When Zhong Bo arrived with the items, the study was as quiet as ever.
Gone was the usual chatter of chirps and tweets.
Behind the desk sat Pei Du, his eyes lowered as he wrote a memorial. Zhong Bo’s gaze instinctively swept the room.
There was no reason for his lordship to be here without that clingy Little Bird Dumpling anywhere in sight.
Pei Du gestured for Zhong Bo to look toward the window.
By the window, atop the Arhat Couch where Pei Du usually sat in quiet contemplation over a game of chess, orange peels lay scattered everywhere. Beside the chessboard sat a small pile of seeds, haphazardly gathered together.
The little bird perched on the chessboard had a round, fluffy back that melted the heart at first sight.
Zhong Bo gently set the tray he carried down on the desk. It held the items Pei Du had requested.
Pei Du rolled up all of the little bird’s ink treasures except for the unfinished policy essay and handed them to the steward. “Keep these carefully.”
Zhong Bo understood that Pei Du wanted the pieces framed, but when he glanced at their content…
The corners of the steward’s eyes crinkled with laughter he couldn’t suppress.
Shen Jiujiu sat high atop an orange, pondering the philosophies of life.
His little bird claws splayed out to either side, wings drooping, his long tail feathers poking into the nearby chess basket. Every so often, they twitched, stirring the jade pieces inside with faint clinking sounds.
Shen Jiujiu knew full well that Pei Du was trying to guide him, to offer him a hint. But he still couldn’t figure out what sort of “request” Pei Du wanted him to make.
Even reading comprehension had a model answer, didn’t it?
Shen Xinian had lived two lifetimes without ever truly understanding it, and after reincarnating as Shen Jiujiu, his memories were fragmented and scattered. Every night his dreams came like squeezing toothpaste—erratic and uncontrollable, rarely yielding anything useful. Serious reflection on future plans was simply too much for a little bird to handle.
Revenge and face-slapping?
He wanted that a bit, but not that much.
Finding his mother?
That he wanted desperately. But Shen Jiujiu’s memories of Shen Xinian were still full of blanks. He had no idea what plans he and his mother had made back then, or where she even was now.
If he rashly asked Pei Du to search for her, might it not bring danger or trouble to her instead?
Then there was Sui Ziming. He had no clue how to resolve that deadly tribulation. The best outcome would be keeping Sui Ziming from getting involved at all, but from what he’d seen before, Sui Ziming didn’t seem the type to be held back.
Maybe he should try dropping Pei Du a subtle hint?
What if the restrictions of the plot had loosened now that he was a little bird?
Besides, if Pei Du figured it out on his own—and he neither spoke nor wrote of it—then it probably wouldn’t count as leaking the plot… right?
The little bird fretted.
The little bird sighed.
He really was a little bird burdened with too many worries, leaving no room for profound philosophical musings.
His head was just too small, after all.
Fortunately, Pei Du hadn’t demanded an answer by any particular deadline.
Shen Jiujiu heard Pei Du speaking with Zhong Bo. He pivoted his little bird backside bit by bit on the orange until he faced the desk, then opened his beak in an almost humanlike sigh, his tiny eyes brimming with resentment.
Zhong Bo chuckled. “What’s got you down, Jiujiu?”
As he spoke, he pulled a plump little pouch from his sleeve and gave it a gentle shake toward Shen Jiujiu.
Shen Jiujiu hopped down from the orange and scampered across the Arhat Couch in a series of bouncy steps. The cushion spread on the floor bore a small dent from the impact of his round little body, followed by three or four dainty claw prints.
To make it easier for Shen Jiujiu to visit the study and write policy essays when Pei Du was away from the residence, a small rope ladder—woven from cotton cord—hung down from the edge of Pei Du’s desk, perfectly suited for the little bird to climb up and down freely.
And this ladder, clearly crafted by skilled hands, had been made by Pei Du himself in the span of half a cup of tea.
Shen Jiujiu had been stunned when he first saw it.
Pei Du truly was the perfect benefactor in every way—accomplished, capable, and omnipotent when it came to raising birds.
Shen Jiujiu politely lifted a wing to take the pouch from Zhong Bo, tilting his head back with a particularly melodious “Cheep-cheep!”
“Oh dear, little bird wings can’t hold it. Shall I set it right here for you?”
Zhong Bo placed the pouch, stuffed full of roasted melon seeds, on the tray. That way, Shen Jiujiu could eat his fill without making a mess while Pei Du handled official business.
Shen Jiujiu rubbed his head against the back of Zhong Bo’s hand. “Cheep-cheep-cheep! Cheep-cheep!”
Thank you, Zhong Bo! The little bird loves it!
“If there’s anything else you want to eat, just tell Zhong Bo, alright?” With the little bird, Zhong Bo’s voice was soft and gentle—nothing like the stern demeanor he used to reprimand the household staff.
Seeing the usually stern Zhong Bo grinning from ear to ear thanks to Shen Jiujiu, Pei Du couldn’t help but smile and shake his head. He spoke up. “Zhong Bo, later send word to Ziming. If he’s free tomorrow, invite him over for a meal.”
Sui Ziming spent his days at the drill ground, rarely at home.
Zhong Bo agreed, gave the obedient little bird’s wing a quick stroke, swiftly tidied the Arhat Couch that Shen Jiujiu had ravaged, and withdrew.
Shen Jiujiu used his beak to tug open the pouch. He carefully selected several plump, large melon seeds and carried them to Pei Du’s side, nudging the little pile toward Pei Du’s fingers with his beak. His eyes sparkled as he gazed up at Pei Du.
The little bird knew it—his benefactor was the most reliable man alive!
Pei Du made it clear he wouldn’t meddle in their squabbles. “I can only summon him here for you. Whether you convince him to take you out of the residence for some fun is up to your own skills.”
Shen Jiujiu threw his head back with a confident cheep.
Dealing with a ground-walker who was weak to arguments? Piece of cake for the little bird.
If he refused, the little bird would just steal his treasure, A Sa!
A smile played at the corners of Pei Du’s lips as he twirled the tip of his brush in the inkstone. His demeanor remained calm and composed, his movements unhurried.
Shen Jiujiu nestled beside the paperweight, tilting his head like a tiny brush rest as he watched Pei Du compose the memorial.
“By the way,” Pei Du said, his gaze fixed on the memorial, his tone casual, “that abacus only cost fifty taels, actually.”
Shen Jiujiu didn’t react at first. He froze for a moment, then jerked his head up in a sudden motion.
The little bird was shocked.
The little bird was furious.
The little bird hopped mad.
The little bird cheeped and squawked in outrage.
The Chief Minister paid no mind to the Little Bird Dumpling bouncing up and down before him. With a flourish of his wolf-hair brush, he calmly set it aside, picked up the memorial, and blew gently to dry the ink.
In the past, seeing Pei Du like this, Shen Jiujiu would only think his benefactor exuded such an impressive aura—truly formidable. Now, though, it just made his beak itch.
He desperately wanted to peck something.
The lofty Chief Minister!
Cabinet Minister!
To think he’d trick an innocent little bird into shouldering a massive debt of a hundred taels of silver, forcing him to pitifully scribble away at policy essays—without a shred of guilt!
Aaaah—!!!
Shen Jiujiu was so furious he scampered along in a run, slamming straight into Pei Du’s chest. His little bird claws hooked into Pei Du’s robe as he clambered upward, vowing to make this black-hearted official taste the full fury of Little Bird Fist.
By the time Shen Jiujiu finally hauled himself onto Pei Du’s shoulder, Pei Du had pulled open a drawer and retrieved a slender wooden rod no bigger than half a little bird.
Shen Jiujiu froze, tilting his head.
What was that thing?
It looked just like the piece of wood Pei Du had been whittling and carving at odd moments over the past couple of days.
Pei Du unscrewed the top of the rod.
Only then did Shen Jiujiu realize it wasn’t some plain stick at all. The inside had been hollowed out, and a tuft of stiff bristles gathered at the tip—a miniature brush.
Pei Du dripped a bit of clean water inside, then took an ink stick of just the right size from the tray Zhong Bo had brought earlier. He slotted it into the holder and ground the top end a few times between his fingers.
Finally, he handed it over to Shen Jiujiu, who had hopped down from his shoulder and was staring dumbstruck at the tiny brush.
“A gift of atonement for Little Bird.”
“Want to give it a try?”
