Afternoon at the Northern Frontier Administrative Office.
Light filtered through the paper windows, spreading a layer of pale gray-white across the desk and bringing with it a rare trace of warmth.
Xia Lanshi was seated at the desk, several account books spread beside him.
His head was tilted slightly, the pages held very close to his eyes, almost touching them.
Years of habit made him lean forward unconsciously, his shoulders slightly hunched, like a stalk of bamboo bent beneath wind and snow.
When Chi Banyue entered carrying a bowl of medicine, this was the posture she saw.
Her brows furrowed, and she was just about to speak.
But then she saw that Xiao Yuan had already reached the desk and placed a dark-gray box in front of Xia Lanshi.
Xia Lanshi raised his head, shifting his gaze from the account books to the peculiar box.
He did not open it immediately. Instead, he looked at Xiao Yuan first.
Xiao Yuan said nothing. He merely pushed the box a little closer to him.
“Yours. Glasses.”
Then he gently pressed down on the box, revealing the object inside.
Xia Lanshi lowered his head.
The interior was lined with dark velvet, and a pair of glasses rested in a recessed slot.
The frames were an extremely pale gray-white, so fine that the edges seemed almost to have been outlined with light itself.
He looked down at them for a long time without picking them up, as though he were seeing something like this for the first time.
He truly was seeing them for the first time.
Great Sheng had glassmaking as well, but it was mostly used for vessels or window decorations.
The glass was thick and opaque, and its edges always carried the roughness of incomplete polishing.
The frames before him, however, were so light they seemed weightless. The lenses were thin and transparent, their edges polished smooth and even, without a single unnecessary mark.
He reached out. When his fingertips touched the frames, he felt a coolness.
It was not the chill of metal, but something cleaner, like a temperature that had been repeatedly wiped until nothing impure remained.
He carefully lifted the glasses, moving more gently than usual, making certain they would not shatter from his touch.
Chi Banyue leaned closer and looked down at them.
Estimating the craftsmanship and materials from a merchant’s perspective, she could not help raising her brows slightly. “If this thing were sold in the capital, it could probably buy an entire residence.”
She could tell that the metal used for the frames was unusual.
It was not silver. Silver was soft, and its color was different. This was some previously unseen rare silver ore from another world, or perhaps an indestructible white silver refined through a secret technique.
The metal had an understated elegance. Its hardness made it more resistant to wear, and if used for setting gemstones or making jewelry, it might even become more popular than pure silver.
Xia Lanshi did not answer.
He raised the glasses to his eyes and looked through the lenses at the sky outside the window before lowering them again.
Xiao Yuan did not need to explain further. After merely glancing at the structure, Xia Lanshi already knew how to use them.
He gently hooked the temples over his ears.
When the cool metal rested against the bridge of his nose, he blinked.
At first, nothing happened. There was only a thin transparent barrier before his eyes, like looking through a layer of clean water.
But when his gaze returned to the account books on the desk, the characters suddenly became clear.
Their edges no longer bled outward. There were no double images, no blurring.
Every stroke looked as though it had been redrawn, landing crisply and distinctly on the paper.
He could even see the fine texture left behind after the ink had dried.
He could see that the left-hand vertical stroke of the character “臨” in “臨北城” leaned slightly to one side.
He could see an extremely shallow crease along the edge of the page.
Those details had always been there, yet he had never truly seen them.
Xia Lanshi drew a soft breath.
It was not surprise so much as a slow, almost disbelieving confirmation.
He raised his head again, his gaze passing over the account books and settling on Xiao Yuan’s face.
Clearly, he could see the dark shadows beneath the other man’s eyes, the faint old scar along his brow ridge, and the direction of the fine line that appeared when his lips pressed together slightly.
He could see Xiao Yuan’s fatigue. And beyond that fatigue, he could also see a kind of relaxation that was difficult to notice.
It was a brief, subtle change that had only appeared after Xiao Yuan had spent time at Guichen Medical Hall—yet it undeniably existed.
Then he turned toward Chi Banyue.
For the first time, he saw the delicate texture of the light falling across her face as she stood by the window.
She was slightly thinner than he remembered, with a faint layer of weariness beneath her eyes. She had probably been handling business until late again last night.
Even the slight lift of her brows did not look like mere curiosity, as he had imagined. It looked more like the sharpness of someone actively estimating and calculating.
It was as though the entire world had been redrawn before his eyes, becoming clearer and brighter.
He withdrew his gaze and lowered his eyes, as though allowing those suddenly sharpened images to slowly settle.
After a moment, he finally spoke. “So this… is what it is.”
His voice was calm, carrying a sense of understanding.
Chi Banyue looked at him. “What is?”
Xia Lanshi did not answer immediately.
He gently removed the glasses and reached out to touch the edge of the frame, his fingertips gliding along the extremely fine, dark bamboo-joint pattern.
When his fingers rubbed toward the temple, he felt a slight unevenness.
Only then did he notice a tiny embossed mark on the inside of the temple.
It was not engraved. It had been pressed into the material.
If he had not happened to touch it, it would have been difficult to notice.
He had once been unable to see clearly, and much of the time he had relied on touch or sound to perceive the world.
It was a simple owl.
Exactly the same as the owl at the end of the letter he kept in his hidden pocket.
When he recognized the embossed mark, he said nothing.
But his fingertips lingered there for a moment longer, as though confirming something he had vaguely known for a long time but had never truly believed.
From the pocket watch to the glasses.
From the words, “Live. That’s enough.”
To the owl hidden on the inside of the temple.
Those seemingly independent things were now connecting into a single line in his heart.
Xiao was indeed not beside him.
He would not write a letter explaining his motives.
He would not say those straightforward things.
But he had carved the words he wanted to say into the pocket watch and pressed them into the inside of the temple.
He had hidden them in places Xia Lanshi would touch simply by using them.
Chi Banyue noticed his movements and the pause that followed. Her gaze swept over the embossed mark before she gently looked away.
The corners of her lips curved slightly. It was a very small smile, but it carried the self-awareness of someone thinking, I saw absolutely nothing.
Xiao Yuan did not notice the embossed mark. He took the dark-gray glasses cloth from the box and said, “Doctor Su said that if the lenses get dirty, don’t wipe them with the edge of your clothes. Use this.”
Xia Lanshi lowered his head and accepted the cloth.
The same owl emblem was embossed in one corner, identical to the one inside the temple of the glasses.
His fingertips gently brushed over the fabric.
He understood the feelings contained in this gift from those people.
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
What he intended to do was not merely offer thanks in words, but repay them through his actions.
Xiao Yuan then repeated each of the precautions Su Muchen had given him.
“It may cause dizziness or fatigue when you first wear them. That is normal. Start by wearing them for one or two shichen each day, then gradually increase the time once you adjust. If the dizziness becomes severe, take them off first.”
Xia Lanshi listened quietly, committing each instruction to memory.
When he put the glasses on again, he was steadier than before. The tentative caution from earlier was gone.
Light from outside fell across his face, while some information waited for him to read anew.
◆◇◆◆◇
In the days that followed, a new atmosphere emerged within the Northern Frontier Administrative Office.
Or rather, a silent disaster.
Everyone soon discovered that after Chief Secretary Xia put on that peculiar pair of glasses, his speed at checking accounts more than doubled.
The figures that once required him to lean close to the candlelight and squint at for half a day—
now needed only a single glance for him to find mistakes.
He turned pages faster.
He made annotations faster.
Even the frequency with which he set down his brush decreased.
One account book after another was cleared. One official document after another was reviewed and approved. Even the grain records that had piled up for days were all processed within just two days.
His efficiency was terrifying enough to make people shudder.
Chi Banyue stood nearby, watching Xia Lanshi’s brush move almost without pause, and could not help asking:
“Can everyone else… keep up with you like this?”
She looked at the pale, miserable faces around her and their unspeakable suffering.
Xia Lanshi raised his head. His pale-red eyes behind the lenses were as calm as ever.
“I’ve already slowed down.”
Chi Banyue fell silent.
She decided not to pass that sentence on to the officials outside.
Someone might resign on the spot and return to their hometown.
Pei Yi was the first victim.
Early on the morning of the third day, he entered with military supply documents, full of confidence.
Before the time it took to finish a cup of tea had passed, he walked back out holding the exact same file.
Three slips of paper had been added to it.
The first:
—Numbers not aligned; format does not conform.
The second:
—One character missing from the filing date.
The third:
—Signature crooked; handwriting sloppy.
Pei Yi stood in the courtyard of the administrative office, staring at the three slips of paper without speaking for a long time.
He had already had three military supply applications returned over the past three days.
Holding the rejected file, he looked like a young student who had just been struck across the palms with a ruler.
When Chi Banyue passed by, he asked in a low voice, “Is Chief Secretary Xia’s eyesight… a little too good lately?”
Chi Banyue held back her laughter and patted him on the shoulder with solemn sympathy.
“General Pei, my condolences.”
The clerk Xu Wenshan, passing nearby, asked cautiously:
“General Pei… rejected again?”
Pei Yi nodded.
“Rejected.”
Xu Wenshan asked again:
“What was wrong?”
Pei Yi was silent for a moment before lowering his head to look at his own name.
“…I suppose it wasn’t upright enough.”
Another day passed.
A saying began circulating throughout the administrative office.
“Does His Lordship the Chief Secretary have his glasses on?”
If someone answered, “Not yet,” everyone would let out a sigh of relief.
If the answer was, “He does,” the entire room would fall silent at once.
People who had been chatting immediately lowered their heads and revised their documents.
Those drinking tea quietly put down their cups.
Some even began measuring the spacing between their characters again.
The officials who had grown accustomed to thinking, Chief Secretary Xia can’t see very well, so we can probably get away with this, began relearning how to write official documents properly.
A few days later, the northern officials finally worked out a survival strategy.
Write large.
Align the numbers.
Keep the margins consistent.
Even seals had to be stamped perfectly straight.
Because as long as something was even slightly crooked—
Chief Secretary Xia could see it.
Some people even secretly borrowed Pei Yi’s documents to copy his handwriting.
Grain Officer Qian You’nian said, “If you write like General Pei, the rejection rate is the lowest.”
“Really?”
“Really. I saw it with my own eyes.”
“Quick, let me copy it… I mean, let me use it for reference.”
Before long, Pei Yi’s handwriting had actually become the official model of the Northern Frontier Administrative Office.
Xia Lanshi naturally had no idea what was happening outside.
Or rather, he knew.
But he thought it was perfectly normal.
After one meeting, he closed the file and looked up at Pei Yi.
“General Pei.”
Pei Yi immediately straightened his entire body.
“Here.”
Xia Lanshi nodded slightly.
“Your handwriting has become much more upright lately.”
Pei Yi froze.
For some reason, he felt rather flattered.
He did not know whether he should be pleased or sigh over it.
“…Chief Secretary, you flatter me.”
Xia Lanshi added mildly, “I hope everyone else can learn from General Pei.”
The following day, more than a dozen documents suddenly appeared on Pei Yi’s desk.
Notes were attached beside them.
—“General Pei, lend me your handwriting.”
—“Help me see what might get rejected.”
—“Save me.”
Pei Yi stared at the pile of files and, for the first time, felt that dealing with the Northern Di on the battlefield had somehow been less exhausting than this.
From then on, whenever someone spotted Xia Lanshi raising a hand to touch his glasses from a distance, the entire administrative office would erupt into a chorus of hurried page-turning.
“Quick, quick, quick! The Chief Secretary has his glasses on!”
“Change the date!”
“Whose ink drop got on the cover?!”
“Stop chatting! He’s looking this way!”
And Xia Lanshi would merely push up his glasses, looking somewhat puzzled at the suddenly busy crowd.
He muttered quietly to himself, “Everyone seems much more diligent today.”
Chi Banyue finally could not hold back. She turned around, her shoulders shaking with laughter.
She watched Xia Lanshi lower his head and continue writing.
The glasses’ delicate frames rested against the bridge of his nose, making his pale face look even cleaner and more refined.
When he wrote, he no longer needed to press his head so low. His back was straighter than before, like a stalk of bamboo that had been gently set upright.
She could not help narrowing her eyes with a smile.
◆◇◆◇◆
Late at night, on the top floor of an old apartment building in the old city district.
There were no lights on in the study. Only the glow of the surveillance screens reflected across the walls, enveloping the room in a dim blue-gray light.
The images from Guichen Medical Hall shone steadily across the monitoring wall.
The streetlights of Changning Alley.
The stone-paved road outside the entrance.
The old wood grain visible along the edge of the counter.
Everything was quiet, like a picture frozen in time.
Xiao sat at the desk with two things beside him.
He had been staring at them for quite some time.
They had been brought over by Xiao Yuan.
Su Muchen had not opened them. He had simply put them away and told him, “There’s something for you. One is a letter. The other is a thank-you gift.”
Xiao had not opened them at Guichen Medical Hall.
He had brought them back to the apartment, to the place where he was alone.
He reached out and picked up the handkerchief first.
It was folded neatly, without a single unnecessary crease at the corners.
The moon-white fabric gave off an extremely faint, warm luster beneath the glow of the screens.
When he unfolded it, his movements were very light, as though he were opening something he was not yet prepared to face.
The instant the handkerchief spread open, an extremely faint scent drifted into the air.
It was so light that the stagnant air of the study nearly swallowed it.
But the moment he smelled it, he stopped moving.
Ink orchid and snow tea.
The cold tea top note had already faded, leaving only the middle note of ink orchid intertwined with the lingering note of snow.
It was like the scent of old pages turning in a study when a cold wind gently stirred them.
Clean. Slightly cool.
Carrying a sense of distance that did not belong to this apartment.
He recognized the scent.
He recognized it.
Because he had smelled it once before.
In memories he had nearly forgotten.
He had thought he had already forgotten.
Details were worn away by time.
Like layers of paint repeatedly brushed over an old wall, one covering another until the original color was almost impossible to see.
But now, when that scent returned to his senses, the memories beneath it suddenly appeared like color exposed through cracks in a wall.
Back then, he had not yet learned how to hide his emotions or maintain his distance.
Now that he had received something similar again, he no longer dared to casually tuck it against his chest.
He spread the handkerchief open. The first thing that entered his sight was a plum blossom branch extending diagonally.
The branch had been embroidered in dark thread, its lines crisp and flowing, stretching upward from the lower-left corner of the handkerchief, each joint clearly defined.
Several plum blossoms bloomed along the branch, while others were still waiting to open.
The petals had been layered with extremely fine stitches, shifting gradually from pink to white. From the center outward, the color faded lighter, and every petal had a slight three-dimensional curve.
Among the branches and leaves rested a silver-throated long-tailed tit, its body round and plump, its tail feathers slender and long. The stitches were short and dense, and the fluffy texture of its feathers was almost visible in the dim light.
Its head was tilted as its black, bead-like eyes gazed toward the other end of the handkerchief—
where an owl crouched upon a withered branch, its wings folded close, its round body carrying a quiet, solemn presence.
Its feathers had been embroidered in alternating dark brown and gray-white. The stitches were denser and more orderly than those of the tit, as though the person who embroidered it had spent a great deal of time on the work.
Its eyes were half-closed, its expression languid, as if it had just awakened from some night and still carried a touch of reluctance to deal with anyone.
Xiao’s gaze remained fixed on the owl for a long time.
Silence.
The study was quiet, with only the hum of the computer and the occasional sound of vehicles in the distance outside the window.
He smelled the scent of ink orchid and snow again.
It was faint, but he knew it was not an illusion.
The fabric of the handkerchief had absorbed the scent of that person, releasing it slowly when unfolded, like a letter that needed no words.
When he brought the handkerchief close to his nose, it was as though he were surrounded by that fragrance.
Ink orchid and snow.
Like someone walking through the snow for a while, entering a study, carefully folding the handkerchief, and handing it to someone else to pass along.
He placed the handkerchief on the desk without putting it away immediately.
Then he turned on a lamp and unfolded the letter.
The paper was ordinary cream-colored paper, the handwriting slender and neat, every stroke carrying Xia Lanshi’s familiar rhythm. Beneath the lamplight, he read it once.
—————————
Young Master Xiao:
Greetings, as though we were face-to-face.
Linbei City has recently entered the final stage of winter. Although the wind and snow have not completely stopped, they are no longer as biting as they were last month. The people within the city are gradually becoming accustomed to the rationing system, the porridge stations are operating steadily, and most of the wounded soldiers’ camp has been cleared. The supplies from the Guichen Medical Sect have indeed saved many people from danger. Huaiyu will remember this kindness and favor.
In my previous letter, I mentioned the snow of the northern frontier. Having thought about it recently, I remain curious: Does it snow where Young Master Xiao lives? If so, is it as fierce as the snow in the northern frontier, or somewhat gentler? If not, then when winter arrives, what does the world look like there? Huaiyu knows this question may be presumptuous, but the difference between what I have seen and heard and this world is truly immense, and I cannot help but feel a longing to know.
There is one other matter. Is the lamp at Guichen Medical Hall always lit at night? His Highness often mentions that whenever he returns, the lamp is always on. Sometimes I wonder what color that lamp is.
Huaiyu respectfully bows.
—————————
When Xiao reached the final line, his fingertips paused at the edge of the paper.
When Xia Lanshi wrote this letter, he had not yet received the glasses.
So every one of those characters had been written slowly, one stroke at a time, with his face close to the paper.
He must have leaned very close while writing, close enough that his eyelashes nearly brushed the page, close enough that he needed to bring the letter before his eyes to confirm whether each character was properly formed.
But he had written it anyway.
This letter was different from the earlier ones.
There was no testing, no roundabout questioning, no “How did you know?”
Only everyday matters—the everyday life of Linbei City, his imagination of snow, and his curiosity about that lamp.
It looked simple, almost like an ordinary letter of greeting.
But after reading it twice, Xiao realized that it was more difficult to respond to than any probing question.
Xiao placed the letter beside the handkerchief and sat beneath the lamp for a while.
The two things lay side by side: one embroidered with him, the other written by him.
He should have felt relieved.
Xia Lanshi was finally no longer testing him, no longer asking questions.
But what surfaced in his heart now was a thought even harder to deal with than being tested.
If Xia Lanshi were still asking, “Who are you?” he could answer with silence, keep him at a distance, or use any number of methods to keep that boundary clear.
But Xia Lanshi had not asked.
He had simply written a letter without probing, approaching from another direction.
Xiao did not know how to respond to this.
He always withdrew before things became complicated.
But he had already retreated many steps, and this time Xia Lanshi had used a letter without a single test to move one step closer to him.
He sat at the desk for a very long time.
Long enough for the image on the surveillance screens to switch from Guichen Medical Hall’s night mode to morning mode.
Long enough for the sky outside to begin changing from deep blue to gray-white.
Then he picked up a pen and unfolded a fresh sheet of paper beneath the lamp.
When he began writing, his handwriting was more restrained than usual, as though he were trying to stop himself from writing too much.
At the end of the letter, he drew a simple owl, just as he had before.
Then he added one sentence:
“The plum blossoms are embroidered beautifully. The owl especially resembles one, and the tit is very lively.”
When he folded the paper in half, his fingertips paused over the words, “The owl especially resembles one.”
Then he put the letter away, preparing to have Xiao Yuan take it back the next time he returned.
The handkerchief and Xia Lanshi’s letter still lay on the desk. He did not put them away in the shadows. He simply let them remain side by side, as though giving himself a little more time to decide where they belonged.
Dawn was approaching outside.
The blue-gray light in the study was gradually fading, like an old color slowly washed away by time.
Xiao leaned back against his chair and closed his eyes for a while. He did not look at the handkerchief again.
But that faint, almost imperceptible scent seemed to remind him constantly.
That person was still there.
Even if he pretended to forget, pretended not to care, pretended to be cold and indifferent—
he was still, again and again, easily breaking through his defenses.