Chapter 16: Breaking Out of the Shell

Communication with the little sparrows went far more smoothly than Shen Jiujiu had anticipated.

Though they lacked the haidongqing’s razor-sharp talons and naturally intimidating wings, the little sparrows proved remarkably intuitive when it came to conversing.

Shen Jiujiu nearly asked if they had been humans in a past life.

A single clever bird might be chalked up to a lucky reincarnation, but an entire flock of them? That pointed to the superior intellect of their species.

There was, however, one gravely important issue.

The sparrows were more than capable of handling surveillance and tailing duties, provided Shen Jiujiu supplied them with a daily meal. The catch was that to tail someone, he first had to identify the target for them.

No matter how bright, the birds couldn’t parse human speech the way Shen Jiujiu could, nor could they read signs and plaques. They required a clear scent to lock onto.

After giving it serious thought, Shen Jiujiu set his sights once more on his benefactor Pei Du—the man who understood birds so well and was always so amenable.

Having agreed with the sparrows to meet in the same spot for their meals going forward, he left the rear garden to the feasting flock and scampered at full tilt back to Pei Du’s study.

When Shen Jiujiu really got up to speed, his usual bouncy gait smoothed out into something more like a roll. From Pei Du’s vantage, he resembled nothing so much as a fluffy ball trailing a feather duster behind it, barreling straight ahead.

Pei Du waved off the attendant and lifted Shen Jiujiu onto the desk with a handkerchief.

With practiced ease, Shen Jiujiu wiped his cheeks and beak clean first, then rubbed down his back and belly, and finally polished his little claws until they gleamed. Only then did he stand tall and pristine atop the white jade paperweight.

“Chirp!”

He had the look of a little bird with something urgent to say.

Pei Du picked up on the signal at once, setting aside his brush. “What is it?” he asked patiently.

“Chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp…”

Shen Jiujiu rattled on at length, only realizing midway through that while Pei Du was adept at interpreting chirps, he didn’t truly speak the language of birds. A nonstop barrage of chirps would leave him baffled.

The little bird paused atop the paperweight, head bowed in thought. Then he spread his wings and sketched a small circle in the air. Once Pei Du had seen it clearly, he drew another circle beneath the first.

Sure enough, Pei Du lived up to expectations. “A candied hawthorn skewer,” he said. “You want to go out and play?”

Shen Jiujiu bobbed his head emphatically. “Chirp chirp!”

It wasn’t play he had in mind, but serious business.

After chirping his assent, he shook the gold necklace he’d deliberately rehung around his neck that morning. He furrowed his brow ridges, bared his beak, and struck the pose of an extremely indignant little bird.

Pei Du paused. “…You want to know when Ziming will be coming?”

“Chirp chirp chirp chirp!!”

If he’d had hands, Shen Jiujiu would have given Pei Du a hearty thumbs-up. Who else could read a little bird’s intentions quite so flawlessly?

Pei Du didn’t press for reasons. Instead, he considered for a moment. “Very well. In a few days, I’ll have Ziming take you out.”

Better that than letting one man and one bird turn his study upside down with their linguistic impasse.

“Chirp!”

Perched on the paperweight, Shen Jiujiu executed a rapid high kick in place, then flapped forward with frantic wingbeats, nearly toppling the brush holder. He radiated urgency.

The message was clear: not in a few days, but right now—these next couple of days.

The little bird was in a hurry!

“He’s not free these next few days,” Pei Du replied evenly, withdrawing the hand that had blocked the little bird’s momentum and gently returning him to the paperweight.

Pei Du was always like this—perpetually even-keeled, unhurried, unshakable. Nothing seemed able to ruffle his composure or sway him to act on impulse.

Anxious, Shen Jiujiu pecked at the tip of his wing, racking his brains for some argument that might sway Pei Du.

Then came Pei Du’s voice, soft but clear: “Xinian.”

In that instant, every motion and thought in Shen Jiujiu ground to a halt. Dazed, he lifted his head to stare at Pei Du.

…What?

“You haven’t taken a courtesy name yet, have you?” Pei Du’s hands rested crossed on the desk in a posture of equals, not one addressing a caged pet bird. “May I call you that?”

Shen Jiujiu went silent for a long stretch. He shook his head gently to answer the first question, hesitated, then nodded—only to shake his head once more as he met Pei Du’s gaze.

Truth be told, Pei Du could call him whatever he liked.

And yet, on a sober note, he was little more than a bird bearing Shen Xinian’s memories. There wasn’t a trace of humanity about him from start to finish… so how could he possibly claim to be Shen Xinian?

Dejected, the little bird hung his head. His claws scraped idly along the edge of the paperweight, emitting a faint squeak against the jade.

“Xinian,” Pei Du said, “in this vast world, what sets humans apart is not mere flesh and bone, but a mind clear and discerning, a body bound by propriety and righteousness, hands that pen words of wisdom.”

He carefully unrolled the half-finished policy essay Shen Jiujiu had been working on, along with the characters the little bird had scribbled during their previous exchanges.

“Rebirth and reincarnation may seem fantastical, but perhaps it was because Shen Xinian’s fate was not yet done—because his heart harbored regrets—that we have this bird today, one who can reason and write.”

“Man or bird, it comes down to a single shift in perspective.”

There was immense power in Pei Du’s gentle smile, a guiding force that anchored Shen Jiujiu’s restless soul—one that had drifted without mooring in this world both familiar and alien ever since his rebirth.

“You are the clever Shen Xinian. You are the free little bird.”

“Don’t be afraid.”

Shen Xinian had been a brilliant youth, and Shen Jiujiu was a clever little bird, but he had no desire to dwell deeper on the subject. Tilting his head, he put on his most adorably clueless chirp.

He even sensed that Pei Du had more to say today. Gently, he nudged the man’s finger with his beak, a silent plea to change the topic.

Pei Du registered the deflection, pausing briefly without pushing further. Instead, he spoke candidly of his own condition—and of the little bird’s remarkable effect on it.

In truth, Pei Du’s migraine ailment was common knowledge in court and beyond; it held no secrets. The true marvel was Shen Jiujiu’s influence.

The thought of being able to help Pei Du filled the little bird with uncontainable joy!

Shen Jiujiu sprang up in excitement, beak parting for a torrent of chirps—only for Pei Du to gently but firmly pinch it shut.

Silenced by hand, Shen Jiujiu blinked. “?”

Pei Du tapped the tip of his beak with a fingertip and sighed softly. “How can you be so adorably foolish?”

“Xinian, back then I saved you from the water on a whim. You’ve kept that kindness in mind and want to repay it—that speaks to your warm and righteous nature.”

“But now, if you agree to stay by my side to help treat my headaches, it might be for a dozen days, or a year, or perhaps our entire lives. That would be a great sacrifice for you.”

“The weight of these two favors doesn’t balance out.”

Shen Jiujiu blinked in confusion. “?”

Was there really a difference between a one-time life-saving grace and something ongoing…?

Did that even make sense?

Why did it feel so off to the little bird?

“Xinian, you didn’t survive just to repay a debt. You’re not some little bird whose only mission is to thank me.” Pei Du gazed into the bird’s eyes, which shimmered with a gentle light like moonlight on water. “You are Shen Xinian.”

Shen Jiujiu, who had been perched on the paperweight, slowly crouched down. He tucked his little bird claws beneath him and fell utterly silent, not uttering a single chirp.

Pei Du’s finger traced the childish bird-scratches Shen Jiujiu had made when he first arrived, then drifted to the half-finished policy essay. He wasn’t surprised to find that beneath the little bird’s stubborn silence lay the competitive spirit of a scholar.

A person’s handwriting revealed their character and experiences. Unable to properly hold a brush, Shen Jiujiu couldn’t replicate Shen Xinian’s script, but he refused to let his strokes come out crooked and sloppy.

And this… this policy essay for the Metropolitan Exam was the last thing Shen Xinian had signed his name to in this world.

So even knowing how lengthy it was, he’d held his breath and written it stroke by stroke with utmost seriousness. The characters lacked a scholar’s elegant flair, but they were straight and even, perfectly aligned.

For a little bird, that was no small feat.

Though Shen Jiujiu seemed lively and carefree on the surface—like a fluffy ball without a worry in the world—deep down, he harbored a stubborn endurance and determination that saw no light of day.

The persistence of a man. The persistence of a scholar.

Pei Du had no experience comforting juniors. He was wondering if he should say something when the feathery ball on the paperweight suddenly launched itself at him. It slammed into his palm with force and burrowed headfirst into his sleeve.

At first, Pei Du didn’t react. By the time he thought to pull away, he felt a warm, wet sensation against the wrist trapped in his sleeve.

He paused, then said nothing more. He simply sat there quietly, letting the little bird soak his sleeve with silent tears.

Shen Jiujiu hadn’t expected Pei Du to notice his little scheme.

Or rather, he hadn’t expected Pei Du not only to notice, but to respect and understand it—to even guide him toward not hiding that persistence any longer.

When he’d realized he’d been reborn as a worthless plaything bird, Shen Jiujiu hadn’t planned on surviving.

Having lived two lives as a man, he had his pride.

It was only by a twist of fate that he’d ended up in Pei Du’s hands, reminding him of the regrets from his human days and sparking his will to live.

His obsession with repaying the favor did stem partly from gratitude, but more than that, it was about clinging to the one shred of proof that he’d once been human—wanting to leave some mark that Shen Xinian had existed, something worth remembering.

Shen Jiujiu hadn’t meant to cry.

He wasn’t some child; there was nothing to cry about. Things had come to this point—he’d survived death and rebirth alike. What was there to grieve?

Yet when he’d crossed over, he’d been an orphan who’d lost his parents young, scraping his way into university through sheer grit.

After crossing, his birth father’s indifference, the world’s rejection, and the plot’s relentless pressure had crushed Shen Xinian.

He couldn’t go out to make friends, couldn’t confide his troubles to anyone. Even breathing brought a dull ache from the strain on his heart.

All he could do was hole up at home, studying furiously, taking exams, clawing his way into officialdom for the power to change the doomed storyline. And back then, though Shen Xinian had suffered, he hadn’t felt true pain.

Shen Xinian had even been grateful for the crossing, because he’d experienced a mother’s love—something missing from his previous life—the best mother of all.

When he knew he had to head alone to the Zhenguo Marquis Mansion, a swamp of filth and decay, Shen Xinian hadn’t cried.

—Though the mansion teetered on ruin, that background still gave a scholar from humble origins a better shot at success.

Even knowing his father held no paternal affection for him, he’d still basked in those rare moments of mild praise, only to be abandoned again. Shen Xinian hadn’t cried.

—He told himself it was worth it, to finally sever his lingering filial longing.

Wary of his stepmother and half-brother, treading every step with caution, he’d still fallen into their schemes because he didn’t grasp the vicious intrigues of the inner household—couldn’t fathom the depths of human malice. Imprisoned and doomed, Shen Xinian still hadn’t cried.

—It was his own fault for poor judgment and inadequate schemes, for fancying himself superior as a transmigrator.

Everything Shen Xinian had endured couldn’t be blamed on anyone else—only on himself. Two lifetimes, and he still hadn’t truly seen the world’s dangers or humanity’s complexities.

Shen Xinian was dead. That was the past.

Shen Jiujiu thought he’d made his peace with it, had convinced himself not to look back, not to feel wronged or resentful.

He was just a little bird now. What choice did he have but to accept it?

In truth, Shen Jiujiu had imagined this moment many times—rehearsed it in his head, even—when he finally laid bare his identity to Pei Du.

He’d pictured the little bird standing proudly by his policy essay, a touch shy but brimming with confidence, chirping out his ideas and arguments to prove Shen Xinian’s overlooked brilliance. To etch even a tiny trace of Shen Xinian into the memory of the benefactor he’d once admired.

But when Pei Du truly called his name, Shen Jiujiu realized that all his resentment, all his grievances, all his bitterness had balled up into a massive bubble and burst. It dissolved into hot tears, spilling uncontrollably from his eyes.

He’d tried so hard, struggled and fought through such hardship just to live.

He’d done everything he possibly could. So why—why?

Why was he fated to stand alone, to lose his family, to die young?

Was he not good enough?

Not smart enough?

Where… had he gone wrong?

Shen Jiujiu didn’t know how long he cried. When he finally peeked out from Pei Du’s sleeve, embarrassed, the inner lining was soaked through.

Pei Du was reviewing documents when he caught a glimpse, out of the corner of his eye, of a little bird head peeking cautiously from his sleeve. His fingers paused for a moment. He closed the document, set it aside, fetched a bowl of clear water, and held it to Shen Jiujiu’s beak.

Shen Jiujiu hesitated briefly before dipping his head to drink—glug, glug, glug.

He drank too hastily, and a few droplets splashed onto the soft fluff on his chest, darkening small patches there.

Once he had finished, Shen Jiujiu snuggled up beside Pei Du’s hand and tilted his head back with a chirp.

The sound held no particular meaning; Shen Jiujiu had simply felt an impulse to chirp.

Pei Du’s lips curved faintly as he replied to the little bird’s call. “Xinian, try to be bolder. Strive to be a little more selfish.”

“Right now, it’s I who needs something from you. And if I wish to cure my illness, I will grant whatever you ask.”

“This is no era of peace and prosperity. Power, status, and self-interest—they devour the world.”

“So one may be kindhearted, but never without an edge.”

“You can bear your responsibilities, strive to protect those dear to your heart. But before your branches grow thick and provide shelter for others, your true task is not repayment or self-sacrifice. It is to draw in every scrap of nourishment that will make you stronger—to sharpen your blade.”

Pei Du lowered his gaze to Shen Jiujiu, his eyes seeming to pierce beyond the fluffy little body, straight to the innocent, crystalline soul glimmering in the depths of the bird’s gaze.

“Xinian, ask yourself what your heart truly desires.”

“What do you most want from me?”

“And what path do you truly wish to follow?”