Alcohol is no good thing — drink too much and you’ll dream all manner of chaotic nonsense.

Zhang Zhixu dreamed that Chen Baoxiang had abandoned him on a carriage, then dreamed that wolves surrounded him on all sides. He drew his longsword and hacked and slashed through the night, yet could not break through the encirclement.

When he woke, daylight had long since brightened the sky. He lay alone in the bed, the room perfectly quiet.

“Jiuquan?”

“Master.” Jiuquan pushed open the door and came in, wrung out a damp cloth, and handed it to him. “It is already time for the midday meal.”

The question almost leapt from Zhang Zhixu’s mouth — where is Chen Baoxiang?

But thinking about it calmly, they were not husband and wife. What sort of person wakes up and immediately goes looking for someone?

He swallowed the words back, calmly washed and changed his clothes, then went to sit at the table as usual.

“Hmm?” He noticed the spot where the small table had stood was now empty, while a writing desk had appeared in the side chamber instead. Zhang Zhixu was puzzled. “This isn’t the room I was staying in before.”

“Of course it isn’t.” Jiuquan chuckled. “Yesterday’s wine had a strong kick, and when you stepped off the carriage you were not quite clear-headed. You insisted on walking this way, and Official Chen couldn’t argue you out of it, so she gave you the main chamber and went to sleep in the side hall herself.”

Something like that had actually happened?

Zhang Zhixu was filled with remorse. “Next time I’m like that, just knock me out and drag me away. Don’t let her be put in a difficult position.”

Jiuquan raised an eyebrow, hesitating. “Official Chen didn’t really seem to be in a difficult position.”

Not only was she not put in a difficult position — she had stood watch in the room for quite a long while before going to sleep.

Zhang Zhixu wasn’t sure whether to believe it.

He folded the rumpled bedding, then lit the incense burner to freshen the room, wanting to restore it to its neat and tidy state.

But as he tidied, he caught sight of the remarkable scene near her writing desk.

Paper balls of every size were scattered haphazardly about — some thrown into the waste bin, some rolling across the floor — and ink had been splattered here and smeared there, altogether a great mess.

Hadn’t Chen Baoxiang said she couldn’t write? What had she needed all this paper and ink for?

He shook his head and walked over, picking up a paper ball to toss into the bin.

But as he looked down, he spotted a character showing through the crumpled surface.

Tree.

The brushstrokes were crooked and slanting, stiff and clumsy, but written with great force — the ink had soaked clean through to the other side.

Somewhat puzzled, he reached out and smoothed it open.

Wavering characters wound along the creases of the paper, row after row coming into view. At first glance he couldn’t make out what it was, but reading more carefully —

It was an entire copy of On Trees.

Whoever had transcribed it clearly knew only how to imitate the shapes without understanding them. Many characters had strokes in the wrong places — an ink blot here, a crossed-out error there — and the brush had not been well-controlled, leaving the writing half-smeared.

He stood there in a daze and picked up two more paper balls.

Identical content — only the positions of the ink blots and the mistaken strokes had changed.

He opened the ones in the waste bin. Same again.

Zhang Zhixu stood at the desk for a moment, clutching a pile of papers, and suddenly recalled that day at Zhaixing Tower.

“This humble one has read the great official’s On Trees no fewer than ten times.”

As those words had fallen, the terrace had gone so quiet one could have heard a needle drop.

His eyes shifted slightly. He lowered his head and counted the crumpled pages in his hands.

“Seven, eight, nine…” His knuckle rested on the last one. Zhang Zhixu glanced to the side and easily spotted the tenth page spread open on the desk.

The tenth copy showed great improvement. The strokes were correct, and there were almost no ink blots. Though the handwriting could not be called beautiful, all two hundred or so characters stood in neat rows — bold and vigorous, proud and upright, very much like soldiers beneath a general’s command.

The general cannot read. She cannot know the heart of letters.

But where others could read ten times, she could clumsily copy ten times. Whether she understood or not was beside the point — what mattered was that her admiration for him was no less than anyone else’s.

— Who says she didn’t care? Not a single character had gone unheard.

The frost and ice left behind by the deep of winter had seemed as though it would take years to thaw, but with just one breath of spring wind, flowers bloomed in a great rushing cascade across the ground.

Zhang Zhixu had wanted to rein in his emotions, but the corners of his mouth had lifted high without his knowing and refused to settle back down for a long while.

“You’re awake?” Chen Baoxiang came in from outside, still damp with sweat, warm and flushed from running.

Zhang Zhixu turned to look at her.

Chen Baoxiang raised an eyebrow. Her gaze traveled from his face down to his hands, and she showed no embarrassment, only smiled. “Pretty ugly, isn’t it?”

“Not ugly.”

She was startled. She walked up to him, pointed to his eyes, then pointed to the earthworm-like scrawl on the paper. “You can call this not ugly?”

“Not ugly.” He repeated it stubbornly.

Chen Baoxiang looked at Jiuquan with an expression of utter disbelief. “Has your master gone mad? He’s so skilled at calligraphy — how can he say this isn’t ugly?”

Jiuquan: “…”

How was he supposed to explain to Official Chen the matter of beauty being in the eye of the beholder? Let alone that she was only writing — if she drew nothing but scribbles, his master would still find some angle to praise them.

Zhang Zhixu turned her head back toward him, pinching the crumpled paper and looking at her seriously. “Do you mind very much?”

“It’s not that I mind, I just had a sudden impulse to practice calligraphy.”

“Tell me the truth.”

She raised an eyebrow, giving him an amused sidelong look. “What do I get for telling the truth?”

“Something.” He nodded stubbornly. “I’ll be very happy.”

Chen Baoxiang froze.

The person before her surely already knew the answer — otherwise his eyes would not be shining like that, so bright she hardly dared to meet them.

But he seemed to need her to say it aloud. Only then would he be completely at ease.

Jiuquan sensed how things were going and made a swift exit, leaving the room to the two of them.

Chen Baoxiang looked left and right and ultimately admitted defeat, pressing her forehead against his chest and murmuring indistinctly, “A little, I suppose.”

Three soft words, striking him in the chest together with the gesture that accompanied them.

Zhang Zhixu burst out laughing.

The person in his arms pinched him resentfully. “What are you laughing at!”

He shook his head, letting her pinch him, only laughing harder and more happily.

Chen Baoxiang gave up, watched him laugh, and after waiting quite a while, gently patted him on the back.

The crumpled pages were tucked into his sleeve pouch as though they were a treasure. The dark clouds hanging over Zhang Zhixu’s head seemed to scatter completely in an instant.

“I’ll be more mindful from now on,” he said. “It won’t happen a second time.”

Chen Baoxiang found herself unable to hold up under his direct, unwavering gaze. She gave a light cough and turned her head away. “Aren’t you hungry? Let’s go to the front hall — we’re eating with Biqing today.”

“Is Biqing going back to the palace?” he asked, unsurprised.

“How did you know?”

“I had a feeling.” Zhang Zhixu said in high spirits. “Our sovereign, though suspicious by nature, is skilled at putting the right people to use. Keeping Biqing here before was to watch whether you’d grow complacent after being granted the title of Marquis. Now that she sees you’re the same as always, there’s naturally no more reason to keep her here.”

In truth, Li Bingsheng was a cautious person — her assessments of others could take anywhere from three to five years, or even a lifetime.

Chen Baoxiang was the first person in her experience to pass in under a year.

Truly remarkable.

“We also owe thanks to your willingness to go dig up Ye Shuangtian’s old memorials, and to write those thick new ones day and night without stop.” Chen Baoxiang rubbed her chin. “This year’s imperial examinations will go on as before, but I believe next year will definitely see a change.”

Next year, was it.

Thinking of what Gu Hualong had mentioned about the people the Gu family had been associating with lately, Zhang Zhixu raised an eyebrow slightly.