Hot flashes

The chess game in the study had ended a while ago. After Shen Ji left, Cui Yin sat there alone, the chessboard in front of him still in the same position as when the game ended, the black and white pieces intertwined, neither willing to give way even a little.

He didn't call anyone in to clean up; he just sat there, twirling a dead piece between his fingers. The piece was white, and had been warmed by the heat of his palm.

A breeze picked up outside the window, causing the lanterns under the eaves to sway. Light and shadow squeezed in through the crack in the door, casting a shadow that stretched for varying lengths on the ground.

He stood up and walked to the window. The old locust tree in the yard had lost most of its leaves, its bare branches stretching towards the gray sky like an outstretched finger.

Cui Yin stood there, looking at the withered branches, and thought of Shen Ji. When that young man looked at people, his eyes never held anything, like a dry well; you could throw stones into it and hear no echo.

Everyone in the capital knew that the Shen family had a man named Shi Yu, but no one could really say what kind of person he was. He didn't form cliques or socialize.

While others walked in twos and threes, he always walked alone at the very back, his pace neither hurried nor slow, as if nothing in this world was worth him quickening his pace.

Cui Yin had met many young people, some sharp and ambitious, some mature and composed, and some pretentious and profound.

But Shen Ji doesn't fall into these categories. He's like a stagnant pool, a still pond that can't be stirred up by anything.

Sometimes Cui Yin felt that this person truly didn't care about anything. He didn't care about power, he didn't care about reputation, and he didn't even seem to care whether the Shen family could succeed.

But he happens to be the smartest one in the Shen family of this generation.

Cui Yin withdrew his gaze, walked back to the chessboard, picked up the white piece, and threw it into the chess jar. The porcelain jar made a crisp sound, and the piece rolled a few times inside before slowly coming to a stop.

When Shen Ji left the Cui family's house, it was already completely dark. The coachman was waiting at the alley entrance, and when he saw him come out, he placed a footstool there. He got into the carriage, leaned against the side, closed his eyes, and listened to the sound of the wheels rolling over the bluestone slabs.

As the carriage turned into the alley where the Shen residence was located, he heard the sound. It could be heard from two streets away—a loud, off-key singing, the tune completely distorted. Shen Ji opened his eyes.

The coachman had obviously heard it too; his whip hung in mid-air, unsure whether to bring it down.

"Let's go through the main entrance," Shen Ji said.

The driver responded and drove the carriage around through the side gate. The closer they got, the clearer it became that the sound was coming from Shen Ji's courtyard, heart-wrenching and screaming, as if some grand opera was being performed.

Listen carefully, the lyrics are improvised: "Shen Shiyu, you're not human, staying out past midnight, leaving me alone in this cold, empty room. I'll settle the score with you when I get back—"

Shen Ji got out of the carriage. Two servants stood at the courtyard gate, one looking down at his shoes, the other looking up at the moon, both suppressing smiles. Seeing him arrive, they both took a step back.

He pushed open the door.

Cheng Yan stood on a stone bench in the center of the courtyard, holding a wine pot in one hand and his other hand on his hip.

His hair was mostly disheveled, his clothes were wrinkled, and his shoes were nowhere to be seen. He stood barefoot on the cold bluestone slabs. The moonlight made him look pale, like a drunkard who had escaped from some dilapidated temple.

"You—" Cheng Yan saw him, the wine jug arcing through the air, almost slipping from his grasp, "You actually know how to come back?"

Shen Ji ignored him and walked straight inside. Cheng Yan jumped off the stone bench, slipped, stumbled a couple of steps, and only managed to steady himself by holding onto the flower stand.

He didn't care that half the wine had spilled onto his sleeve. He stumbled after Shen Ji, following him like a tail that he couldn't shake off.

"Shen Shiyu, let me tell you, you've gone too far."

Shen Ji pushed open the study door. Cheng Yan squeezed in after him.

"You lock me in the study to write, while you run out to enjoy yourself."

Shen Ji walked to the desk, took out several letters from his sleeve, and put them into a hidden compartment. Cheng Yan leaned over, peeking in to look, but Shen Ji pushed him away, pressing his face with one hand.

"Hey—what are you doing!" Cheng Yan's face was pushed back, and his hands were grabbing wildly in the air.

Shen Ji locked the hidden compartment and turned to look at him.

"How much did you drink?"

Cheng Yan held up two fingers, thought for a moment, and then held up one more.

"Three pots."

Shen Ji walked around him, sat down on the couch by the window, and picked up a book that was placed there.

Cheng Yan followed him over and sat down next to him. After sitting for a while, he felt uncomfortable, so he stood up again, walked around the room, picked up the pen on the table, looked at it, put it down, moved the inkstone to a different position, then moved it back, and went through all the pens on the pen rack one by one.

Shen Ji turned a page of his book.

Cheng Yan got tired of walking around and plopped back down next to him, peering at the book cover. She glanced at it once, then again, her expression becoming quite subtle.

"The Diamond Sutra?" His voice rose. "You're reading this in the middle of the night?"

Shen Ji ignored him.