When the carriage left the Marquis’s residence, dawn had only just begun to break. The shops lining Chang’an Street had yet to open.
Only a few breakfast stalls were sending up clouds of steam, white vapor billowing from their bamboo baskets.
Shi Huai lifted the carriage curtain to look outside. The morning breeze rushed in, stirring the stray locks at his temples and exposing a glimpse of his fair neck above his collar.
The coachman seated on the front shaft glanced back at him, and the whip in his hand nearly struck his own leg.
The Imperial Academy stood in the southeastern corner of the capital, sprawling across an enormous area. Its vermilion gates faced the main street, and above them hung a plaque bearing three gilt characters.
“Imperial Academy”—the words had been personally inscribed by the founding emperor, their strokes vigorous and their presence commanding.
By the time Shi Huai jumped down from the carriage, quite a few people were already scattered around the entrance.
The instant he appeared, the noisy crowd fell abruptly silent, as though someone had seized it by the throat.
The first to react was a young assistant instructor in his thirties. His surname was Lu—Lu Wenzhao—and he had only recently been transferred to the Imperial Academy.
He had been holding a register and calling the roll. When he looked up and saw Shi Huai, the book slipped from his hands, its pages fluttering noisily in the wind for quite some time.
“Y-you’re one of this year’s new students?” Lu Wenzhao bent down to pick up the register. His voice was slightly strained, and his gaze remained fixed on Shi Huai’s face, unable to pull itself away.
Shi Huai walked up to him and bowed with perfect propriety, bending at precisely the right angle. His voice was as clear and mellow as a mountain stream.
“Student Shi Huai, here for you to verify my registration.”
That single address—“Sir”—left Lu Wenzhao weak in the knees. He fumbled through the register for a long while before finally finding Shi Huai’s name.
He pointed at it with one finger, then looked up at Shi Huai’s face. He lowered his head to examine the characters in the register, then looked back up again. He repeated the process several times, as if trying to confirm that the two things truly belonged to the same person.
“Shi Huai, nine years old. Residence: the Yongning Marquis’s household. First Place in the Special Examination. Personally selected by His Majesty for admission to the Imperial Academy.”
After reading those words aloud, Lu Wenzhao drew a deep breath, closed the register, and did his best to look like a proper instructor.
“You’ll be in Class A. The second room in the eastern wing. Your instructor’s surname is Lu—Lu Yanli.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Shi Huai bowed, then turned and walked through the gates.
Lu Wenzhao remained where he was, watching Shi Huai’s back disappear into the vermilion gatehouse. The register slipped from his hands once again.
A colleague came over and patted him on the shoulder, speaking in the knowing tone of someone who had seen it all.
“Old Lu, your self-control is terrible. You’re already like this after one look—what are you going to do when you see him every day?”
Lu Wenzhao came back to himself and glared at his colleague. He picked up the register, dusted it off, and stubbornly defended himself.
“Who says my self-control is terrible? I just... I just think the child is too striking. The Imperial Academy hasn’t seen anyone like him in all these years.”
His colleague smiled and said nothing more, turning away to greet the other new students.
The grounds of the Imperial Academy were far larger than Shi Huai had imagined.
Courtyard after courtyard stretched into the distance, layered one behind another. Gray bricks and dark tiles stood beneath towering ancient trees, while the air was filled with the lingering scent of old ink and books.
Shi Huai crossed the front courtyard, passed through a moon gate, and entered the eastern side courtyard.
The door to the second room in the eastern wing stood half open. Inside, several boys were laughing and playing around, chattering like they were at a tea party.
Shi Huai paused outside for a moment before reaching out to knock on the doorframe.
The voices inside stopped at once.
Four or five boys turned toward him in unison. Their gazes landed on the youth standing in the doorway, and the air seemed to freeze. Even the sound of breathing vanished.
The first to recover was a boy dressed in a sapphire-blue robe.
He was seated by the window, one elbow propped against the desk and his chin resting in his palm. He looked Shi Huai up and down from head to toe. Slowly, the corners of his lips curved into a smile that was half amused and half mocking.
“You’re Shi Huai?” the boy asked lazily, his voice carrying an innate arrogance. “The First Place in the Special Examination from the Yongning Marquis’s household?”
He was extraordinarily beautiful as well.
His peach-blossom eyes tilted slightly upward, their irises a pale amber. He had a high nose bridge and thin lips, while his features possessed a dazzling, androgynous beauty.
He leaned crookedly against the back of his chair, his languid posture resembling that of a cat basking in the sun.
The sapphire-blue robe was made of fine material, its subtle patterns gleaming faintly in the light. A white jade belt was fastened around his waist.
At a glance, it was obvious that he was a pampered heir raised in wealth and privilege.
Shi Huai stood in the doorway, meeting the boy’s eyes for an instant.
He clearly saw the emotions in the other boy’s eyes shift from indifference to keen interest, then from keen interest into something impossible to define.
It was like a hunter discovering his prey—or a collector laying eyes on a treasured piece.
“I am Shi Huai.”
Shi Huai nodded, stepped into the room, and took an empty seat by the window.
He placed his book satchel on the desk, then took out his writing brush, ink, paper, and inkstone, arranging each item neatly in turn.
The boys’ gazes followed him the entire time. They tracked him from the doorway to his seat, from his seat to his hands, and from his hands to his face, like a swarm of bees whose souls had been lured away by the scent of honey.
The boy with the peach-blossom eyes rose from his chair and sauntered over to Shi Huai’s desk.
Without the slightest trace of politeness, he sat down on the edge of the desk and looked down at Shi Huai from above. His amber eyes reflected Shi Huai’s face.
“My name is Shen Jinghong. Grand Secretary Shen is my grandfather.”
He extended a hand. His fingers were long, pale, and clean, his nails neatly trimmed and rounded. At a glance, it was clear he had never done a day of hard labor.
Shi Huai glanced at the offered hand, then at Shen Jinghong’s face. He reached out, shook it, and released it almost immediately.
Shen Jinghong, however, did not withdraw his hand at once.
It hovered in midair for a moment before he slowly pulled it back. Hidden inside his sleeve, his fingertips rubbed lightly against one another, as if savoring the lingering sensation.
“You’re really beautiful,” Shen Jinghong blurted out.
His voice was neither loud nor soft, just loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.
Shi Huai was grinding ink. The ink stick paused in his hand. He lifted his head and looked at Shen Jinghong.
Under that calm gaze, those black eyes faintly touched with gold, Shen Jinghong’s breath caught and his heartbeat skipped.
In his fourteen years of life, he had seen beautiful people by the carriageful, but never had anyone made his heart tighten with such an indifferent look.
The other boys gathered around as well.
The first to speak was a chubby boy with a round face. When he smiled, two deep dimples appeared in his cheeks, and his voice was as guileless as that of an honest, good-natured fellow.
“My name is Wang Ren. My father is the Vice Minister of Revenue. Don’t be afraid, Shi Huai. If anyone bullies you at the Imperial Academy, come find me.”
“Find you? What good would that do? You can’t win a fight, and you can’t win an argument.”
The boy who spoke had a pair of narrow phoenix eyes and a lean, sharp-featured face. His bearing was cold and austere. He leaned against the bookshelf with a book in his arms and had not looked anyone directly in the eye from beginning to end.
After saying this, he turned a page. His gaze remained fixed on the text, as though everything around him had nothing whatsoever to do with him.
