Zong Jichen · Chat

The afternoon sunlight slanted through the half-open lattice windows, casting a carpet of shattered gold onto the gray brick floor. The East Palace study was quiet, save for the occasional soft rustle of turning pages and a faint wisp of agarwood incense from the burner. Zong Jichen sat behind the desk reviewing memorials, his moon-white sleeves rolled up twice. He held his brush with a relaxed and composed posture, occasionally jotting down a few words, frowning slightly, or drawing a small circle in the margins. Lin Qingyang was sprawled in a nearby armchair, having nearly finished all three plates of snacks on the table. He had flipped through a few pages of some storybook he'd found somewhere and was now holding Tuan Tuan upside down in his lap. The fat white cat had a look of pure disdain that said "who even are you?" as its four paws kicked helplessly at the air. "Your Highness—" Lin Qingyang drawled, tossing the book onto the table. "Look, this memorial is longer than my life span. Just how much longer are you going to keep reading?" Zong Jichen didn't look up, his brush tip steadily finishing a character. "What's the rush?" "I'm not in a rush; I'm rushing for you." Lin Qingyang held the cat up to hide his face, revealing only his eyes. "You're eighteen years old, and you sit here every day reading and marking memorials. The spring scenery outside is so beautiful, the flowers are blooming like they're free—don't you feel like you're missing out?" "I don't." Zong Jichen turned a page. "Spring comes every year, but if these memorials aren't finished, someone might actually lose their head." "Tsk." Lin Qingyang set the cat down and rubbed its white fur. "So you plan to just keep marking them forever? Didn't His Majesty say just yesterday that you should go out and walk around more, instead of staying cooped up in here? I remember his exact words: 'If he stays in any longer, his face will turn as white as a memorial.'" Zong Jichen's brush paused, and he finally glanced up at him. "My father's exact words?" "Something like that." Lin Qingyang grinned shamelessly and reached for the last plate of osmanthus cakes. "Oh, never mind who said it. Anyway, it's warm outside. You can take those memorials out there to finish. I think the pavilion in the Imperial Garden is nice; we could even sun the cat." "Tuan Tuan doesn't sunbathe." "Well, I do." Zong Jichen let out a short laugh and looked back down at his work. "You'll turn into charcoal, Lin Qingyang, and then your father will come to settle the score with me." "My dad won't care," Lin Qingyang said muffledly, stuffing an osmanthus cake into his mouth. "He'd rather I follow you around; he says staying with the Crown Prince is better than causing trouble at home." "Your father does have foresight." "That he does." Lin Qingyang looked proud, then leaned over to peek at the memorial in Zong Jichen's hand, frowning. "What kind of nonsense is this? It's so thick. Is it from the border?" "Mm," Zong Jichen hummed, showing no intention of elaborating. Lin Qingyang tactfully didn't press further, slouching back into the armchair and lifting the cat again. Tuan Tuan rolled its eyes and unceremoniously slapped his nose with a paw pad. "Hey, you cat—" Lin Qingyang glared at it in feigned anger, then looked up to complain to Zong Jichen. "Your Highness, aren't you going to do something? Your cat hit me." Without looking up, the corners of Zong Jichen's mouth curled. "Good hit." "Fine, you're both in on it." Lin Qingyang huffed, plopped the cat onto his stomach, and leaned his head back against the chair, staring blankly at the ceiling beams. Silence returned to the study, broken only by the scratching of the brush against paper and Tuan Tuan's occasional purring. The sunlight shifted an inch from the window, falling onto Zong Jichen's sleeve, then onto his lowered eyelashes. After a while, Lin Qingyang suddenly spoke, his voice lazy. "Your Highness." "Mm." "Tell me, what does it feel like to wait for someone?" Zong Jichen's brush stopped for a moment before continuing to write. His tone remained unchanged. "Why ask that all of a sudden?" "Just curious." Lin Qingyang rubbed the cat. "Sometimes when I see you sitting here, you're clearly looking at memorials, but it feels like you're waiting for something—I can't explain it, it's just a feeling." Zong Jichen didn't answer. He finished the memorial in his hand, closed it, set it aside, and then slowly looked up. The sunlight fell perfectly across his profile, and those phoenix eyes narrowed slightly, as if dazzled by the light, or perhaps as if he were smiling. "Your feeling is wrong." "Oh." Lin Qingyang didn't argue. He just held the cat up to cover half his face, revealing a pair of bright, mischievous eyes. "Then I'll just keep being wrong." Zong Jichen ignored him and opened the next memorial. But that slight curve at the corner of his mouth didn't fade. Tuan Tuan jumped down from Lin Qingyang's arms, trotted toward the door with its chubby steps, and sat down by the threshold. Its tail swayed back and forth as it tilted its head, peering out the door.