Early in the morning, birds chirped in the garden. The maids and servants in the mansion finished cleaning and began to prepare breakfast. Now that Count Sinan's daughter, Fan Ruoruo, had returned to the capital, there was only one master and a half left in the manor.
After everything was done, the head maid, Dong'er, went to wake Fan Xian up. She was shocked to see Fan Xian, thinking that he was seriously ill. She hurriedly went to fetch a doctor, but when the doctor arrived, he took his pulse and said that there was nothing wrong with him. It was just that he had eaten something recently that made him a little hot. He wrote a few prescriptions for him to recuperate, then took the money and left.
Ever since Fei Jie had arrived at the Count's manor, the teacher, who had been a fan of ancient literature, had quietly left. As the morning breeze blew in, Fei Jie looked at the little boy in front of him, who had two dark circles under his eyes. He laughed shrilly. "People say that young people are like the rising sun, ignorant of the sorrows of the world. What have you been up to? You can't even sleep well, and you even have to call a doctor."
Fan Xian had thought about it all night, but he still hadn't decided whether or not he should cultivate the zhenqi in his body. Although his nature was to practice this nameless martial art as a form of entertainment, when it came to matters of life and death, he naturally had to be careful.
Having slept too little, he was already in a trance. When he heard Teacher Fei say that he didn't know the sorrows of the world, he unconsciously groaned. "Young people don't know the sorrows of the world, and love to go up. Love to go up, and for the sake of new words, talk about sorrows. Now that he knows the sorrows of the world, he stops talking. He stops talking, only to realize that it's a cool autumn day. "
...
...
The study was suddenly quiet, and not a sound could be heard for a long time. Fan Xian pushed his sleepy eyelids open and yawned. "Teacher, I slept too late last night. Don't be angry."
Fei Jie looked at him and unconsciously reached out to stroke his beard. Unexpectedly, he was still holding the quill in his hand, and when it struck his chin, the pain woke him up. "Just now... those words... who wrote them?" he asked.
"Poor Old Xin."
Fan Xian didn't even think about it and directly said Xin Qiji's name. Only now did he realize what kind of mistake he had made.
Seeing the green light in Fei Jie's eyes, Fan Xian stuttered, "Lao Xin is a middleman who came to the west of the city last month to collect sea salt."
"Oh, it's well written. I wonder what the name of a merchant is."
"Xin … Qiji …" Fan Xian stole a glance at him.
Fei Jie's expression had already returned to normal, and the class began. Apart from the introduction to biological poisons, he also had to teach other subjects, so the teaching task was a little heavy.
…
…
After lunch and returning to his bedroom, Fan Xian finally began to face that complicated question. Should he practice that overbearing and dangerous zhenqi or not? He held the yellow book in his hand and began to worry.
But before that, the first thing he had to worry about was the words he had accidentally practiced in the study.
"Ugly Slave" was a poem written by Xin Qiji after he was demoted. Fan Xian was very familiar with it, but he recited it casually. He had no idea how much trouble it would bring him, but he didn't know if he had fooled Fei Jie with the story he had just come up with. But judging by Fei Jie's expression, he must have believed it. The original author was a sea salt merchant.
Fan Xian wasn't a clean freak, and he didn't think it was disgusting to plagiarize the works of others. In his opinion, since these poems were things that only he knew, it would be a waste if he didn't make use of them.
In the first few years after he came to this world, he had enough time to think about how to survive in this world. Plagiarism, a job with a bright future, was one of his plans without hesitation, and it firmly occupied the top three positions of glory.
When Fan Xian was thinking about this part, he kept hypnotizing himself: I'm not yeast, I'm the disseminator of Earth's cultural heritage, the preserver, the great communitarian.
But he didn't want to copy like this, not now. In his imagination, at least whatever he wrote, he had to use the names of his ancestors as his pen names.
Just like today in the study. If a five-year-old child wanted to copy, he should copy Luo Binwang's "White Feather Floats on Green Water, Goose Goose, Goose, Goose". That was so cheerful, in line with the child prodigy in his plan.
And at such a young age, if he were to casually hum, "What's left to say? What a cool autumn day." That kind of phrase would no longer be a child prodigy, but a heavenly mountain maiden — he looked young on the outside, but inside, there were 365 cracks. Each crack had the four words "Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter" written on it.
As Fan Xian thought about these trivial matters, he followed his biological clock, which had been as stable as a mountain, and fell into a deep sleep. In his dreams, he began to meditate and practice the zhenqi that Fei Jie saw as incomparably dangerous and tyrannical.
It was from this day on that Fan Xian accepted his fate. Since sleeping was practice, then he would practice. He would think about it when he actually exploded.
— — —
While Fan Xian was taking his afternoon nap, Fei Jie was in his room writing the letter he hadn't finished the night before.
There were a few lines of dried handwriting on the paper, probably left over from last night.
"… This child is more beautiful than others, more courageous than others, more intelligent than others, more determined than others, and more mature than others. If all the five-year-old boys in the Kingdom of Qing were to stand together, he would certainly hide at the back of the crowd, but he would also be the fastest to be discovered. Judging from this year's interaction, he is the most suitable person to inherit master's family property. It's a pity that his identity is the biggest problem … "
The writing ended here. It was at this point that Fan Xian began to ask him about zhenqi.
Fei Jie sighed and thought of the lines he had heard Fan Xian recite in the study that morning. He composed himself and continued to write on the paper. "... I want to say something, but don't stop. It's a cool autumn day. In recent years, ancient literature has been declining, and modern literature has taken over. It's hard to believe that this came from the mouth of a five-year-old boy, and it's hard to believe that it was written by a merchant. Furthermore, when the young master replied, there was a hint of panic in his eyes. This is something I have rarely seen in our year of interaction. The biggest problem is that I have been with him every day, and I don't even know when Xin Qiji secretly met with him. "
At the end of the letter, he solemnly wrote, "Have the people of Dongshan Road investigate who that sea salt merchant named Xin Qiji is, and why he was in contact with the young master. Why did the young master panic because of these words? This is an urgent matter. Do it quickly. "
After writing his distorted signature, Fei Jie put down his pen.
A few days later, the capital's Overwatch Council began to send out secret agents to search for a sea salt merchant. In the end, they found a number of illegal salt traffickers and toppled a number of high-ranking officials in the eastern part of the Kingdom of Qing. The results were remarkable, but they still couldn't find the merchant named Xin. According to the rumors in the capital, Director Chen of the Overwatch Council, who was feared by the entire world, was furious because of this matter. The entire Council was fined for three months, and the secret agents searched all over the world.
…
…
God bless this world … with a pitiful man named Xin Qiji.
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