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墨書 Inktalez
"Miss Liang, your wisdom is remarkable; it is no easy feat to connect the dry laws with reality," Xie Yao's voice carried a hint of admiration.
I smiled modestly, my fingers still tracing patterns on the table.
Suddenly, a faint gasp came from behind the screen, followed by Xie Yao's voice, filled with an indescribable complexity: "What... what character were you just tracing?"
I was taken aback and looked down at my fingers. They had just finished tracing the last character of the annotation "restoration," and that handwriting...
My heart skipped a beat. The strokes resembled the rhythm of Xie Yao's occasional light tapping on the table from behind the screen—an understated yet sharp penmanship.
It was his handwriting.
I glanced at my fingers again; the unconscious strokes I had made matched perfectly with the rhythm of his tapping—an understated yet sharp penmanship.
At that moment, my heart missed a beat, not from fear, but from an unexpected sensation of having a secret exposed.
The book he sent me, the traces I instinctively repaired, turned out to be his work. He had discerned this through my unconscious movements on the table.
This was not merely coincidence; it felt like a silent affirmation, confirming a profound connection between us that had yet to be articulated.
The breath behind the screen seemed to quicken, and the scent of agarwood flowed through the quiet study—not just a simple fragrance but like an invisible bridge connecting him and me across the screen.
After a long pause, he cleared his throat. His voice returned to its initial calmness but carried an added layer of inexplicable meaning.
"It seems that Miss Liang's fingertips can reveal the truth more than her words."
I felt a flush rise to my cheeks and quickly withdrew my hand, as if the contours of the characters still lingered on my fingertips, etched deep within my heart.
"Young Master is joking; it was merely an unintentional act." I tried to keep my voice calm and steady.
He did not press further but shifted the topic. "Since Miss Liang has such profound insights into the Equalization Law, I assume you have also speculated on the deeper meaning of those annotations."
I understood he was giving me an opportunity while also confirming whether I had truly "restored" that crucial piece of information.
Taking a deep breath, I silently unfolded the phrases I had pieced together from my photographic memory and the outlines drawn by the thread in front of him.
"Those annotations seem to mention... the whereabouts of the salt vouchers, as well as... a date related to the Imperial Examination." I lowered my voice so only we could hear.
A faint sound came from behind the screen, as if something had been picked up and then set down again. I knew he understood and had confirmed my abilities.
This meeting did not last long; we did not exchange names or engage in much small talk. Yet, the information hidden within the pages, annotations, and silent gestures conveyed our intentions and capabilities more clearly than any words could.
As we parted, he emerged from behind the screen, his posture tall and straight. The depth in his phoenix eyes resembled an ancient well, but when he looked at me, there seemed to be a hint of complex emotion that was hard to detect.
He did not hand me anything; instead, as he passed by me, his fingertips quickly tapped a rhythm on my palm—a pattern that felt deliberate.
A spark ignited within me. Was this... some kind of code?
Upon returning to the Liang Residence, I immediately closed the door and focused on recalling the rhythm of his fingertips. As I matched it with the sensation of silently tracing his characters in the study earlier that day, images of dots and strokes began to form in my mind, as if I were deciphering a brand new puzzle.
It was Morse code.
This was something I had never encountered before, yet it astonishingly aligned with the rhythm of his fingertips and the flow of his pen.
The combination of that rhythm revealed a string of locations and times: the temple in the southern part of the city, three days later, at the hour of the dog.
The methods of exchanging information were becoming bolder, increasingly reliant on our mutual understanding and rapport.
In response to him, I had to use my most proficient skill—embroidery.
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