Pei Du was a light sleeper, and when he awoke, there was little trace of drowsiness in his eyes.
He glanced at the sky outside the window.
Though he hadn’t slept for long, the rest had been unusually refreshing.
With sufficient repose, the faint furrow that usually creased his brow smoothed out, lending his features a rare air of serenity and contentment.
The little bird dumpling was still fast asleep, its wings splayed boldly across the rice paper. No one knew what dreams danced through its mind, but the wingtips twitched and quivered now and then.
Its long tail feathers draped over the hollow of Pei Du’s thumb, and its tiny claws would give his fingers a few feeble kicks whenever the wings stirred.
Pei Du looked down at the chaotic bird footprints smudged in ink across the paper, then at the black prints staining his own fingers and palm. He let out a helpless chuckle.
The Eagle Treatise he had unfurled for the little bird dumpling before his nap lay exactly where he had left it—no page had been turned.
Without disturbing the soundly sleeping long-tailed bird, Pei Du leaned forward and peered at the study postscript it had scrawled.
It was much like the few lines from before: the bird’s claw marks were far from tidy. Yet because the text was so brief, the crooked, sprawling strokes seemed far less pronounced.
At first, Pei Du merely skimmed it. He had assigned the postscript not to demand any real output from the bird, but simply to gauge the extent of its prior lessons.
His days were consumed by official duties, and the intelligence reports he had to review were endless. How could he possibly carve out time to properly tutor a little bird?
In truth, it was nothing more than the creature’s adorable coquettishness that had prompted him to tease it a bit.
But this brief postscript, penned by the bird’s own claws, drew his eyes back for a close, word-by-word reading.
Shen Jiujiu slumbered sweetly, dreaming not only of soaring to a tavern but of devouring an entire bowl of braised pork—fatty and lean slices glistening in a tantalizing sweet glaze. His beak shone with grease, his chirps rang with satisfaction, and he felt as though his avian life had reached its pinnacle.
In the dream, Pei Du even sat beside him, dabbing his face, claws, and beak clean with a handkerchief once the feast was done!
Shen Jiujiu smacked his beak contentedly, stamping his claws against the bowl’s rim as if to punctuate his bliss. He was just about to burst into an ode to braised pork when some invisible force clamped his beak shut. He shook his head furiously, but it held fast.
—Who the hell?!
In furious outrage, Shen Jiujiu snapped open his beady black eyes, flames of anger flickering within.
Only then did he realize that the “invisible force” was Pei Du’s slender, pale fingers—and that his own wings and claws were braced against those fingers, struggling in vain against the overwhelming might of a giant human.
Shen Jiujiu froze. “…”
“What were you dreaming of?” The refined Prime Minister Pei curved his lips in a gentle smile, releasing the bird’s beak. His tone carried genuine curiosity. “You drooled all over yourself.”
Shen Jiujiu sheepishly pulled away from Pei Du and hopped behind the inkstone, turning his back. He frantically rubbed his face with his wingtips, desperate to dry the damp fluff beside his cheek and erase the evidence.
A handkerchief appeared beside him, offered with thoughtful care.
Busy as he was, Shen Jiujiu’s tail feathers stiffened. Without turning, he executed a daring split, hooking the cloth with one outstretched claw and yanking it to his side.
Pei Du raised a hand to cover his smile, lowering his gaze to the booklet in his lap. He gave the prideful little bird space to compose itself.
Once Shen Jiujiu had scrubbed himself clean, he spun in a circle, spotted the water-filled brush rinse on the desk, and carefully preened his ruffled feathers. Only then did he hop back to Pei Du’s side as if nothing had happened.
Pei Du was reading the Eagle Treatise, and Shen Jiujiu noticed his painstaking study postscript set aside nearby, left to dry.
The little bird chirped proudly, then puffed out his chest, awaiting Pei Du to make good on his promise.
True to his word, Pei Du promptly extended his hand.
Shen Jiujiu’s eyes widened.
He had figured Pei Du was so busy that even if he honored the deal, it might take days to arrange. He never imagined the reward would come now, immediately, right this instant.
Ecstatic, Shen Jiujiu plopped into Pei Du’s palm. In his glee, he dove headfirst into the man’s sleeve, nuzzling against the taut muscles of his forearm with abandon.
Pei Du’s expression grew subtly peculiar. Without a word, he reached in and fished out the little bird dumpling. Meeting the bird’s bewildered gaze, he said warmly, “Wait while I change clothes.”
…
The Pei Mansion’s carriage halted at the street corner.
Pei Du wore a simple plain robe, his waist unadorned save for a single pendant of white jade.
Shen Jiujiu, chirping excitedly nonstop, hopped from Pei Du’s left shoulder to his right, his fluffy form half-hidden amid the man’s flowing hair. Only the dark tail feathers poked out now and then, resembling a decorative hair ribbon draped across Pei Du’s chest.
It was the busiest hour at West Market, waves of clamor crashing over them.
From afar, Shen Jiujiu spotted the crimson candied hawthorns skewered on tall straw targets. He rubbed his little head ingratiatingly against Pei Du’s ear.
Pei Du said, “One whole skewer is too much for the little bird.”
Shen Jiujiu: “Chirp chirp!”
Pei Du: “I don’t care for sweets.”
Shen Jiujiu’s cries by Pei Du’s ear turned utterly plaintive and wheedling, the epitome of fawning appeal. He even thrust out the claw cramped from writing his postscript, performing a little act of limping agony right before Pei Du’s eyes.
When Pei Du remained unmoved, Shen Jiujiu went all in. Fearless, the entire bird dumpling toppled from the man’s shoulder into his waiting palm. He flopped his head toward the hawthorns, draping his wings limply over his body.
The little bird was heartbroken.
The little bird would die with eyes unclosed.
But Pei Du had developed a sliver of resistance to Shen Jiujiu’s antics and stayed resolute.
After all, buying the hawthorns was a trifle; the real issue was strolling through the streets dangling one—for him, Pei Du, not the bird.
One ploy failing, Shen Jiujiu hatched another.
From his spot lounging in Pei Du’s palm, he wriggled upward, using his wings to nudge the man’s fingers down a touch. Then, reclining like a beauty on a chaise, he half-veiled his beak with a wingtip and let out pitiful, whimpering chirps—a vision of frail, tear-streaked delicacy.
The little bird only wanted one candied hawthorn.
How could mere hunger kill him?
Wah…
Pei Du: “……”
Everyone knew that a child just beginning their studies wouldn’t harbor such roundabout little schemes.
Recalling that study postscript from before—which was in no way inferior to the work of an adult scholar—only deepened the doubts and suspicions in Pei Du’s heart.
But all those questions could wait. Right now, the issue at hand was whether he should buy some candied hawthorns for the frail, tearful little bird.
Shen Jiujiu keenly sensed Pei Du’s softening resolve. His whimpering chirps grew even more insistent, laced now with the little bird’s coquettish hums.
Meeting the little bird’s flirtatious glance, Pei Du: “……”
Prime Minister Pei didn’t point out that the little bird’s blinking looked more like an eye twitch. Instead, he pivoted on his toes and headed toward the candied hawthorn vendor.
~~~
By the time Pei Du and Shen Jiujiu were seated in the private room of the restaurant, the table held not only the tea and refreshments Pei Du had ordered, but also the candied hawthorns and roasted chestnuts Shen Jiujiu had wheedled out of him with relentless pleading.
The moment the waiter who had brought the tea stepped out, Shen Jiujiu darted impatiently from Pei Du’s hair. He spread his wings for a diving leap, then glided straight to the lotus leaf wrapping the candied hawthorns. Planting a claw on the bamboo skewer, he lowered his head and tucked in with vigorous pecks.
“Crunch crunch crunch crunch, crunch crunch crunch…”
Pei Du sat poised to one side, pouring his tea and sipping it leisurely. He occasionally glanced down at the street below, but more often his eyes lingered on the table—specifically, on the little bird pecking away at the candied hawthorns like a determined woodpecker.
“Knock knock knock.”
Three measured raps sounded at the private room’s door, neither rushed nor lingering.
“This lowly official, Zhou Su, Vice Minister of Dali Temple, humbly requests an audience with Lord Pei.”
