Feng Zhiwei sat on the bed.
Wearing only her inner garment, she shivered in the early spring cold as she looked at the man who had crawled into her quilt.
That man lay calmly in the quilt she had just warmed up, and having lain down, he actually didn’t even remove his gauze veil.
It wasn’t that Feng Zhiwei didn’t want to scream, but screaming wouldn’t get this man out of her quilt. The education she’d received since childhood told her—in extraordinary moments, panic was useless.
So she very calmly pulled the quilt, patted the other person’s shoulder almost gently, and said pleasantly: “Hero Gu, you’ve gotten into the wrong bed.”
Hero Gu’s head seemed to move. Feng Zhiwei was just secretly rejoicing that he’d heard her when she heard a thud, followed by the world spinning, her buttocks splitting with pain.
She had been kicked to the floor by Gu Nanyi with one foot.
Yan Huaishi, hearing the sound, rushed out from the inner room and saw Feng Zhiwei sitting on the floor, for the first time looking up at the man on the bed with a foolish expression. Her fallen-open lapel was half-concealed, revealing a glimpse of white more lustrous than moonlight. In the midnight air, floral fragrance floated, and from somewhere a misty aura faintly dispersed.
Yan Huaishi immediately turned his gaze away, standing somewhat awkwardly at the door, not knowing whether to help or avoid the situation.
Then he heard Gu Nanyi, lying calmly and loftily on the bed, say flatly: “I sleep alone.”
Yan Huaishi jumped in fright and whooshed back into the inner room—the negotiation that followed, he’d better not hear.
Wasn’t it just changing from sleeping with this man to sleeping with another man… Young Master Yan hugged a quilt, smiling not unlike a fox.
Feng Zhiwei was also smiling, climbing up with a grin, saying gently: “Fine, fine, you sleep alone.”
Those who understand the times are outstanding heroes. Whoever had the bigger fist slept in the single room. She wouldn’t make a fuss—if she were to make a fuss, it wouldn’t be like this.
Then she picked up another quilt to go sleep in the inner room, planning to kick Young Master Yan out—didn’t he get along very well with the dormitory supervisor? The supervisor had even told him his young wife’s intimate name, so surely he wouldn’t mind sharing a bed?
Just as she walked two steps, the person on the bed turned over and said: “You stay here.”
Feng Zhiwei stumbled, nearly tripping over the quilt. She whipped around and asked incredulously: “I stay here?”
That person lay there, his gentle breathing stirring the face veil, rising and falling softly, his contours beautiful. But in Feng Zhiwei’s eyes at this moment, he looked like a corpse about to rise from the dead.
“Yes.”
Brief and decisive. Then he raised his hand, and a white object flew over, landing squarely at Feng Zhiwei’s feet.
Her pillow.
He wanted her to sleep on the floor. Feng Zhiwei stared down at that pillow and warned herself a hundred times:
Absolutely cannot grab the pillow and pounce over to smother his mouth… absolutely cannot cannot cannot…
Breathe in… that book said that when encountering something so infuriating you’re about to explode, first take three breaths…
After three breaths, Feng Zhiwei calmed down.
So what if she had to sleep on the floor, so what if she was driven down from the bed, so what if a man occupied her bed and wouldn’t let her occupy his bed.
She’d just consider herself his maidservant—maidservants all slept on the footstool by the bedside.
Feng Zhiwei began making her bed on the footstool by the bedside, using the quilt half as padding and half as cover, placing the pillow neatly. The half-open window brought in the spring night breeze, passing through the hall and into the room, refreshingly cool and fragrant. Her resentful mood was half dispersed. Looking up at the starlight filling the deep blue firmament, she revealed a faint smile.
To be alive, to keep living, to not miss the fragrance of flowers in every good season—this was already very good, very good.
Gu Nanyi on the bed suddenly moved.
He lowered his face and met Feng Zhiwei’s upturned smiling face. Across a layer of gauze curtain, his gaze, still as deep water, met her smile, warm and gentle as water.
That faint smile bloomed at an impossible moment, like a pear blossom in midnight forming dew-laden buds, silently alluring in the east wind.
The spring night was hazy, light gauze floating. One layer of gauze was misty as fog—he silently gazed from behind the fog, she smiled faintly before the fog.
This moment of silence had no reason, yet even that person who was always only trapped in his own world was unwilling to break it.
Though it seemed very long, the encounter was actually very brief.
In just an instant, he returned to his own world again, forgetting that momentary disturbance.
Feng Zhiwei had already looked away even earlier, not understanding what that zombie jade carving who never made an extra movement was doing.
She lay down comfortably, wrapped in the quilt on the narrow footstool, and fell asleep.
She seemed to quickly enter dreamland. The slight smile at the corners of her lips gradually faded, while her brows lightly furrowed, as if sinking into a tangled and painful life.
The person on the bed breathed as calmly as ever, also entering dreamland. The face veil gently stirred. No one could guess his dream world or see the expression behind his veil.
Perhaps there were no dreams, no expression.
Outside the window, moonlight was serene.
Feng Zhiwei quickly learned what consequences came from impulsive foolishness.
Not just sleeping on the footstool, but also lessons such as the following—Young Master Gu was precious as gold and jade, extremely delicate. For example, the material of his clothes couldn’t be thick or coarse—it had to be light and soft, the lighter and less the better, fitting like another layer of skin. For example, his clothes had to be completely wrinkle-free—even the slightest unevenness wouldn’t do. If the clothes weren’t right on any given day, he would directly throw Feng Zhiwei, who was responsible for managing his clothing, out.
Yes, responsible for managing clothing. Not only that, Feng Zhiwei had completely become the person in charge of all daily chores, clothes arranging and washing, and similar tasks. Hoping for Yan Huaishi to do these was impossible—that young master managing himself well was already good enough. And Young Master Gu—if his clothes were even slightly unclean, he could throw Feng Zhiwei from inside the house to the roof.
Feng Zhiwei thought miserably that indeed, cheap attendants shouldn’t be taken on. Was this her companion? This was clearly her lord and master.
At this moment, she withdrew her hands full of soapberry foam from the basin, lowering her eyes to look at the expensive and soft robes and trousers in the basin, thinking with considerable malice and ambiguity—why had she never washed Gu Nanyi’s undergarments?
Thinking this, her face flushed faintly red. Then she heard the clear bell chime. She wiped her hands, took her books, and went to class.
She was assigned to the Political History Academy. All along the way, everyone looked sideways at her—she was a student who had rapidly shot to fame in the academy recently. Her mysterious attendant had added much to her popularity. It was said people in the academy were betting that under Gu Nanyi’s face veil must be a pockmarked face.
Right, a pockmarked face—character even more pitted than pockmarks!
However, she was still very interested in the academy’s classes. The academy’s academic atmosphere was open-minded, the subjects studied were diverse, not limited to classics, history, philosophy, and literature. Sometimes there were even political theory courses—discussion classes on previous dynasties and even current events. Though relatively veiled, they were still very beneficial. Most of the teaching masters didn’t introduce their identities, only giving a vague surname. But it was said—again it was said—some masters had extraordinary identities. Not only were there contemporary great scholars, there might also be some refined civil officials from the court.
Today’s class was political theory, the subject Feng Zhiwei was most interested in. White-haired Master Hu proposed a new topic.
“In the thirteenth year of Great Cheng’s Shoushou era, on Emperor Li’s fortieth birthday, the various imperial princes presented gifts. Among them, the Fourth Prince, who was stationed far away at the border and deeply beloved by the emperor, knowing that His Majesty’s zodiac sign was the horse and that he also loved horses very much, went through a thousand hardships to find an absolutely superb black steed. He protected it with heavy troops and sent it from afar. This gift would surely greatly please His Majesty. At that time, the emperor had not yet established a crown prince, and the Fourth Prince’s voice was very strong—I ask you all, if you were advisors to the other princes, how should you advise your master to respond to this matter?”
The whole hall fell silent for a moment. The students, all from extraordinary backgrounds, were shocked by this direct yet ambiguous question. Feng Zhiwei lowered her eyelashes. Great Cheng’s Emperor Li never lived past forty years old. Emperor Li’s Fourth Prince was very frail and had never guarded the frontier. Which dynasty’s emperor and prince was this actually talking about?
Today’s question was strange indeed…
Should she answer or not?
She pondered silently, not noticing the particularly unusual atmosphere all around, while outside under the tree shade, at some unknown time, a figure had appeared, half-hidden and half-visible.
