When the wind startled the copper bell in the corridor, Li Tingzhen suddenly took a half step back. His coarse cloth shoes rolled through the cracks in the blue bricks, and he hid the copy of "Linglong Collection" at his waist deeper.
"Young Master Jiang is actually acting like this?" His wide sleeves blew up the wind, and his knuckles turned white as they clicked on the stone railings. "I'm sorry for considering you my confidant!" Before he finished speaking, the manuscript of poetry in his sleeve fell to the ground. It was exactly the "Ode to Bamboo" written by Jiang Songyi the day before.
Jiang Jinzhao stared at the swirling piece of rice paper, his throat pounding. Three days ago, Li Tingzhen had played chess with him under the moonlight, praising him for his "bright wind and clear moon." Now, that neatly copied scroll of "Linglong Collection" felt like a slap in his face.
"Brother Li." He had just opened his mouth when Jiang Songyi's eyes flickered. The girl's pearl hairpins swayed gently, and she vaguely saw the scraps of clothing fluttering on the city wall. In her previous life, when Li Tingzhen was tortured to death by the Fifth Princess, the fragments of the "Linglong Collection" were embedded in the cracks of his fingernails.
"Mr. Li." Jiang Songyi untied the sachet from her waist, and the fragrance of mugwort spread in the wind. "I have read the poem 'Ode to the Pine Waves' on Mount Taibai."
Li Tingzhen's ears suddenly flushed red. She had actually remembered that impromptu piece. She hurriedly reached for the sachet with her coarse sleeve, her fingertips swirling the tassels.
Yu Huanshen immediately jumped up and down: "You are such a good Li Zizheng! Last month you said that my "Plum Blossom and Snow Lyrics" was vulgar, and now you secretly hid the county lady's manuscript of the poem!" He shook open his folding fan, revealing the newly inscribed "Linglong Fu" on the fan. "County lady, look, this is true love."
"Enough!" Jiang Yihuan suddenly waved his brother's hand away, his boots clattering against the green bricks. The gold thread of the black purse at his waist broke, revealing half of Jiang Yuyao's crooked bamboo leaves—the stitching was glaringly clumsy compared to the sachets Jiang Songyi had given to poor students.
Jiang Jinzhao's jade ring left a red mark on his palm. He recalled the day his sister returned home, holding the sachet and timidly calling him "Big Brother." What had she said then? "Yuyao always likes jasmine, why don't you try something different."
"Yihuan." He stopped his brother, his voice as cold as autumn rain. "Songyi is our blood relative."
The moment he said this, he was stunned. Blood relatives—then why, when the city was broken in his previous life, did the three brothers protect Jiang Yuyao and hide in the secret room, leaving Song Yi alone in the hail of arrows?
(End of this chapter)
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