Chapter 9: Aftermath of the Escape

“Xie Yan…?!” A flash of realization struck Lin Xihe—was this the same calligraphy master Xie Yan she knew?! “I’ve seen his authentic work in the museum! His calligraphy can sell for nine figures!”

Her speech was full of strange terms, just like her eccentric self. Wen Zhixu couldn’t be bothered to respond, pointing at Lin Xihe instead: “Your grip is loose.”

“Huh?”

“You’re about to fall.”

Whoosh—the girl on the rockery slid down along the stone wall, gradually disappearing from view.

Peace returned to the world.

Wen Zhixu turned to leave. But the courtyard opposite was unusually quiet—had she actually gotten hurt from the fall?

The bottle of Jinchuang Yuzhi Powder in his sleeve had been warmed by his body heat. Tossing it over now would only risk shattering the jade vial and creating more trouble.

Scale the wall? No sooner had the thought occurred than he dismissed it. Sneaking into a lady’s chamber late at night—what would people say if word got out?

“Hey.”

Wen Zhixu whirled around.

The girl’s head popped up over the wall, two dark eyes locking onto him.

“You.” Wen Zhixu was momentarily at a loss for words.

“Come here quick,” Lin Xihe said, standing on Qingwu’s shoulders, her fingers desperately clinging to the wall’s edge. “I can’t hold on much longer!”

The night breeze scattered her words like wispy smoke. Wen Zhixu approached slightly, stopping just five steps away to maintain a safe distance.

Seeing this, Lin Xihe immediately threw a booklet toward him. Wen Zhixu raised his hand and caught it steadily.

“Second Master Wen, share the load for your little friend! I’ve copied it several times already—the rest is on you. When two people unite, their sharpness can cut through metal.”

“Why should I…” Who would want to unite with her?!

“Because—” Seeing Wen Zhixu remain unmoved, Lin Xihe simply sang out: “U~ni~ty is stre~ength!”

The ear-piercing melody felt like feathers tickling his ears, creeping down his neck, slipping into his collar, and clinging to his skin.

An inexplicable impulse urged him to agree.

“Um… could you write a few more characters for me?”

“What do you want them for?” Wen Zhixu grew wary, but his heart betrayed him as he asked, “Which characters?”

The words slipped out before he could stop himself, and he wanted to slap his own mouth.

Meanwhile, Lin Xihe quickly calculated: An authentic piece by Xie Yan’s student might not fetch a billion, but seven figures were possible! She’d traveled back in time—what was wrong with dabbling in calligraphy? Even if she couldn’t return, she could just hang it on the wall for pure appreciation!

This was how she replied to Wen Zhixu: “It’s that phrase ‘chickens crowing and dogs barking.'”

Wen Zhixu’s face darkened—even more so than Fuzi’s at Li Su Academy. What scholar wouldn’t be offended hearing that? If the Grand Historian heard it, he’d probably jolt upright in his coffin.

Qingwu, squatting below, was nearly crushed by the young lady’s weight.

Lin Xihe slid downward, her head sinking below the wall’s edge until only a few peeled-water-chestnut-like fingers remained clinging to the top.

Wen Zhixu saw by the candlelight that her fingernails were embedded with wall dust.

“‘The sounds of chickens and dogs are heard’?”

“Mmhmm! It’s settled then! Pinky promise, no changes for a hundred years!”

A little finger hooked over the wall’s edge, flickered in his vision, then vanished along with a startled cry.

“…” Who made any promise with you!

The servant boy: “Shall I prepare brush and ink for you, Second Master?”

Wen Zhixu ignored him and went straight to the bathhouse. Don’t even think about it—who would write characters for her?

The bathwater had cooled considerably, and several servants hurried to add hot water.

Wen Zhixu leaned back against the tub’s edge, trying to relax, but Lin Xihe’s jarring melody echoed incessantly in his mind, hopping about like persistent fleas.

“Wen Ba, having grown up outside the estate in your childhood, do you know what ‘pinky swear’ means?”

“Second Young Master, I don’t know about ‘pinky,’ but I understand ‘swear’—it means giving your life to someone.”

Wen Ba presented the scented soap and recalled another matter: “Last month, a wandering Taoist shouted loudly on Fubo Bridge before throwing himself into the river. Three days ago, his body surfaced. Times are truly hard, even Taoists can’t survive.”

Plop, the scented soap fell into the water.

Wen Zhixu: “Prepare the writing brush and ink.”

Wen Ba was puzzled—why was the young master following Miss Lin’s request?

Though perplexed, he complied as instructed.

.

Three night watch clappers echoed through Shengjing City—midnight had arrived.

In the Lin residence, Min Shi lay awake alone in bed.

Meanwhile, her daughter Lin Zhirou was counting her private savings by candlelight—Father had said the funds for repairing the Wen family’s house would all come from their second branch.

“Young Lady, don’t worry,” Housekeeper Wang Momo consoled nearby. “Though this silver appears spent on the Wen family, it’s ultimately an investment in yourself. Once the Second Young Master’s residence is repaired and an auspicious date is chosen, he’ll surely come to marry you with a grand procession.”

Lin Zhirou paused her counting, inexplicably irritated: “But I’m not the one getting married.”

Wang Momo said darkly: “The marriage isn’t settled yet, nothing is certain. This old servant heard from the Wen family maids that Master Wen doesn’t want his second son marrying a simpleton.”

“But she’s recovered now! Sharp-tongued and clever, no longer foolish!”

“Since she’s recovered,” Wang Momo’s tone turned ominous, “she can naturally ‘relapse’ into illness.”

“What?” Lin Zhirou looked up from her silver pile, eyes red and swollen.

“Has Second Young Lady forgotten what caused the Eldest Young Lady’s foolishness in the first place?”

The candle flame flickered as if responding, illuminating the old housekeeper’s pale, pupil-dominant eyes.

Lin Zhirou shuddered, catching a fleeting viciousness in Wang Momo’s gaze. Her fingers loosened, dropping silver coins to the floor.

In another room, Lin Pinyan slept soundly. In his dreams, Teacher Fuzi praised him endlessly. The chubby boy proudly puffed out his belly: “My elder sister wrote it for me!”

In stark contrast to her half-brother, Lin Xihe sat cross-legged on her canopy bed in Tinghe Courtyard, wide awake.

This was probably a side effect of transmigration.

The novels had lied—how could other transmigrators happily adapt to ancient times? No phones, no internet, no television—how could she enjoy this “three-noes” life?

Lin Xihe looked up blankly, meeting the gaze of the sparrow in its birdcage across the room.

The bird seemed understanding, keeping its new mistress company through her insomnia without resting.

“Bu Bu”

“Chirp.”

The response sounded listless, lacking its earlier liveliness.

“You don’t like the cage?” Lin Xihe opened the cage door a crack. The sparrow didn’t move. She opened it fully, inviting it to explore the room.

It tentatively hopped out, then suddenly took flight just as she extended her palm.

“Young Lady? Still awake?” Qingwu in the adjacent room, thinking her mistress was getting up, sleepily pushed the door open.

Seizing this perfect opportunity, the sparrow instantly darted through the door crack toward the outside.

“Bu Bu—!”

Lin Xihe tightened her sleeping robe and executed a neat roll, launching herself toward the backyard…

Qingwu stared in astonishment: Could her young mistress perform qinggong?

Unfortunately, Lin Xihe—who had attended children’s palace taekwondo classes—forgot one thing: birds can fly, but people cannot.

Thud—she landed solidly on the ground. Meanwhile, Bu Bu circled briefly above the backyard before resolutely flying toward the Wen family estate.

Its name was not Bu Bu—it was the Emerald Phoenix.

The study in Yinquan Pavilion was brightly lit by candlelight.

Wen Zhixu dismissed his attendants and personally ground the ink.

The sounds of chickens and dogs could be heard.

In all fairness, for someone who had been mentally impaired for over a decade and was completely illiterate, being able to trace these characters stroke by stroke was already remarkable.

As Wen Zhixu pondered this, his brush paused—he had actually written a character incorrectly.

Another bird?

Unconsciously tracing Lin Xihe’s “ghostly scrawl,” he had written the combination repeatedly on the paper.

Chicken too.

The strokes flowed smoothly, the structure was simplified, and it was easier to recognize and remember.

Analyzing the composition of the character chicken, the combination of again and bird made sense—chickens are, after all, “also birds.””

Wen Zhixu tried to refute his own reasoning but found the character’s logic seamless.

He rubbed the thick calluses on his fingers. Had he known such simplified characters earlier, he could have saved at least a decade of arduous study after becoming Xie Yan’s disciple.

A wave of shock washed over Wen Zhixu: How could he entertain such an absurd thought?

The candle flame flickered, casting dancing shadows on the window.

And at that very moment, a hole inexplicably appeared in the oil-paper windowpane…