Chapter 21: Shackles

Shen Jiujiu snatched a pastry from the tea tray and padded it under his foot. He dipped his right claw into the clear water and swished it around, soaking it thoroughly.

Little Bird stared at his claws, first one and then the other.

—Hmm, somehow the right claw looked slimmer than the left.

Pei Du’s gaze drifted over the edge of his book toward Shen Jiujiu, who was fiddling about with who knew what.

Just as the bird, standing on the pastry, suddenly sank down a bit with one foot embedded in it, Pei Du set his book aside. He gently picked up Little Bird, wrapped the claw-printed pastry in a handkerchief and pushed it to the side, then fetched a fresh teacup, filled it with water, and inverted it beneath Shen Jiujiu’s left claw.

In the process, he also wiped the bird’s claws clean with the handkerchief.

Shen Jiujiu: “Cheep!”

As expected, his Benefactor was the most even-tempered and perceptive man under heaven—the easiest to get along with.

After thoroughly wetting his claws, Shen Jiujiu made sure to flick some water droplets onto the table, readying them for later use.

“Cheep, cheep-cheep!”

Hearing Shen Jiujiu chirp at him, Pei Du set down the book he’d only just picked up again and turned his attention to the Little Bird Dumpling on the table, poised and ready as if about to embark on some grand endeavor.

Shen Jiujiu took a deep breath, then another. His fluffy chest rose and fell dramatically.

Pei Du’s eyes flickered.

Evidently, Little Bird wasn’t truly gaining weight; he was just fluffed up. Pei Du resolved to ask the palace servants skilled in bird-keeping whether the bird was short on some vital food in his daily diet.

That retired general who’d once taught Ziming to train his falcon was quite the expert too…

Seated at the edge of the desk, Pei Du pondered how best to care for Little Bird. Meanwhile, the not-fat-just-furry bird had steeled his nerves and was now dragging his claw across the desk surface, stroke by stroke, to write.

Shen Jiujiu had originally meant to write 【Ziming poisoned by arrow】.

But after scratching out Sui Ziming’s name with his water-dipped claw, no matter how hard he tried to scrawl—even pressing directly into the water droplets on the table—he couldn’t leave the slightest mark on the surface.

Shen Jiujiu shook his claws dry. Though disappointment tugged at him, it was still within his expectations.

It was just like the time Shen Xinian had tried to warn Xie Jingtang.

No one in this world could receive information about the plot that Shen Xinian—or now Shen Jiujiu—tried to convey.

Shen Jiujiu was actually quite curious now. Shen Xinian must have communicated something to his mother Xie Jingtang before, or else her storyline wouldn’t have veered off so inexplicably.

Restoring his memories couldn’t be rushed, though. After all, what he dreamed wasn’t up to him—and these past couple of days, Pei Du had been a bit averse to remedies, refusing to let Little Bird nest against his chest while sleeping.

Shen Jiujiu stared at the two characters “Ziming” on the tabletop as they slowly faded away. He dazed out for a moment, then turned around to face Pei Du.

Even after Little Bird had fussed around for ages without writing a thing, Pei Du kept watching him.

Shen Jiujiu figured it was time to test his Benefactor’s proficiency in bird-speak—and their mutual understanding.

First, he sidled up to Pei Du and gently nipped at his finger with his beak. When Pei Du obligingly extended his index finger forward in response to the beak’s tug, Shen Jiujiu threw his head back and cheeped once.

Pei Du held the pose without moving.

Shen Jiujiu hopped forward a couple of steps, gauged the distance to Pei Du’s finger, thought for a second, then hopped back several more paces—nearly to the edge of the desk.

In the next instant, Shen Jiujiu lowered his head, furrowed his brow feathers, tucked in his wings, and charged straight at Pei Du’s outstretched finger.

His aim was spot-on: the fingertip pressed precisely against Little Bird’s chest, dimpling the soft downy fluff.

Pei Du arched a brow faintly.

Shen Jiujiu let out a little grunt, covered his chest with a wing, backed up two steps in front of Pei Du, then flopped onto his back. He rolled across the table twice, kicked out with his claws, and went still.

Pei Du: “…”

Playing dead, Shen Jiujiu cracked open one eye and shot Pei Du an intense look, urging him to connect the bird’s antics to the words on the table.

Of course Pei Du understood. Shen Jiujiu’s performance had been all too vivid.

He was just about to speak when a sudden daze washed over his mind.

When Pei Du came back to himself, he found he couldn’t recall exactly what Shen Jiujiu had pantomimed—only a vague sense that the bird had acted out something.

It was as if a small blank spot had materialized in his memory out of nowhere.

In the hazy depths, a voice seemed to murmur, clear and gentle: this was merely a side effect of his headache remedy, nothing out of the ordinary. No need to dwell on it.

But a man as profoundly calculating as Pei Du—and one who wielded control over an entire dynasty’s affairs, no less—possessed an even stronger compulsion to dominate. He hadn’t overlooked his own anomaly, nor would he dismiss such a void as commonplace.

Yet he showed no overt anger or alarm.

Shen Jiujiu watched Pei Du with brimming anticipation, but seeing no reaction, he knew this ploy had likely failed too. He let out a sigh.

Fatigue from all the day’s exertions caught up to Little Bird at last. Splayed on the desk, he thought: Tonight, he absolutely had to snuggle up to Pei Du.

What if the dreams revealed more plot details?

In the original story, Ziming died far too early, and it wasn’t a pivotal plot point, so Shen Xinian’s record of it on that plain silk wasn’t terribly detailed.

It only noted that Sui Ziming had been struck by a poison arrow. When the poison flared, he fell to an ambush, succumbing to exhaustion.

By the time Pei Du received word and rushed over, Ziming’s body had vanished without a trace. The signs of battle in the woods had been scrubbed clean, leaving only a single red tassel from Ziming’s weapon.

…Talk about a frustrating death.

No body, no poison arrow, no traces, no evidence.

Yet the leader of the masked assailants—whoever had ambushed Ziming—had been gravely wounded by him in turn. Later rescued by the male lead, that leader was shielded even when Pei Du followed the trail and demanded the male lead hand them over. Long Aotian gritted his teeth and bore the pressure to protect the culprit.

Lacking proof, Pei Du could only stand down in the end—but the incident sowed enmity between him and Long Aotian, the male lead.

Long Aotian, however, reaped massive gains: the undying loyalty of a master poisoner, plus his first harem member—the poisoner’s daughter, equally adept with gu poisons.

Shen Jiujiu rolled over and cheeped in deep dissatisfaction.

Then he felt Pei Du brush the tip of his wing.

Hm?

Shen Jiujiu twisted his head to look at Pei Du.

But Pei Du made no further move. He even picked up his book again.

Shen Jiujiu tilted his head.

Pei Du still didn’t stir. He held the book in one hand while the other dangled at his side, completely obscured by the desk.

Shen Jiujiu stared at Pei Du for a good long while.

For some inexplicable reason, he hopped to his feet without a single chirp or any attempt to alert Pei Du. Instead, with Pei Du not even glancing his way, he mimed the earlier gesture once more.

This time, though, it was all in the air—Pei Du’s finger never emerged.

A long moment passed before Pei Du’s eyes drifted half-shut. He set aside the booklet in his hand, his voice coming out slightly hoarse. “I’ll send Zhong Bo over shortly. Tell him whatever you need.”

With that, he rose hastily and departed.

Without taking the bird.

Left behind so abruptly, Shen Jiujiu perched on the desk. A breeze slipped through the bamboo curtain, carrying the faint scent of flowers.

It scattered the bloody tang that had clung to Shen Jiujiu’s nostrils ever since Pei Du had stood up.

Shen Jiujiu leaped down from the desk and followed the metallic scent into the narrow gap between the desk and the ornamental piece on the nearby low cabinet. There he found a shard of teacup crammed into the crevice.

And the sticky blood smeared on the fragment.

Shen Jiujiu didn’t chase after Pei Du to ask if he’d truly understood. He simply nestled into the spot where Pei Du had been sitting and stayed there quietly for quite some time.

Only when Zhong Bo hurried in did Shen Jiujiu obediently trail after him to Pei Du’s study.

Pei Du wasn’t there, but Shen Jiujiu didn’t ask about it. Instead, he had Zhong Bo unroll a sheet of rice paper, fit the Little Bird Brush into place, and resume writing the policy essay.

~~~

That evening, Shen Jiujiu was escorted back to the inner courtyard. The moment he entered, he spotted wisps of smoke rising once more from the incense burner in the corner.

Shen Jiujiu remembered clearly how Pei Du had explained his condition earlier, insisting that a little bird could serve as a perfect substitute for the Calming Incense.

He had even warned that the incense came with side effects and wasn’t good to inhale too much of.

They had been apart for just half a day. The little bird, eager for bedtime companionship, had clocked out of the study right on schedule—only to return and catch this man secretly lighting the incense.

Shen Jiujiu instantly morphed into an enraged little bird, hurtling toward Pei Du, who stood a short distance away with bandages wrapped around his hand.

“Chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp!!!”

How could you light the incense again?!

Isn’t one little bird enough for you?!