Chapter 21

The next day, at the Discipline and Virtue Institute.

“Jiu Lang, is this your handwriting?” Chu Hanlin raised a stack of papers in his hand and questioned from above.

Zhu Chengjun looked up: “Yes.”

“You dare to admit it!” Chu Hanlin was so angry he laughed, slapping the papers onto the desk. For a moment, he was at a loss for words with this incorrigible and unruly student.

Zhu Chengke, who had returned to school after recovering from illness, had already gotten a clear look at the writing on the papers during Chu Hanlin’s gesture. The issue wasn’t what was written, but the handwriting itself—

“Ninth Brother,” he sneered openly, “Are you joking? Just one day apart, and your handwriting has improved by leaps and bounds? And I’ve heard you weren’t even home all day yesterday—you sneaked out to play in the morning and didn’t return until sunset. Given your usual laziness, would you really have burned the midnight oil to practice?”

“Zhan Jianxing.” Chu Hanlin ignored the brothers’ bickering, his voice deepening as he called the second name.

Zhan Jianxing had already braced herself. She stood up, posture straight: “Sir.”

“Regarding these papers of Jiu Lang’s, can you explain this official’s doubts?”

Chu Hanlin stared at her, even using the formal self-address “this official,” clearly showing his anger.

Zhan Jianxing remained silent for a moment before lowering her head: “This student has nothing to say. I await your punishment.”

Zhu Chengke turned his head in shock: “You wrote these for him?”

Arrogant and aloof, after half a month of classes, he still didn’t recognize Zhan Jianxing’s handwriting. But he could tell the neat script on the papers couldn’t possibly belong to Zhu Chengjun, hence his mockery.

Zhan Jianxing pressed her lips together, her expression cool and composed, offering no reply.

Zhu Chengke’s face twitched—his Study Companion had colluded with Zhu Chengjun. He should be angry, but their clumsy deception being exposed by Chu Hanlin in class wasn’t entirely bad for him. Torn between anger and satisfaction, he couldn’t decide what expression to wear.

Chu Hanlin stood at the front for a moment, his gaze shifting from Zhanxing’s face to the papers in his hand. After another pause, unexpectedly, he didn’t scold them further. Instead, he said, “Since the two of you have engaged in deceit, this official will punish you by making you rewrite the contents of these papers ten times each. You may not return home until finished. Do you understand?”

Zhan Jianxing exhaled in relief—this outcome was far better than she’d expected. “Yes.”

Zhu Chengjun: “Oh.”

His face was blank as usual, revealing nothing of his thoughts.

Zhu Chengke was dissatisfied. That was it? No harsh reprimand? His eyes gleamed with an idea. During the midday break, he stood up with a mocking laugh and left with his attendants.

Chu Hanlin had returned to the adjacent room. Zhu Chengjun turned his head, his gaze piercing: “You did this on purpose.”

Zhan Jianxing met his stare unflinchingly: “I followed your orders, Ninth Master.”

What resulted from it was another matter. At any rate, she had handed over all five essays, word for word, neatly written.

Though Zhu Chengjun was often eccentric, at least he didn’t actively provoke others like Zhu Chengke. Encouraged, Xu Yi chimed in: “Ninth Master, you can’t blame Jianxing for this. Your handwriting and his, well… there’s quite a difference.”

A vast difference, in fact. Zhan Jianxing’s calligraphy was the best among them.

Zhu Chengjun ignored him, still staring at Zhan Jianxing: “Then why didn’t you imitate my handwriting?”

Zhan Jianxing said, “The teacher never taught that, so I don’t know how.”

“You didn’t remind me either.”

“I refused at first, but Ninth Master insisted repeatedly. I thought you must have considered it.”

Zhu Chengjun ignored her explanation and concluded on his own: “You did it on purpose.”

Zhan Jianxing fell silent. She wasn’t skilled in sophistry, and with the facts laid bare, further words were useless.

Zhu Chengjun narrowed his eyes at her, his mind seemingly turning over some scheme. Just then, Qiu Guo rushed in panting, carrying a food box: “Master, it’s time to eat.”

Zhu Chengjun finally turned away, and servants brought meals for Zhan Jianxing and Xu Yi as well, temporarily putting an end to the argument.

After the meal, Zhu Chengjun—likely still exhausted from yesterday’s wild running—neglected to settle the score with Zhan Jianxing and instead sprawled over the desk to sleep again.

Hearing his breathing grow steady, Xu Yi leaned over and whispered, “Jianxing, why did he go after you?”

He was Zhu Chengjun’s Study Companion, so logically, any trouble should have been directed at him.

Zhan Jianxing replied, “He knows where I live.” She had been puzzled at first but later realized the reason.

Xu Yi understood. “Ah, so that’s it. Jianxing, you could’ve just reported it to the teacher today. The way things are now, it’s like losing eight thousand to kill ten thousand enemies.”

Zhan Jianxing, in a not-so-bad mood, curled her lips slightly. “If I didn’t share the punishment, Ninth Master would never let it go.”

Xu Yi gaped. “You did this deliberately.”

Zhan Jianxing gave a quiet “Mm” and lowered her head to grind ink.

Perhaps there was a better way, but she couldn’t think of one and wasn’t one to cut corners. Given her temperament, the only path was to drag him headfirst into the wall—breaking the deadlock with straightforwardness.

Zhu Chengjun’s nap was deep, and even when Chu Hanlin entered in the afternoon, he remained drowsy, slouching in his seat, barely awake.

Chu Hanlin shook his head helplessly but had no real way to deal with him. Punishments had been handed down, yet he remained unchanged—short of beating him, there was little else to do.

Zhan Jianxing and Zhu Chengjun’s penalty writing couldn’t interfere with regular calligraphy lessons, so they were left behind after the day’s lectures to copy texts on empty stomachs.

Zhu Chengke left gleefully, while Xu Yi wanted to stay and fulfill his duty as a Study Companion. However, Chu Hanlin shooed him away: “This doesn’t concern you. Go home.”

Chu Hanlin knew well that Study Companions had no control over the Royal Grandson’s behavior and didn’t enforce collective punishment. Under this unusual leniency, Xu Yi could only leave reluctantly, glancing back repeatedly.

As the sun dipped westward, Chu Hanlin didn’t supervise them, busying himself instead. Only the figures of Zhu Chengjun and Zhan Jianxing remained bent over their desks. Qiu Guo peeked at the darkening sky, returned to light the lamps in the room, and then approached Zhu Chengjun. “Master, keep working here. I’ll fetch some pastries. My stomach’s growling—you must be hungry too.”

Zhu Chengjun didn’t look up. His lowered face was expressionless, his profile as cold and lifeless as jade, but the tight grip on his brush betrayed his agitation. “Go.”

Qiu Guo scurried off.

Not long after, another attendant of Zhu Chengjun’s, Zhang Ji, arrived and stood at the threshold. “Ninth Master, First Master is looking for you. He wants you to go now.”

Zhu Chengjun paused mid-stroke, tossed his brush aside, and without a word, stood and strode out.

No one paid any further attention to Zhan Jianxing. In the quiet room, she wrote furiously alone. Without distractions, she worked even faster. Whether it was ten or twenty copies, she didn’t care—she only worried about delaying too late and causing Xu Shi at home to fret.  

Yet, as fate would have it, just as she was fully absorbed, Zhang Ji, who had come by earlier, returned—this time specifically for her.  

“Study Companion Zhan, First Master wishes to question you.”  

Zhan Jianxing turned in surprise. “Question me about what?”  

“Come with me first,” Zhang Ji urged. “First Master is waiting. I’ll explain on the way.”  

Unable to refuse, Zhan Jianxing set down her brush, placed a paperweight over the completed sheets, and followed him out the door.  

Only then did she realize the sky outside had darkened completely. Once they left the Discipline and Virtue Institute, the unfamiliar paths of daytime became even more disorienting at night. The looming structures faded into the shadows, and she cautiously kept close to Zhang Ji while asking why Zhu Chengchang had summoned her.  

Zhang Ji led the way with a lantern in hand. “It’s nothing serious. Seventh Master couldn’t keep his mouth shut and spread word everywhere about Ninth Master having someone else write his assignments. When First Master heard, he got angry, called Ninth Master in for a scolding, and found out it was you who did the work. Now he’s sent for you.”  

Zhan Jianxing’s heart sank. “I see.”  

Perhaps sensing her unease, Zhang Ji added, “First Master will just give Ninth Master a lecture—he won’t do anything to you. When you face him, answer his questions honestly, admit your mistake sincerely, and promise not to help Ninth Master like this again. That should settle it.”  

She hadn’t expected him to offer so much guidance. Grateful, she said, “Thank you for the advice.”  

“No need for thanks. When the masters are displeased, life gets harder for us servants.”  

Zhang Ji’s tone was amiable. The dim yellow glow from his lantern illuminated a small circle of the path ahead, but the light gradually dimmed, shrinking until a sudden gust of wind extinguished it completely, as if snuffing out its last breath.  

Startled, Zhan Jianxing realized she had no idea where they were. The slender crescent moon in the sky provided little illumination, and Zhang Ji’s figure ahead was now just a vague silhouette.  

“Ah,” Zhang Ji’s exclamation remained clear. “The procurement office grows more careless by the day, sending in lanterns like this. Study Companion Zhan, can you still see the path? Don’t lose me.”  

“I won’t,” she replied. Though it was dark, she didn’t need to see Zhang Ji clearly—just following him was manageable.  

“Good.”  

After walking a while longer, a strange feeling crept into Zhan Jianxing’s mind. This was the foremost estate in Datong—Prince Dai Manor. Were the paths always this dark at night? Or was this one particularly secluded? She hadn’t encountered any passing servants for some time either. Could they have already retired like their masters?  

“Study Companion Zhan, we’re here. Look, just over there.”  

Zhang Ji stopped and pointed ahead. Zhan Jianxing’s scattered thoughts cleared as she instinctively followed his gesture—  

“Ah—!”

A sudden force clamped around her neck, cutting off Zhan Jianxing’s breath. In an instant, her vision darkened from dimness to pure black. She struggled desperately with her hands, feeling them scrape against Zhang Ji’s knuckles, but the disparity in their strength was too great—she couldn’t budge him at all. All she could do was futilely endure the suffocating agony, her head throbbing as if about to explode—

Why—?

Why?!

Zhan Jianxing might have been crying, or maybe not. She couldn’t tell and had no mind to think about it, her entire being consumed by sheer unwillingness and terror.

If she died so inexplicably, what would happen to her mother? What would her mother do—?!

Mother…

Thud!

A dull sound.

The pressure around her neck vanished, and fresh air rushed in. Zhan Jianxing collapsed to the ground, gasping frantically.

Thud!

Another sound—this time, it was Zhang Ji, who had begun to stir where he lay nearby. The figure standing over him struck the back of his head again, swift and decisive. Zhang Ji’s head lolled to the side, finally motionless—whether dead or unconscious, it was impossible to tell.

“Cough, cough…”

Zhan Jianxing still couldn’t get up. Her throat burned with pain, and now that she had her life back, she couldn’t help but cough weakly.

After a long while, she finally caught her breath. Clutching her neck, she looked up.

Before her stood a tall, lean figure, a wooden stick propped in his right hand.

“…Ninth Master?” She squinted, her vision still blurry, and asked hesitantly, “Did you save me?”

The figure didn’t answer, but the voice that emerged was unmistakably Zhu Chengjun’s uniquely indifferent tone: “If you’re not dead, leave.”

Her head still spinning, Zhan Jianxing pressed, “Why did Zhang Ji try to kill me? He said the First Master summoned me—cough.”

Zhu Chengjun replied, “Right. I didn’t save you.”

The two spoke past each other. Zhan Jianxing coughed again, switching from clutching her neck to holding her head in pain. Her gaze was dim and unfocused as she stared upward in confusion. “What did you say?”

Pale moonlight spilled down, making Zhu Chengjun unable to clearly see Zhan Jianxing’s face, but he could faintly sense the rare vulnerability emanating from her injured state. A thought struck him, and he poked her calf with the stick. “Don’t tell anyone I saved you. Don’t tell anyone you saw me. None of this has anything to do with me. Understood?”

Zhan Jianxing responded sluggishly, “Huh?”

She wanted to ask “why,” but before she could speak, Zhu Chengjun poked her again. “Why are you so slow? Just do as I say.”

He leaned slightly closer. From Zhan Jianxing’s angle, it almost seemed like he smirked—or maybe not. All she heard was him say, “A meal in exchange for your life—you still came out ahead.”

“Go home and sell your steamed buns. If you want to live, don’t come back.”