Chapter 41

Chapter 41

Sensing a gaze fall upon him, Luo Qianyu felt an inexplicable chill run down his spine.

He glanced sideways. Wen Yu stood with a crane-like grace, his pristine white cloak accentuating an ethereal, aloof beauty that was breathtakingly stunning. Beneath his long eyelashes, his eyes were as cold as ice, his expression utterly detached.

Yet that person's gaze merely swept over him once before shifting away, lingering not a moment longer.

Luo Qianyu felt a pang of awkwardness and withdrew his hand. How could he have forgotten? He knew Wen Yu despised frivolous individuals the most. Now that he had solidified this dissolute image, it would likely be even harder to get along with the protagonist in the future. This was so unfair!

"How did you two get here?" The Young Marquis coughed lightly, a slight frown creasing his brow. "Young Master Su and I still have important matters to discuss. Head back to your rooms first; I'll be along shortly."

Zhao Nian hesitated slightly. "Young Master, the Imperial College's rules are strict, emphasizing virtue and conduct. One must not bully fellow students..."

"Get lost."

"Yes."

Feeling secretly embarrassed, Zhao Nian silently retracted the foot he had stepped inside with. Turning around, he realized that Guard Wen had already returned to the student quarters at some point. The courtyard was now empty.

Luo Qianyu sat down again, his thoughts somewhat clearer now. His gaze drifted towards Su He, the usual arrogance in his eyes slightly subdued. He spoke once more, "Regarding past matters—whether it was lying or being discovered by me—since I have lost my memory, I will not pursue them further. However, I have one condition. Are you willing to agree?"

Su He only registered the part about not being pursued further. Without caring about any conditions, he quickly nodded.

The Young Marquis couldn't help but chuckle. "You dummy, I haven't even said what it is yet."

Su He was momentarily stunned by that person's smile. He averted his eyes, his voice growing softer. "...What is it?"

Luo Qianyu sat upright, yet a detached laziness permeated his gaze. His voice, clear as jade pieces dropping into a pot, uttered words that were earth-shattering:

"Keep writing."

Luo Qianyu's intentions were not pure.

If this era truly existed, this storybook was likely preserved through the ages, adapted by later generations in modern times, and would become the key to his book transmigration in the future. If Su He stopped writing, where would his already transmigrated soul go?

When he first transmigrated into the book, he had just been in a severe car accident. He had just flipped to the last page of *Chasing the Crane*. Luo Qianyu distinctly remembered a line of small characters—not printed, but handwritten.

He vaguely recalled that line of handwriting hinting to him that if a book transmigrator utilized their own ending, seized the chance to fake their death, and successfully retired into obscurity, then this book would have nothing more to do with him.

That line was ambiguous. Though he didn't know who wrote it, thinking about it now, it seemed like a lifeline.

Strangely, after transmigrating, he could no longer remember the specific content clearly. He only knew he had to escape, to seize the chance to fake his death. But when to fake it? How to fake it? Putting it into practice was exceedingly difficult.

Moreover, with his current physical skills, could he really control whether he died for real or faked it?

Having Su He continue writing would neither violate any temporal paradoxes, nor would it allow him to have insider knowledge of the plot. Even if it turned unfavorable for him again, he could plan ahead.

Su He was visibly startled, lifting his head. "Th-this... how can this be allowed? This humble student has already acknowledged his mistake and dares not repeat it. I should mend my ways...!"

The Young Marquis pretended to snort coldly, shooting Young Master Su a sidelong glance, his tone forceful. "Oh, very good! 'Dare not repeat it, mend my ways'! When you first picked up the brush, why didn't you think about whether it was allowed or not? Now you're putting on the act of a gentleman?"

"This Young Master says you can, so you can. From now on, not only must Young Master Su write, but you must write well, write boldly and without fear! I will be your editor. From now on, I'll be hounding you for drafts and supervising manuscripts. No padding, no delaying submissions, and absolutely no ghosting or hiatuses. Otherwise, if I truly become your nightmare one day, be prepared to soak your pillow with tears every night!"

Su He sat rooted to the spot, dumbfounded.

How had things developed to this point? This Young Marquis of the Luo Manor had barged into the main room in a near-tyrannical rage, seen through his lies, and discovered the storybook he had been secretly writing. He had thought his life was over. Who could have guessed the other party not only let him off but made a request that was merely for him to keep writing.

...Could it be that he liked his storybook?

Su He couldn't help but feel guilty. The portrayal of the Young Marquis in this storybook was quite terrible—not only lusting after beauty at first sight but also dissolute and domineering, playing around and seizing things as he pleased, even more exaggeratedly amplified than his notorious reputation as a spoiled scion.

The only accurate aspect was the other's appearance.

Did the Young Marquis... actually like his storybook, or was he interested in his personal guard, the top scholar? Could it be that competing with other high-ranking officials for him excited him?

Su He was both shocked and doubtful, utterly unable to figure it out. But fortunately, this request wasn't excessive; it could even be considered a favor. After a moment's hesitation, he slowly nodded.

Sure enough, once Luo the Tyrant saw his agreement, he stopped pressing further, stood up, and bid farewell.

When Luo Qianyu returned to his room, Zhao Nian was still awake, waiting by the door. Seeing the young master return, he helped him remove his fox-fur cloak and asked with some concern, "Has Young Master Su gone to sleep? Young Master, you didn't bully him too harshly, did you?"

The more Luo Qianyu heard this, the stranger it sounded. He instinctively glanced towards Wen Yu's room—not out of a guilty conscience, but because it truly damaged his image. He muttered vaguely, "What nonsense are you talking about? Him crying wasn't because I bullied him."

Zhao Nian asked with genuine curiosity, "Then what was it because of?"

Luo Qianyu pondered secretly. The matter of the storybook absolutely must not be known by Zhao Nian, otherwise he'd never hear the end of it. He rolled his eyes and dodged the question, "How should I know? I'm not close with him. Maybe he's just prone to crying by nature. I felt a momentary pang of sympathy and comforted him for a bit. How is that bullying a fellow student?"

Zhao Nian pursed his lips, recalling how the young master had pinched the other's chin earlier with a gloomy expression that didn't look like comforting at all. The young master was also someone who never comforted others. He silently swallowed his doubts and sighed, "If Young Master finds the noise next door bothersome, you can just summon this subordinate. You still have to get up early for classes tomorrow, and there's calligraphy class in the afternoon. If you're not rested and doze off in class, the Director of Studies will scold you again."

Yesterday, he had returned from the Marquis's estate regarding the matter of the young master's upcoming birthday. Madam Sun wanted to host a proper celebration, but the Lord absolutely refused, saying that since the unfilial son had just returned to the Imperial College, he should focus on his studies. This year's birthday would be celebrated simply within the household, not with the usual grand banquets and inviting guests as in previous years.

Who would have thought that due to this delay, upon returning to the Imperial College, he learned the Young Marquis had been caned on the palm, his hand swollen, and had been kept after class. It was Guard Wen who brought him back.

Guard Wen neither applied medicine to the young master's injury nor informed him about the punishment. Zhao Nian's heart ached as he carefully applied ointment to the Young Marquis's red and swollen palm. After closing the lid, he felt somewhat displeased.

He felt that Wen Yu was very negligent as a Personal Guard. Although coming to the Marquis's estate wasn't originally Wen Yu's intention, now that he was on duty, he should act like it. If a subordinate doesn't care about their master, how is he any different from a heartless block of wood?

"Calligraphy class?" Luo Qianyu had just lain down in the main room, letting Zhao Nian tuck him in. Hearing this, he couldn't help but poke his head out. "That class isn't mandatory, is it? Can't I refuse to go?"

Zhao Nian couldn't help but chuckle softly, advising gently, "Indeed, not everyone attends, but Young Master absolutely must go."

Luo Qianyu was utterly disappointed and turned over.

Zhao Nian extinguished the lamp. The neighboring room indeed fell silent, and the surroundings grew quiet. Yet, Luo Qianyu found it hard to sleep.

Because in another two hours, he had to get up early for sword practice.

Sure enough, since Wen Yu said he would teach him swordsmanship and be his teacher, he hadn't gone back on his word at all. Before dawn, that person was already up.

The Young Marquis began to stir awake because he sensed someone approaching his bedside.

"Young Marquis, it's time to get up for morning practice."

Catching a glimpse of that figure from the corner of his eye, Luo Qianyu's heart sank. Recently, the days grew shorter, and the weather turned much colder. Although two braziers burned in the room, the courtyard was still bone-chillingly cold, especially when one lacked sleep... Luo Qianyu thought, this must be even earlier than yesterday's mao hour (5-7 AM), right?

Yesterday, he had taught him a set of basic sword techniques. Although it was quite effective, it was only the second day, and the intensity had actually doubled. It seemed Wen Yu really wanted him to master it quickly.

Back then, they hadn't agreed on a time, so now it was only reasonable for Wen Yu to decide... But how long had he actually slept this night? At most, had it even been two hours?

Wen Yu had also slept late last night. Wasn't he tired?

Instinctively burrowing deeper into the brocade quilt, Luo Qianyu pondered for a moment and decided to pretend he hadn't heard, keeping his eyes closed, his eyelashes fluttering slightly.

During his moment of hesitation, Wen Yu called a second time.

The bundled-up brocade quilt finally shifted, revealing half a face still hazy with sleep. Luo Qianyu buried his face into the soft pillow, his voice still warm with drowsiness. "Wen Yu, isn't it too early? Even the roosters aren't awake..."

"Young Master, we agreed yesterday." Wen Yu's sword scabbard lightly tapped against the bedside. His figure didn't move, yet he seemed to press closer. "Sword practice at mao hour."

A pale wrist emerged from the quilt, waving vaguely. "Just half an hour more... no, fifteen minutes..." Before the words finished, the wrist went limp and sank back into the bedding, disappearing again.

Wen Yu stood still for a few moments, then suddenly reached out and yanked the brocade quilt away.

"Wen Yu!" Luo Qianyu startled and curled into a ball, shivering from the cold. A slender waistline was revealed beneath his thin inner robe. Before he could snatch the quilt back, he was suddenly lifted into the air—

Guard Wen wrapped an arm around his waist, scooping him up like a kitten.

"Put me down!" The Young Marquis exclaimed, his ears flushing red as he struggled. "This is hardly proper..."

A fox-fur cloak was draped over his head. Wen Yu fastened the ties with practiced ease, his fingers pausing briefly as they brushed past his neck. Soon after, his boots were put on. By the time they reached the stone courtyard, the young master in his arms had already tilted his head against his shoulder, his breathing growing long and steady again.

"Young Marquis." Wen Yu jostled his arm slightly. "Hold the sword."

Luo Qianyu groggily reached for the hilt, frowning at the icy touch.

Damn it, even the sword hilt is freezing cold.

The sword felt heavier on the second day, perhaps because his wrist was sore from yesterday's practice. Wen Yu stood in the thin mist, the tip of his sword resting on the ground, his voice calm. "Today, I'll teach you three techniques—Block, Deflect, and Counter."

Luo Qianyu gripped the sword, his knuckles white. The cold wind brushed past his still-drowsy eyes, sharpening his focus instead. Wen Yu slowly raised his sword, its edge slicing through the mist, his movements deliberate and clear. "Block. When striking, don't meet force with force. Borrow the momentum."

Their blades clashed. Luo Qianyu's hand shook violently, nearly losing his grip. Wen Yu's sword, however, slid like a fish, lightly deflecting the force along the spine of his blade before lifting it with a flick. "Like this," he said softly. "Deflecting force is like pulling silk—don't resist it forcefully."

Luo Qianyu staggered half a step, not yet steadying himself, when Wen Yu's sword tip stopped three inches from his throat.

"Finally, Counter. An attack isn't about brute force. It's about seizing the right moment and breaking through with the flow."

By the time the sun grew brighter, Luo Qianyu was drenched in sweat again, but at least his sword hand no longer trembled. Wen Yu lowered his sword and stood still, his voice still composed. "Again."

The clash of blades startled a few roosting birds. Luo Qianyu's pupils constricted—for the first time, his sword held firm against Wen Yu's attack.

The morning light began to filter through, frost and dew clinging to the courtyard walls, illuminating a corner where the young man stood. Wen Yu merely looked at him, then shifted his gaze away after a moment. "The Young Marquis learns quickly," he said, lips parting.

Luo Qianyu lowered his sword, a fine sweat on his brow. More than feeling pleased, he thought to himself: *Not enough yet.*

When classes ended, Zhao Nian dutifully took on the duties of a tutor. The Young Marquis was quite pleased at first—after all, Zhao Nian organized everything meticulously, and he could answer whatever the Director of Studies tested the next day.

But gradually, Luo Qianyu began to feel a bit overwhelmed—

"Young Master, you mustn't lean over the desk while writing. It'll strain your eyes."

"Young Master, when the brush tip splits, you must dip it in ink. Don't force it."

"Young Master, you mustn't arbitrarily alter the text. The Director of Studies will be upset."

"Young Master, you mustn't—"

On the sixth day, Luo Qianyu returned from school utterly frustrated, diving headfirst into his bedding. He let out two muffled "ahhs" before emerging, then couldn't help pounding his pillow. "...Zhao Nian, oh Zhao Nian, truly worthy of the name Zhao Nian—morning reminders, evening reminders!"

On the seventh day, Luo Qianyu idly twirled his brush in hand as the Director of Studies droned on about the *Book of Rites*. By the time class ended, the sun was already setting. The Young Marquis had barely walked halfway toward the dormitories when he suddenly stopped.

*Let's hide for a bit... just half an hour, then go back.*

Unsure where to go, the Young Marquis suddenly remembered the trip interrupted by Lou Xian that day.

Where had the original host intended to go back then?

Since he was returning late anyway, he might as well investigate. Following his memory, he skillfully navigated through several corridors along that path, passing the inner dormitories first, until he finally reached the upper dormitories.

When Luo Qianyu halted, he found himself before a secluded dormitory.

Although it was part of the upper dormitories, this place was quieter than anywhere else in the Imperial Academy. Winter had arrived, and branches peeking over the walls rustled softly.

Luo Qianyu stopped in front of that courtyard—the gate was slightly ajar, and a vague sense of familiarity suddenly washed over him.

...It seemed this wasn't his first time here.

Luo Qianyu muttered to himself, "The original host couldn't have rented a presidential suite in the upper dormitories, could he?" At the same time, his hand, acting on its own accord, pushed the door open.

The entire courtyard was spacious and serene, not ostentatiously luxurious, yet exuding an understated nobility everywhere.

The ground, paved with fine stone bricks, was spotless. An old tree stood quietly in the corner; though not in bloom, its branches were vigorous and strong. The main hall was a traditional hip-and-gable roof structure, with dark tiles and white walls. A feathered lantern curtain hung outside the doorframe, rustling softly when stirred.

Luo Qianyu paused, feeling as though even that sound was familiar somehow.

After crossing the courtyard, he reached the main hall, its door unlatched. The interior was simply yet elegantly furnished. A pearwood desk adorned with floral patterns stood prominently, neatly stacked with brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones. Against the wall, bookshelves were lined with scrolls and classical texts. A qin rested by the window, not a speck of dust beneath it.

Most striking was a landscape painting hanging on the wall—distant mountains like dark eyebrows, nearby waters veiled in mist. In the corner of the painting, several characters were inscribed with vigorous brushstrokes, instantly capturing one's gaze.

Luo Qianyu's fingers unconsciously traced the inscription, inwardly marveling. If he could write like that, why would he still worry about calligraphy class?

The Young Marquis sat in the chair beside the desk, noticing its surface was smooth as a mirror—clearly regularly cleaned. Everything in the room seemed maintained in a state ready for use, yet it was also clearly unoccupied.

The Imperial Academy had always valued frugality. Why would they specifically preserve a residence but leave it unused?

Luo Qianyu frowned, pondering. The more he thought, the more convinced he became that his guess was right. The Young Marquis was quite pampered and so familiar with this place. Even with a changed core, he could find it by instinct. It was entirely possible he really had two dormitories... perhaps to hide from Zhao Nian, just as he was doing now.

Thinking this, he rose and walked toward the back of the house.

Passing through a thin cloud-patterned screen, the sight before him made his eyes widen slightly—it was a hot spring pool built from white marble. Incense burners, a soft couch, and even clean towels were arranged by the poolside.

The pool wasn't large but was ingeniously designed, with a channel for fresh water on one side and a drain on the other.

"A private hot spring within the Imperial Academy?" This was even more unbelievable than the Young Marquis having two residences here. Even his own Marquis Manor only had one hot spring pool. How strange. Luo Qianyu crouched down, his fingers tracing the warm, smooth stone wall. "What kind of person would have the status to..."

"Young Marquis?"

A voice suddenly came from behind him.