A faint puffiness clung to Lord Zhen’s face, a lingering shadow from a night spent in boisterous company. It reminded Jian Li of a river carp, plump from the deepest currents. With a sigh, he set a small, dew-kissed mandarin on Lord Zhen’s writing desk. He always offered a cool fruit on mornings when Lord Zhen’s countenance bore the marks of revelry. “Cast off that languid air, my Lord,” Jian Li murmured, his voice soft, almost swallowed by the vast chamber. “The morning demands a keen eye.” “Indeed, Minister Jian. Your vigilance never falters.” Lord Zhen’s grin was quick, a flash of teeth that held both camaraderie and something sharper. “My father’s scolding was averted, thanks to your timely counsel.” Lord Zhen offered a dismissive shrug, his chest puffed out with casual pride. Jian Li merely pressed his lips together, a faint tremor in his own hand, then turned to his own place. His gaze drifted, snagging on a stack of ancient scrolls piled beside Lord Zhen’s seat. Not Jian Li, but Lord Wei occupied the adjacent desk. Jian Li was a handspan shorter than Lord Zhen, a slightness he often cursed, finding scant solace in the fact that Lord Zhen's imposing figure, at least, shielded him from the direct glare of the Grand Secretary. A small comfort, that. He buried the tendrils of envy deep. Pointing to Lord Wei, Jian Li spoke, a feigned casualness in his tone. “When did Lord Wei arrive?” “No idea. He was hunched over his texts when I entered.” “One who departed early last night should not appear so worn.” Scarcely had the words left his lips when a rustle broke the morning stillness. A large philosophical treatise slipped from Lord Wei’s grasp, revealing half-lidded eyes. His narrow gaze swept over Jian Li and Lord Zhen, then he stretched, a wide, soundless yawn. “…I told myself, just another hour of contemplation, and then, well.” Yawns, truly, were a contagion. Lord Zhen mirrored the gesture, his mouth stretching wide before he scrunched his face, a smug amusement playing on his lips. “This one. Appears a wastrel, yet his diligence shames even the most earnest scholar.” “Enough, Lord Zhen.” “As you wish, dear friend.” Whether Lord Wei perceived the veiled barb, he merely leaned back, letting out a hearty chuckle. Jian Li watched him, and their eyes met. Lord Wei turned his gaze to the lattice window, then back to Jian Li. A strange tickle prickled Jian Li’s skin; he rubbed his shoulder, then redirected his attention to Lord Zhen. The mood in the Grand Secretariat’s outer chamber, in these early hours, often carried a deceptively pleasant air. Such conversations often set the day’s rhythm. Soon, other junior officials—Master Huan, Scholar Park—would drift over, their admiration for Lord Zhen evident as they gathered to hear his latest anecdotes. The familiar routine would unfold: murmurs, quiet laughter, and, eventually, the Grand Secretary’s entrance, signaling the day’s commencement. For young men deemed among the most promising in the capital, it was a surprisingly sedate start. Yet, beneath the veneer, they were still but courtiers in their prime. Whispers of illicit liaisons, of late-night visits to the pleasure districts, especially when Lord Zhen’s name was mentioned, left a bitter taste in Jian Li’s mouth. Still, he played his part, feigning amusement. Despite it all, these mornings were not entirely unpleasant. But everything had shifted a moon and a half ago. And the reason, Jian Li knew, lay entirely with Master Lin. “See, Master Lin approaches.” “Heaven preserve us. Repulsive.” “Does that wretch even consider absenting himself after such a public humiliation?” Scholar Park openly scorned Master Lin, pointing with exaggerated distaste. At the tip of Scholar Park’s finger, Master Lin shuffled awkwardly into the chamber, his face half-hidden by stray locks of hair. He drifted towards a humble desk in the farthest row, placed a tattered satchel upon it, and immediately slumped over. Watching his hunched figure, Jian Li let out a sigh laden with irritation. Master Lin was utterly pathetic. His voice was thin, his frame small—a shadow of a man. As the murmurs of the chamber swelled, Lord Zhen glared daggers at Master Lin’s back, muttering curses under his breath. Jian Li despised it. That particular sensitivity of Lord Zhen’s—it grated upon his nerves. Lord Zhen snatched a discarded gazette that lay nearby, crushing it into a tight ball in his hand. Then, with a light flick of his wrist, he hurled it at Master Lin’s head. *Thud.* With a soft sound, Master Lin’s head slumped further onto his desk. “Confound it. Do not parade that disgusting visage so early in the morning.” Master Lin placed his arms on the desk, burying his face deeper, doing precisely as Lord Zhen commanded. Yet, Lord Zhen watched this with disdain, then kicked his own desk with a loud thud. “Hear me! Will you not answer?” When Lord Zhen abruptly rose and bellowed, Master Lin, still hunched, stammered in a trembling voice. “Y-yes.” “Lift your head, look at me, and speak plainly.” Did Lord Zhen even comprehend the absurdity of his demands? The sheer unreasonableness of it all coaxed a bitter laugh from Jian Li’s throat. Whether or not he was noticed, Lord Zhen strode towards Master Lin. With every step he took, the unpleasant feelings within Jian Li grew more vivid, more raw. Lord Zhen closed the distance between himself and Master Lin. That alone made Jian Li feel as if he was losing command over the emotions he had so carefully suppressed. This was not the same jealousy he felt when Lord Zhen drew close to Lord Wei. Instinctively, Jian Li knew. Deep down, he harbored something just as sinister as Lord Zhen did. That was why watching Lord Zhen with Lord Wei had, in time, become bearable, but his interactions with Master Lin unsettled Jian Li more and more. His hands began to tremble; he clenched them tightly, burying them in his sleeves. Lord Zhen kicked Master Lin’s desk hard. The desk shook violently, almost toppling, and Master Lin jolted upright in alarm, his voice still unsteady. “F-forgive me.” Lord Zhen stood there, silently looking down at Master Lin’s face. Master Lin’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, on the verge of breaking. Yet, in that moment, Jian Li felt as if *he* might burst into tears. Lord Zhen did not send Master Lin on pointless errands, but he always kept his eyes upon him. If Master Lin retired to the privy during a break, Lord Zhen would still watch his retreating figure, even while conversing with others. Jian Li knew this because he never stopped watching Lord Zhen. To be honest, Jian Li’s first impression of Master Lin had been unremarkable. His complexion was not the clearest, but his youthful features gave him a face that was easy to behold. When he smiled, it felt genuinely joyful, and even his neutral expression carried a certain brightness. Before Lord Zhen began tormenting him, no one truly disliked Master Lin. He seemed a young man raised in a warm, nurturing household. While he was not overly sociable, preferring quiet solitude, there was no trace of worry or discomfort in his demeanor. Most considered Master Lin a decent sort. Since he never flaunted the affection he had received in his upbringing, he earned even more quiet praise. Humble, quiet, bright, and inexplicably pleasant to be around—that was Master Lin. But Jian Li did not particularly like him from the start. He did not hate him either; he simply did not care. To say Master Lin was not even on Jian Li’s mind would be more accurate. Yet, whenever he spoke with his friends, with Lord Zhen or Lord Wei’s circle, and Master Lin’s name arose, Jian Li would find himself casually offering a polite falsehood, saying, “Ah, him? He seems perfectly acceptable. Quite amiable.” Lord Zhen, much like Jian Li, had paid little heed to Master Lin at first. Lord Zhen was never one to concern himself with the affairs of junior scholars. After Master Lin’s assignment to their section in the fifth moon, he and Lord Zhen did not exchange a single word until the sixth. That was how things had been. But one day, something shifted. A small, sharp deviation formed in the mundane current of events. It happened after the midday meal, and looking back, Jian Li doubted he had ever regretted an action as much as what transpired that day. Master Lin, as was his custom, had taken a corner seat during the break to read. He was the sort of person who loved to bury himself in ancient texts. Jian Li, on the other hand, possessed a habit of cultivating an overly cordial manner towards those of good reputation. That was why, when he chanced upon Master Lin, Jian Li struck up a conversation about the scroll he held. Jian Li was no devoted scholar of such texts himself—pretending a profound understanding was more his style. “You must truly cherish such lore, Master Lin?” “Ah? Oh, yes, I suppose.” At the time, Master Lin and Jian Li were still distant acquaintances. Perhaps that made approaching him easier. “Have you reached the conclusion of that treatise?” “Indeed, I am almost there.” “Then close it now. The ending will disappoint you. It is one of those works where the resolution taints the entire journey.” “You have studied it before?” “Yes, some time ago.” To satisfy his intellectual vanity, Jian Li always sought out critiques and commentaries on the texts he merely skimmed, ensuring he possessed some refined pronouncements for future discourse. Drawing upon those dim memories, he offered a critique—not a genuine one, merely enough to sound informed—and Master Lin smiled brightly, looking genuinely pleased. It caught Jian Li off guard. “You are the first person I have met who has read this particular work, apart from myself.” “Oh… truly?” “Yes, but I shall still finish it. Contemplating why the ending unfolded as it did is part of the pleasure.” “Well, of course. All interpretations differ.” “Hearing you say that only makes me anticipate it more.” That smile still lingered as an uncomfortable memory. Was it some instinctive unease he felt even then? After that day, Master Lin began to seek Jian Li out frequently. Though Jian Li found it a touch tiresome, often wondering, *Why me?*, he did not outright reject him. Master Lin, with his good reputation, was not the worst person to keep within one’s orbit. After all, ancient texts—beyond official edicts and ministerial reports—were practically forbidden for young men of their station. Even if one had the leisure, such tomes were little more than glorified footstools to most. For Master Lin, Jian Li was probably the sole companion with whom he could discuss such matters. That day was one of those routine encounters, yet it also happened to be one of the most ill-fated among them. Lord Wei was to blame. To this day, Jian Li could not fathom why he had acted as he did. Why he, a man who never meddled in others’ affairs, chose to put his hand where it did not belong. Why Lord Wei, of all things, had left his graded calligraphy assignment open for every passing eye to see. Jian Li, one who abhorred having his own assessments revealed, naturally assumed Lord Wei would desire the same privacy. So, he flipped the parchment over to conceal it. That was when he saw it: the score. Eighty-one marks. He blinked in disbelief, checking again. It was undeniably eighty-one. Considering the rigorous standards of their mentors, it would barely scrape into the fourth tier. But still, it was on the higher end of that tier. It was the first time one of Jian Li’s preconceptions had shattered. A small shock, to realize Lord Wei was not as much a lost cause as he had imagined. Naturally, that made him think of Lord Zhen’s assessments. Now, *he* was the true failure. A man who would scrawl a single character across every answer and then sleep through the remainder of the examination, Lord Zhen had never once achieved a respectable score. Perhaps that was why Jian Li felt such a mix of emotions—like he had discovered something salvageable among discarded dross. A man he had once loathed proved to be more promising than the man he admired. That strange realization must have unsettled him, for he did something he would normally never have conceived. It was nothing grand. He merely picked up a nearby ink brush and scribbled a short note at the top of Lord Wei’s parchment. “Focus upon the commentaries on governance. You will reach the third tier soon enough. A commendable effort. —Jian Li. P.S. Forgive my trespass in viewing your score. I merely turned the parchment to cover it and chanced to see.” The arrogance of evaluating another’s assessment and offering unsolicited counsel made Jian Li feel a touch ashamed, so he rambled to justify himself. He could not say why he had even written it in the first place. At the time, he must have been utterly disoriented. Looking back, it was clear this was the first error in what would become a series of entanglements. Every knot begins with a poorly fastened first thread. Had Jian Li not penned that note, he would not have crossed paths with Master Lin, who was even then carrying a rare classical text down the main hall.

The Chill of Morning Dew