After leaving Hunter Zhang's house, Wen Chaoshen trudged alone through the ankle-deep snow, his hand holding the letter trembling constantly.
It wasn't because of the cold.
The first time he visited Lü Zhiming's residence, Madam Lü had given him some thick clothes. They didn't fit perfectly, but they were more than enough to keep out the cold.
The reason his hand was shaking was fear.
Observing the leaves, one can predict autumn.
Wen Chaoshen had a vague thought that the letter in his hand might be connected to a major event with far-reaching implications.
These matters concerned everyone, from the court to the common people.
In the swirling cold wind and snow, two memories kept fshing through Wen Chaoshen's mind—those of A Shui and Cheng Feng.
...
"What I want to know is, even though my parents died five years ago, why have I been receiving letters from them all these years, saying... they're doing well."
...
"Your calligraphy is truly masterful. If you ventured to the Royal City, you'd at least be a renowned calligrapher. Why are you nguishing in this tiny, impoverished pce?"
...
"I'd rather not write so well."
...
"Do you want to know why?"
"...It's all in these eight characters."
...
These conversations kept echoing in Wen Chaoshen's mind. He didn't even wait to return to the county city; he took out the characters Cheng Feng had given him at the South Gate.
"Forget home, a word, a century in the mortal world... a word, a century... What secret is hidden within?"
In the snow, Wen Chaoshen stared at those eight characters for a long time. When dusk finally overtook the snow's brightness, he was frozen stiff and finally snapped back to reality. He put away the characters and headed into the county city, going to the small courtyard next to Lü Zhiming's.
Lü Zhiming told Wen Chaoshen that the neighboring courtyard was ancestral property of Fan Youwei, the master of Lord Dog. After Fan Youwei left, Lü Zhiming continued to pay the property tax every year, so the house hadn't been recimed by the authorities. If Wen Chaoshen wished, he could find an empty room there to stay.
As for Fan Youwei's mother, she had passed away the year he disappeared, and Lü Zhiming had helped with the funeral and burial.
Pushing open the courtyard door, Wen Chaoshen immediately saw Lord Dog lying under the eaves in a woolen house.
After Fan Youwei went into the mountains and never returned, the bck dog stopped entering his house. One winter morning, Lü Zhiming noticed Lord Dog hadn't come to his door for food, so he went next door and found the bck dog nearly frozen to death under the eaves. Fortunately, he managed to save it, though rge patches of its fur had fallen off, making it look like it had a skin disease.
Later, Lü Zhiming simply built a windproof and snowproof doghouse for the bck dog, pcing it at the entrance of Fan Youwei's residence.
Seeing someone enter, Lord Dog lifted its head. Upon realizing it was Wen Chaoshen, it rexed and buried its head back into the woolen house, closing its eyes to rest.
Wen Chaoshen closed the courtyard door and went to an empty side room. Inside, a mp was burning, its light dimmed by the window paper. Wen Chaoshen assumed Lü Zhiming had left it for him, so he pushed the door open and entered, only to find A Shui sitting by the bed, poking the firewood in the brazier with tongs, waves of heat emanating.
Warmth filled the corners of the room, finally easing Wen Chaoshen's frozen hands and feet.
"Where did you go?" A Shui asked casually.
Wen Chaoshen gnced at her, turned to close the door, and paced the room twice, his voice trembling slightly:
"A Shui, I want to ask you... were you a soldier before?"
The tongs in A Shui's hand paused, her eyes slightly lifted, a stone cast into the ke of her eyes, causing ripples to rise.
But the moment she met Wen Chaoshen's gaze, A Shui shifted her eyes away, zily asking:
"Why ask so suddenly?"
Wen Chaoshen rummaged in his sleeve and handed A Shui the letter he got from Mi Fang. She shifted slightly, using the brazier's light to examine the letter's contents.
After a moment, she said:
"A letter from a soldier to his parents, just some simple greetings, nothing unusual."
"Does this have anything to do with your earlier question?"
Wen Chaoshen stared intently at A Shui:
"Didn't you notice anything odd?"
She rolled her eyes:
"Are you going to tell me or not?"
"If not, I'm going to sleep."
Wen Chaoshen helplessly sat beside A Shui, pointing at the handwriting:
"The letter's owner should have been a soldier."
"This handwriting doesn't look like it was written by a soldier. Even if some people naturally have neat handwriting, the sense of privilege and schorly air in these words can't be faked."
"So, this letter, like the ones supposedly from your parents, is fake."
Mentioning her parents, A Shui's expression subtly changed.
She scrutinized the letter again, and under Wen Chaoshen's guidance, she indeed noticed something.
"Is there more?"
She asked.
Wen Chaoshen continued:
"I don't know... I met someone before, a master of calligraphy, but unknown, not making money from it, even sold me a character for four coins."
He paused and added:
"I know, for ordinary people, four coins for a character is outrageous, considering the effort and skill needed to write... But trust my judgment, I'm quite knowledgeable about calligraphy. Though he seemed downcast, he was definitely a master. If he went to any prosperous capital in Qi Kingdom, he'd surely make a name for himself."
"A word worth a thousand gold, in a country that respects Confucianism, isn't just talk."
A Shui gnced at him:
"Aren't you a refugee? How do you know so much?"
Wen Chaoshen shook his head:
"I'm a refugee, but I'm not deaf or blind."
"Back to that person... he seemed trapped by something, even said he'd rather not write so well. Honestly, before I came back, my mind was filled with conversations with him, and I don't even know why."
"I feel like all these strange things happening tely are somehow interconnected."
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