I did check it. Um… aren’t we visiting your mother today?”

Qu You pressed her lips together, smiling. “That’s tomorrow. Today, I’m taking you somewhere.”

D University was a comprehensive institution covering many fields of study, and its library was enormous. Qu You, familiar with the route, led Zhou Tan straight up the elevator to the mezzanine on the seventh floor where the rare books were kept.

On a quiet weekend afternoon, with few people around, the two of them ducked through a small staircase at the end of the seventh floor and climbed up to the mezzanine, where the world became nearly silent.

Not a single person was in the rare books room, and the windows were small. Zhou Tan sniffed and frowned slightly. Qu You, noticing this subtle expression, found it rather amusing. “That’s the smell of old books.”

He raised his eyes to look around.

Rows upon rows of bookshelves stretched before them, meticulously catalogued and arranged by historical dynasty, vast as an ocean, imposing and magnificent. Even though he had once frequented the imperial archives, he still couldn’t help but feel awed by the sight.

Qu You didn’t even bother checking the computer catalog, simply pulling him past five rows of shelves to the left. Coming back to himself, he realized the fifth row on the left held the History of Yin.

Four hundred ninety-six volumes.

Sunlight streamed through the small windows; the books here were old, and even slight movement stirred up dust that swirled chaotically in the beam of light.

Zhou Tan walked forward a few steps, unconsciously.

Qu You leaned casually against the bookshelf and recited, with a note of teasing, “…A lonely soul ten thousand li away, in the bitter northern wind—in what year will I see the biography of a loyal minister? Fleeting fame, fleeting fame—better to look for it in your poems instead.”

Seeing Zhou Tan standing there, slow to move, she spoke again. “I remember you once told me you weren’t curious about how the history books recorded you.”

Zhou Tan’s fingers brushed over the cover of the book before him, the corner of his mouth curving slightly. “So this is what the bamboo strips of history look like.”

His smile deepened. “I suppose I’m always a little curious what they look like, in the history books. As for me… after half a year of Professor Qu’s lectures, what would I even need to look for? The history books mean nothing—they’ve all turned to ash.”

The moment he finished speaking, he heard the sound of a book falling behind him.

Qu You looked past his shoulder, calling out in surprise, “Professor.”

Her professor—the one she’d mentioned so many times.

Zhou Tan turned to see a middle-aged woman professor behind them, a few strands of gray at her temples, dressed simply but neatly, wearing silver-rimmed glasses.

Zhou Tan bent to help pick up her book, and found the cover bore the same portrait of Su Chaoci he’d seen before on Qu You’s bookshelf.

Qu You stepped forward and took the book from his hands to hand it back to her. “Professor, since you’re here, I’ve been meaning to introduce you—this is my partner. You can just call him… Xiao Zhou.”

Feng Juran adjusted her glasses, gazing at Zhou Tan with a faraway look, momentarily at a loss for words.

Zhou Tan lowered his eyes to meet her gaze, saying quietly, “Professor, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Youyou,” Feng Juran said, still not looking away, “since we’re here, let me treat you and your partner to a meal.”

Qu You leaned in. “There’s no reason for you to be the one treating us—let us treat you instead.”

She looped her arm through the professor’s and led the way out, glancing back to wink at him. Zhou Tan couldn’t help a small laugh as he followed the two of them out. Passing through the quiet corridor, he thought he heard a young man’s voice calling to him from somewhere in the emptiness: “Teacher…”

He lowered his head and answered softly.

Feng Juran, too, wore a string of five-colored prayer beads.

On the walk home after dinner, Qu You told him she’d studied the history of the Northern Yin since she was young, later shifting her focus to a dedicated study of Su Chaoci specifically, and had never married.

She sighed wistfully. “My professor… is quite a devoted soul. Unfortunately, I’m not, and I doubt I’ll ever reach her level in this lifetime.”

Zhou Tan squeezed her hand back. “A thousand years have passed, the world has changed beyond recognition—you’re not without devotion. But you’re more fortunate than your professor. At least, you have the ‘truth.'”

Qu You nodded. “That’s enough for me.”

She skipped along beside him on their way home—in the past, though she’d stepped outside the usual bounds expected of a woman in her household, she’d still kept, on the whole, the poised bearing of a well-bred young lady, walking with delicate, measured steps.

Now, there was no need to worry about any of that anymore.

The “freedom” gradually released across a thousand years of turning suns and moons was, indeed, precious beyond measure.

The afternoon at the library had been too short, and on the way home they happened to pass a bookstore. Qu You couldn’t resist and pulled Zhou Tan inside for several rounds around the shelves. Just as they were about to leave, Zhou Tan suddenly pulled a book from a shelf near the door.

Qu You tilted her head to look—The Birth of Tragedy.

Zhou Tan murmured to himself, sounding the name out slowly. “Ni… cai?”

She almost laughed but felt she shouldn’t, and in the end covered her mouth, leaning close to whisper in his ear, “I wasn’t lying this time. He really has been dead a long while.”

Zhou Tan flipped open a random page, and the four characters that caught his eye were “lyric poet.”

Expressionless, he tucked the book under his arm and gestured for her to go pay.

Qu You: “…What do you need it for?”

Zhou Tan: “To study it carefully.”

【02 · Lecture】

By the time Zhou Tan reached the last page of the book, it was already six in the evening.

The setting sun spilled golden light across the room, and petals drifted in through the open window, settling into the young man’s dark hair.

In the lecture hall, students were still buzzing with unspent enthusiasm, raising their hands eagerly to ask questions.

A young man who hadn’t found a seat stepped forward and knocked over a bottle of water Qu You had left on the desk.

A muffled thud, swallowed up in the noisy chatter.

“Sorry, sorry.”

He apologized quickly, setting the unopened bottle back down, his eyes falling on the book in Zhou Tan’s hands.

His face lit up. “Hey, are you a history major too? I haven’t seen you before… I haven’t read this book of Professor Qu’s yet—what do you think of it? I had such a hard time getting my hands on a copy. The previous Studies on Zhou Tan series was so brilliant, and it took Professor Qu forever to put out a new book…”

Zhou Tan said nothing, staring down at the four characters on the cover—Undying as Metal and Stone—feeling, for some reason, a faint touch of embarrassment.

“I… I’m not a student.”

The young man’s gaze followed up from Zhou Tan’s ears, which had reddened for some inexplicable reason, and landed first on a finely sculpted, unadorned face, then was drawn to his unusual hairstyle.

“You look just like that Zhou Tan character the illustrators draw on Weibo. Is this… cosplay?”

Zhou Tan wasn’t sure what to say, and glanced up slightly, just in time to see Qu You, standing beside Professor Feng Juran on the podium, studying him from a distance, a smile in her eyes, tinged with curiosity.

Behind her, a portrait of Su Chaoci was projected on the white screen—a portrait from his later years, much like most historical portraits: he wore a deep purple official robe, sitting upright and dignified, white hair and beard, an oval jade belt patterned with wild geese wrapped around his waist. His hand rested on the jade belt, and on his wrist, faintly visible, was a string of five-colored prayer beads.

Unfamiliar.

Familiar.

Professor Feng was answering some question, gesturing enthusiastically toward the portrait of Su Chaoci as she spoke.

She was no longer young, but caught up in the moment, she seemed to have shed the years entirely.

Zhou Tan stared at the portrait, lost in thought, until the projection abruptly went dark.

March brought fine spring weather; D University had planted many cherry and apricot trees, a sea of pink and white. Even at dusk, the view from the window was still breathtakingly beautiful.

Beside him, the young man had finally finished organizing his notes and let out a satisfied sigh. He clapped Zhou Tan on the shoulder, tilting his head, speaking with easy familiarity. “Professor Feng and Professor Qu’s lectures are always so interesting. This series sells out every time—last time I couldn’t even squeeze in…”

Just as he finished speaking, he noticed Qu You, who had been on the podium a moment ago, now standing right in front of them.

Zhou Tan opened the bottle of water he’d knocked over earlier and handed it to her. “For your throat.”

Qu You took it and drank a sip. “Let’s have dinner with Professor Feng tonight. Ever since she met you last time, she hasn’t stopped singing your praises—she’s been wanting a chance to talk with you again.”

Zhou Tan agreed. “All right.”

The young man looked stunned. “Professor, you really aren’t a student…”

Zhou Tan cleared his throat, thought for a moment, and was about to speak when Qu You answered for him with a laugh. “He’s family.”

Only then did the young man catch on, quickly fishing a book out of his bag. “Professor Qu, could you sign this for me?”

The book he’d pulled out was her Studies on Zhou Tan, Vol. 12—already quite worn, the corners carefully reinforced with clear tape, clearly having been flipped through many times.

Qu You took the pen and asked casually, “Do you like Zhou Tan?”

Zhou Tan glanced quickly at her.

The young man’s face flushed with excitement. “My undergraduate thesis was on the Flower-Removal Reforms! I even met you last year at that Northern Yin history conference in Beijing, you…”

Before he could finish, Qu You suddenly remembered. “Ah, I think I really liked the title of the paper you presented there—wasn’t it a response to my Studies on Zhou Tan: The Reform Chapters? Something like… Reconsidering the Periodization of the Flower-Removal Reforms and the Chongjing Factional Struggles?”

“Yes, yes, exactly,” the young man nodded. “I’m planning to continue in this direction for my master’s. I’ve actually been wanting to ask if you might be taking on any graduate students next year.”

“That might depend on university policy, but I did read your paper, and the foundation was quite solid,” Qu You said, writing as she spoke, recalling it. “If you’re interested in pursuing this direction, feel free to come find me in my office.”

“Thank you, Professor!”

“No trouble at all. What’s your name?”

“Zhong Qi—the ‘qi’ as in ‘expectation.'”

He laughed a little sheepishly after saying it, and Qu You couldn’t help laughing too. At the end, she wrote “To my young friend Zhong Qi,” then, after a moment’s thought, pressed the pen into Zhou Tan’s hand. “Here, write him a couple of lines too.”

Zhong Qi laughed. “Professor, is this… your partner?”

Qu You answered casually, “Yes, he studies Northern Yin history too—especially the De and Ming reigns. His grasp of it runs even deeper than mine.”

“I actually mistook the professor for a student just now—I’m so embarrassed,” Zhong Qi said with a laugh, pointing at his own head. “That hairstyle is really distinctive. Sir, may I ask your surname?”

Zhou Tan finished writing and handed the book back, glancing at Qu You with mild exasperation. “My surname is Zhou.”

Qu You checked her phone and offered a polite farewell. “We have somewhere to be, so we won’t keep chatting.”

“Of course. Goodbye, Professor.”

The two of them left the lecture hall arm in arm, intimate and easy with each other. Zhong Qi, his bag slung over one shoulder, watched them for a moment in the hallway.

The man beside Qu You had a straight, elegant bearing, unusually wearing his hair long, gathered up high in a topknot, secured with a white jade hairpin. Zhong Qi had rarely seen someone carry such an air of antiquity with such natural ease, and for some reason, he felt a strange sense of familiarity.

Zhong Qi looked down and flipped through the book, carefully reading the inscriptions the two of them had left him. Qu You had written the promotional line for Undying as Metal and Stone: A Biography of Zhou Tan—the last two lines of the now-famous “Reflections Written After Carving Bamboo Bones by Night.”

Qu You’s partner had left him a line of his own: “A book, read for pleasure, is finished too soon; a friend, worth the wait, does not come.”

He read the line twice, then carefully tucked the book back into his backpack, treasuring it.

Author’s Note: Notes:

1. “A gentleman does not trim his robes with dark blue or maroon” is from the Analects, Book of Xiang Dang.
2. “A lonely soul ten thousand li away, in the bitter northern wind” is adapted from Lian Wenfeng’s On Reading Wen Chengxiang’s Poems of Song Rui; the original reads, “After death, one’s fame fills the whole world, but the lonely soul travels ten thousand li in the bitter northern wind. In what year will one see the biography of a loyal minister? Better, for now, to read your poems as history.”
3. “A book, read for pleasure, is finished too soon; a friend, worth the wait, does not come.” — Chen Shidao, “Quatrain”