Chapter 44: No, No, No, No—It’s Not Warming the Bed!

Shen Jiujiu flapped his wings and flew right up to Xie Jingtang’s face, slapping down over her eyes with a soft plop in a desperate bid to stop his mother, who looked ready to storm out and pick a fight.

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

Xie Jingtang peeled the little bird off her face, her expression turning positively dangerous.

Shen Jiujiu’s two wings, two bird claws, and tail feather all shook frantically.

It’s not warming the bed!!

Well, that’s not entirely right… It might have warmed things up a little, but definitely not that kind of bed-warming!

Mother, calm down—calm down!!

Of course Shen Jiujiu knew what bed-warming meant.

In wealthy households, it was common enough for maids to warm beds, especially for the elderly and children during the deep autumn and winter months.

It was perfectly normal, just the literal act of warming the bed.

Shen Xinian had always been frail, so Xie Jingtang had arranged for it in the past. But Shen Xinian simply couldn’t accept it. To him, the bedchamber was an intensely private space—if it was cold, you just added more quilts. There was no need for someone to crawl in and warm the bedding.

Xie Jingtang hadn’t pushed the issue. Instead, she’d spent a fortune to build him a pepper chamber that stayed as warm as spring even in winter.

This showed just how thoroughly she doted on her son.

Shen Xinian might have stayed cloistered at home during his childhood and adolescence, rarely stepping out or making friends, but when it came to worldly knowledge, most of the capital’s young nobles couldn’t hold a candle to what he took for granted.

But a bed-warming maid or manservant in a child’s or elder’s room was a completely different matter from one in an adult man’s chambers.

The latter almost always carried an undercurrent of intimacy.

Pei Du wouldn’t stoop to anything indecent with a little bird, but the act of bed-warming itself was utterly frivolous.

For Xie Jingtang, the idea of her precious treasure turning into someone’s bed-warmer in another house wasn’t just touching a reverse scale—it was flipping it over and twisting it for good measure.

Her little bird wasn’t even as big as a fist. Bed-warming?!

Did he even know what he was warming?!

And besides—

Knowing full well that Jiujiu was Xinian, that he was a person, did Pei Du really lack a scrap of body heat that badly?!

Xie Jingtang’s thoughts drifted to the necklace around Jiujiu’s neck, then back to her earlier misunderstanding of Pei Du and Jiujiu’s relationship…

Ha, misunderstanding.

The world lacked many things, but perverts? Never in short supply.

There was nothing shocking about a fondness for little birds.

What if he just relished that sense of total control?

Jiujiu was only a little bird, helpless in the man’s grasp, unable to resist whatever games he wanted to play.

Who could stand against the cabinet’s chief minister, whose power now reached to the heavens?

Who would risk offending Pei Du over a mere bird?

Xie Jingtang’s hands clenched tighter at her sides.

Shen Jiujiu’s little wings wrapped desperately around his mother’s hand, his claws gripping the edge of the table, refusing to let go. He strained so hard that his tail feathers stuck straight out in a thin, rigid line.

To Xie Jingtang, the little bird’s strength was negligible. If she wanted, she could shake him off right now and charge out the door.

But she didn’t.

She stood there, her face shifting through a storm of emotions—cloudy one moment, sunny the next, cycling through every shade of fury and passion—before she schooled her features into a stern mask and sat back down at the table.

Shen Jiujiu let out a huge sigh of relief, still a bit dazed at how things had spiraled into “bed-warming bird” territory.

For him, reuniting with his mother under these circumstances—with pen and paper at hand—wasn’t difficult at all.

Bird writing was slow, and Shen Jiujiu had harbored a small wish to make his handwriting as pretty as possible in front of her, so he’d kept it brief, thinking it concise and to the point:

【Benefactor saved me twice】

【Benefactor raised me, taught me lessons; I coaxed Benefactor to sleep to repay him】

What was wrong with those lines?!

He was just a little bird!

Raising a little bird or sleeping with one was totally normal!

Just like cuddling a kitten or puppy to sleep— that’s how people treated pets.

Sure, in their one-man-one-bird dynamic, the bird’s thoughts weren’t entirely innocent. But what could a little bird do about it?

Even if he was drawn to his benefactor’s good looks, the most he’d manage was a sneaky snuggle and a peck.

Little Bird and Benefactor—pure as the driven snow!

So why did Mother look like… um…

Shen Jiujiu sneaked a glance at Xie Jingtang.

…like…

He racked his brains but couldn’t find the right words.

Xie Jingtang’s face remained stern as she plucked the wheedling little bird off her wrist and set him down beside the rice paper. “Stand straight! Be serious!”

Shen Jiujiu snapped to attention on instinct.

Xie Jingtang pointed at the paper. “No wheedling, no hiding, no fancy wording—write down everything that’s happened since you two met, every single detail, clear as day.”

Shen Jiujiu’s perked tail feathers drooped instantly as he slapped a wing over his little bird face.

If he had to write all that… it would be as long as one of those policy essays!

At least Benefactor had let him submit those in installments!

Wahhh, Mother doesn’t love Jiujiu anymore.

Shen Jiujiu gazed up at Xie Jingtang with teary eyes.

It had been so long since he and Mother reunited—surely she’d dote on him?

But this time, Xie Jingtang didn’t soften at her son’s antics. She frowned, her fingers gently stroking his wings as she spoke softly. “Be good, Jiujiu. Mother needs to know exactly what happened to you.”

Otherwise, how could she compete with that unfathomable Prime Minister Pei?

“You don’t want to share these experiences with Mother?”

Shen Jiujiu’s Little Bird Brush had gone askew from all the flailing, smearing ink across his wings and plump body. It turned the white fluff—once sprinkled with peanut and sesame crumbs—into a bizarre black-and-white yin-yang pattern.

The little bird paused on the tabletop, then spread his wings for Mother to straighten the brush. With a claw, he hooked the top sheet—the one covered in his scribbles—aside, revealing the clean paper beneath.

Under Xie Jingtang’s watchful gaze, the long-tailed bird ball began to write, stroke by careful stroke, his first sentence.

【Mother, Jiujiu likes him】

Xie Jingtang froze.

She took a deep breath.

Shen Jiujiu didn’t dare look at his mother.

Though chirping and wheedling had become second nature to the little bird, he wasn’t truly just a bird, after all.

Or rather, not only that.

Shen Xinian knew exactly what Xie Jingtang was worried about—and what she wanted to know.

So Little Bird cut straight to the chase and admitted it outright.

Whether it was the first flutterings of romance as a mere fledgling, or bursting out of the nest with those feelings the moment they stirred, or falling hard for someone so clearly out of reach, a figure towering impossibly high… Little Bird had every reason to feel guilty about it all.

He paused for a beat, then Shen Jiujiu threw caution to the winds and scrawled:

【Jiujiu coveted Benefactor’s beauty and took full advantage of him while Benefactor slept】

Xie Jingtang: “……”

Xie Jingtang drew in a deep breath, then flicked Little Bird sharply on the back of the head.

“Cut the nonsense—write!” she snapped.

And so, with his back turned to his mother, Shen Jiujiu steeled his little bird nerves and laid out every detail of the past half month since his rebirth.

~~~

Truth be told, Pei Du had weathered storms and upheavals aplenty in the first half of his life.

But the instant Xie Jingtang’s furious shout rang out, Lord Pei’s hand shook, sloshing his teacup.

The High Priestess seated across from him froze for a visible moment. She shot a quick glance at Pei Du, then lifted her tea to her lips in a bid to hide her shock.

Pei Du closed his eyes briefly.

Xie Jingtang hadn’t stormed out yet, which meant she was still talking with Jiujiu—or grilling him.

Pei Du abandoned any notion of beating around the bush and resolved to settle the Western Regions matter before she emerged.

“The quantity of grain the Western Regions demands. The benefits they can offer Great Zhou in return.”

His tone was ice-cold calm, devoid of even a ripple of emotion—as if Xie Jingtang’s outburst and his own fleeting lapse had never occurred.

“Xinian’s present state. What I can do for him. What you can do. And the matter Madam Xie raised about Xinian’s body.”

Peeling away that veneer of refined courtesy revealed a man of such chilling detachment that it sent a shiver through the High Priestess.

She hesitated, then ventured, “I feel a matter this weighty might call for more… delicate discussions?”

Pei Du gave a faint smile.

“If the Western Regions craves war, Great Zhou will oblige.”

He set his teacup down on the table, voice mild as ever. “Great Zhou’s domestic affairs are mine to command. Our border troops will fight to the last. Does the Western Regions dare meet us?”

The High Priestess clenched her jaw against his pressure. “Great Zhou’s Emperor and Prince Wu might not—”

“If war is truly inevitable,” Pei Du said softly, idly twisting the ring on his thumb, “then Pei can install a new Emperor. And a new Prince Wu.”

“Three Great Fortune Bearers in all, High Priestess—and yet you schemed so carefully, leveraging Xinian and Madam Xie to reach me.”

“You can hardly doubt my ability to manage that much.”

The High Priestess’s pupils quivered.

Yes.

Three Great Fortune Bearers there were, but their fortunes were far from equal.

The Great Zhou Emperor’s was threadbare at best, propped up by the faintest wisp of draconic aura.

Pei Du’s, by contrast, blazed at its zenith.

No draconic aura clung to him, true—but he could bend those who bore it to his will.

The High Priestess of the Western Regions might wield potent spiritual power, glimpse hidden truths, hoard arcane secrets. But what of it?

A glint of tedium flickered in Pei Du’s eyes.

Too easy to cow.

Naturally so.

Throned in lofty isolation, deeming themselves all-knowing, adored by devotees—such arrogance came with the territory.

Small wonder no High Priestess had ventured into the Central Plains for generations.

Pei Du went on, “Since you hold no bargaining chip to check me, High Priestess… kindly adjust to my methods.”

This was nothing like the negotiations she had envisioned before crossing into the Central Plains.

The man before her wouldn’t even feign civility.

Half an hour later, they struck a lopsided “amicable” bargain. The Western Regions secured grain enough to last the winter—at the cost of horses, ore, and rare herbs.

Pei Du parted with stores from Prince Wu’s fiefdom and reaped nearly a quarter of the borderlands’ needs in grain, medicines, and mounts.

The High Priestess couldn’t hold back. “Why not simply kill Prince Wu?”

She detected not a trace of caution toward him in Pei Du’s bearing.

“Why would I?” Pei Du shot back, plainly in high spirits.

High Priestess: “He dominates Great Zhou’s court, his ambitions boundless. For balance’s sake? To avoid crossing the Emperor? But you could seize the throne yourself, couldn’t you?”

In the Western Regions, every prince hungered for the crown. In Great Zhou, imperial power tempted even more fiercely.

“Seize the throne.” Pei Du echoed her words, shaking his head with faint exasperation. “But what difference would it make to me?”

Purge Prince Wu’s faction, and every courtier and clan now eyeing him warily would pivot to Pei Du. The Emperor and Empress Dowager would mark him for removal—

Usurpation was feasible. But why pursue it?

Pei Du reflected, detached and faintly bored.

His Pei forebears, his departed parents—they might not crave honors from the founding Emperor.

The High Priestess fell silent.

She began to question how a man like this could be the world’s chosen Great Fortune Bearer, beloved of the divine.

Until that fluffy little bird barreled out from behind the screen, wings flapping wildly like a fuzzy cannonball, hurtling straight at the back of Pei Du’s head.

The High Priestess watched, transfixed, as Pei Du’s entire demeanor transformed in a heartbeat—reverting to the poised, gentle poise of a paragon gentleman upon his arrival. He caught the tumbling bird with exquisite care.

The High Priestess fell into thoughtful quiet.

Xie Jingtang emerged clutching a hefty sheaf of paper, her face a mask of ambiguous emotion: not quite glad, not quite irked; not angry, not serene. She seemed awkwardly hesitant, laced with subtle unease.

She spared Pei Du no glance, ignored Shen Jiujiu fluttering straight into his waiting palm, and simply sank back into her seat at the table to sip her tea.

But her mind was clearly elsewhere; she never noticed it cooling.

Pei Du glanced down at Shen Jiujiu.

Shen Jiujiu peered up at Pei Du.

Shen Jiujiu shot Pei Du a cheeky little bird wink.

Jiujiu’s got this, Benefactor—rest easy!

Pei Du recalled Xie Jingtang’s parting shot and sensed his heart shouldn’t settle just yet.

Shen Jiujiu had filled a thick stack of paper; now his little wings throbbed with aches and pains. He chirped plaintively, begging Benefactor for a rub.

Pei Du had grown adept at massaging Little Bird’s wings. Back in the study at home, once he and the bird wrapped up their daily duties and lessons, the indispensable ritual before dinner was always giving Little Bird a good wing rub.

Shen Jiujiu flopped right onto the spot from Pei Du’s kneading, belly up and exposed, his tiny paws draped over Pei Du’s fingers, twitching now and then in time with the motions.

Xie Jingtang: “…”

The little bird nestled in Benefactor’s palm shot Mother a pitiful, pleading glance.

Xie Jingtang: “…”

After a stretch of silence from Xie Jingtang, it wasn’t Pei Du—who was once again glued to the bird—who spoke first, but the High Priestess who had entered alongside her.

“High Priestess,” she began, “you once told me that Xinian still lives, blessed to be under the protection of a Great Fortune Bearer, his soul safe and sound. Our top priority is locating his missing body.”

Xie Jingtang’s gaze held steady, unflinching as it fixed on the High Priestess.

“Today, I ask you plainly—for all the grain and goods I’ve traded to the Western Regions over these many years, and for introducing you to Lord Pei—to give me a straight answer: Can my son, Shen Xinian, still borrow a corpse to restore his soul and return to the world of the living?”

At those words, both Pei Du and Shen Jiujiu turned their attention to the High Priestess.

“Impossible.”

Her response came without a trace of hesitation, firm as iron, utterly certain.

“Death is an irreversible truth. The departed never return to life.”

“That sliver of hope I mentioned before—you’ve seen it with your own eyes.”

The High Priestess glanced at the little bird, flattened out like a pancake in Pei Du’s hand as it craned its head around. “Young Master Shen may lack a human form now, but his body and soul face no more of the world’s harsh rejection or suppression.”

Shen Jiujiu mulled over her words.

It was true. After his rebirth as this little bird, that bone-deep exhaustion—the kind where every breath ached and drained him—had vanished entirely. That was why he spent his days chirping and darting about everywhere, like a pup loosed from its cage, brimming with uncontainable joy.

“Once we cremate Young Master Shen’s former body and sever all ties to his past, to heaven and earth, he will truly be dead. From that point on, his soul, his memories, his every word and deed will be free of any restraints.”

Shen Jiujiu’s pupils shrank to pinpricks.

Was that why he still couldn’t speak of the plot? Because his corpse hadn’t been fully incinerated?

What if, down the line…

A frantic pounding erupted from the little bird’s chest.

“This is the ‘placing him in death to grant new life’ I spoke of.”

The High Priestess’s eyes flicked briefly over Pei Du, a moment’s hesitation passing before she held her tongue on possibilities that might never come to pass. Instead, she offered only a cryptic phrase, heavy with unspoken implications:

“What happens next will depend entirely on human will.”