Shi Huai picked up the letter and unfolded it.
The handwriting on the page was neat and graceful, every stroke written with utmost care.
“Brother Shi Huai,
Ever since I borrowed your pen last time, I have been thinking day and night about your kindness, yet have no way to repay you. I have therefore prepared a modest gift: a Duan inkstone and several Huzhou brushes, to convey a little of my gratitude. If Brother Shi Huai does not find them beneath your notice, I hope you will accept them. I would be deeply grateful.
Respectfully yours,
Lin Mo”
After reading the letter, Shi Huai’s lips curved faintly upward. He folded it neatly and placed it back on the table before reaching out to open the brocade box.
Inside lay a Duan inkstone. Its stone was fine and smooth, its coloring a blend of purple and blue, and its carving exquisitely detailed.
Shen Jinghong had appeared behind Shi Huai at some point. Looking down at the inkstone in the box, he narrowed his peach-blossom eyes slightly and spoke in a sour tone.
“Well, that Lin Mo kid is quite generous. This inkstone must be worth at least five hundred taels of silver.”
“Five hundred taels?” Wang Ren came over as well, his round face filled with shock. “Isn’t his family just an ordinary scholarly household? Where did they get the money to buy such an expensive inkstone?”
Shi Huai furrowed his brows. Hadn’t Qinghe returned it yesterday? Why had it been sent back again?
He closed the brocade box and set it in the corner of the table.
“This gift is too valuable for me to accept. I’ll have someone return it to him later.”
At those words, the corners of Shen Jinghong’s mouth lifted a little higher, and most of the sourness vanished from his peach-blossom eyes.
He reached out and patted Shi Huai on the shoulder, his tone carrying a satisfaction he could not quite conceal.
“That’s more like it. One should accept no reward without merit. You only borrowed a pen from him last time, yet he sent you something this expensive. Who knows what he’s really after?”
Wang Ren nodded repeatedly beside him, the dimples in his round cheeks sinking deeply as he chimed in.
“Exactly, exactly. It was only a borrowed pen. Was there really any need to give you an inkstone? This is obviously—”
He broke off halfway through, having caught Shen Jinghong’s warning look.
The meaning was clear: some things were better left unsaid, lest they become impossible to resolve.
Shi Huai noticed none of the exchange between them. He had already sat down, taken a book from his satchel, and opened it to the page they had reached the day before. He lowered his head and began to read.
Morning light streamed through the carved lattice window and fell upon his lowered lashes, casting a small fan-shaped shadow beneath his eyes. It trembled lightly with the movement of his gaze.
In the sunlight, that face was so beautiful it hardly seemed real, as though it had been outlined stroke by painstaking stroke by a painter of divine skill.
Watching Shi Huai read with lowered eyes, Shen Jinghong clenched and unclenched his fingers inside his sleeve. His knuckles turned white several times before he barely managed to stop himself from doing anything inappropriate.
He realized that he was finding it increasingly difficult to control that impulse.
Whenever Shi Huai drew near, his heart began to race, his palms grew sweaty, and his throat tightened. His entire body felt as though it were being roasted over a fire.
He wanted to draw closer to Shi Huai—to be nearer, closer still, close enough to catch the faint scent of soapberry on him, close enough to see the curve of his lashes clearly.
And yet he was afraid to approach Shi Huai at the same time. He feared that if he got too close, he would lose control completely and do something that would make Shi Huai despise him.
That contradictory feeling was like a venomous snake, gnawing endlessly at his heart day and night.
It brought him agony, yet he willingly indulged in it. He wanted to escape, yet could not bear to leave.
The bell signaling the start of class rang, and Lu Yanli entered the classroom on its final chime. He carried a stack of graded essays, and his expression was more serious than usual.
He placed the essays on the desk, swept his gaze across the students, and cleared his throat.
“I’ve finished grading the policy essays I assigned last time. Overall, they were acceptable, but a few students clearly treated the assignment carelessly. If it happens again, I’ll send them straight back to be rewritten.”
As he spoke, his gaze deliberately—or perhaps not—passed over Shen Jinghong’s direction.
Shen Jinghong propped his chin on one hand and gazed indifferently out the window, pretending he had heard nothing.
“Shi Huai.” Lu Yanli picked up the essay at the very top and called out the name.
Shi Huai rose to his feet, his back straight as a ramrod. His bamboo-green robe set off his refined, otherworldly features, making him look like a green pine growing in a field of snow, untouched by worldly dust.
“This essay of yours is very well written. The perspective is original, the reasoning rigorous, and the diction elegant without being ostentatious.”
Lu Yanli placed the essay at the corner of the desk, indicating that the other students should pass it around for their own perusal. His eyes rested on Shi Huai’s face, carrying a rare trace of approval.
Shi Huai bowed and spoke in a clear, gentle voice, like a stream flowing through the mountains.
“Thank you for your guidance, sir. I still have many shortcomings, and I hope you will continue to instruct me.”
Lu Yanli nodded. The faintest hint of a smile touched his lips before vanishing in an instant.
Wang Ren was the first to snatch up Shi Huai’s essay. He read it carefully from beginning to end, then read it once more.
The dimples in his cheeks deepened and faded as he murmured, “This is so well written. What a wonderful choice of words. And this allusion—brilliantly used.”
Shen Jinghong found him blocking the light. He reached out, pushed Wang Ren’s head aside, and pulled the essay from his hands.
He lowered his eyes to the neat, graceful handwriting on the page. Every character seemed alive, dancing across the paper. From the first character to the last, every stroke was exquisite.
As Shen Jinghong read, his fingers unconsciously brushed over the paper, as though he were caressing something precious.
He noticed a faint smudge of ink along the edge of the page, left there when Shi Huai had accidentally brushed against it while writing.
To him, even that tiny smudge was a thousand, ten thousand times more beautiful than anyone else’s handwriting.
Gu Changning was the last to read the essay.
When he took the sheet from Shen Jinghong, his fingers paused slightly. His gaze moved across the page from left to right, line by line.
His expression did not change. He still wore that same cold, distant look that warned others to keep away. Yet the motion of his hands as he turned the page was far slower than usual.
After finishing the essay, he did not immediately return it to the classmate in front of him. Instead, he held it and read it through once more.
The sheet remained between his fingers twice as long as it had with the others before he finally handed it over, reluctantly.
At noon, Lin Mo came by.
He stood at the entrance of Class A, wearing a brand-new robe. His hair was combed perfectly into place, and he carried a food container in his hands. His face was flushed red, as though it had taken every ounce of courage he possessed to come this far.
“B-Brother Shi Huai.”
Lin Mo’s voice was as soft as a mosquito’s buzz. His gaze darted over Shi Huai’s face before quickly dropping away, the tips of his ears red enough to drip blood.
Shi Huai had been eating lunch. Hearing the voice, he lifted his head and saw Lin Mo standing at the doorway. He set down his chopsticks and rose, a faint smile touching his lips as he walked toward him.
“Brother Lin, what brings you here? Come in and sit. Don’t just stand in the doorway.”
