025
A gentle early summer breeze, carrying the fragrance of magnolias, drifted through the carved window lattices and quietly entered the solemn and dignified Wenhua Hall. This was the place where imperial children, specially granted relatives, and their companions studied, and where, in the past, only the sound of reading aloud and the rigorous lectures of the Grand Tutor could be heard. However, today, the atmosphere in the hall was stirred by a subtle, almost imperceptible ripple due to a new seating arrangement.
Si Mianmian wore a light blue school uniform befitting a princess, her hair meticulously styled with only a small, almost plain white pearl flower adorning her temple—understated yet elegant. She stood quietly before the Grand Tutor's desk, head bowed and eyes lowered, listening to the imperial edict arranging for her to sit with Xuan Jing, the hostage prince of the Yan Dynasty. Outwardly obedient and gentle, her mind was as clear as a mirror. This was far from a simple seating arrangement.
Survival Handbook Rule #25: Creating opportunities for close contact is the first step in breaking down defenses and establishing special connections. Even in silence, profound truths can be revealed; within the confines of a desk, strategic planning can be mastered.
"Princess Ninth has made great progress in her studies recently, which has greatly pleased His Majesty and the Empress Dowager. However, women should also be sensible and righteous. His Highness Xuanjing is learned and has a calm temperament. Therefore, His Highness Ninth is granted permission to sit with him. It is hoped that the princess will study diligently and seek his guidance." The Grand Tutor stroked his beard, his tone was calm, but his gaze was scrutinizing as he swept over Xuanjing, who stood with his hands at his sides, before returning to Si Mianmian.
Si Mianmian raised her eyes at the opportune moment, her gaze revealing just the right amount of flattery mixed with a hint of shy unease. She quickly glanced at Xuan Jing, who stood respectfully beside her. He was still dressed in his moon-white robes, his demeanor aloof and his face calm and expressionless, as if being assigned nothing more than a mundane task unrelated to him. She slightly curtsied, her voice gentle: "Mianmian obeys, and will certainly not fail the high expectations of Father and Grandmother, and will diligently learn from...from His Highness Xuan Jing." She deliberately hesitated slightly in her address, adding a touch of awkwardness befitting her age.
Xuan Jing bowed in return, his tone calm and even: "Grand Tutor, you flatter me. I am but a humble scholar, and I fear I may fail in your trust. Since Your Majesty and the Princess have not rejected me, I will certainly learn from and improve alongside Her Highness." His words were impeccable, his manners impeccable, yet they carried his usual aloofness.
A new desk was placed side by side by the window, bathed in bright light, with several swaying green bamboos visible outside. Palace servants had already neatly arranged the writing implements. Si Mianmian gently sat down in the seat to the outside of Xuan Jing, her posture elegant, deliberately maintaining a suitable distance—neither too far to appear distant nor too close to seem presumptuous. She could smell the familiar, crisp, pine-like scent emanating from Xuan Jing, mixed with a faint fragrance of ink.
Survival Handbook Note: Initial distance is crucial. Too close and you appear frivolous; too far and you miss opportunities. Maintain comfortable boundaries to proceed gradually.
The lesson began, and the Grand Tutor explained the Analects in a clear and concise manner, drawing on numerous classical allusions. Si Mianmian listened with utmost concentration, sometimes frowning in thought, sometimes jotting down key points on paper, her posture impeccably serious. However, half of her attention was focused on the movements of the person beside her.
She noticed that Xuanjing listened attentively with his back ramrod straight and his gaze calm, occasionally glancing quickly at the pages of her open book. When the Grand Tutor spoke of "a gentleman should be slow to speak but quick to act," Si Mianmian seemed puzzled, her delicate brows furrowing slightly. After a moment's hesitation, she gently put down her pen and, in a soft, gentle voice, tinged with a pleading tone, whispered:
“Brother Jing…”
This call, more natural and less deliberate than usual, stemmed from the pressure of her studies. She turned slightly to the side, pointing to the difficult sentence on the page for Xuan Jing to see. Her pale fingertips trembled slightly with unease: "This sentence... Mianmian is too dull to understand its deeper meaning. Brother Jing, could you... explain it to Mianmian?"
Xuan Jing's hand, holding the pen, paused almost imperceptibly. He turned his gaze to his superior, Mianmian's, clear almond-shaped eyes, brimming with curiosity and a hint of annoyance. The girl's breath, carrying a sweet fruity scent, gently ruffled the stray hairs on his forehead as she drew near. He paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping over where her fingertip was pointing. He didn't answer immediately, but instead raised his hand and gently straightened the inkstone in front of her, which had almost been knocked off by his sleeve, with his slender fingers.
“Here…” he began, his voice low and clear, like the gentle tapping of jade, reaching Si Mianmian’s ears. “It doesn’t mean that a gentleman should be slow to speak, but rather that it emphasizes practical action rather than empty talk. For example, in governance, it’s not about clever words, but about real benefits for the people.” His explanation was concise and thorough, his examples apt, demonstrating his excellent scholarship.
Si Mianmian immediately showed a look of sudden realization, her eyes sparkling with admiration, and she exclaimed softly, "So that's how it is! Thank you for your guidance, Brother Jing, Mianmian understands!" As she spoke, seemingly out of excitement, her hand moved unconsciously, and her fingertips "accidentally" brushed lightly against the brush that Xuan Jing was dipping in ink.
A slightly cool sensation swept by.
Xuan Jing's hand holding the pen was as steady as a rock, not swaying in the slightest, but his lowered eyelashes trembled almost imperceptibly. He didn't look at Si Mianmian, but simply gave a faint "hmm" and continued to focus on his book, as if the slight contact had never happened.
Survival Handbook Notes: Unintentional physical touch is a subtle catalyst for breaking the ice. The key is "unintentional"—the more unintentional, the more genuine, and the better.
Si Mianmian quickly withdrew her hand, two faint blushes rising on her cheeks, seemingly from embarrassment at her "misbehavior." She sat up straight again, listening and taking notes with even greater focus, as if she wanted to immediately digest what she had just learned. However, in the corner of her open notebook, she had drawn a small daylily swaying in the wind with extremely fine strokes—a kind of wildflower that she had overheard a palace maid mention the other day, a common flower in Xuanjing's hometown.
During the break, palace servants served tea and snacks. Unlike the other princes and princesses who chatted and laughed casually, Si Mianmian quietly sipped her tea, her gaze occasionally drifting to the window, as if she were recalling the lessons. Suddenly, she let out a soft "Ah," as if the tea was slightly too hot. Her hand trembled, and a few drops of tea splashed out, landing precisely on the paper where she had just taken notes, spreading a small water stain that perfectly covered the key explanations.
Her face immediately showed anxiety and heartache. She carefully wiped the affected area with a handkerchief, but to no avail. Her face fell, and she looked helplessly at Xuan Jing, who was about to drink tea beside her. Her voice was filled with obvious frustration and apology: "Brother Jing... I'm sorry, I... confused the key points you just explained..."
Xuan Jing put down his teacup, his gaze falling on her damp notebook. The handwriting was neat and elegant, clearly showing great care. He was silent for a moment, then surprisingly spoke up, "It's alright." As he spoke, he took a clean sheet of Xuan paper, picked up his brush again, dipped it in ink, and once again clearly and neatly copied down the core points he had just explained. His handwriting was restrained and elegant, just like him.
After writing, he pushed the paper in front of Si Mianmian: "Take this and compare it."
Si Mianmian accepted it with delight, as if it were a priceless treasure, holding it to her chest with gratitude and pure joy in her eyes: "Thank you, Brother Jing! You're so kind!" She carefully tucked the paper into the book, her movements gentle, as if handling some rare gem.
Survival Handbook Final Reminder: Creating reasonable "minor accidents" and "minor troubles" can not only stimulate the other person's protective instincts or willingness to help, but also create a natural reason for the next interaction.
In the second half of the lesson, Si Mianmian listened even more "attentively." Occasionally, when she encountered a new question, she would ponder it for a moment, and then, taking advantage of the Grand Tutor's inspection of other areas, she would very quietly and quickly ask Xuan Jing about the meaning of a word or two. Her questions were always just right, showing that she was indeed trying to keep up, without being too simplistic or annoying. Xuan Jing's answers were still concise, but they seemed... less deliberately cold than when they first met.
As school ended, palace servants came to tidy up the desks. Si Mianmian slowly and methodically arranged her writing materials, her eyes glancing out of the corner of her eye as Xuan Jing also rose. She seemed to suddenly remember something, and from a brocade pouch embroidered with lotus blossoms that she carried with her, she took out a small square wrapped in clean mulberry paper, handed it to Xuan Jing, a slightly embarrassed smile on her face:
"Brother Jing, these are peppermint and licorice candies that Mianmian tried to make herself. Sniffing one after studying for a long time can refresh your mind and stimulate your saliva production. Today... thank you very much for your patient guidance, Brother Jing. This... is just a small token of my appreciation. I hope you won't find it offensive."
The mulberry paper was neatly wrapped, exuding a faint herbal fragrance. Xuan Jing looked at the item handed to him but didn't immediately take it. His gaze lingered for a moment on Si Mianmian's sincere yet slightly apprehensive face before settling on the small packet of candy. The others in the hall had gradually left, leaving only the two of them and the palace servants waiting in the distance.
A gentle breeze swept by again, ruffling his pale white robes. After a moment of silence, he finally reached out and took the bag of candies, still warm from the girl's fingertips, his fingertips inevitably brushing lightly against her palm.
"Thank you for your trouble, Princess." His voice remained calm, but seemed to have a hint of gentleness that was almost imperceptible compared to usual.
"I'm glad Brother Jing likes it!" Si Mianmian immediately smiled brightly, as if she had received the greatest praise. She curtsied slightly, "Then... Mianmian will take her leave now." After saying that, she left Wenhua Hall with Qiuhe, her steps light and quick.
Xuan Jing stood there until the pale green figure disappeared into the sunlight outside the palace gates. He looked down at the small packet of candy in his palm, his fingertips unconsciously tracing the rough texture of the mulberry paper. After a long while, he slowly tucked it into his sleeve. When he looked up at the bamboo forest outside the window, a complex glint, unnoticed even by himself, flashed in his calm, deep eyes.
This bond of "desk mates" seemed to quietly begin on the very first day, amidst seemingly ordinary yet subtly turbulent interactions. One side cautiously probed and approached, while the other silently endured scrutiny and evaluation.
Si Mianmian knew that the two desks side by side in Wenhua Hall would be another battlefield, one without gunpowder but of vital importance. What she had to do was to make the title "Brother Jing" more and more natural in these days of being "classmates," and to let her presence, like the fragrance of ink permeating the hall and the gentle breeze blowing through the window, quietly seep in and nourish everything.
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