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墨書 Inktalez
I ran my fingers over the cool wooden surface of the makeup box, recalling my mother’s gentle smile. Almost instinctively, I began to search for any hidden compartments that might exist within it. My mother had once said that some secrets should be kept in the most inconspicuous places.
Guided by the faint memories of her delicate movements when she occasionally handled the box, I explored it carefully. My fingertips paused at a carved pattern on the bottom, and with a gentle press, the base unexpectedly popped open to reveal a narrow hidden compartment!
Inside lay a few items: an old jade pendant, a letter addressed to me that she never had the chance to give, and half of a yellowed piece of paper.
The paper felt cold to the touch and carried a faint scent of ink. As I unfolded it, I was startled to discover it was a fragment of a land deed!
The blurred characters on the deed indicated that it pertained to a piece of wasteland located outside the city, adjacent to the main road. It was quite sizable, but why was there only half of it?
What did my mother’s decision to hide this mean? Was it related to her death or to my father’s case?
My heart raced; this half of a land deed felt like a key unlocking a world I had never touched before, filled with mysteries and dangers.
Just as I was lost in speculation about the deed, a knock sounded at the courtyard door.
It was Su Mama.
She held a small package in her hands, claiming it had been left at my door without any signature. Finding it suspicious, she brought it inside.
The package was modest, wrapped in ordinary oil paper. As I opened it, I found a brand-new book inside.
On the cover, three characters were inscribed in clerical script—"Nine Chapters on the Mathematical Art."
What is this? I am just a woman of the inner chambers, with no experience in mathematics, let alone such obscure mathematical classics.
Even stranger, this book looks brand new; the paper carries a faint scent of ink, and the edges are neatly trimmed, as if telling me that someone, perhaps a stranger, is watching me from the shadows, even wanting to support me.
Who would send me such an unrelated book at this time?
Is it Xie Yao? Did he see my embarrassment on the street and notice the fragments of the seal I hid? Is he testing me, or is it something else?
A chill rose from my feet. Regardless of who sent this book, it signifies that I have already attracted the attention of some unknown force.
The sudden appearance of the "Nine Chapters on the Mathematical Art" weighed heavily in my palm. The pages were new, the ink scent faint, yet it felt like an invisible chain tightening around the air around me.
I tightened my grip on the book, my mind echoing with the image of Xie Yao's calm eyes, as deep as an ancient well, and the cold touch of the jade pendant with bamboo patterns in his hand. Who else would send me a classic on mathematics that I should not be touching at this moment?
Is it a test? A warning? Or perhaps… some connection I have yet to understand?
The chill of being observed had not dissipated when, the next morning, there came a gentle knock at the courtyard door.
Su Mama cautiously opened a crack in the door and whispered a few words before she unexpectedly held out another package.
This time, wrapped in oiled paper, it was not a mathematics book but rather a copy of "Discourses on Salt and Iron."
The pages were yellowed and worn at the edges, clearly an old book. However, upon opening the cover page, a very faint mark seemed to speak silently—a bookplate adorned with bamboo leaf patterns.
It was indeed him. From "Nine Chapters on the Mathematical Art" to "Discourses on Salt and Iron," was he gradually pulling me into his unfathomable vortex?
The title "Discourses on Salt and Iron" itself carried an air of solemnity. It was a record of the debates between the virtuous scholars of the Han Dynasty and Sang Hongyang regarding national economic policies, particularly the state monopoly on salt and iron. Every word was tied to the lifeblood of the nation and the livelihoods of the people, and it subtly connected to my father, the Minister of Revenue, as well as the potential corruption scandal involving salt grants.
I opened the pages, my fingertips brushing against the rough texture of the paper. Suddenly, I noticed an unusual tear on one of the pages.
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