Chapter 290 Settling Down

When Zhou Heng finished reading the third mathematics textbook in the East Warm Pavilion, the light outside the window had already shifted from the east to the west.

He finished writing the annotations on the last page, put down his pen, leaned back in his chair, and watched the light spots that fell on the desk and were cut into squares by the window slowly move from one end to the other, like an invisible hand turning the pages of a calendar.

Footsteps occasionally passed by on the corridor outside the hall, very light, as if deliberately suppressed, so as not to disturb anyone.

He could tell which ones were the eunuchs delivering the memorials—their footsteps were hurried and quick, like raindrops hitting the tiles;

Which were the officials awaiting orders—their steps were heavy and slow, pacing back and forth in place;

Who were Xiao Jue's close attendants? They were almost inaudible; only when passing through the doorway would a shadow flash through the crack, like a silent fish.

He just sat there, listening to the footsteps coming and going, as if he were listening to a piece of music he knew by heart. He could tell you where every note fell, how long it stayed, and when the next note would come in, even with his eyes closed.

He spent the next few days like this.

She got up on time in the morning, had breakfast with Xiao Jue, and waited for him to go to court before reading in the East Warm Pavilion.

After finishing the mathematics textbook, I took a semi-annual report on the new schools in various prefectures of Jiangnan from the bookshelf, read two pages, and put it down.

He picked up another official gazette and read it from beginning to end, but found it less interesting than the semi-annual report.

Finally, he had someone retrieve several drafts of the newly compiled mathematics textbooks from the Hanlin Academy. He flipped through them one by one, annotating each page, circling the parts that were not clear enough, and writing his suggestions for revision in the margins.

After he finished writing, he realized that he had even done this little thing.

Xiao Jue finally appeared at dinner.

Zhou Heng waited in the small hall of the East Warm Pavilion, with several dishes, a bowl of soup, and a plate of osmanthus cake in front of him—his favorite dishes, which the people in the imperial kitchen remembered clearly.

When Xiao Jue came in, he was still wearing his court robes. He had already taken off his crown, but he hadn't changed out of his black dragon robe. There was a faint red mark on the collar, as if he had been held in place by something all day.

He sat down opposite Zhou Heng, picked up the bowl of porridge and took a sip. The porridge was warm, neither too hot nor too cold, and just right for his taste.

Zhou Heng looked at the two dark circles under his eyes, which had become even darker in the past few days, like two ink stains that could not be washed away, making his eyes look even darker and deeper than usual.

"How many people did you meet today?" Zhou Heng asked.

"I can't remember." Xiao Jue picked up a piece of green vegetable with his chopsticks, chewed it twice, paused, as if counting, but after counting for a while he realized he couldn't count it all, so he gave up. "The morning court session is routine. After the court session, I met with people from the Ministry of War, the Ministry of Revenue, and the Ministry of Rites. We need to discuss the new border reports sent from the Privy Council, finalize the list of candidates for the spring imperial examination, and approve Han Zhang's memorial from Jiangnan."

"Tomorrow is a day off," Xiao Jue suddenly said.

Zhou Heng raised his head.

Xiao Jue didn't look at him, keeping his head down as he ate his porridge, as if he were talking about something unimportant. "The memorials have been reviewed. After the morning court session the day after tomorrow, there probably won't be any urgent matters."

Zhou Heng said "Oh," broke the osmanthus cake in half, handed one half to him, and stuffed the other half into his own mouth.

Xiao Jue took the half-eaten cake, but didn't eat it; he placed it on the plate. "Finally, I have some time," he suddenly put down his chopsticks, reached out and pulled Zhou Heng from the chair next to him, pulling him into his arms, resting his chin on Zhou Heng's shoulder, his voice muffled, "I'll let you keep me company."

Zhou Heng was held so tightly by him that he couldn't move. The back of his head was pressed against his collarbone, and he could feel the vibration of his chest when he spoke, one beat after another, steady and powerful.

That familiar scent, a blend of sandalwood and ink, enveloped him from behind, completely enveloping him.

"Haven't I been with you these past few days?" Zhou Heng's voice was muffled because he was being held too tightly.

Xiao Jue didn't speak, but tightened his grip on Zhou Heng's arm. His chin rubbed against Zhou Heng's shoulder, and the newly sprouted stubble tickled Zhou Heng's neck. Zhou Heng shrank his neck but didn't move away.

Zhou Heng was quiet for a moment, then reached out and placed his hand on the back of the hand that was wrapped around his waist.

Xiao Jue's hands were large, with distinct knuckles. His fingertips were covered with calluses from years of wielding knives and guns. They were rough, hot, and like a piece of iron that had been burned for a long time, with a layer of grayish-white embers on the surface, but underneath was a blazing fire that could ignite at any moment.

Zhou Heng's fingers dug into his fingertips one by one, palm to palm, fingers intertwined.

"Tomorrow," Zhou Heng lowered his eyes, looking at their clasped hands. The candlelight cast a warm yellow glow on his face, making the slight curve of his lips particularly clear. "Where to?"

Xiao Jue's lips brushed against his earlobe, his voice low as if it were being ground from his chest, carrying an almost greedy satisfaction: "Whatever."

The crabapple blossoms outside the window are still falling. The wind swirls them up from the branches, making them drift down and land on the green bricks under the eaves, in the teacups that haven't been taken away yet, and on the half-closed window of the Qianqing Palace.

In the distance came the sound of the palace gates being locked, a dull, heavy sound, like a sigh from the earth, shutting out all the noise and turmoil of the day.

The candlelight inside the hall flickered, casting the shadows of the two people onto the wall behind them, overlapping and indistinguishable from one another.

The shadow was long, faint, and quiet, like an ancient painting steeped in time for thousands of years, having traversed through those turbulent years of war and chaos, finally finding a place to rest in the afterglow of spring.