Chapter 28

Lord Pei was a scholar who firmly believed that true knowledge came from practice.

He gave Shen Jiujiu a thorough baseline examination.

Then, staring at the wildly uneven results from the little bird dumpling, Lord Pei sank into deep thought.

Shen Jiujiu had not fully recovered the memories of his life as Shen Xinian, but knowledge had a way of seeping into the soul, becoming an inseparable instinct.

It emerged unbidden in his speech and gestures, in the words he wrote—echoes of books once read, experiences lived, thoughts distilled.

Shen Jiujiu… or more precisely, Shen Xinian… struck Pei Du as a peculiar and contradictory scholar.

How many scholars pored over past imperial examinations, trying to predict the examiners’ preferences?

They were legion across the land.

But how many actually guessed the questions correctly?

It was a skill, yes—but more than that, a gift.

And then there was Shen Xinian’s razor-sharp instinct for the currents of court politics and national affairs, a clarity possessed by precious few among the literati.

It was the kind of vision that pierced through fog to the heart of the matter, something eight out of ten scholars could chase their whole lives without ever attaining.

From this angle alone, Shen Xinian was eminently suited to serve as an advisor to some great power.

Yes, an advisor.

Yet Pei Du did not believe Shen Xinian was cut out for officialdom—at least not yet.

As a court scholar, he lacked the patience required for the Hanlin Academy and the relentless pursuit of classical texts, not to mention the unyielding integrity of a censor.

As a local magistrate governing a county, his ideas were sound in principle—even brilliant, always selecting the most correct path with the longest-term benefits from a sea of options.

But ruling a county in practice demanded not the ideal decision, but one tailored to local realities: something that soothed the people while delivering quick, visible results to rally their spirits.

Out of habit as a Cabinet minister, Pei Du could not help pondering: if Shen Xinian were his student, how would he guide and instruct him?

An advisor?

In true chaotic times, advisors might rise to prominence, but in the current Great Zhou Dynasty, they remained disreputable retainers, unfit for the public stage.

Pei Du rejected that path.

Xinian was still young. There was time to teach him slowly, to instill knowledge bit by bit, to shape his course.

He deserved a better road forward.

Pei Du clutched Shen Jiujiu’s test paper, lost in his own musings, while the bird on the desk had already completed two laps around the surface. Turning back, Shen Jiujiu spotted Pei Du still deep in thought.

He hopped to Pei Du’s side, fluffed his tail feathers, and plopped down like a sticky rice dumpling dusted with sesame and peanut crumbs. Tilting his head up, he gazed at his own exam paper.

Was Little Bird’s score really that bad?

Shen Jiujiu quickly scanned his answers. Even if it wasn’t genius-level brilliance, it had to be solidly average, right?

He’d never seen Pei Du brood over a single memorial in silence for this long.

Pei Du’s gaze drifted down from the paper to rest on Shen Jiujiu’s little head.

Sensing the look, Shen Jiujiu leaned back, blinking his beady bird eyes up at Pei Du.

Pei Du reached out and prodded the back of Shen Jiujiu’s head, steadying the sticky rice dumpling just before it toppled over.

The reason for his prolonged silence was one particular trait in Shen Xinian—a quality no book could impart, no worldly wisdom could alter.

Pei Du was an excellent judge of character. His role demanded it: sifting through the empire’s officials, scholars, and generals to place the right people in the right positions.

He had noticed it early on: the subtle sense of detachment Shen Jiujiu carried in his interactions with others.

The bird was outgoing and lively, eager for closeness, yet he never truly immersed himself in people or events. Even with Pei Du—his closest companion these days—the bird’s eyes occasionally flickered with a cool, appraising clarity.

He would draw near out of affection, seeking to help reshape others’ fates, yet he did so with a resigned acceptance of whatever heaven decreed.

If he failed, Shen Jiujiu would grieve, he would sorrow—but it would pass quickly.

That paradox of immersion and aloofness… it was as if he were merely reading a storybook, one whose ending he already knew.

And Pei Du, Sui Ziming, even the Zhenguo Marquis Mansion and Madam Zhou—despite their past grudge—were nothing more than characters within its pages.

All of Shen Jiujiu’s affections stopped at the surface, untouched by true love or hate.

Except for one.

Xie Jingtang.

Only his mother evoked genuine emotion in Shen Xinian—a visceral reaction at the mere mention of her name.

Pei Du had dissected every action Shen Jiujiu had taken since coming into his care, peeling back the layers without a word until he had seen beneath every feather.

Perched on the desk and idly rubbing his talons together, Shen Jiujiu suddenly shivered for no reason. He opened his beak wide.

“Cheep—achoo!”

Pei Du suppressed the whirl of thoughts in his mind and swiftly rearranged the lesson plan he had prepared in advance—adding, subtracting, reordering. Then he began, “We…”

Shen Jiujiu had been waiting for exactly those words.

But before Pei Du could say more than two syllables, the little bird dumpling launched himself upward, wings splayed, and latched onto Pei Du’s mouth.

Pei Du: “…?”

Shen Jiujiu pressed his talons against Pei Du’s lips, his soft belly poking right at the center, while his spread wings framed Pei Du’s face like a half-mask clamped to his cheeks.

“Cheep cheep cheep, cheep~”

You talk later—Little Bird first!

Not yet accustomed to such intimate proximity from a person… or rather, a bird… Pei Du gently lifted a hand and pried the little bird mask from his face.

“Very well. You first.”

He even thoughtfully fitted the Little Bird Brush into place before Shen Jiujiu could speak again.

Shen Jiujiu had been mulling over his words since entering the study. Now, with utmost seriousness, he gripped the Little Bird Brush and wrote in neat, deliberate strokes.

【You said before that I could make one request.】

Pei Du was never short on patience.

He did not interrupt or guess ahead, simply waiting in silence until the little bird dumpling finished writing everything he wanted to say.

【I want a chance.】

At this point, Shen Jiujiu paused for a brief rest.

Pei Du gently massaged the bird’s wings.

Shen Jiujiu chirped his thanks, then twisted around to continue.

【If I can recover that half of the silver from the Marquis Mansion…】

【…then Little Bird will be the family accountant.】

【Little Bird the accountant will only work the abacus—no reading, no books.】

Shen Jiujiu finished writing and deliberately lingered beside the words “not study,” conveying Little Bird’s most sincere and urgent hope.

Pei Du gazed at Shen Jiujiu’s handwriting. He neither rejected nor approved it right away. Instead, after a brief moment of contemplation, he spoke. “It’s not possible to avoid studying altogether.”

Shen Jiujiu caught the nuance in Pei Du’s choice of words—not the commanding “no,” but a gentler “not possible” that left room for discussion. His eyes lit up at once.

【I’m just a little bird】

【I can’t take the imperial exams】

Shen Jiujiu’s expression shifted instantly to wide, teary eyes, brimming with pitiful longing.

“You’re right, Little Bird. You don’t need to sit for the imperial exams,” Pei Du said, a smile tugging at his lips as he noted Shen Jiujiu’s array of earnest tactics. “There’s no issue with Little Bird handling the accounts for the household, of course. But the Pei Mansion’s ledgers are intricate. If you’re to manage the estate, the household staff must respect and trust you.”

“You know the Zhenguo Marquis Mansion inside and out. That sum of silver may not be enormous, but it carries great weight.”

“Making an example of the Zhenguo Marquis Mansion to establish your authority is a fine strategy.”

If Sui Ziming had been there, he would have stared at Pei Du as if beholding a ghost.

Entrusting household accounts to a bird ball no bigger than a fist? For the Pei family, with its sprawling web of inner and outer connections? Had Pei Du lost his mind?

And to deliver such an outlandish notion with such serene composure.

Yet the bird at the center of it all, Shen Jiujiu, saw nothing amiss or absurd. At Pei Du’s words hinting at agreement, Little Bird’s head bobbed furiously, like a woodpecker drilling away.

Yes, yes, yes!

Little Bird thought exactly the same!

Benefactor truly understood birds!

“But—”

Before Shen Jiujiu could spread his wings in excitement and soar around the study, Pei Du shifted his tone.

“Xinian, my suggestion is this: in addition to managing the household and the accounts, consider studying some subjects with me—lessons beyond the policy essays of the imperial exams.”

“Things beyond the pages of books.”

Shen Jiujiu scratched at his head with the tip of his wing.

So why was Pei Du so insistent on becoming Little Bird’s teacher?

Shen Jiujiu didn’t understand, so he wrote out his question directly.

Pei Du’s voice was warm. “Xinian, you’ve already experienced one extraordinary stroke of fate, transforming from a man into a little bird. Who can say there won’t be another in the days to come?”

Shen Jiujiu froze.

He had no idea why he had transmigrated into the book, let alone why Shen Xinian had become Shen Jiujiu after his death.

Which meant he truly had no way to refute Pei Du’s point.

That slim chance, that “what if”—it could very well come to pass.

Little Bird sank into thought.

“Power and influence, family background—they can all dissipate like smoke in a single night. Teachers, elders, friends—they may be unable to stand by your side once your status changes. Xinian, only the qualities you possess within yourself will stay with you forever.”

As Pei Du spoke, the faintest flicker of reminiscence crossed his face, vanishing almost as quickly as it appeared.

In his own childhood, there had been an elder just like this—gently guiding a bewildered child with words full of warmth.

“Just as you’ve become a little bird now. Because you can read and write, think deeply, compose essays, and keep accounts, no one treats you like an ordinary bird to be caged and fed.”

“Should you one day return to human form, even in an era of peace—be it in a noble house of wealth or as an ordinary commoner—you’ll face trials aplenty.”

“And if chaos descends upon the world, knowledge from books alone won’t suffice. You must learn to see through the hearts of men and navigate the ways of the world.”

“Xinian, no matter what the future holds, I want you to live well.”

“Smooth and untroubled, with long years of peace in Chang’an.”

No one had ever spoken these words to Shen Xinian.

Before transmigrating, his high school teachers had urged him to study hard and aim for a top university. His college professors had told him to master his major for a solid career ahead.

But Shen Xinian had drifted aimlessly through his freshman year. Now in his sophomore year, attending classes alongside his peers, he remained lost about his future.

What field would he enter? What work would he do?

He had no answers.

After transmigrating, his mother Xie Jingtang had wished only for her young son to grow up safe and sound. She spared no effort to provide him with the finest conditions, teaching him the arts of commerce in which she excelled. Her hope was that he would live a life of security and prosperity.

Pei Du had crossed paths with Shen Xinian early on, though their true acquaintance came late.

Yet he had appeared precisely when Shen Xinian felt most adrift and uncertain.

Pei Du laid it all out plainly, step by step, offering Shen Xinian both the choice and the agency to decide.

Of course, Shen Jiujiu could simply revel in being a carefree little bird. Pei Du could easily support one such bird—and he would never demand that a creature who had already aided him so much compose poetry or amass encyclopedic knowledge just to suit the stature of the Prime Minister.

But Pei Du hoped their meeting could leave an indelible, useful mark on Shen Xinian’s life.

Pei Du always maintained a keen sense of propriety and distance.

Earlier, Shen Jiujiu’s presence had helped Pei Du stay clear-headed and healthy, so in return, drawing from his own experience, Pei Du had offered a measured piece of guidance.

It had felt like a fair exchange.

But in the time since, Shen Jiujiu had flapped his wings with such determination, even saving Sui Ziming’s life—and in doing so, he had truly entered Pei Du’s inner circle.

So even if Shen Jiujiu remained innocent and unaware, the ever-perceptive Pei Du could no longer feign ignorance or brush it aside.

He wished to give Shen Xinian the finest gift that Pei Du himself could offer.

Shen Jiujiu fell silent for a long while.

It was not until the sharp triple clack of the night watchman’s clapper echoed from beyond the mansion walls that the plump Little Bird Dumpling fluttered gently toward Pei Du’s palm. With his beak, he lightly pecked the pad of Pei Du’s thumb.

“Chirp.”

Alright.

Jiujiu would learn.