Yue Xing sat by the half-open window of his room, letting the pale sunlight bathe him and illuminate the dark lines of ink on the paper. He had his blanket draped haphazardly over his shoulders, though it was slowly beginning to slide down as he copied the endless lines from one sheet to another.

  A yawn slipped from his lips, though he quickly smothered it in the silence of the room. Everyone else was still fast asleep, only he was restless enough to stay up until the early hours of dawn and then mope around all day like a corpse reanimated.

  Sleeping wasn’t that enticing in the first place. He didn’t even remember the last time he got a good night’s rest, not even when he was back at the village. Sleep would always escape him. Or if he did manage to catch a few hours of it, he would more often than not wake with strange, heavy feelings in his heart from dreams he couldn't even remember by morning.

  Copying pages upon pages was much nicer. It was monotonous, fairly easy, and it took his mind off things more often than not. He could’ve gotten used to this for the rest of his life.

  The afternoon before, Song Chang had called him a junior scribe in the heat of the moment. It was only to get Feng Jiaying off his back, he knew that, but the sound of that title leaving the man’s lips left a pleasant feeling in his soul.

  He wasn’t at all opposed to the idea of working under the magistrate. If anything, he saw it as a thrilling new challenge. Maybe then he could prove himself that his brother’s faith in his supposed intelligence wasn’t for nothing.

  By the time the sun settled fully above the horizon, Yue Xing rolled up the finished copy and neatly put it away. While the others were just barely blinking their eyes open from sleep, he was already braiding his hair neatly, watching his reflection in the small bronze mirror Auntie Ye gifted him.

  Thinking about Ye Huiqing made him feel guilty. He was still technically assigned to work under her in the kitchen, and was supposed to help out whenever she asked. But over the last few weeks he had begun to slowly shirk his duties.

  He would often leave early, the second there was nothing for him to do or Auntie Ye simply wasn’t paying attention. Being in the study and near Song Chang was just simply so much more interesting to him, he couldn't control himself even if he knew he was likely disappointing Ye Huiqing in the process.

  He had also begun to put more effort into his appearance, always choosing the nicer robes, putting his hair up into a braid or a tight ponytail as opposed to loosely tying it at the base of his neck. He didn’t know when exactly he’d started doing it, he only knew that he wanted to impress the apparent intellectuals in the magistrate’s study.

  He almost wanted to yell: I want to be just like you! Notice me! Teach me more!

  Yue Xing had become extremely greedy when it came to knowledge. He was aware he wasn’t anywhere near the scribes’ or accountants’ levels, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t deeply yearning for it. Yue Xing was selfish and he wanted to show them he could be just like them, no matter where he came from.

  Song Chang’s apparent faith in him helped a lot. Yue Xing wasn’t stupid. He recognized that in the beginning the man was nice to him because he felt bad for the situation he got him in. Song Chang wasn’t as good at hiding his emotions as he thought. But Yue Xing wasn’t going to tell him that.

  He knew that just about everyone in the manor pitied him. Poor boy torn away from his family by the cruel county magistrate, he must be in agony! Well, he wasn’t. Or at least didn’t think he was in the least.

  He had a mostly warm place to stay, ate free meals, possessed nicer clothes than he could’ve ever imagined, and had lots of opportunities he couldn't wait to dive into. He didn’t have to deal with idiot bullies anymore, didn’t have to listen to Huan-jie chewing him out at any chance she got, and didn’t have to stumble around to be as unnoticeable as possible.

  Yue Xing was doing perfectly fine, thank you very much.

  He left the room when his roommates were still yawning and stretching. The door to the kitchen was left slightly ajar. Yue Xing could hear faint voices coming from inside, one of them was Auntie Ye’s. They were likely just getting set up for the day.

  Yue Xing paused just short of the door, his hand hovering a short distance away from the wood. He stopped himself from pushing it open. He couldn't bring himself to spend even one more day working there.

  With a soft sigh he stepped back and walked back down the steps. He crossed the courtyard until the kitchen disappeared completely from his view. He would apologize to Auntie Ye later, he told himself. She would just need to understand that Yue Xing was being terribly self-centered.

  The study was quiet when he stepped in, not a single soul in sight. It was beautiful in the golden sunlight of the early morning. He placed the finished scroll on the senior scribe’s desk, arranging it nicely with the original one pressed next to it. With a content hum, he allowed himself a moment to run his fingers across the smooth paper.

  “Can I help you?” a sudden, grumbling voice roused him from his trance. Yue Xing spun around to find Zhan Wei standing a couple paces away, his silvery eyebrows raised questioningly.

  “My apologies, Zhan-xiansheng,” Yue Xing bashfully bowed to the senior. “I was just dropping off the scroll you asked for.” he answered coyly. Zhan Wei gave a thoughtful hum, stepping over and inspecting said paper.

  Yue Xing knew it wasn’t immaculate, even if he’d spent the whole night trying to perfect every stroke of the brush. Zhan Wei eyed it meticulously. There was a brief silence between them, a very tense one at that.

  An undecipherable emotion ran across the man’s face while deep in thought. Zhan Wei slowly lowered the paper, pushing his spectacles back up the bridge of his nose with an expression Yue Xing couldn't read. “Not bad.” the elder said, and Yue Xing felt as if a whole mountain of pressure had just been rolled off his shoulders.

  “Thank you, Xiansheng.” he said, trying to repress the smile that involuntarily started blooming on his lips.

  Zhan Wei pushed the papers aside and took a seat behind his desk. After tidying the pages for a few moments, he peered up at Yue Xing. “Though, I must admit, you’re quite early today.” Zhan Wei said gruffly.

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  “I was excited.” Yue Xing blurted.

  Suddenly, a smile spread on Zhan Wei’s face as the man reached to stroke his beard. His dark gaze studied Yue Xing’s form, and the boy felt very shy under the elder’s unusual attention. “I can see that. You seem like a fairly talented young man. Not entirely a lost cause, like some of these young masters I’m forced to manage around. If you’d like, I could put in a few good words with the magistrate, to help your case. Wouldn't it be nicer to work somewhere where your efforts are appreciated?”

  Yue Xing blinked once, then twice. He couldn't believe what the senior scribe had just said. It was almost as if Zhan Wei was reading his thoughts directly. “Yes, that’s… That would be greatly appreciated, Xiansheng.” Yue Xing stuttered out, and this time he couldn't restrain the bright smile on his face. He placed his hands together as he thanked the man.

  Zhan Wei merely waved him off. “Please. It’s always nice to see someone who is appreciative of the fine work that we do. Not all who work in this study are so… refined.”

  If Zhan Wei’s eyes darted to a particular place with someone in mind, Yue Xing didn’t see it.

  Yue Xing had never in his life been called anything remotely close to refined. Pride swelled in his chest at the mere word. That morning he left the study with a pleasantly satisfied feeling in his chest.

  He felt as though he had maybe wronged Zhan Wei, even if it had only been with his own thoughts. Branding him as a grumpy old man, when in reality he was probably just someone wanting to be appreciated. Afterall, Song Chang didn't seem like the type to naturally care for a scribe’s work, no matter his position as magistrate.

  ○ ? ○

  It had been a good long while since Song Chang had shared a meal with his elder sister. In the last five years they only really saw each other at celebrations—this year’s Mid-Autumn Festival seemed to be no exception from that rule.

  It wasn’t as though there was bad blood between the two, their lives just differed too greatly for them to even be in the same region most of the time. They were both wild, free spirits, just in two very different ways.

  Feng Jiaying was the eccentric type. The one who dressed in crazy colors and tinkling golden jewelry. The type that silently screamed ‘Look at me’ and drove in all the strange customers to her heart's content. That was why she made a wonderfully weird apothecary.

  Song Chang was more of the restless type. Someone who could never stay in one place for too long. Naturally, it didn’t come as a shock to anyone when he decided to follow in his father’s footsteps and pursue a military career.

  Feng Jiaying had always been the most like their mother, while Song Chang and their little sister were much closer in resemblance to their own father. And so due to their dissimilar life choices, they didn’t often cross paths.

  It was really showing.

  Song Chang swirled the tea mindlessly in his cup, watching the amber liquid make liny little whirlwinds like a child. Feng Jiaying had been droning on and on about all the pieces of gossip he had missed out on, waving her free hand around animatedly while the other stabbed her spoon into the thick, steaming congee.

  Song Chang couldn't find it in himself to care about the lives of other people one bit. He tried to distract himself with the food, biting into those delicious soft meatbuns, but even the fillings tasted like vinegar in his mouth.

  Song Chang couldn't possibly understand why his sister wanted to move away from the capital, and instead restart her life in Tianhai City of all places. This useless and stuffy Hepo County was not the place someone as aspiring and wild as Feng Jiaying could comfortably live in.

  But deep down, he knew that Feng Jiaying only moved because of him, even if Song Chang would've loved to deny it. Feng Jiaying had always been a little too protective of her little brother. And so with the upheaval that followed Song Chang’s departure from the capital, it was only a matter of time Feng Jiaying would follow him, no matter how much he begged her not to in their exchanged letters.

  Just because Song Chang was suffering didn’t mean Feng Jiaying should as well. He loved his sister a lot, but she reminded him a little too much of the life that he could never live again.

  Unlike Feng Jiaying, Song Chang could never return to the Imperial Capital with his head held high.

  “Chang-er, what’s with that nasty scowl you’ve got on your face? Is my story about Lord Qiu that horrendous, or is your pain flaring up again?” Feng Jiaying reached over the table to pinch his cheek, and this time Song Chang was too lost in his thoughts to swat her away in time. The man could only grumble indignantly.

  “I’m fine.” Now that she’s mentioned it, his leg did seem to hurt more than usual. But he wasn’t going to tell Feng Jiaying that. Song Chang didn’t need to be coddled like a child. He was an adult man, for gods’ sake!

  Feng Jiaying only hummed in answer, but the glint in her eyes told Song Chang that she wasn’t buying a single word. “Say, Chang-er. That boy—what was his name? Xing? That one, yes. How long has he been here? It can't be that long, can it?”

  “Why are you so invested in him?” Song Chang narrowed his eyes. Why would Feng Jiaying ask about Yue Xing all of a sudden?

  His sister shrugged, swallowing a spoonful of congee. “He’s just interesting looking, that's all. You don’t see people like him working in bureaucracy often.” Song Chang frowned at whatever Feng Jiaying had meant by Yue Xing looking interesting for a junior scribe. If he was to guess, his sister was carefully pertaining to Yue Xing’s tanned, bronze skin while trying not to sound pretentious.

  “He’s been here for about two months.” At least that wasn’t a lie. A wolfish grin settled on Feng Jiaying’s lips.

  “So I’m told.” she said. Song Chang furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “In any case, he’s cute. In that sweet, shy way. Don’t you think, Chang-er?”

  “What exactly are you trying to get at, Jiaying?” Song Chang narrowed his eyes. Maybe it was just his mind being far too dirty, but his sister was definitely trying to steer their conversation a certain way. Song Chang wasn’t very happy about it.

  Yue Xing was sweet, but more in that sad, wet puppy way, if Song Chang was to say. Definitely not in the way Feng Jiaying was trying to get him to say.

  “Nothing, nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Feng Jiaying smiled, tilting her head and waving him off in a playful manner. “Let’s forget it, in any case. So about Lord Qiu…”

  Though Feng Jiaying continued to chatter about useless fodder nobility, Song Chang couldn't stop internally fuming.

  He didn’t like the way Feng Jiaying spoke to him. All mysterious and vague, as if she was deliberately trying to get him to admit something. And the way his sister spoke about Yue Xing told him that she knew something she wasn’t yet telling him. It also told him that no matter how much Feng Jiaying loved her little brother, the cause for her visit couldn't only have been the Mid-Autumn Festival.

  Whatever the case may have been, if it involved Yue Xing, it couldn't have been good. And definitely not if it involved Song Chang in any way.

  He couldn't get his mind off of it. Not throughout breakfast. Not when he was mindlessly pouring over last minute preparations for the next day's celebration.

  He thought about it even when the daylight was long gone and he sat alone on the edge of his bed, a lone candle burning by his bedside. He couldn't get his sister's words out of his head when he snuffed out the flame and stared blankly at the dark wood overhead.

  Song Chang was still thinking when the new day dawned on the Mid-Autumn Festival.