Friends 03

"What are you doing?" Lin Chengze asked.

Fang Zhiyi frowned. "No, my stomach hurts! Wait for me!" He dashed toward a nearby alley. Lin Chengze was taken aback, opening his mouth only to close it again.

After ordering another bowl of wontons, Lin Chengze muttered to himself, "Ah Yi, Ah Yi, hurry back, or don’t blame me for leaving you behind."

But Fang Zhiyi still hadn’t returned.

Lin Chengze couldn’t sit still any longer. Well, if Ah Yi came back and found him gone, he’d probably figure it out and run too, right? Suddenly, he set down his bowl, stood up, and bolted.

The stall owner froze for a second before realizing what was happening. "Stop!" he shouted, giving chase. Nearby vendors quickly joined in.

Lin Chengze hadn’t expected such solidarity among the vendors. Just as he thought he might escape, a vegetable seller grabbed him.

"Let—let go!" Lin Chengze panicked.

"Deadbeat! Stop him!" The others closed in. These vendors worked hard all day for meager earnings—they especially despised customers who skipped out on paying.

Lin Chengze struggled fiercely. Whether by divine intervention or sheer luck, the man holding him lost his footing and fell. Seizing the chance, Lin Chengze sprinted away—only to be caught again moments later.

When he turned, he saw Fang Zhiyi, who looked utterly confused. "Ah Ze, why are you running?"

"Let go! Let go! They’re coming!" Lin Chengze was frantic.

Fang Zhiyi glanced back. A mob brandishing tools was charging toward them. With a yelp, Fang Zhiyi yanked hard—ripping Lin Chengze’s clothes—then took off running.

Lin Chengze stood stunned for a second before scrambling to follow. But Fang Zhiyi’s delay cost him—a solid whack from a carrying pole landed on his back, making him howl in pain.

The pursuers didn’t catch him, but Fang Zhiyi, weaving ahead, blocked his path, leading to several more blows that left his back numb.

Finally spotting an intersection, Lin Chengze swerved without thinking. He zigzagged blindly through the alleys and, by sheer luck, shook off his pursuers.

Grimacing, Lin Chengze stumbled out of the alley, barely registering his surroundings—until the sound of hooves clattered beside him.

"Got a death wish? Move!"

Lin Chengze turned to find himself blocking a rather ornate carriage.

"I—I—" The pain left him momentarily speechless.

"Scram!" The driver cracked his whip.

A girl’s voice came from inside the carriage. "Fu, don’t be harsh. Who is it?" Hearing her, Lin Chengze looked toward the carriage curtain, where a few delicate fingers reached out to lift it.

But Fu grabbed the curtain. "Young Miss, no! This man’s clothes are torn—you mustn’t look!"

The girl inside froze, then quickly withdrew her hand.

Li Chengze immediately bowed, fumbling to fix his clothes. But the torn seam was beyond repair.

A gut feeling told him this girl could be useful. Clearing his throat, he began, "My deepest apologies for disturbing your carriage, Miss. My clothes were torn earlier, so—" Before he could finish, a commotion erupted nearby, followed by Fang Zhiyi’s voice.

"Ah Ze! There you are! Run! Li Chengze! Stop daydreaming!"

Fang Zhiyi dashed past, pursued by a dozen men.

"You ate without paying, then hit the guy who stopped you! Now they’re here for revenge!"

Fang Zhiyi raced ahead.

Li Chengze was dumbfounded. How had Fang Zhiyi managed to lead them back here?

In his daze, Fu lashed him with the whip. "No wonder your clothes are torn—you’re one of those people! Get lost, or I’ll call the authorities!"

The girl in the carriage stayed silent. As the daughter of a vice minister, her upbringing had taught her well—this man outside was clearly trouble.

With the mob closing in, Li Chengze had no choice but to run.

As he fled, he cursed Fang Zhiyi inwardly. Shengjing is huge, and you lead them here? And you just had to blurt out everything? Worse, he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d missed something important.

Finally safe but exhausted, Li Chengze soon realized Fang Zhiyi was gone.

Then again, maybe it was for the best. That idiot had nearly gotten him killed today!

Meanwhile, Fang Zhiyi had already slipped into a winding alley. He remembered—the original owner of this body had once maintained a vast intelligence network in Shengjing, privy to nearly every happening in the city.

Here lived an old scholar. Though poor, the man was no simpleton—he was friends with a retired censor.

Fang Zhiyi turned left and right before spotting a small courtyard, its gate wide open. Peering in, he saw a white-haired old man writing. Without ceremony, Fang Zhiyi strode in and squatted beside him to watch.

The old scholar didn’t even glance at him until he finished the entire piece. Then, exhaling deeply, he turned to Fang Zhiyi, expression indifferent. "This old man has no silver to hire servants."

Fang Zhiyi shook his head. "I just got lost and wandered in. Saw you writing and thought I’d observe."

The old scholar studied the shabbily dressed young man skeptically. "You can read?"

Fang Zhiyi nodded. "Not just read. Your calligraphy... has form but no soul." He stood and swayed toward the gate.

The old scholar bristled. "Hold it! You dare say my work lacks soul?"

Fang Zhiyi turned back. "Doesn’t it?" He knew this old man respected only those more skilled than himself.

"Come, then! Show me how it’s done!" The scholar spread a fresh sheet and handed him the brush.

Fang Zhiyi took it without hesitation. Calligraphy? When he’d been a power broker—even an emperor—he’d practiced constantly. After all, there were no phones back then.

With a few bold strokes:

"See this? Running script. And this—regular script. Oh, and this—artistic font."

The old scholar’s jaw dropped.

That day, Fang Zhiyi was treated like an honored guest. The scholar even begged to become his disciple, eager to learn this "artistic font."

Three days later, the old scholar introduced Fang Zhiyi to his friend, Censor Sha. With that, Fang Zhiyi secured a job—copying books for the retired censor.