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墨書 Inktalez
"Miss Liang, your intelligence is remarkable; it is truly not easy to connect the dry laws with reality," Xie Yao's voice seemed to carry a hint of admiration.
I smiled humbly, my fingers still tracing patterns on the table.
Suddenly, a faint sound of inhalation 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." 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, marked by a restrained yet sharp style.
It was his handwriting.
I glanced at my fingers again. The unconscious strokes I had made matched perfectly with the rhythm of his tapping—a restrained yet sharp penmanship.
At that moment, my heartbeat faltered, not out of fear, but from an unexpected sense of having my secret exposed.
The book he had sent me contained traces I instinctively sought to repair, and it turned out to be his work. He had recognized this through my unconscious movements on the table.
This was not merely a coincidence; it felt like a silent confirmation of a profound connection between us that had yet to be articulated.
The breathing behind the screen seemed to quicken, and the scent of agarwood flowed through the quiet study, no longer just a simple fragrance but like an invisible bridge connecting me and him across the screen.
After a long pause, he cleared his throat, his voice returning to its initial calmness but now tinged with an inexplicable significance.
"It seems that Miss Liang's fingertips can reveal more truth than her words."
I felt a flush on my cheeks and quickly withdrew my hand, as if the outline of the characters still lingered on my fingertips, etched deep in my heart.
"You jest, sir; it was merely an unintentional act." I tried to keep my voice calm and steady.
He did not press further but shifted the conversation. "Since Miss Liang has such profound insights into the Pingzhun Method, I assume you have also gleaned some understanding of the deeper meaning behind those annotations."
I knew he was giving me an opportunity while also confirming whether I had truly "recovered" that critical information.
Taking a deep breath, I silently unfolded the phrases I had pieced together from my photographic memory and the contours drawn by the thread before him.
"Those annotations seem to mention... the whereabouts of the salt allocation, as well as... a date related to the imperial examination." I lowered my voice so that only the two of us could hear.
A faint sound came from behind the screen, like something being picked up and then set down again. I understood that he had comprehended my words and confirmed my abilities.
This meeting did not last long; we exchanged no names and shared little 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 rhythmic pattern on my palm.
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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