Chapter 19: Bird's Nest

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Fang Qin gently comforted Zhao Baozhu, but seeing his complexion still pale, she called the kitchen to prepare a pot of calming tonic and coaxed him to drink it. Then she helped him lie back down, carefully wiping the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief.

Lying on the bed, Zhao Baozhu’s mind was a chaotic mess. After taking the medicine, drowsiness began to wash over him. Fang Qin noticed his long, thick eyelashes fluttering slowly, his eyes dimming, and softly soothed him, “Rest well, and you’ll feel better when you wake tomorrow.”

Zhao Baozhu’s thoughts were tangled and complicated, yet he couldn’t bring himself to speak to Fang Qin. He simply nodded and murmured a faint “Hmm.”

Seeing his fragile state, Fang Qin quietly thought him delicate, then instructed someone to light some calming incense. She dabbed some on Zhao Baozhu’s forehead, extinguished all the lamps, and quietly stepped out.

The room plunged into darkness. Zhao Baozhu lay on the bed, his mind drifting from the Four Books and Five Classics he’d read as a child, to tales told by village elders about the young masters, talented scholars, and beauties of the capital. Then he recalled when he became a licentiate and went to the county magistrate’s office to collect his official document. The magistrate’s words revealed a reverence and yearning for the emperor.

“You commoner licentiates from the countryside can’t compare to the young masters in the capital,” he remembered the magistrate, donned in a nearly new blue official robe, stroking his goatee while addressing them. “If you pass the provincial exam and then the palace exam, you can glimpse the emperor’s presence—observe carefully. But once you are assigned to an outlying post, whether you’ll return to the capital or meet noble patrons depends entirely on your own fortune.”

“If you’re lucky enough to speak a few words with the sons of princes and generals when you enter the capital, you must cherish it. If those noble patrons remember you kindly and speak favorably before the emperor, your future will be secured!”

The magistrate’s words buzzed in Zhao Baozhu’s mind. At times, he felt as if his soul floated above the clouds; at others, he was still lying on the soft bed in the Ye family’s mansion. Suddenly, he recalled that the magistrate was also from Yizhou, had passed the imperial examination in the previous dynasty, and had served as county magistrate in exile for over twenty years.

•

Amidst the turmoil, Zhao Baozhu slept fitfully through most of the night but awoke before the rooster crowed, his entire body aching. He raised his hand to his forehead and found it damp with cold sweat.

Blinking, he sighed. His sleep had been restless, filled with strange, surreal dreams he now could not recall. But the news he’d heard yesterday surged into his mind, making his vision blur and exhale deeply—as if trying to sigh his very soul out.

Unable to fall back asleep, he rose, changed his clothes, and went to the spring to wash his face. Just as he finished drying his face, he heard someone call him.

Approaching the main room, he saw Ye Jinghua, seemingly just risen, dressed in a moon-white robe embroidered with blue bamboo leaves, seated at the table.

Zhao Baozhu quietly called, “Young Master.”

Ye Jinghua looked up, his gaze sweeping over his face before beckoning him closer. Taking Zhao Baozhu’s hand, his slender fingers gently squeezed his palm. “Why are your hands so cold?”

Feeling this, Ye Jinghua frowned and touched the shoulder of Zhao Baozhu’s garment. “It’s so chilly this morning; why didn’t you wear more clothes?”

Seeing such concern, Zhao Baozhu’s emotions grew even more complex. He had always admired Ye Jinghua’s character and was grateful for his endless care. Now knowing he was the prime minister’s son, he felt overwhelmed by the debts of gratitude he owed.

Feeling both conflicted and ashamed that he couldn’t openly befriend such a distinguished person, he lowered his head and murmured, “I’m not cold. I just washed my face with cold water, so my hands feel chilly.”

Ye Jinghua looked up at him, silent for a moment, then softly asked, “Still unhappy?”

Zhao Baozhu’s heart tightened, and he hurriedly shook his head. “No.”

Seeing him so sullen, with no smile on his face, Ye Jinghua said nothing more but felt a deepening regret. He had known from the magpies’ arrival that Lady Ye would come calling, but hadn’t expected to frighten Zhao Baozhu so.

He sighed inwardly and motioned for Zhao Baozhu to sit beside him, pushing a small porcelain bowl toward him. “Eat something first.”

Zhao Baozhu sat and saw several small dishes of porridge and snacks arranged before him, clearly prepared just for him. He grew restless and asked softly, “Have the other brothers eaten?”

He was referring to Deng Yun and the Fang brothers tending nearby. Ye Jinghua didn’t even look up. “They’ve already eaten.”

Zhao Baozhu nodded and glanced down at the bowl, seeing a thick, clear soup with a few bright red goji berries floating on the surface.

He scooped a spoonful, sniffed it, detecting no particular aroma, and curiously asked, “What is this?”

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Ye Jinghua was having a maid pour ginger tea and pushed the cup toward Zhao Baozhu. “It’s a tonic porridge to replenish qi and blood. Drink it.”

Zhao Baozhu nodded and took a sip. The porridge was mildly sweet but otherwise flavorless. It reminded him of the thin starchy layer that sometimes formed atop congee. Pursing his lips, he said, “Such a strange porridge… I don’t see any rice.”

At this, someone could no longer contain themselves. Deng Yun’s annoyed voice rang out, “What do you know? This is premium bird’s nest!”

Zhao Baozhu froze. Ye Jinghua’s fingers paused, his brows knitting slightly. “Deng Yun.”

Deng Yun fell silent, intimidated by his master’s stern gaze, though inwardly jealous. It wasn’t that he minded Zhao Baozhu eating bird’s nest; rather, he thought the boy was uncouth and lacking refinement, and that such delicacies were wasted on him.

Wide-eyed, Zhao Baozhu immediately set down his spoon. “Such an expensive thing—I couldn’t possibly eat it.”

He’d only heard of bird’s nest before, never seen it. He knew it was a top-grade tonic, worth more than gold by weight. Already indebted to Ye Jinghua, he wondered how he could ever repay such kindness.

Ye Jinghua sighed, guessing Zhao Baozhu would refuse it if he knew its value, and gently reassured him, “Don’t listen to him. It’s not worth much.”

But Zhao Baozhu wasn’t convinced. He turned his head away, refusing to eat no matter how much Ye Jinghua coaxed. Seeing this, Ye Jinghua did not get angry. He handed the bowl to a waiting maid with a calm voice:

“If he won’t eat it, take it away.”

Hearing this, Zhao Baozhu quickly turned back. “Ah?” Such a costly thing would be wasted? He hated wasting food. Seeing Ye Jinghua look at him, he stammered, “Th-then, please let me eat it.”

Ye Jinghua smiled faintly at this and watched as Zhao Baozhu ate the bird’s nest, then served him a plate of steamed buns and two snacks, feeding him until his belly was round and his complexion rosy before stopping.

After breakfast, Zhao Baozhu followed Ye Jinghua to the study. Recently, Ye Jinghua had taught him most of the “Great Learning,” but today they switched to “Zhuangzi.” Ye Jinghua opened the book to a chapter and asked him to write.

Yet this time, Zhao Baozhu hesitated, unable to put pen to paper.

Seeing his hesitation, Ye Jinghua put down the book and came beside him, glancing at the desk. “What’s wrong? Is there something you don’t understand?”

Zhao Baozhu stared at the characters, his mind tangled with complex emotions. How fortunate was he to be taught by the prime minister’s son? If he were a proper scholar and Ye Jinghua willingly taught him, their friendship would be pure and simple, and he need not feel ashamed.

But he’d lost his official document and, by a twist of fate, was living off the Ye family’s generosity—using their resources and even deceiving Ye Jinghua into teaching him.

The more he thought, the more embarrassed he became. He raised his head, wanting to confess his true identity to Ye Jinghua. Yet when he met Ye Jinghua’s transparent, slightly worried eyes, he feared that revealing the truth now would make Ye Jinghua think him a scheming rogue pretending to be a refugee to curry favor with the prime minister’s son—and would surely cast him out.

Frowning, his face flushing red and white, Zhao Baozhu finally said nothing and dropped his brush. “I... I don’t want to study anymore.”

Ye Jinghua was taken aback, then frowned gently and asked, “Why? Don’t want to read ‘Zhuangzi’? We can switch to another book.”

Seeing Ye Jinghua’s patience, Zhao Baozhu’s heart ached with unsaid words. He could only reply sullenly, “I don’t want to study any book today.”

Gradually, the smile on Ye Jinghua’s face faded. He looked at Zhao Baozhu’s black hair and knitted his brows, his voice turning colder: “Are you just tired of studying?”

Zhao Baozhu paused. To have the chance to study was already a blessing; he had never complained about the hardship of learning before. But without other excuses, he nodded and murmured “Hmm.”

Seeing this, Ye Jinghua’s frown deepened. Zhao Baozhu had been so obedient before—more diligent than many of Ye family’s own illegitimate siblings—and Ye Jinghua liked him for it. What had happened today that made him refuse to study?

His gaze swept over Zhao Baozhu. He wanted to scold him: “One must never skip a day’s study.” But recalling how pale the boy’s face was after being frightened yesterday, he swallowed his harsh words and said softly, “Forget it.” He reached out and patted Zhao Baozhu’s head. “Today, you may take the day off. Go play in the courtyard.”

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Hearing this, Zhao Baozhu looked up to see Ye Jinghua’s gentle and forgiving gaze. His nose tingled with emotion. He whispered assent and dashed out.

•

Outside the study, Zhao Baozhu wandered aimlessly in the courtyard, lost in thought. Spring was deepening; fresh green shoots sprouted among the trees, and birds chirped in the branches. Lowering his head, he passed through a narrow alley, failing to hear Deng Yun calling to him.

“Hey?” Deng Yun, puzzled by his dreamy gait, asked, “What’s wrong now? Has he still not found his soul?”

Fang Qin noticed Zhao Baozhu too and sighed, reproving Deng Yun, “Why do you have to be so sharp-tongued in the morning? He’s from a small place and easily overthinks. Isn’t your tone just making him feel worse?”

Deng Yun sulked but replied, “Who knew he was so sensitive?” Then worriedly added, “What should we do? Should I go apologize to him now?”

Fang Qin glanced at him with a scowl. “Forget it. With your mouth, you’d just make him angrier.”

While they talked, Zhao Baozhu had already reached a grove of trees. When the path ended, he suddenly snapped out of his daze, looking around. Surrounded by shrubs and woods, he wasn’t sure where he had wandered.

He tiptoed to peek over the treetops and saw the pointed roof of the study in the distance. Relieved he hadn’t strayed far, he squatted down, broke off a twig, and began silently copying poems and texts into the dirt. After finishing one, he covered it with soil and started the next.

After half an hour, boredom crept in. This review only reinforced what he already knew; it couldn’t compare to Ye Jinghua’s teaching.

He remembered Ye Jinghua’s elegant handwriting and felt a growing itch to learn. Had it been yesterday, they would have covered several chapters of “Zhuangzi” by now.

Sighing, he mused how different it would be if he’d approached Ye Jinghua as a proper licentiate from the start. But then, how could a rustic scholar from a village meet the son of the prime minister?

He sighed again. As he copied the line, “I only hope the teacher is like the moon, where no one’s jar will fail to meet,” a sudden idea flashed through his mind.

Now, without status or credentials, he was essentially freeloading on Ye Jinghua’s knowledge. But if he formally presented a gift and took Ye Jinghua as his teacher, everything would be different!

Excited by this clear path, he sprang up from the ground, startling a flock of birds into flight.

At that moment, an unfamiliar voice called out, “Madam, there’s someone in the woods.”

Startled, Zhao Baozhu looked up and saw a group of figures outside the trees, a cluster of maids and servants surrounding a woman wearing blue shoes embroidered with gold thread. Before he could study them further, a clear female voice ordered,

“Who’s skulking about? Go get them at once!”

Zhao Baozhu recognized Lady Ye’s voice. As footsteps approached, fearing he might be mistaken for a troublemaker and beaten, he quickly called out,

“No need! I’m coming out now.”

He raised his hands to shield his head and hurried out.

Outside the trees, Lady Ye’s brows furrowed as she watched a figure dart out. It was a young man in a pale blue short robe, running quickly to her. He lifted his head, revealing a fair face smudged with dirt and a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead, and bowed respectfully.

“Baozhu pays respects to Madam Ye.”

Lady Ye relaxed her frown upon seeing him and smiled, holding a handkerchief to her lips as she pointed at Zhao Baozhu.

“This courtyard of Qing’er’s is flourishing more and more. Look, I wonder where this little stray kitten popped up from.”