Chapter 23 — Packing for Spring
Preparing for the provincial exam was like preparing for war.
Not because there were swords.
Because there were rules.
So many rules.
What ink could be brought. How many brushes. What papers were permitted. What food could be carried without being considered cheating.
Shen Yanci“s desk filled with lists and notes, his handwriting precise, his face calm as always”yet I could tell he was tense by the way his fingers lingered on each item, checking and rechecking.
I watched him from the doorway one evening as he arranged his exam kit.
“You”re going to wear a hole in that checklist, I teased.
He didn“t look up. ”It“s important.”
“So is sleeping,” I said.
He paused. Then, reluctantly, he set the list down.
His eyes lifted to mine.
“You”re worried, he said, not as a question.
I swallowed.
I had never been good at letting worry show. In the Lin residence, worry was something people used to laugh at.
But with Shen Yanci, hiding felt unnecessary.
“Yes,” I admitted.
He studied me for a moment, then exhaled softly.
“It”s spring by the time the results come, he said quietly.
Spring.
The word made my chest ache.
It sounded like a season I hadn’t believed I would reach.
I walked over and sat beside him, careful not to disturb his neat piles.
“I”ll go with you, I said.
His brows lifted. “To the examination city?”
“Yes.”
“There will be crowds,” he warned. “Noise. Lodging costs. It will be inconvenient.”
I smiled faintly. “You filled rice jars at midnight. Don”t lecture me about inconvenience.
He blinked, then his lips twitched—almost a smile.
“You don”t have to, he said quietly.
“I want to,” I replied.
I reached for a strip of cloth and began wrapping his inkstone more securely.
“If you”re going to enter that examination hall,“ I said, voice low, ”then you won“t do it alone.”
Shen Yanci’s gaze lingered on my hands.
Then, after a moment, he nodded.
“Alright,” he said softly.
Outside, the winter wind rattled the bamboo fence.
Inside, our room was warm with candlelight.
For the first time, packing didn’t feel like running away.
It felt like moving forward.
I tucked extra dried fruit into his bag, then paused.
“What if” I began, then stopped, embarrassed by the superstition.
Shen Yanci“s voice was gentle. ”Say it.
I swallowed. “What if you fail?”
The question hung between us.
Shen Yanci didn’t flinch.
He looked at me, eyes steady.
“Then I fail,” he said simply. “And I try again.”
No shame.
No collapse.
No tantrum.
Just effort.
The answer made my throat tighten.
I nodded slowly.
“Then,” I said, voice softer, “I”ll keep writing.
Shen Yanci“s eyes warmed. ”Good.
I finished tying the knot on the inkstone wrap and set it carefully into his bag.
He watched me, then reached out and touched the side of my face lightly—barely a brush of his fingertips, warm enough to make my skin prickle.
“Nanzhi,” he said softly, “thank you.”
My cheeks warmed.
“You”re welcome,“ I murmured, then added, trying to sound casual, ”Don“t die in the examination hall.”
His brows knit. “Die?”
I shrugged. “I heard scholars can faint.”
His mouth opened, then he actually laughed“quiet, surprised, like he wasn”t used to laughing at all.
The sound loosened something in my chest.
We finished packing together, side by side, under steady candlelight.
And when we finally lay down to sleep, the rabbit lantern by my door glowed faintly, its paper ears casting soft shadows.
Spring felt far.
But for the first time, far didn’t mean impossible.