Author Archives: Thingyan

After that incident, Qi Beinan no longer made things difficult for Director Bao. Each man performed his duties, and their cooperation gradually became smooth.

Some days later, snow fell over the capital, and the cold deepened until it seemed to bite through bone.

On his day of rest, Qi Beinan stayed home with Xiao Yuanbao, tending a bubbling pot of rabbit soup together.

That morning, despite the bitter wind, they had gone to the market to buy several catties of tender winter greens. They simmered a fragrant mutton broth to dip the vegetables in, warming the house with its steam.

Winter vegetables were few—mostly radish, cabbage, and winter mallow. They managed to find a small bundle of young radish shoots, the only ones still tender enough to enjoy before true deep winter set in. Once snow blanketed the fields, it would be impossible to buy fresh sprouts again.

Living in the capital had its conveniences, yet it lacked the ease of their old county life. Without farmland nearby, any good produce had to be bought, and at steep prices.

In the countryside, there was never such worry. Even after they’d moved to the county seat, the fields were close enough that fresh vegetables, fish, and poultry were sent every few days. They’d hardly needed to visit the market.

Still, the capital had its own advantages—everything could be bought if one had the coin.

There was no shortage of pork and mutton; even venison, donkey, and beef appeared on the market stalls from time to time.

In their old hometown, such meat was unthinkable—farm animals used for plowing couldn’t be slaughtered for food under imperial law.

But in the capital, there were licensed butchers who sold the meat of donkeys and cattle that had died naturally.

Xiao Yuanbao listened as Qi Beinan explained how each carcass had to pass through government inspection before it could be sold. The process was tedious and costly.

As a result, the prices were sky-high—five or six hundred copper coins per jin—and even so, supply never met demand. If one arrived late, the stalls would already be empty.

Wanting to taste something rare, they clenched their teeth and bought half a jin anyway, slicing it thin to swish in the hot broth alongside the greens.

The kitchen was lively and warm.

Xiao Yuanbao tended the pot, Qi Beinan peeled garlic, Mama sliced the meat, Hongtang washed the vegetables in warm water, and Wen Ge’er stoked the fire below.

Then Qin Jiang, the gatekeeper, came running in, stamping the snow from his boots. “My lord, there’s a real estate broker outside asking to see you.”

Qi Beinan looked up. “A broker? Is it the same one who showed us that house last time?”

Qin Jiang nodded. “That’s him.”

“Perhaps he’s found another property and wants to tell us about it,” Xiao Yuanbao guessed.

Qi Beinan placed the peeled garlic into a small dish. “I’ll go see.”

“Wash your hands first,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “They smell like garlic.”

Qi Beinan chuckled, washed with scented soap, and went out. He told Qin Jiang to bring the visitor to the side hall and serve him tea.

By the time Qi Beinan arrived, the broker, bundled thickly in winter clothes, had already drunk half his cup. Seeing Qi Beinan, he quickly rose to salute.

“In this cold weather, you must have come for something important,” Qi Beinan said.

The broker bowed. “Forgive the intrusion, sir. I came because there’s been a change with the house you and the young master once looked at.”

Qi Beinan gestured for him to continue.

Since the lifting of the curfew, the capital’s nights had grown boisterous indeed.

The property in question wasn’t far from a main road. It had once been quiet enough, but now, with the night market running till dawn, the area was no longer as peaceful.

The house Qi Beinan and Xiao Yuanbao had liked was a fine one—they had hesitated only because of its high price. A few days later, an elderly gentleman fond of elegance had taken interest in it and quickly paid a deposit.

It should have been a settled deal. But once the curfew was lifted, the old man, after dining at the night market one evening, decided to visit the property again—only to find it far too noisy for his liking.

Displeased, he demanded to withdraw from the sale.

He quarreled for days trying to reclaim his full deposit, and in the end, they agreed to refund him half.

The broker told this honestly. He recognized Qi Beinan—after all, he had seen him on the day of the tanhua’s parade through the streets, resplendent in red robes upon a fine horse—and dared not conceal anything.

“At present, it’s not quite as quiet as before,” the broker explained, “but it’s hardly unbearable. The old gentleman was simply too sensitive to noise and wanted a place fit for retirement.”

Qi Beinan nodded. He knew everyone preferred peace—especially those older in years—but the disturbance from the night market was a temporary issue, hardly serious.

He himself had helped supervise the zoning for those markets and knew the Ministry of Works had already finalized which outer and inner-city areas would host them. That particular house was outside the designated zones.

Few others would know this.

“What’s the price now?” he asked.

“The owner is willing to lower it by another hundred strings of cash. He wants to sell quickly and return home before the new year.”

“Tell him this,” Qi Beinan said at once. “Eight hundred strings. If he agrees, we’ll sign the deed immediately—and I give my word there’ll be no withdrawal.”

The broker was startled when Qi Beinan named such a sharp price right from the start—it was a cut of more than a hundred strings of cash. The man thought he’d met someone truly fierce in negotiation.

“In that case,” he said cautiously, “I’ll go and inquire, but this price is rather low. I fear the owner may not agree. I only ask that my lord be prepared for that.”

“It’s no matter,” Qi Beinan replied calmly. “Not every deal is meant to be made.”

After the broker left, Xiao Yuanbao finished in the kitchen, untied his apron, and came to hear what had been said.

He hadn’t thought much about the house since they’d set it aside for being too expensive, but now that the broker had come again, the thought stirred in him once more.

When he entered, the visitor was already gone, so Qi Beinan explained the situation.

“You liked that house,” Qi said. “If the price turns out right this time, perhaps it’s worth finalizing.”

“After all,” he continued, “a house one truly takes a liking to depends on fate. It isn’t every day one finds the right one.”

His words rekindled Xiao Yuanbao’s curiosity. Of course he’d be happy to buy it, but worry crept in. “You offered them such a low figure. That’s already the lowest price for a two-courtyard home in the inner city. I’m afraid they’ll reject it outright.”

“If you open high,” Qi Beinan said, “the seller will only aim higher. A lower offer first softens their expectations.”

Xiao Yuanbao thought for a moment. “That’s true,” he admitted. Yet because he liked the house, he couldn’t help fearing the offer was too low, that the seller might refuse.

Two days later, the broker returned. As expected, the owner had declined.

“The master isn’t short of money,” the broker explained. “He says he’d rather wait for the right buyer than sell cheaply.”

But then he added, “Still, if you’d offer nine hundred strings, they’d let it go for convenience’s sake.”

Xiao Yuanbao couldn’t help laughing. “Not short of money, yet still wanting that extra hundred? So are they rich or not?”

Since Qi Beinan was out, he didn’t answer on his behalf.

When Qi returned from work, he listened and smiled faintly. He had half expected this.

“If they’re that concerned with luck,” he said, “then we’ll make it eight hundred and eighty strings—a good, auspicious number.”

He sent Qin Jiang and the broker to deliver the message.

By the next afternoon, the reply came back: rejected again.

Qi Beinan didn’t budge. “Tell them this,” he said. “We’ve already raised the offer once. We won’t keep adding more. If they accept, good. If not, let it go.”

Two more days passed without any word.

Xiao Yuanbao sighed. “It seems that house is lost to us.”

Qi Beinan replied evenly, “Twenty strings may not seem much against several hundred or a thousand, but when you’ve earned each coin by hand, it’s no small matter. You can see it from my salary alone.”

“Even at eight hundred and eighty,” he added, “the seller still profits. A few years ago, city houses weren’t nearly this expensive. Even in our county, prices have risen twenty strings or more—it’s all climbing.”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded. “You’re right. We’ll just keep looking.”

But two days later, the broker came running again with news: the owner had agreed to Qi Beinan’s offer.

He pleaded anxiously, “Please, my lords, don’t go back on the deal now that they’ve relented. I’ve worn out my tongue running between both sides.”

Xiao Yuanbao smiled. “We’re not the kind of people who change our minds on a whim. The price we named stands. Let’s complete the deed quickly so everyone can rest easy.

“If we delay any longer, we truly won’t bother with it. The year’s end is close, and we’ve got more than enough to handle without house matters dragging on.”

The broker bowed deeply. “Yes, young master. We who make our living in this trade only hope both parties end satisfied.”

Xiao Yuanbao spoke with him a little longer, then handed over a promissory note for fifty taels as a deposit, along with two packets of pastries and a pair of large sweet pears for his trouble.

The remaining payment would be settled once the deed was processed and the title in hand.

When the broker left, Xiao Yuanbao sat back and laughed softly. “I’m happy and not happy at the same time. We finally bought our house, but all the money we worked so hard to save is gone in one breath.”

That night, he fetched the locked cashbox from the high shelf. Inside were their banknotes, silver drafts, and a few small gold ingots—altogether a thousand strings’ worth.

After taking out eight hundred and eighty for the purchase, only two thin notes remained.

Xiao Yuanbao groaned. “How can money be so easy to spend yet so hard to save?”

Qi Beinan chuckled and patted the younger man, who was hugging the box tightly. “Because every bite of food and every stitch of cloth depends on it.”

Xiao Yuanbao frowned. “After paying for the house, we barely have anything left. Will it be enough?”

He began to calculate. The hundred-some strings that remained would have been plenty back in Ling County—enough to last several years if they were careful.

But the capital was a different story; expenses here were far greater.

And with the wedding approaching, they’d soon need a large sum for the banquet, not to mention the other preparations along the way.

The wedding robes were nearly done, but two sets of jewelry were still missing, and many household items were yet to be bought.

As for the major furniture pieces—they hadn’t even started choosing.

The little money they had left was clearly not enough.

Qi Beinan had already thought of this. “I’m planning to sell the house in Linzhou,” he said. “It’s been empty all this time. It’s a two-courtyard residence—not worth as much as property here in the capital, but it’s in a prefectural city, so it’ll still fetch a good price.”

Xiao Yuanbao considered it. “That’s reasonable.”

“As for the major furniture,” Qi went on, “we’ve looked at several shops, but the quality hasn’t matched the prices. That’s why we haven’t made any decisions. Better to buy from someone trustworthy.”

Xiao Yuanbao immediately understood his meaning.

So Qi Beinan sent word to Tienan, who was now in Linzhou, instructing him to sell the house. Xiao Yuanbao also wrote to Ming Guanxin, saying that he and Qi Beinan would be marrying the next year and needed to purchase household items. He enclosed a list.

By early winter, they received the deed for their new home.

Looking at the official seal of the capital impressed upon it, Xiao Yuanbao felt a heavy yet satisfying sense of fulfillment.

Since it was the snowy season and many laborers were idle, he hired men at a low rate to clean the new house inside and out.

The former owner, still sour about selling below his asking price, sold off even the furnishings he’d said would be left behind, to make up the difference.

But even if he hadn’t, Xiao Yuanbao would have sold them himself—they were about to marry and needed all new furniture anyway.

If the previous owner later learned that the night market was being relocated elsewhere, he’d only feel all the more regret—but that, of course, was no concern of theirs.

“The house you bought is quite nice,” Jiang Tangtuan said one day when he came to visit. “It’s not far from where we live in the capital, so it’ll be easier for us to see each other.”

They sat inside, warming themselves by the brazier and eating crab custard pastries. Xiao Yuanbao thought this a pleasant surprise.

“In this city,” he said, “I know no one and nothing. You’re my only friend here. Now that we’ll be closer, I’ll be depending on you even more.”

Jiang Tangtuan smiled. “I’ll be glad of that. I’ve been to the capital many times, but I’ve made few acquaintances beyond my cousins and siblings. I hardly know anyone else.”

“Then that Lady Lü who hosted the banquet,” Xiao Yuanbao asked, “was she your relative?”

Jiang shook his head. “Not exactly. Her husband, Commander Qiao, knows one of my uncles.”

He hesitated a moment, then added, “You won’t laugh, will you? Lady Lü wants to form a marriage tie with our family—that’s why she invited me over.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes widened. “With your elder brother, Master Jiang, or…”

Jiang sighed softly. “The latter. Her eldest son is of age.”

Seeing his lack of enthusiasm, Xiao Yuanbao understood his unwillingness. He reached over and patted his hand. “Good things take time.”

Jiang smiled faintly. “Let’s not talk of such unpleasant matters. What do you do at home for leisure? I know your handwriting is fine, and you read—what books do you enjoy most?”

“If I were answering anyone else,” Xiao Yuanbao said with a grin, “I’d say poetry and the classics. But since it’s you, I’ll admit I like cookbooks. Lately, I’ve been reading some medical notes a friend from my hometown sent me.”

Jiang’s eyes lit up. “You’re honest, at least. When I traveled here for the exams with my brother, we once ate some pickled vegetables Lord Qi had prepared. The taste was excellent—my brother still talks about it. No wonder your cooking’s so good.”

“Don’t flatter me,” Xiao Yuanbao said, laughing. “You’ve eaten far finer food than I’ve ever cooked. Mine’s just simple fare—nothing that belongs on a grand table.”

“You don’t believe me,” Jiang replied with mock indignation. “Your pickled vegetables with wild mushrooms—aren’t those mountain delicacies? And since when should even food be ranked high or low?”

Xiao Yuanbao couldn’t help feeling pleased. “Then when you go home, I’ll pack two jars for you to take.”

They talked on, and as the conversation drifted to their hometowns, Xiao Yuanbao suddenly remembered someone.

“Does your family have an estate in Geshan Village in Ling County? The steward there is surnamed Zhu.”

“I’m not sure,” Jiang said, thinking. “But I believe Steward Zhu is the husband of one of my mother’s attendants. I don’t know which estates they manage.”

“Then that must be it,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “Geshan Village is my hometown. I grew up there. Years ago, one of the boys from my village went to work for your family. It’s funny to think that after all this time, I’ve ended up friends with his master’s kin.”

Jiang was intrigued. “What’s his name? I know most of our household’s servants.”

“His surname is Wang, given name Chao. We called him Brother Chao back home.”

Jiang’s brows lifted slightly. “There is such a person. He was brought to our house by the same Steward Zhu I mentioned—his mother married him as a concubine.”

“Then that’s him,” Xiao Yuanbao said.

But Jiang’s expression turned a little grim. “He used to serve my elder brother. Diligent enough, and my brother treated all his attendants kindly, but he’s also a man of spotless character. Later, that servant offended my mother somehow and was sent out to work in the outer court.”

“I rarely see him,” Jiang Tangtuan said, “but he’s still in our household.”

He didn’t specify what wrong Wang Chao had committed—such things weren’t pleasant to speak of—so he left it vague.

But Xiao Yuanbao more or less understood from his tone. He guessed that Brother Wang Chao had probably tried to get close to Jiang Tangyuan, just as his mother had once become someone’s concubine. When it didn’t work out, he’d been sent away.

A quiet sigh rose in Xiao Yuanbao’s heart.

“What is it? Were you two close?” Jiang asked.

“We knew each other as children,” Xiao Yuanbao replied. “But after he left the village, we lost contact.”

He smiled faintly. “We grew up in the same place, and now we live worlds apart. Still, I couldn’t help asking.”

Jiang nodded. “True enough. Letters are hard to send, and once people move away, it’s difficult to stay in touch.”

Later that evening, Xiao Yuanbao saw Jiang Tangtuan off and handed him two jars of his pickled vegetables to take home.

Jiang was delighted.

Xiao Yuanbao noticed that everyone who’d tried his oil-pickled vegetables had liked them—no one ever said otherwise.

And now, with money running short, a new idea quietly began to form in his mind.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Xiao Yuanbao told Qi Beinan about what had happened at the banquet, still feeling stifled and uneasy.

“Only today did I truly understand the value of what you taught me—reading and writing,” he said. “They thought that, since I came from a small county and couldn’t recognize more than a few characters, they could humiliate me through it. If I really had been that ignorant, I’d have fallen right into their trap.”

He spoke with a kind of shaken gratitude.

“I used to think those noble families—those ladies and fulangs—would be the most cultured and well-mannered of all. Who’d have imagined they’d take such cruel delight in mockery?”

Qi Beinan listened, his brows drawn tight. He pressed for every detail—who the hosts were, what was said, how things unfolded. His anger rose and fell with each word, though he forced himself to keep calm until Xiao Yuanbao finished.

“The lady’s surname was Lü,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “Her father is a Vice Minister at the Court of Imperial Banquets, and her husband, surnamed Qiao, is a military officer.”

Qi Beinan understood at once. “The Court of Banquets oversees the palace feasts—it’s a lucrative post. The Lü family’s clearly wealthy. No wonder she holds gatherings; it keeps her in the social current.”

He exhaled slowly. “At least you were quick-witted. Otherwise, that scheming Fulang Jia would have succeeded in making you his pawn.”

He remembered that after one earlier banquet, Xiao Yuanbao had suddenly stopped wanting to go out. He had suspected that something unpleasant had happened, but Xiao Yuanbao had avoided explaining, always brushing it off.

Now that he heard the full story, Qi Beinan realized that must have been the same kind of humiliation.

Though time had passed, the thought made his stomach burn anew.

Seeing the anger in his eyes, Xiao Yuanbao reached out and patted his arm. “Now that I’ve had this experience, I won’t be so trusting again. I won’t attend these half-strange, half-familiar gatherings anymore. Don’t worry about me.”

He knew making connections in the capital was important, but going to such banquets without any grand family name to shield him could only end badly—one careless step and he’d become someone’s entertainment.

“Still,” he added, “there was one good thing that came of it.”

“Oh?” Qi Beinan asked.

“I met Lord Jiang’s younger brother. I’d seen him twice before, but we hadn’t really talked. This time we shared tea and fruit, and it turns out we get along quite well. He’s even invited me to visit the Jiang household.”

“That’s fine,” Qi Beinan said. “The Jiangs are upright people—I’ve met them myself. You can feel at ease dealing with them.”

Xiao Yuanbao had already sensed as much. Jiang Tangyuan was quiet and self-contained, the sort who spoke little but never out of turn. He might seem distant at first, but once familiar, he was genuine and measured.

Jia Fulang, in contrast, had seemed warm and cheerful at the start—but that warmth was shallow. He spoke without restraint, poked at others’ private matters under the guise of blunt honesty.

With Qi Beinan’s assurance, Xiao Yuanbao felt fully at ease. “Then I’ll accept his invitation.”

Qi Beinan smiled and pinched his cheek. “Good.”

After they talked a while longer, Xiao Yuanbao went to the storeroom with Bai Qiaogui to prepare wedding items.

Once he was gone, Qi Beinan’s smile faded, his gaze darkening.

For Jia Fulang to treat someone like a plaything was a direct insult—not just to Xiao Yuanbao, but to him.

It was true Xiao Yuanbao hadn’t been humiliated, but that was thanks to his own ability, not mercy from others.

And Jia Fulang? After the fact, he’d slunk away, offered not a single apology, as though the matter could simply disappear. The world didn’t work like that.

In the past, Qi Beinan hadn’t been able to defend Xiao Yuanbao’s dignity. This time, he would not allow anyone to trample on him again.

He couldn’t publicly quarrel with a mere official’s spouse—but that man’s husband also served in the government. And there were other ways to make a point.

By October, winter had set in.

The court decreed the lifting of curfews, and the capital was the first to test it.

The Ministry of Works grew busy with renovations; the Ministry of Revenue was counting labor levies and taxes; the Ministry of Rites was preparing for year-end ceremonies. Every bureau was running itself ragged.

At the Hanlin Academy, during a brief midday rest, officials returned from lunch with steaming cups of tea to fend off the cold.

Kyoto’s winters chilled to the bone. The side halls were already heated with smokeless charcoal, but even the short walk from the dining hall left one shivering.

Only once inside the hall did warmth return to the body.

Lunch breaks were short, and food made men drowsy, so even in winter, strong tea was essential to stay alert through the afternoon.

One official sighed, cradling his cup. “Since the curfew lifted, the daytime markets close early, and the night markets run until dawn. When the weather’s fair, it’s one thing—but even in freezing rain, they’re still open.”

“Indeed,” another said. “It’s only been a few weeks. At first there were just a few stalls, but now it’s whole streets filled with night vendors.”

“Their trade is booming,” added a third. “There are as many customers at night as in the day. Once merchants smell profit, how could they not flock there?”

Qi Beinan listened, smiling faintly. He and Xiao Yuanbao had gone walking there twice.

When the night markets first opened, they sold only snacks and street food. Gradually, curiosities, trinkets, and crafts appeared—things unseen in daylight bazaars.

The streets glowed like rivers of gold, dazzlingly alive, a beauty the day markets could never match.

“Lively, yes,” said another official, “but noisy. The capital’s magistrate has been flooded with complaints—residents near the markets can’t sleep. The patrols have tripled in number.”

“When new ordinances are issued, they can’t possibly be flawless at the start,” one official said. “Perfection only comes with time and long practice.”

“I heard the Ministry of Works is already drafting plans,” another added. “They’re mapping out official zones for the night markets. Once the capital sets a proper example, the prefectures will follow suit—it’ll save everyone some needless detours.”

As they chatted idly, Scholar Li entered the side hall.

All rose and saluted. “Scholar Li.”

“Did you all eat well at noon?” he asked.

Lord Lu replied quickly, “The kitchens added mutton hotpot for the winter, quite warming—one bowl and the whole body feels comfortable. We might even save on charcoal in the halls now.”

At that, the room fell silent.

Yes, there had been mutton soup—but it was so salty and sparse in meat that most couldn’t finish a single bowl. Everyone grumbled about it privately.

And if, because of that miserable soup, the halls were now to save on heating—well, they might as well freeze to death in the Hanlin this winter.

Lord Ren spoke lazily from across the room. “If Lord Lu feels so warm he doesn’t need his share of charcoal, why not hand it over to me? My bones can’t take the cold.”

No one else dared to mock Lu, but Ren never held back.

Lu’s face stiffened; he shot Ren a sidelong glare, too irritated to stay silent but too cautious to retort.

Scholar Li cut in, “Enough. Winter workdays are never as pleasant as spring or autumn. His Majesty is compassionate—your coal allotments won’t be cut short. Just remember, the Emperor encourages frugality. Use the smokeless charcoal wisely, and that alone is service enough.”

He himself wasn’t fond of Lu either. The man lingered in the hall every evening long after dismissal, idly warming himself by the brazier. If he would just finish his duties on time, they could have saved plenty of charcoal. Yet here he was, shamelessly preaching thrift.

Still, as his superior, Scholar Li couldn’t reprimand him too harshly.

He changed the subject.

“With the Ministries of Revenue, Rites, and Works all buried in year-end affairs, they’ve requested temporary staff from the Ministry of Personnel. The Hanlin Academy may seem idle, but we’ve become a source of assistance.”

Scholar Li believed this was a fine chance for practical learning.

Everyone knew the saying: Without the jinshi, one cannot enter the Hanlin; without the Hanlin, one cannot enter the Inner Cabinet. But being a jinshi didn’t guarantee entry into the Academy—and being here didn’t ensure promotion.

Each year, Hanlin scholars faced examinations; those who failed were reassigned elsewhere.

Yet those written tests, in Li’s view, were limited—they couldn’t reveal a man’s true ability.

Now that the ministries were busy, it was the perfect time to send scholars for temporary assignments—to handle real affairs, to temper themselves. It would only benefit their futures.

But not everyone saw it that way.

It was the dead of winter, the cold biting; each already had enough work at hand. To take on another office’s burdens meant long hours outdoors and the risk of failure—if things went well, credit went to the host ministry; if not, blame fell squarely on the one assisting.

When no one volunteered, Scholar Li sighed inwardly and said, “Those willing may come see me before dismissal. If not, I and the Grand Academician will assign a few ourselves.”

That afternoon, Qi Beinan went to his office.

He had already finished most of his current duties. Idle days in the Hanlin were dull, and he preferred to keep busy.

Scholar Li was pleased to see him.

“You work diligently, and your results are excellent. The Grand Academician praised your recent archival compilations just yesterday. The Hanlin Academy isn’t a place for resting one’s laurels—those willing to endure hardship will go far.”

Scholar Li had once served at the Imperial Academy. The Emperor, impressed by his teaching, had transferred him to the Hanlin to guide new jinshi.

He carried himself as a mentor, wanting the scholars under him to cultivate both skill and integrity—to become useful servants of the court.

Among the recent recruits, he had a particularly good opinion of Qi Beinan—steady, capable, and methodical.

Now, seeing his eagerness, he was all the more satisfied.

“You’re good with numbers,” he said. “Careful and precise. Go to the Ministry of Revenue and help verify tax accounts.” He pulled out a transfer document as he spoke.

The Ministry of Revenue, second only to Personnel, managed the empire’s finances—a fine posting indeed.

But Qi Beinan did not immediately accept. “If it pleases you, Teacher, I would rather serve at the Ministry of Works.”

Scholar Li looked up, surprised. “The Works? You realize they’re overwhelmed just now—repairing streets, surveying night-market sites, handling construction orders. You’ll be working outdoors in bitter cold. Others say it’s thankless toil. Are you certain?”

Qi Beinan bowed. “Every task must be done by someone. If the Ministry of Works weren’t desperate, they wouldn’t be asking for help. I imagine many of my colleagues will prefer the easier offices; since I came early, it wouldn’t be right to claim the most comfortable post for myself.”

Scholar Li was silent for a moment, then nodded. “If you’re willing to endure hardship, I have no reason to stop you. The Left Vice Minister there is a friend of mine—he’ll see you treated fairly.”

Qi Beinan clasped his hands in gratitude. “Thank you for your consideration, Scholar.”

Within two days, the appointment was finalized.

Qi Beinan was transferred to the Ministry of Works.

It was the first time the Ministry of Works had ever received a first-rank jinshi to assist with administrative matters, so everyone treated Qi Beinan with extra courtesy. Even the Ministry of Personnel, when issuing his transfer, felt it a waste of talent and granted him supervisory authority over the department’s work.

Thus, at the Ministry, Qi Beinan was paired with Director Bao, who oversaw the city’s curfew, market zoning, and renovation projects.

They made rounds together across the capital’s wards and marketplaces. Qi Beinan rarely interfered but kept a watchful eye on every detail—and on Director Bao himself.

Although Director Bao held a formal post of sixth rank, technically higher in grade, Qi Beinan’s jinshi background and his granted authority to inspect placed him on stronger footing. The Left Vice Minister had even instructed him to work harmoniously with colleagues.

In other words, both in status and influence, Qi Beinan now stood above him.

Under such scrutiny, even an innocent official would feel constrained in his work.

And Director Bao was not entirely blameless. He had quietly taken small advantages here and there—nothing serious, the sort of thing everyone did and the higher-ups usually ignored. But with an “outsider” now watching his every move, he could no longer take even the smallest liberty.

These things could never be brought to light. Everyone did them, yet everyone knew they violated regulation.

He tried to curry favor with Qi Beinan, but Qi remained polite and unmoved.

The discomfort was unbearable. Director Bao eventually went to the Vice Minister to suggest, ever so tactfully, that perhaps Qi Beinan could be reassigned elsewhere.

Instead, he was sternly scolded.

The Vice Minister rebuked him for failing to appreciate good help. “The Ministry of Personnel sent an able man—faultless, efficient—and you have the nerve to complain? Shameful.”

Now despised both above and below, Director Bao dared not anger his superior further. He could only think of appeasing Qi Beinan himself.

He quietly asked around and learned that the man was said to be steady and reasonable by nature.

That only made things worse. If such a calm, fair-minded person was keeping him under watch, then he must have truly offended someone without realizing it.

One evening after work, he deliberately waited for Qi Beinan outside. They lived in the same ward—an easy excuse for casual conversation.

He spoke at length, trying to sound friendly, but Qi only smiled politely without offering more than a few words.

Finally, Director Bao asked bluntly, “Have I done something to offend you, Lord Qi? I can’t think what I might’ve done wrong, yet there seems to be some misunderstanding between us.”

Qi Beinan smiled lightly. “How could there be, my lord? We even live on the same street—fate, wouldn’t you say? Besides, your Fulang and one of my household are already on good terms.”

With that, he took his leave.

Director Bao stood there, turning the words over in his mind.

When realization struck, his face changed. He hurried home, going straight to Jia Fulang’s quarters.

“I thought you said you never wanted to see me again for two months. What brings you back now?” Jia Fulang said, surprised and pitifully pleased. He’d been confined at home for weeks, bored to despair, and thought perhaps his husband’s anger had cooled.

He started to complain playfully, but Director Bao seized him by the arm and yanked him up from the couch. “Tell me—have you been keeping company with the family from the Qi residence down the lane?”

“What are you doing? You’re hurting me!”

Hearing the name, Jia Fulang froze. He tried to play dumb. “I don’t know any Qi family.”

“The household of the new tanhua! Don’t feign ignorance. Speak plainly, and tell me everything!”

Seeing his husband’s fury, Jia Fulang swallowed hard. “I—I’ve met him, yes, but we hardly know each other.”

He began with vague half-truths, but Director Bao’s roar cut him off. Terrified, he confessed the whole story—the banquet, the humiliation, everything.

A loud crack rang through the room as Bao slapped him across the face.

“Useless wretch! You’ve brought disaster on me again! First the Lü family snubbed us because of you—and now I learn you angered Lady Lü herself? And to think you stooped so low, scheming to embarrass some poor outsider just for sport! Now it’s our name dragged through the mud!”

He paced, voice rising. “That Qi Beinan—the tanhua himself—has been sent by the Ministry of Personnel to supervise our work! He watches me like a hawk! I couldn’t figure out why—now I do!”

The more he looked at Jia Fulang, the more his fury boiled. How had he ever been foolish enough to remarry such a useless ornament?

“I should kill you! You can’t manage a household, can’t keep out of trouble, and all you do is bring shame to this family! The Bao line will be ruined because of you!”

Jia Fulang wept, clutching his stinging cheek.

“He’s just some provincial jinshi,” he sobbed. “How can he wield so much power?”

“He’s a first-rank jinshi! And you—illiterate and brainless—dare compare yourself to him? Know your own worth before you try to imitate the Lü family’s cruel games!”

Jia Fulang kept crying, dazed and frightened. He’d never imagined his petty malice would cause so much trouble. Why was it that they’d both come from small places, yet Xiao Yuanbao could read, write, and now even outrank her husband?

“What do we do now?” he asked through tears.

“What do you think?” Bao snapped. “We bring gifts and beg forgiveness! Idiot!”

At that very hour, Xiao Yuanbao was at home, sewing by the brazier.

Winter had set in, and there was nothing cozier than working by the warmth of the charcoal fire.

He was halfway through finishing the wedding robes, the bright fabric now taking shape beneath his fingers. Each neat stitch filled him with quiet happiness.

He had just taken out his sewing basket when Wen Ge’er came in to announce that Jia Xinyi had arrived.

Xiao Yuanbao glanced toward Qi Beinan, who was writing at the desk, and said angrily, “He still has the face to come here!”

Qi Beinan thought Director Bao moved rather quickly. Setting down his brush, he looked at Xiao Yuanbao. “Shall we go see him?”

Xiao Yuanbao pouted. “After what he did, who knows what he’s plotting this time? I’m already being polite by not driving him out with a stick. I don’t want to see him at all.”

Qi Beinan smiled and rose. “Don’t be angry. I’ll go with you.”

Seeing this, Xiao Yuanbao had no choice but to put down his basket and follow him to the front hall.

To his surprise, Jia Xinyi had come to apologize—together with Director Bao.

Jia’s eyes were red and swollen from crying, and not even a layer of powder could hide it.

“I must’ve been possessed by a ghost,” Jia began tearfully. “That Lady Lü—her family’s so highborn—she always looks down on us lesser households. She forced me to bring someone to her banquet, and I didn’t dare refuse.

“But no matter what, I never should have dragged such a kind and decent person like Brother Bao into it. I’ve regretted it every day since, blaming myself at home, too ashamed to face him. Today, with my husband accompanying me, I finally had the courage to come and beg forgiveness.”

Listening to him heap all the blame onto Lady Lü, Xiao Yuanbao thought it made Jia sound like a helpless victim himself.

Though Lady Lü’s conduct had been cruel, Jia’s way of shirking responsibility was nothing but one dog biting another.

Seeing that Xiao Yuanbao remained silent, Jia panicked and poured out more of his ugliness, nearly kneeling before him in remorse.

Xiao Yuanbao quickly stopped him. “Your apology is given, and I’ve heard it. From now on, it’s best we go our separate ways and stay clear of each other.”

Director Bao felt deeply humiliated, but he said nonetheless, “It is my failing as a husband that my household has behaved without propriety. I will see that proper discipline is maintained from now on.”

Then he offered his own apology as well.

Whether for the sake of his official career or other motives, the couple at least showed sincerity in making amends.

Qi Beinan therefore chose not to press the matter further. He stated plainly that from now on, work between them would be handled strictly by the book, nothing more.

Only then did Director Bao finally relax.

But Qi Beinan quietly took advantage of the occasion to let certain words spread through the circles of official households: that a man from a lower household had once tried to take liberties with Xiao Yuanbao, only to be taught a hard lesson for his scheming.

It served as a warning—if anyone else dared harbor such thoughts toward Xiao Yuanbao, they had better consider carefully whether his family would truly sit by and let him be bullied.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

That day, Qi Beinan was on leave from court.

Outside, it was neither sunny nor rainy—just a gray, overcast day.

The two went out together for a stroll and took the opportunity to inquire about house prices in the city.

Since they meant to buy a home, it wouldn’t do to choose one worse than the place they were renting now. For Qi Beinan, convenience was important—he needed to reach the court easily, so the best choice would be somewhere inside the inner city.

From their current place on the edge of the inner city, it already took the time of one incense stick to walk into town; any farther out, and his commute would grow even longer.

In the warmer months, that was bearable—but once winter came, having to leave a warm bed before dawn to prepare for morning court would be miserable.

After some asking around, they learned that even a one-courtyard house within the inner city cost more than five hundred strings of cash, while a two-courtyard one started at eight hundred and went upward.

The closer to the palace, the grander the houses—and the higher the price.

Not just expensive, either: without the right connections, even ten thousand strings couldn’t buy one.

Qi Beinan and Xiao Yuanbao thought that with their current standing, finding something modest but well-situated within the central part of the inner city would already be very good.

If they could manage it, they hoped to buy a small two-courtyard house—spacious enough for guests or family to visit comfortably.

Once they started asking, the real estate agents grew very eager, insisting on showing them properties right away. Even after being told they weren’t set on buying yet, the agents kept saying, “Just come take a look, no pressure, no forcing.”

Xiao Yuanbao hadn’t planned to start house-hunting so soon, but with such enthusiastic persuasion—and his own curiosity—he let himself be convinced, tugging Qi Beinan along.

It turned out not to be a wasted trip: the very first house they saw, Xiao Yuanbao liked immediately.

It was a small two-courtyard residence, elegant in design. Beyond a carved flower gate lay a garden complete with pavilion and covered walkway.

The walls were soft gray-white, time-worn but dignified, and through a crabapple-shaped doorway one could glimpse a miniature garden with a white stone rockery that invited a closer look.

To one side stood a gourd-shaped gate symbolizing fortune and prosperity, shaded by drooping bamboo—simple and refined.

An octagonal door faced a vase-shaped one, dividing the larger courtyard into several smaller gardens, each with its own charm. The winding layout, full of walls and archways, made the grounds feel much larger than they truly were.

Seeing Xiao Yuanbao so pleased, Qi Beinan asked the agent more about the property. The man said it had once belonged to a retired scholar-official who was now returning to his hometown, so the house was being sold to raise some travel money.

That, Qi Beinan thought, was a good sign—an official’s residence, complete with decorative tribute-style gates symbolizing scholarly success.

“What’s the price?” he asked. “Tell me honestly. We’re in no hurry to buy, but if we like it, we might settle quickly.”

Xiao Yuanbao, still absorbed by the beauty of the place, came over to listen. Even if they couldn’t afford it, he wanted to know how much such a house was worth.

The agent smiled obsequiously. “Wouldn’t dare overcharge and scare off the gentlemen. The asking price outside is twelve hundred strings, but for you, I’ll say eleven hundred.”

At that, Xiao Yuanbao’s fondness for the house dimmed a little. Such a price—it would take selling pots and pans to afford it. He kept signaling at Qi Beinan with his eyes.

Qi Beinan neither said it was high nor low, only gave a neutral nod, leaving the agent uncertain what to do.

They left that house and viewed two more. Each had its merits, but none pleased Xiao Yuanbao as much as the first.

The homes they saw ranged from eight hundred to fifteen hundred strings in price.

Back home, he drank a cup of tea, then collapsed on the couch. “Why are houses in the capital so outrageously expensive?” he groaned.

Qi Beinan laughed. “Because they’re at the foot of the Son of Heaven. If you really like that one, I can call the agent again. If we grit our teeth, we could manage it.”

Xiao Yuanbao replied, “We’d grind our teeth to dust! We only have a thousand strings saved. If we spend it all on the house, we’ll be sitting inside starving.”

“You still have your husband’s meager official salary,” Qi Beinan teased. “We won’t starve.”

Xiao Yuanbao sat up straight. “With that official salary, once you pay the servants and the household expenses, how much is left for us?”

Qi Beinan rubbed his nose, conceding the point. Translated on Hololo novels. They decided to set the matter aside until their shop in Linzhou was leased out and more money came in.

Still, in the meantime, Qi Beinan had more leisure after court and often went out with Xiao Yuanbao.

Their wedding was set for next year. Though the house purchase could wait, they still needed to start preparing the wedding items one by one.

They had long been like family already, but they still couldn’t hold a bare ceremony with nothing prepared.

The wedding robes needed to be ordered early—choosing fine red silk to have them sewn; furniture would have to be newly made; decorations couldn’t be lacking; jewelry, fabrics for the four seasons, and household goods all had to be readied.

With the weather cool and pleasant, and Qi Beinan’s duties at the Hanlin Academy still light, they spent the next few weeks choosing, buying, and packing everything neatly into red wedding chests—ready for the day they would be wed.

Doing all of this together, choosing every piece by hand, brought a quiet and tender joy to both their hearts.

Near noon that day, Xiao Yuanbao was reading a letter from Sister Gui.

She wrote that she and Luo Tingfeng had already set their wedding date for late September. After the ceremony in Ling County, they would depart together for Luo Tingfeng’s new post.

Hearing this, Xiao Yuanbao was delighted—but it was already September. If he prepared a wedding gift now and sent it to Ling County, the banquet would likely be over by the time it arrived.

If the roads delayed things any further, Sister Gui and Luo Tingfeng would have already left for his assignment, making it even harder to deliver the gift.

After thinking it over, he decided to prepare the gift anyway and send it directly to Luo Tingfeng’s post.

Just then, Tie’nan came to report, “Master, Jia Fulang sent someone over. He wishes to invite you to attend a banquet with him the day after tomorrow. He says you’re good friends, and he wants to introduce you to other officials’ spouses.”

Xiao Yuanbao raised his brows in mild surprise. Was Jia Fulang really being that generous?

To personally bring him along to meet other officials’ families—such kindness seemed almost too good to be true.

He hesitated and didn’t give an answer right away.

That afternoon, Jia Fulang himself arrived with a basket of fruit.

“The two bolts of Wanyue gauze you gave me—I love them! You can buy the same fabric outside, but not in those beautiful colors. I had them made into a robe at once, and I plan to wear it to a gathering.”

Jia Fulang said warmly, almost effusively, “Just in time, Lady Lü sent me an invitation for a flower-viewing banquet. I immediately thought of you—so generous, gifting me such fine cloth! How could I go out to enjoy myself without inviting you along?”

Xiao Yuanbao said, “But I don’t know this Lady Lü. Wouldn’t it be rude for me to appear uninvited?”

“Oh, you don’t know her yet,” Jia Fulang said with a laugh. “She’s the most gracious woman in the capital. Her family works in the Court of Imperial Banquets, and she’s loved hosting gatherings since she was little.”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Her father is a Vice Minister at the Court of Imperial Banquets, a fifth-rank official. Her brother is a jinshi, and her husband is a military officer—a Commandant in the Capital Garrison. A fine family indeed.”

“Her banquets are always attended by high-ranking spouses, but she welcomes those of lower rank too—never looks down on anyone. Once she knows you’re the household of a Hanlin scholar, she’ll be all the more pleased. Families like hers admire clean-stream officials like your husband.”

Jia Fulang went on praising Lady Lü endlessly.

“You’ve just arrived in the capital—you should attend more of these gatherings. Even if you don’t get close to someone like Lady Lü, meeting other officials’ spouses is worthwhile. You’ll sip tea, admire flowers, chat a bit—no different from visiting my home, only livelier.”

Xiao Yuanbao, hearing all this, thought that attending a flower-viewing banquet couldn’t hurt. He could go, observe quietly, and say little.

He supposed that someone like him would only be greeted at the door anyway; the hosts likely wouldn’t pay him much mind once the banquet began. That suited him fine.

“I appreciate you thinking of me,” he said politely. “I’ll go with you, then. I’ve never attended a formal gathering like this—please guide me when the time comes.”

Jia Fulang’s smile widened, pleased that Xiao Yuanbao agreed. He took his hand warmly. “It’s nothing like you imagine. I’m older and know the way—just follow my lead.”

Two days later, Xiao Yuanbao dressed in a jade-colored robe of silk embroidered with auspicious patterns and pinned his hair with a polished white-jade clasp.

The fabric had been a gift from the palace back when Qi Beinan had first passed his exams—neither flashy nor gaudy, but refined and elegant. No one could have called it shabby.

When his carriage arrived at Jia Fulang’s house, Jia Fulang was already waiting outside.

They soon set off together down the alley, Xiao Yuanbao’s carriage following behind. After about the time it takes to drink two cups of tea, the carriages stopped.

Lifting the curtain, Xiao Yuanbao saw several carriages and sedan chairs lined up ahead—the courtyard before the gate was already full, forcing their coach to stop further out.

“Bao Ge’er, we’ll have to walk the rest of the way,” Jia Fulang called.

When Xiao Yuanbao stepped down from the carriage, he saw Jia Fulang waiting. Today, Jia Fulang wore the robe made from the Wanyue gauze Xiao Yuanbao had given him; under the light, the fabric shimmered faintly with delicate luster.

Xiao Yuanbao answered softly, “Alright.”

Jia Fulang turned, caught sight of Xiao Yuanbao in his jade-colored silk, and paused.

He was used to seeing him dressed simply, yet today, in fine attire, Xiao Yuanbao looked striking—his features clear and gentle, the pale silk brightening his whole face.

Unconsciously, Jia Fulang touched his own cheek. Though not yet past his prime, he could not help but feel the difference between himself and this youthful ger.

“The better he looks, the more entertaining it’ll be when he makes a fool of himself,” he thought darkly.

The servant standing beside him, noticing his sour expression, whispered a few words in his ear.

Hearing this, Jia Fulang’s mood lifted again.

“Ge’er, you look radiant today—so handsome!” he praised with false warmth, then took Xiao Yuanbao’s arm and led him toward the banquet.

Their hostess was Lady Lü, whose husband’s family name was Qiao. The plaque above the red gate guarded by stone lions read “Qiao Residence.”

After presenting their gifts at the door, Xiao Yuanbao followed the others inside.

He couldn’t tell how many courtyards deep the estate ran, but passing beyond the screen wall, he immediately saw a vast garden—proof enough that this was no small household.

After going through two square gateways, he could already hear the lively chatter and laughter from within.

In Lady Lü’s garden, there was already quite a lively crowd.

Xiao Yuanbao saw a circle of people gathered around something, laughing and cheering, though he couldn’t tell what the entertainment was. Just as he was about to take a look, Jia Fulang caught his sleeve.

“Ge’er, do you see that lady reclining under the pavilion over there?”

Xiao Yuanbao followed his gaze. A woman was half-lying on a couch, positioned perfectly to take in the view of the garden. She was plump, fair, and carried the air of wealth and comfort.

“That’s Lady Lü,” Jia Fulang said.

“Then we should go and pay our respects,” Xiao Yuanbao replied.

At that, Jia Fulang chuckled. “Lady Lü has many guests, including those of rank. She can’t possibly greet everyone herself. We’ve already presented our gift at the gate—she’ll know we came, that’s enough.”

“Wouldn’t that seem impolite?”

“How could it?” Jia Fulang smiled faintly.

Hearing him speak that way, Xiao Yuanbao couldn’t help feeling that Jia Fulang was looking down on him—as if he truly were a small-town bumpkin unused to the ways of high society.

To families like theirs, merely attending such a banquet was already a stroke of luck. People of modest means had no right to expect a personal greeting from the hostess. Better to use the opportunity to make acquaintances quietly.

Still, something about it unsettled Xiao Yuanbao, though as this was his first time at such an affair, he said nothing more.

At that moment, Lady Lü, still lounging on her couch, leaned toward a maid who whispered something into her ear. Then she turned her gaze toward Jia Fulang’s direction.

Catching her eye, Jia Fulang immediately bowed and smiled obsequiously, nodding like a sycophant from afar.

“She says he’s brought someone amusing today,” murmured the maid at Lady Lü’s side.

“That one beside him?” Lady Lü’s tone was lazy but curious. “Hmm, he’s rather good-looking—not as provincial as I expected.”

“The servant said he’s from the household of a newly appointed Tanhua,” the maid continued. “A village ger, his husband just took office in the Hanlin Academy. It’s his first time accompanying him to the capital.”

“Oh?” Lady Lü raised a brow, her interest piqued.

Another lady nearby gave a teasing laugh. “You’d dare toy with the household of a Hanlin official?”

Lady Lü smirked. “There are plenty of Hanlin scholars—some rise high, others sit idle in their posts. Not all are worth fearing.”

She took up her fan, tapping it lightly against her chin. “A peasant today, a court official tomorrow. These country gers—without the examination route, they’d never make it to the capital. And once they arrive, they scramble to fit in with official families, desperate to prove their refinement.”

“Indeed,” another lady added. “But this one’s connection to a Tanhua makes it much more entertaining. Far better sport than teasing the usual minor officials and merchants who try to mingle above their station.”

Lady Lü’s lips curved. “Then let’s see how this one manages. Perhaps he’ll end up disgracing his Hanlin husband in front of everyone.”

She glanced toward the matron standing nearby. “What are you waiting for?”

The woman took the hint and went to whisper to Jia Fulang.

Jia Fulang’s heart leapt with excitement, though he hid it behind a composed smile. He turned to Xiao Yuanbao and said pleasantly, “Standing here won’t help us meet anyone. Let’s join the others playing touhu—the throwing game. It’s a good way to mingle.”

Before Xiao Yuanbao could answer, Jia Fulang was already leading him forward. “Even if you don’t play, you can cheer others on. Better than standing around, isn’t it?”

Leaning close, he added with false warmth, “We gave a generous gift. If we don’t at least join in and meet a few people, wouldn’t that be a waste?”

Xiao Yuanbao didn’t refuse. Hearing him speak so earnestly, he thought Jia Fulang seemed a little more amiable than before.

They walked farther in, and in the center of the garden stood a slender bronze pot with two small handles—a touhu vessel.

Two servants attended it, one holding a bundle of slender arrows, the other carrying a box for drawing lots.

Just as Xiao Yuanbao was about to ask how the game worked, Jia Fulang suddenly clutched his stomach and groaned softly.

“Oh dear, my stomach… I must have eaten something bad this morning.”

He looked apologetic. “Ge’er, you play first—I’ll be back shortly.”

Xiao Yuanbao frowned slightly. “I’ll go with you.”

“No need, I couldn’t bear to trouble you. Stay and enjoy yourself. I’ll be right back.”

He pressed a hand to his stomach and let a servant help him away.

Before Xiao Yuanbao could excuse himself from the game, one of the attendants approached and said, “Please draw a lot, sir.”

Unsure what to do, Xiao Yuanbao replied politely, “It’s my first time—please tell me the rules.”

“You follow whatever the lot says, sir.”

Not wanting to appear rude before the watching crowd, Xiao Yuanbao reached into the box and drew a slip.

It bore red characters: Poetry lot – Autumn Chrysanthemum. Below were smaller words specifying the theme.

“The young master has drawn a poetry lot,” the servant announced. “You must recite two lines of verse on chrysanthemums.”

Xiao Yuanbao paused for a moment. He had never played a game like this and hadn’t expected touhu to involve poetry.

The crowd murmured in low voices.

“Who’s that? Looks like a refined sort. Didn’t expect someone like that to join a game like this.”

“That one from the Bao family’s household—clever man. Pretends to have a stomachache, leaves this poor ger to face the crowd alone. How awkward.”

From her seat, Lady Lü hid a smile behind her fan, eyes gleaming with amusement.

Xiao Yuanbao thought a moment, recalling a few poems about chrysanthemums. At last, he chose two lines and recited calmly:

“Golden chrysanthemums fill the garden bright, Amid them one stands pale as frost in light.”【from a Tang poem】

The poem described a courtyard full of golden chrysanthemums, with one cluster standing apart—its petals pale as frost.

It carried a subtle double meaning. In the autumn garden, golden chrysanthemums were everywhere, yet Xiao Yuanbao happened to be dressed in white silk—his very presence an echo of the poem’s imagery.

Outside the pavilion, Jia Fulang was peeking in from a distance. His eyes widened in disbelief. “He—he can write poetry?”

“Maybe he just memorized a couple of lines,” one of his servants muttered. “Got lucky today, like a blind cat catching a dead mouse.”

That reassurance steadied Jia Fulang’s nerves a little.

He couldn’t read a single character, so he didn’t understand the poetic reference at all. But Lady Lü did. With that single verse, she saw clearly that Xiao Yuanbao was not only literate, but genuinely educated in poetry.

Turning her head slightly toward a lady beside her, Lady Lü said coolly, “So, it seems I’ve been made the fool today.”

“Don’t be upset,” the woman murmured. “Since he’s here, why not test him a bit? If he’s truly capable, he might even be worth befriending.”

Lady Lü didn’t answer. Her earlier arrogance had left her feeling somewhat embarrassed, but she was never one to cling to pride when circumstance shifted. She made a small signal toward one of the attendants near the game area.

The servant stepped forward. “Young master, your poem was elegant and fitting—such fine talent. Please draw another lot.”

“Another?” Xiao Yuanbao blinked.

A kindly lady nearby explained, “The first time you play, you must draw three lots. If you complete them all, you win a prize. If you fail… well, you drink as punishment.”

Xiao Yuanbao understood at once—and also realized something else.

His eyes swept the crowd, but Jia Fulang was nowhere to be seen. A flicker of irritation rose in him. Clearly, this had been arranged. But now that he was already in the game, to back down would only invite laughter.

“Thank you,” he said evenly, drawing again.

This time, the slip bore characters for Calligraphy: he was to write a line of blessing.

The attendants promptly brought out a small table, complete with brush, ink, paper, and inkstone—well-prepared indeed.

Xiao Yuanbao felt no fear. His calligraphy had been trained under Qi Beinan’s patient instruction since childhood, honed until even Master Qi himself had once nodded in praise.

To write a short blessing here, before an audience, was nothing at all.

His brush flowed smoothly across the paper—elegant as orchid leaves, confident and unhurried. Before he was even halfway done, onlookers were murmuring their approval.

“What beautiful handwriting!” someone exclaimed.

Finishing the last stroke, Xiao Yuanbao set down the brush and thanked those who complimented him. The paper was passed from hand to hand; not a soul dared speak a word against it.

His skill was plain to see—there was no cause for a drinking penalty.

When the sheet reached Lady Lü, her gaze shifted through several shades of expression. Finally, she smiled and rose from her seat.

“Master Xiao,” she said, her voice clear but not loud, “no wonder you belong to the household of His Majesty’s chosen Tanhua. Your calligraphy truly leaves us all in awe.”

The guests murmured in admiration.

Xiao Yuanbao, understanding the delicate tone, offered a respectful bow from afar. “I fear I’ve shown off clumsily before my betters. It’s an honor to attend your splendid banquet today—I only hoped my humble writing could add a touch of celebration.”

Lady Lü stepped forward from her couch, her smile gracious. “You’re too modest. You’ve put the hostess to shame.”

They exchanged a few polite words.

Then she leaned in with easy warmth. “Do you enjoy playing touhu? You’ve already written and recited—perhaps you’re tired. But if you still wish to play, I’ll join you for a few rounds.”

Xiao Yuanbao smiled. “I’ve heard Lady Lü is an expert. To learn even a little from you would be an honor.”

Laughing, she picked up the throwing arrows herself. Her aim was indeed skilled—each shot struck the pot, graceful and precise.

Xiao Yuanbao, too, knew the game well. The year he and Qi Beinan had lived in the county, a merchant caravan had gifted them a set. On idle winter days, they’d played at home, to loosen their hands after long hours of writing.

Both of them hit the mark several times. Xiao Yuanbao took care to let his arrows fall just short of Lady Lü’s score—enough to show respect without appearing competitive.

Lady Lü noticed and smiled faintly. She was an experienced hostess, quick to read the room.

Once everything proper had been displayed—his wit, his manners, his skill—there was no need to linger. Xiao Yuanbao excused himself, saying he was a bit tired, and stepped away from the crowd.

Lady Lü had someone bring him a chair to rest.

Just as he turned, a flash of pale yellow caught his eye through another archway—someone familiar.

He stood and offered a polite bow. The newcomer smiled and approached. “Master Xiao, you’re here too?”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded. “Indeed. I didn’t expect to meet Master Jiang here.”

Lady Lü, who had been about to leave, paused in mild surprise. She hadn’t realized the two knew each other.

“You gentlemen are acquainted?”

Jiang Tangyuan said, “Master Qi and my elder brother were fellow scholars and close friends. Naturally, I’ve met him.”

“Oh, so you’re friends with Master Jiang as well,” Lady Lü said brightly. “How could I let you stand out here chatting? Come to the pavilion—there are fresh grapes just brought in. They’re wonderfully sweet.”

Growing more cordial, she invited them both over.

Jiang Tangyuan had found the banquet dull, but seeing Xiao Yuanbao—someone his age and familiar—brightened his mood. The two followed Lady Lü to the pavilion together.

Hidden in the shadows, Jia Fulang watched the entire scene unfold.

Xiao Yuanbao had drawn every lot without once losing face. Not only had Lady Lü played touhu with him, she’d even invited him to sit with an esteemed young master under the pavilion.

Jia Fulang’s stomach twisted in panic. His plan had completely backfired, and he didn’t know what to do.

Seeing the change in the room’s atmosphere, his attendant whispered, “Fulang, perhaps we should leave.”

“L-leave? Now?”

“If Lady Lü realizes what happened and calls you out later, it’ll be far worse.”

Jia Fulang thought that made sense and hurried toward the garden gate, trying to slip away unnoticed.

But just as he reached the exit, a stern-faced matron blocked his path. “Where is Fulang Jia off to? The feast hasn’t even begun. Our mistress wishes to speak with you inside.”

At that, Jia Fulang’s knees went weak. The matron led him away to a side room and made him sit down.

Meanwhile, Lady Lü had been chatting amiably with Xiao Yuanbao and Jiang Tangyuan. After eating a few grapes together, she excused herself to greet new guests.

The touhu game resumed. Xiao Yuanbao saw a young Fulang draw a lot, miss the pot, and be punished with a drink.

Then the same man drew a poetry lot, stammered, and couldn’t come up with a line—so he was forced to drink again.

Xiao Yuanbao hadn’t realized that “drinking punishment” meant downing wine from a bowl the size of a rice dish. After two bowls, the poor man’s face was red and his movements clumsy.

When he was handed another bowl, he waved both hands in protest, saying he couldn’t take another drop—but no one showed mercy.

“Fulang, you seldom attend gatherings. How can you not drink to your heart’s content?”

“If you refuse, you’ll spoil the fun. Come, drink up and draw again!”

From the pavilion above, the elegantly dressed guests laughed behind their sleeves.

Watching the scene, Xiao Yuanbao felt a sharp discomfort in his chest. Yet he was just a newcomer here—his words carried no weight, and he couldn’t help the man at all.

“You dislike this kind of amusement too?” Jiang Tangyuan asked quietly, noting his expression.

Xiao Yuanbao turned his gaze away. He thought that if he had been truly uneducated, if he hadn’t known poetry or calligraphy, it would have been him humiliated today—mocked before everyone, tarnishing Qi Beinan’s name along with his own.

How could anyone take pleasure in such cruelty?

The realization filled him with a cold unease, and an even deeper resentment toward Jia Fulang.

He’d believed Jia Fulang’s false modesty—that talk about being unlearned, about not knowing much—and had trusted him. Only now did he understand the truth: Jia Fulang had brought him here to make a fool of him, just to settle some petty grudge.

No wonder he’d asked so many questions about Xiao Yuanbao’s background. He must have planned to use him for his own amusement.

Such vile intentions.

Xiao Yuanbao finally saw his character for what it was. From this day forward, he would cut ties with him completely.

Jiang Tangyuan’s tone made it clear he, too, disapproved of such mockery.

Xiao Yuanbao said softly, “It was he who brought me here. I didn’t know what kind of gathering this was. They tricked me into joining the game, and then he pretended to have a stomachache and ran off.”

Jiang Tangyuan’s brow furrowed. “Did they try to humiliate you?”

Xiao Yuanbao shook his head. “Fortunately, I knew how to handle each round. I didn’t embarrass myself.”

Jiang Tangyuan sighed. “There are plenty of people like that—pretending to be kind but always looking for someone to bully. They saw you’re from the countryside and thought you’d make easy sport. I despise such feasts. I’ll never come to another.”

“I’d never experienced anything like this before,” Xiao Yuanbao admitted. “I wasn’t on guard.”

Jiang Tangyuan peeled a tangerine and handed it to him. “Then take it as a lesson learned. Next time, you’ll know better. Still, from what I saw, Lady Lü seems to have taken a liking to you. With her favor, no one will dare mock you again.”

Xiao Yuanbao smiled faintly, though he felt no relief. If someone like Lady Lü found him amusing, that was all the more reason to stay away.

The two talked quietly for some time and shared the meal together before Xiao Yuanbao finally took his leave.

Jia Fulang never reappeared, and Xiao Yuanbao didn’t bother looking for him. After the banquet ended, he approached Lady Lü to thank her and say goodbye.

She even sent him off with a parting gift.

As he left, Xiao Yuanbao noticed Jia Fulang’s carriage still waiting at the gate.

He didn’t know that the man was still confined in Lady Lü’s side room.

Jia Fulang hadn’t eaten a bite of the luncheon, nor even been offered a cup of tea. He sat trembling from hunger and thirst, too frightened to make a sound.

Only when the laughter and music outside had faded did Lady Lü finally appear, taking her time as she entered.

“Fulang Jia,” she said coldly. “Are you comfortable here?”

He jumped up, bowing low. “Lady Lü—I was deceived by that ger. He’s cunning, deceitful—he tricked me!”

Lady Lü dropped herself onto the seat of honor. “I wonder if you were merely careless—or if you meant to insult me on purpose.”

“Whether or not you were fooled by him, I was certainly fooled by you.”

Jia Fulang trembled all over. “I—I would never dare deceive Lady Lü. I only brought him for your amusement, to please you!”

“So it’s my fault now, is it?” she sneered.

“No, no!” he stammered. “It’s all my fault. Please don’t be angry.”

“I won’t waste anger on someone like you,” Lady Lü said icily. “But looking at your face still makes me furious.”

She waved a hand. “You are never to attend my gatherings again. If there’s a banquet where I’m present, I don’t want to see you there.”

“Yes, yes,” Jia Fulang said weakly.

He left the Qiao residence leaning on his servant for support, drenched in cold sweat as if he’d bathed in it.

When he returned home, he fell ill at once. His husband, Official Bao, unaware of the cause, thought it was merely autumn chills and called physicians several times in concern.

Only after being slighted at the office a few days later did Bao learn what had happened at the banquet. Furious, he went home and berated Jia Fulang harshly—then confined him indoors for two months, forbidding him from setting foot outside again.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Qi Beinan returned home, changed out of his official robes, and put on casual clothing.

When he opened the door again, the sky had turned from clear to overcast, and a light drizzle had begun to fall. Autumn rain carried a chill—once the wind stirred, the cool dampness seemed to seep right into the skin.

Just as he was thinking how cold the falling rain made the osmanthus blossoms feel, Xiao Yuanbao came in carrying a steaming pot of soup.

“I meant to bring it sooner,” Xiao Yuanbao said cheerfully. “Qinjiang found two fine pomegranates somewhere, split them open, and they were large and bright red inside. He’s over in the kitchen sharing them with everyone.”

He set the pot down on the table and ladled out a bowl of soup.

“It really is sweet. I’ve long heard that the pomegranates here in the capital are good, and it’s no exaggeration.”

Qi Beinan inhaled the light, fragrant aroma of the broth. He realized he was indeed hungry.

He took a sip—the taste was rich and savory—and soon finished the entire bowl before using his chopsticks to pick at the tender pigeon and soft turtle meat within.

Xiao Yuanbao sat across from him, hands clasped, watching him eat with quiet satisfaction.

“Morning court must be tiring,” he said.

Qi Beinan smiled. “Even if it isn’t physical labor, thinking all day makes one hungry.”

He looked at Xiao Yuanbao. “The meal the office provides at midday—one meat, one vegetable—isn’t terrible, but compared to your cooking, or even the kitchen’s old matron, it’s far worse.”

Xiao Yuanbao chuckled. “There are too many officials to feed. It’s big-pot cooking—how could it compare to a small kitchen’s care?”

Qi Beinan replied, “That’s part of it, but it’s also meant to save on expenses.”

“Then eat less of it if it’s no good,” Xiao Yuanbao said lightly. “I’ll make proper food for you here at home.”

Qi Beinan smiled and agreed.

“Oh, right,” Xiao Yuanbao added. “When I went to the market today, I ran into a gentleman from another official household in this same alley. He’s quite talkative—invited me over for tea sometime.”

He explained which household it was and continued, “I sent Wenge out later to ask around. That family does belong to an official. The master serves in the Ministry of Works, surname Bao. But I couldn’t find out much about his character.”

Qi Beinan didn’t know this official Bao. Likely a minor one, but even a Shushi in the Ministry of Works held a sixth-rank post—technically above his own at present.

“Foolish boy,” Qi Beinan said with mild amusement. “How could you so easily learn a family’s private character in an official household? Ordinary people wouldn’t dare speak ill of them. And even those who gossip for money wouldn’t risk much unless you were close or offered a heavy purse.”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded. He supposed that made sense—Beijing’s errand-runners weren’t like the all-knowing gossips in the county, who spoke freely with friendly families like theirs.

“So then,” he asked, “should I go for tea or not?”

“Since they’re neighbors in the same alley,” Qi Beinan said, “there’s no harm in accepting a cup of tea.”

He added, “You only truly learn a person’s nature through contact. Rumors aren’t always right. Just be cautious and speak less, observe more.”

“I understand,” said Xiao Yuanbao.

After finishing two bowls of soup, Qi Beinan felt pleasantly warm. He remembered what Ren Heng had mentioned earlier that day—he hadn’t known whether the man was joking when he said he’d send someone to collect the goods Qi Beinan had brought from the county—so he told Xiao Yuanbao about it.

They went together to the storeroom and packed up a ham, two wind-cured ducks, and a box of dried mushrooms. Xiao Yuanbao thought for a moment and added two jars of pickled vegetables.

Qi Beinan felt reluctant to part with so much, but since it wasn’t emergency rations and they could always make more, he agreed to send it.

The next afternoon, a servant did indeed arrive to collect the items. Xiao Yuanbao handed over the neatly prepared packages. Translated on Hololo novels. The servant looked pleased to find everything ready, thanked them warmly, and left.

When Qi Beinan returned from the office that evening, Xiao Yuanbao told him about it.

“They sent five jin of longan, two jin of purple grapes, and a box of beautifully wrapped dried persimmons in return.”

He brought out the gifts for Qi Beinan to see. The longans were plump and glossy; when peeled, the flesh was translucent and sweet, the seeds tiny.

Even the ordinary market longans were expensive, so these high-quality ones must have cost a fortune.

The purple grapes were rarer still—their skins were firm, not soft, and could be eaten whole; instead of sourness, they had a crisp, sweet bite.

Most astonishing of all, they were seedless.

“This isn’t grape,” Qi Beinan corrected him with a small smile. “It’s called tizi—a foreign variety.”

He told Wenge to wash some for them to eat.

Xiao Yuanbao remembered hearing about such fruit from Madam Feng, who had described it as similar to grapes but denser and more fragrant. He had thought it sounded exotic then, and now, seeing it in person, he realized that was exactly what this was.

“These must be quite valuable,” he said. “Compared to what we sent, it doesn’t seem equal.”

Qi Beinan replied, “He was the one who asked for a gift first. Sending us these things shows regard, that’s all. To someone like Lord Ren, such items may not even count as extravagant.”

Xiao Yuanbao tilted his head, curious. “What sort of person is this Lord Ren, to give so generously?”

He recalled how the servant who came to collect the goods had been neatly dressed in fine cotton—his manner proper and polished, more like a young gentleman from a wealthy house than a common runner.

Qi Beinan explained, “The Ren family is an old aristocratic lineage—officials for generations, with many high-ranking members. Lord Ren’s great-grandfather and grandfather both served in the Grand Secretariat.”

Xiao Yuanbao sighed. “It’s surprising that someone of such standing doesn’t look down on our humble household.”

Qi Beinan said, “The higher their rank, the less they care about background when it comes to friendship. They act as they please, so long as their heart feels at ease.”

A few days later, Xiao Yuanbao accepted Jia Fulang’s invitation and went to his home for tea.

He kept his guard up—setting a time to go and return, and telling Qinjiang to keep watch. If he didn’t come back by the appointed hour, Qinjiang was to come looking for him.

Though he doubted anything would happen in broad daylight, especially in an official’s household, the incident back in the county at the livestock market had made him cautious.

He brought Wenge along. After announcing their arrival at the gatehouse, they were led inside.

Xiao Yuanbao noted that the Bao residence was larger than their rented house, but still only a small two-courtyard home—not particularly spacious.

He saw just a few servants moving about, two of whom he didn’t recognize, suggesting the household wasn’t large.

The furnishings showed a bit of official dignity but not much wealth—well-kept, but modest. Still, Xiao Yuanbao reserved judgment; perhaps the Bao family simply preferred not to flaunt their means.

“Ah, Bao Ge’er, you’ve finally come! I’ve been waiting for you. I meant to invite you earlier, but things came up the past few days.”

Jia Fulang greeted him warmly and called to a servant, “Go brew a pot of that Tieguanyin I’ve been saving.”

“I just came by for a visit,” Xiao Yuanbao said politely. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I only brought a small token. Please don’t mind.”

He exchanged a glance with Wenge, who stepped forward to offer the wrapped gift to the servant.

“You’re far too courteous,” Jia Fulang said with a smile. “You come for a visit and still bring presents? That’s unnecessary. Next time, no more of this—makes us seem distant.”

Still, he had the gifts taken inside.

He invited Xiao Yuanbao to sit on a luohan couch. Before long, tea and three plates of snacks were brought: osmanthus cakes—common this time of year—sesame crisps, and a bowl of pomegranate seeds.

Xiao Yuanbao noticed that all the dishes and cups were ordinary in make, though clearly official wares—simple but proper.

“Try this,” Jia Fulang said enthusiastically, using a handkerchief to serve him a piece of cake. “These osmanthus cakes were made by a master from Mixiang Zhai. They’re hard to buy even if you’ve the money.”

Xiao Yuanbao took it, tasted a bite, and found it soft—but cloyingly sweet.

He had never been to Mixiang Zhai, but Madam Feng had once told him it was one of the finest pastry shops in the capital, favored even by palace attendants.

He doubted such heavy sweetness came from that master’s hand. Smiling politely, he concluded Jia Fulang wasn’t telling the truth—either trying to impress an outsider or simply dressing up a modest treat for appearance’s sake.

“It does have a unique flavor,” Xiao Yuanbao said tactfully. “I’ve not been in the capital long, so I don’t yet know where the best pastries are.”

“Then eat more,” Jia Fulang urged.

“Our master often brings snacks home after work. I’ve grown tired of them, really.”

Xiao Yuanbao offered a light compliment. “Lord Bao and his husband are truly affectionate—how enviable.”

Jia Fulang smiled, pleased. “You’re quite the sweet talker. Tell me, have you been promised yet?”

Xiao Yuanbao didn’t want to lie outright, but neither did he wish to explain. He only lowered his head, feigning shyness, and nodded slightly.

“Don’t tease me,” he murmured. “I’m embarrassed to talk about such things.”

Jia Fulang laughed. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re handsome and easy to talk to—if you weren’t engaged, I’d have tried to match you with one of my relatives. But of course, someone like you must already be spoken for.”

As he spoke, a small child—six or seven years old—came running in, shouting “Little Father!”

Jia Fulang quickly scooped him up with affection. “Oh, my little ancestor, slow down!”

“What’s this say?” the boy asked, holding up a blue-bound book filled with fine, dense characters—clearly an adult’s text, not a child’s primer.

He had likely snatched one of Lord Bao’s books.

Jia Fulang glanced over it and called toward the door, “Xiaocui! Come get the young master! How are you people watching him?”

Xiao Yuanbao’s brows twitched. The child was holding the book upside down, yet Jia Fulang didn’t seem to notice.

That told him a great deal.

A maid soon entered, lifting the child away. On her way out, the boy grabbed a piece of cake from the table and popped it in his mouth.

“My little one’s a rascal,” Jia Fulang said with a laugh. “You must think me foolish.”

“Children are meant to be lively,” Xiao Yuanbao replied politely. “It’s a sign of intelligence.”

Jia Fulang beamed at the compliment. “Tell me, do you read? My son’s taken to flipping through books lately—probably from watching his father in the study all the time.”

Xiao Yuanbao hesitated. He guessed Jia Fulang couldn’t read himself, and saying he could would only make the man uncomfortable.

He smiled modestly. “I was born a farmer’s ger. Never went to private school or academy, so I only know a few characters.”

Jia Fulang’s brow lifted slightly. “Being able to read or not doesn’t matter much for people like us. Coming from a farming family, you’re already from as clean and decent a household as one could hope for.”

Xiao Yuanbao smiled and agreed.

After chatting for a while longer over tea, he made his excuses to leave before dinner. When he did, Jia Fulang had his servants wrap up a few things for him to take home.

As soon as Xiao Yuanbao’s footsteps faded, Jia Fulang’s warm smile vanished. He lounged back on the luohan couch, sipping tea, and told his servant, “Open up the gifts that boy brought.”

The servant unfolded the bundle and exclaimed, “The two bolts of cloth that ger brought—these are rare indeed. Looks like the new ‘Wanyue gauze’ everyone’s chasing lately.”

Jia Fulang straightened at once. He hadn’t expected it. He’d only learned that the boy was from the countryside—a farmer’s ger, even lower-born than he’d thought—and not even of a family as good as his own had been before marrying into an official household.

Still, such a person managing to come to the capital was already remarkable.

He leaned forward eagerly as the servant brought the fabric closer. “It really is Wanyue gauze. They’re selling for more than ten strings of cash a bolt outside.”

He had wanted to buy some himself for a while but had never been able to spare the money.

“I thought that boy kept things plain,” Jia Fulang mused. “Didn’t expect him to have something this fine.”

“Perhaps his family has some wealth after all?” the servant suggested.

Jia Fulang snorted. “If they were wealthy, they wouldn’t be renting their house. Their master may be a Hanlin scholar and a jinshi, but surely people try to curry favor with him. How could there be nothing presentable in their home?”

“I saw when the congratulatory officials came—he was given plenty of gifts then.”

“So, will you keep close ties with them, then?” the servant asked.

Jia Fulang gave a derisive laugh. “This capital is full of snobs. Even if their master is a clean-stream Hanlin scholar, without connections, making a name here isn’t easy.”

He sneered. “You see? He’s already trying to curry favor with us. Even though his purse is tight, he still forced himself to send over this fabric—just to build some connections.”

“That country ger hasn’t any sense. Thinks a few bolts of cloth and three boxes of pastries can win over capital people. As if it were that easy.”

Jia Fulang smiled. “Still, he’s pleasant enough to call over once in a while for company.”

Then his eyes flickered with sudden cunning. “Right—the Lü household is hosting a banquet soon, aren’t they? They love throwing parties. With this fine autumn weather, there’ll be even more.”

His servant frowned. “That family may be high-born, but they treat those beneath them like dirt. Outsiders see them as gracious because they invite both the grand and the humble, but they don’t know how she delights in humiliating lesser guests for the amusement of the noble ones. The last time you went, you were mocked enough yourself. Why bring them up again?”

“You don’t understand,” Jia Fulang said smoothly. “Even being part of their jest keeps me within their circle.”

He chuckled darkly. “This time, I’ll bring that countryside ger along. He’s never seen such occasions—imagine how he’ll stumble and embarrass himself. When they’re amused, they’ll remember me kindly.”

The servant’s grin returned. “You truly are clever, Fulang.”

Later that day, Qi Beinan returned from court and asked about Xiao Yuanbao’s visit to the Bao household.

“They’re not very genuine,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “Care a lot about appearances.”

“At least now I have a better sense of them. They’re not good people, but I wouldn’t call them wicked either.”

Qi Beinan nodded. “People wear different faces. Everyone wants to appear respectable before others. Official families think differently—more guarded, more calculating. Not like the simple folk we used to deal with in the county.”

Xiao Yuanbao agreed. He didn’t yet know many official spouses and was still learning their ways.

Besides, he thought, truly kind people were rare. Everyone had flaws.

Even Xin Ge’er, sharp-tongued when they first met, had turned out to be upright and sincere once he got to know him. Small faults didn’t matter; what counted was a good heart.

“I’ll need to see Jia Fulang a few more times before I can judge his character,” Xiao Yuanbao said.

Qi Beinan gave him a long, thoughtful look, then drew him closer.

He didn’t like the idea of Xiao Yuanbao socializing with officials’ families. Memories of their past life stirred unease—he feared Xiao Yuanbao might once again become the target of those people’s cruelty and mockery.

Yet, to settle in the capital, they couldn’t avoid such circles. Even if not for politics, a person needed company—no one could live in isolation.

And Xiao Yuanbao, lively and sociable by nature, couldn’t simply be shut indoors as a quiet homemaker. That would be selfish.

He wanted Xiao Yuanbao to live freely, as he had back in the county—friendly, cheerful, surrounded by a few trusted companions.

Qi Beinan exhaled slowly. “In any case, I don’t oppose you meeting people. It’s not a bad thing. Just don’t force yourself—if something feels wrong, tell me, and we’ll think of a way together. Don’t keep unhappy things from me just because they involve officials’ households or you think I’ll worry.”

“You know I like hearing about the small, ordinary things too.”

Xiao Yuanbao smiled. “Then we won’t keep anything from each other—you don’t hide things from me, and I won’t hide things from you.”

Qi Beinan nodded and continued, “When you interact with those people, if any of them turn unpleasant—say things about your background, family, or supposed lack of refinement—don’t take it to heart. Don’t ever think it’s your fault or blame yourself. Think instead about what’s wrong with them.”

“Hating others is still better than turning that anger inward and wearing yourself down. Otherwise, how do they say it—evil lingers for a thousand years?”

Xiao Yuanbao laughed aloud. “I’ve only now realized that even you can be unreasonable at times. Aren’t you being a bit too biased in my favor?”

Qi Beinan replied calmly, “Not bias—just experience talking.”

It had been a long time since Xiao Yuanbao had seen him speak so earnestly. Smiling, he answered obediently, “Alright, I’ll remember what you said. I’ll listen to you, all right?”

A trace of amusement flickered in Qi Beinan’s eyes.

“Oh, that reminds me—I have some good news for you.”

“What is it?”

“His Majesty has decreed that the curfews in the capital and higher prefectures will be lifted. Business will be allowed day and night now. Those pleasure houses, taverns, and night stalls will do even better.”

Qi Beinan added, “Let’s wait to see how things go in Linzhou. The shop we hold there might be easier to lease out now.”

Hearing this, Xiao Yuanbao’s heart leapt with joy.

He quickly began calculating. “If we can collect rent from that shop, our days will be much more comfortable.”

Qi Beinan nodded. “When the lease money comes in, it’ll be just in time to use as part of our wedding expenses.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s face flushed slightly. “No need for extravagance. A simple banquet with the proper rites is enough—it shouldn’t cost much.”

“I was thinking,” Qi Beinan said, “since we’re marrying, renting a house feels temporary. We should buy one—settle into a home of our own after the wedding. It’ll feel more secure.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes brightened. “That would be nice. I just haven’t gone to ask around about buying property yet.”

“When I get a rest day in a few days, we’ll go look together,” Qi Beinan said. “There’s still plenty of time—no need to rush.”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded happily.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

On the second day of the eighth month, it was Qi Beinan’s first official day attending court.

Before dawn, when the sky was still dark, the lamps in the house were already lit, and the water on the stove had been boiled twice.

The new maid, Hongtang, carried a basin of hot water, adjusting the temperature before bringing it to her master’s room.

Qi Beinan rose from bed in plain white underclothes, rinsed his mouth with tooth powder, washed his hands and face, and cleared his mind.

When he had finished washing, he took a green official robe with wide sleeves and a round collar from the clothes rack, fastened the leather belt at his waist, and stepped into his black boots.

By the time Xiao Yuanbao entered the room, still half-asleep, Qi Beinan was already dressed and holding a black futou cap in his right hand, ready to go outside and see if Qin Jiang had prepared the carriage.

He turned and saw Xiao Yuanbao leaning sleepily against the doorframe, eyes puffy and unfocused.

Qi Beinan reached out and cupped his chin, lightly pinching his cheeks. “Why are you up?”

Xiao Yuanbao rubbed his eyes, his voice still thick with sleep. But when he looked at the tall, composed figure before him—the elegant Hanlin scholar in full official attire—he woke up a little more. Smiling with half-lidded eyes, he said, “I thought since today is your first day at court, I should send you off.”

Qi Beinan couldn’t help but smile at how endearing he was. “It’s only the morning audience, and I’ll be in a carriage. You didn’t have to get up so early.”

“It’s just this once,” Xiao Yuanbao said, taking the futou from his hand and heading outside. “When it’s a regular workday, don’t even think about waking me up.”

The garden was still shrouded in darkness. A few roosters crowed faintly in the distance, and the sound of the night watch beating wooden clappers echoed down the street.

“When I was studying, I had to get up early because the village was so far from the academy,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “Now that you’re an official, you still have to rise before dawn—earlier, even.”

Qi Beinan chuckled. “It’s better to leave early than be delayed on the road. Once I get near the palace gates, I’ll have time for breakfast.”

He reached out to tousle Xiao Yuanbao’s soft, unbound hair. “Go back and sleep a little longer after I leave.”

“I can’t,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “The thought of you working hard at the Hanlin Academy while I’m still in bed makes me feel guilty.”

Qi Beinan smiled. “Attending court isn’t as tiring as you imagine. Don’t worry yourself.”

Xiao Yuanbao didn’t answer. When they reached the side gate, he tugged at Qi Beinan’s sleeve and whispered, “I have something to tell you—bend down.”

Qi Beinan leaned forward without suspicion, turning his head to listen. Suddenly, a warm touch brushed against his cheek.

Before he could react, Xiao Yuanbao, face flushed red, turned and ran off.

“Is that all the send-off I get?” Qi Beinan called after him.

Without looking back, Xiao Yuanbao waved a hand. “Go quickly and come back soon.”

Qi Beinan stood for a while, watching him disappear inside. He lifted his fingers to the spot on his face that had just been kissed, a quiet smile spreading across his lips.

“Master, we can go now!”

Qin Jiang, waiting outside, saw him still standing by the side gate and called out.

Qi Beinan came to himself. “All right, let’s go.”

The carriage wheels rolled, and they set off down the narrow lane.

At dawn, the capital stirred like early spring earth not yet fully awakened. Translated on Hololo novels. Shopkeepers swept the streets and washed their thresholds; the rhythmic scrape of brooms and the splash of water carried through the quiet.

Qi Beinan lifted a corner of the curtain. The cool morning breeze brushed his face, and though the sky was still dim, the faint light and stillness of the streets filled him with calm. Even the stray cats darting by the roadside seemed charming.

By the hour of the Rabbit, the carriage passed through the palace gates.

He first reported to the Hanlin Academy, then went to the Ministry of Personnel to end his leave, and returned to the Academy afterward.

By the time he arrived, his colleagues were already at their desks.

His assigned workspace was in a small side hall connected to the main hall—a modest, tucked-away room reached by several turns of corridor.

Glory in the examinations counted for little here. The Hanlin Academy was full of former zhuangyuan and tanhua scholars; even a first-rank tanhua was no remarkable figure among such talent.

Many of the officials here had served for years, experienced and composed. Compared to them, new arrivals were still green.

At the entrance, a friendly Shujishi greeted him. “Lord Qi, I’m Lu Zheng,” the man said warmly. “Would you like some tea? I can pour it for you.”

Qi Beinan thanked him politely and went to his desk. Beside him sat the second-place jinshi, Ren Heng; in front was the zhuangyuan, Lin Qingyu.

Two other Shujishi occupied the far corners—strangers to him.

When Qi Beinan entered, Lin Qingyu looked up from his work and nodded courteously before returning to his documents.

Ren Heng, however, was more talkative—though his tone carried a certain languid arrogance. As he spoke, his gaze wandered to the pile of scrolls before him.

“Lord Qi, you’ve returned at last. You were gone for quite a while. May I ask where your home is?”

“In a small county of Linzhou,” Qi Beinan replied. “It’s quite far, which made the journey rather long.”

“Linzhou? I’ve never been,” said Ren Heng. “But I have an uncle who served there. It’s remote indeed—far from the capital, and even farther from places like Yangzhou or Jinling.”

He adjusted his hat in the reflection of a bronze mirror, tilted his chin, and gave himself a small, satisfied smile.

Only then did Qi Beinan realize that Ren Heng had slipped a small mirror between his stacks of documents and was admiring his own reflection.

The corner of Qi Beinan’s mouth twitched slightly before he answered, “Indeed.”

He was just about to get back to his work when Ren Heng leaned over again.

“Hey, does your county have any special foods or local goods? Did you bring some to the capital?”

Qi Beinan replied, “I brought a few rustic things from home. If Lord Ren doesn’t mind, I can send some your way.”

To his surprise, Ren Heng immediately agreed. “Excellent! I’ll have someone pick it up from your house tomorrow after court. Can’t do it today—I’ve already been invited to a banquet.”

Qi Beinan thought the man was remarkably straightforward and gave a small smile. “Very well.”

Once Ren Heng went back to fussing over his “radiant perfection,” Qi Beinan finally turned to business.

A compiler’s duty was to help record national history and draft imperial decrees.

His direct superior was a provisional academician overseeing the new scholars. When Qi Beinan reported for duty, Academician Li gave him two draft booklets to condense and polish.

Opening them, he found that the topic was the proposed abolition of the nightly curfew.

The court had debated it fiercely—many officials supported the change, while others opposed it—and the emperor had yet to make a decision, with another round of deliberation pending.

Qi Beinan felt a quiet spark of delight. The timing was favorable.

If the curfew were lifted, the shop he leased back in Linzhou could reopen for evening business, easing their finances. That, in turn, might allow him to start looking for a proper house in the capital.

Meanwhile, Xiao Yuanbao had gone back to bed but couldn’t fall asleep. His body was tired, yet his mind refused to settle.

After lying there for about an hour, he rose, washed up, and stepped outside.

The August sky was clear and bright. The capital was hotter and drier than Ling County.

After breakfast, he picked up a basket, planning to buy some good meat at the market for supper.

Qi Beinan might have to leave home early for court, but he also finished early—if the meal were ready when he returned, they could rest and eat at ease.

The streets were already busy at this hour. Vendors called out, carts rattled by, and people streamed toward the market.

He beckoned Wenge to come along. After they had walked a short distance, the boy leaned close and whispered, “Master, there’s a man behind us who’s been staring at you.”

Startled, Xiao Yuanbao turned around—and indeed, a man in a blue robe was watching him from not far away.

Their eyes met, and when the stranger saw he’d been noticed, he smiled and approached at a brisk pace.

“Good morning, brother,” he greeted warmly.

Xiao Yuanbao saw that he was perhaps not yet thirty, dressed in a soft silk cross-collared robe, a jade pin fastening his neatly bound hair. His complexion was pale, his eyes almond-shaped—refined and striking.

Judging from his bearing, he was no common townsman. Xiao Yuanbao returned the greeting politely. “Good morning, sir.”

The man said, “Forgive my forwardness, but might you be from the household of the newly appointed tanhua scholar down the lane?”

“I am,” Xiao Yuanbao replied. “But how did you know?”

“I live on this same street,” the man said with an easy smile. “My husband serves in the Ministry of Works. After the palace examination, I heard the drums and gongs of the announcing officers, so I opened my door to watch the procession. I happened to see you from afar in front of your house that day. When I saw you again this morning, I thought you looked familiar, but I wasn’t certain until now.”

Hearing that he was an official’s spouse, Xiao Yuanbao grew more courteous, though he did not yet know how high the man’s husband ranked.

“We’ve just settled here,” he said. “We didn’t yet know who lived in the area. Had we known there was a Ministry of Works official nearby, we would’ve come to pay respects sooner.”

The man waved it off. “Not at all. My husband and I had meant to visit you as well, but he said newly appointed scholars are always busy, so we didn’t wish to disturb you. Since we met by chance today, I couldn’t resist coming to say hello.”

Xiao Yuanbao found him pleasant and well-spoken, so he didn’t hold back from chatting a bit more.

They exchanged names—the man was Jia Xinyi—and since both were headed to the market, they decided to go together.

Walking side by side, Jia Xinyi glanced at Xiao Yuanbao’s clothes: a plain light-blue cotton robe, simple and neat, without a trace of silk. Perhaps he had dressed humbly for the market, or perhaps their household finances were tight.

“I haven’t seen you around before,” Jia Xinyi said lightly. “Where are you from? If I’d met you sooner, we could’ve had more company on these morning walks.”

“We’re from Linzhou,” Xiao Yuanbao answered. “A small county under its jurisdiction.”

He wasn’t trying to hide it—such things were easy to find out anyway. And there was no shame in being provincial; the capital was full of people from every corner of the empire. Even many court officials were not natives of the city.

“Ah, I see,” Jia Xinyi said.

Then he asked, “Is your house here rented?”

Xiao Yuanbao hesitated a moment before answering.

Noticing that, Jia Xinyi smiled and patted his own chest. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to pry. I only worry newcomers might be cheated by the city brokers. My husband says the housing agents in the capital are the craftiest sort—they size people up before naming their price.”

He went on, “There’s a provincial official who rented a small single-courtyard house out in Plum Alley—it’s narrow, damp, and crowded with all sorts of folk. Yet the agent charged over ten strings of cash per month! That place smells foul in the summer. Hardly worth the price, wouldn’t you say?”

Xiao Yuanbao sighed. “Those housing brokers are bold indeed—daring to cheat even officials out of their silver!”

Jia Xinyi chuckled. “Wealth is born from risk. That’s why people call them clever—clever and sly.”

Xiao Yuanbao said, “Our place is rented too, but it didn’t cost nearly as much as that gentleman’s.”

At this, Jia Xinyi’s brows lifted slightly. He paused, then smiled. “That’s all the better. I imagine Lord Tanhua isn’t someone who can be easily deceived. Forgive me if I seem too nosy.”

He thought to himself that this household must not be particularly well-off—the young man’s fabric was plain, and the small house was rented.

Xiao Yuanbao said warmly, “How could it be nosy? You’re simply kindhearted.”

Jia Xinyi laughed.

They spent the morning together at the market, buying vegetables, meat, and melons. Then, sitting by a tea stall, they shared a cup of tea and some osmanthus cakes before heading back.

“You’re still quite young,” Jia Xinyi said as they parted, taking Xiao Yuanbao’s hand in friendly affection, “but we get along so well. In a few days, if you have time, would you come sit with me at my house? I’m home alone most days, either doing embroidery or drinking tea—it’s dreadfully dull.”

Xiao Yuanbao found him pleasant company. He had few acquaintances in the capital, and his correspondence with friends back home took weeks between letters. Making a few friends here could only be a good thing—whether for companionship or connections.

It was no different from when he had first arrived in the county years ago.

He smiled. “You flatter me, calling me young and ignorant. Since fate has placed our households on the same street, how could I refuse heaven’s arrangement?”

“If you invite me, I’ll surely come.”

Jia Xinyi beamed at that and finally took his leave.

After lunch, Xiao Yuanbao tied his apron around his waist and picked up a kitchen knife to prepare softshell turtle and pigeon soup for Qi Beinan.

When he’d been living in the county, he and Sister Gui had perfected this dish—braised turtle and pigeon simmered with a special blend of medicinal herbs. The broth was rich and savory; it strengthened the body and mind for men, smoothed the skin for women and gers, and nourished longevity for the elderly.

The secret herb blend was Sister Gui’s creation. She had given him the recipe, which he had memorized after cooking it a few times with Madam Feng.

Xiao Yuanbao thought Qi Beinan worked tirelessly at the academy, straining his mind daily. If he didn’t take care of his health now, he would surely suffer aches and fatigue later in life.

“Master, this soup smells incredible! You really have the hands of a chef!”

Wenge and Hongtang, who didn’t have much to do around the house, came to help as soon as they saw him at the stove. Watching how deftly he handled the knife, they knew he had true skill.

Once the pigeon and turtle were blanched and simmering in the pot, within a short while the kitchen filled with an irresistible aroma.

The two servants couldn’t help leaning over to peek. The soup shimmered a clear golden-green, fragrant and beautiful to look at.

Xiao Yuanbao smiled. “Do you think this kind of cooking would do well in a city restaurant?”

“More than well, Master! You’re better than most professional cooks!” they said eagerly.

He knew they were flattering him, yet the praise still pleased him. He had been thinking seriously about opening a small eatery—their family funds were limited, and investing in a business would help them save for a proper house in the capital.

“You two are practically drooling,” he teased. “When your master comes home, I’ll let you each have a bowl.”

Wenge and Hongtang lit up with delight. “Thank you, Master!”

By mid-afternoon, the workday at the Hanlin Academy ended.

Qi Beinan had nearly finished his tasks. The zhuangyuan worked diligently all day, while the bangyan managed to spend half of it “busy relaxing.”

Stretching his shoulders, Qi Beinan was just preparing to leave when Ren Heng came over again.

“Lord Qi, take a whiff—how do I smell?”

Qi Beinan blinked, then caught a distinct whiff of borneol incense. At some point, this man had even found time to perfume himself. Qi Beinan looked at him askance. “Lord Ren, are you going on a date?”

“What nonsense,” Ren Heng said. “Just attending a banquet. Even if it’s only a room full of coarse old men, one must still appear at one’s most refined.”

With a flick of his sleeve, he added grandly, “A new jinshi must embody elegance.”

The zhuangyuan, Lin Qingyu, who was just standing up to leave, shook his head slightly. The calm look in his eyes said clearly that he’d already endured plenty of Ren Heng’s antics in Qi Beinan’s absence.

He nodded politely to them both and strode out first.

Ren Heng clicked his tongue. “That zhuangyuan has no taste whatsoever—always buried in scrolls, barely looks up once a day. If I hadn’t heard him speak before, I’d think he was mute.”

Then he turned back and blocked Qi Beinan’s path. “Come now, tell me—how’s the scent?”

Qi Beinan smiled faintly. “It’s good. Though, Lord Ren, you’re wearing official robes to a banquet?”

“Of course not!”

“Then isn’t it a waste to perfume your court clothes?”

Ren Heng grinned. “I only put it on for you to test it. If it smells good, I’ll use it again. If not, I’ll switch to another.”

“Thoroughly methodical,” Qi Beinan said dryly.

“This borneol scent is fine,” he added, “but it’s rather strong. For someone as graceful as yourself, I’d suggest something gentler—orchid and bamboo perhaps, more refined and airy.”

Ren Heng’s eyes lit up. “I didn’t expect Lord Qi to be such a connoisseur!”

Qi Beinan smiled faintly and started walking out of the office. Ren Heng quickly followed at his side.

Inside the side hall, one head cautiously poked out after the three had left.

Though he hadn’t actually smelled any borneol incense, his expression suggested deep disdain as he fanned the air before his nose and muttered under his breath, “How could a person like that ever enter the Hanlin Academy? And ranked among the top three, no less—clearly unworthy of his title.”

The speaker was Lu Zheng, the very same who earlier had eagerly offered to pour tea for Qi Beinan. He too was a new jinshi this year, though from the second tier.

Like Jiang Tangyuan, he served as a Shujishi at the Hanlin Academy—only in a different hall.

Lu Zheng had long disliked Ren Heng. Now, seeing Qi Beinan chatting easily with him instead of paying him any mind, his dislike spread to Qi Beinan as well. In his eyes, they were birds of a feather—frivolous, vain, and corrupting the Academy’s dignity.

“Lu Zheng, you’re still here?”

The voice came from the side window. Startled, he turned and saw that it was Academician Li. His heart lurched, but he quickly composed himself, rising to salute.

“Sir, as a newcomer to the Hanlin Academy, I find my colleagues all exceptionally talented. I’m ashamed of my own inadequacy. So, I thought the clumsy bird should fly early, and stayed behind to put in extra effort. I only wish not to fall too far behind my peers, hence I haven’t left yet.”

Academician Li gave him a long look, silent for a moment before saying, “It’s good to have such diligence. But don’t stay too late—you’ll need rest before tomorrow’s court.”

Lu Zheng brightened. “Yes, sir!”

Li glanced toward the main hall.

Noticing that, Lu Zheng thought he must be looking for Qi Beinan and Ren Heng. Seizing the chance, he said, “Is Your Excellency perhaps looking for Lord Ren or Lord Qi? They left quite a while ago. If there’s any message, I could deliver it on your behalf.”

Li’s gaze flicked back to him. “No need.”

With that, the academician exchanged a polite word and departed.

As soon as he was gone, Lu Zheng’s chest swelled with satisfaction.

He imagined he’d just earned a reputation for being diligent and conscientious—while conveniently planting the impression that Qi Beinan and Ren Heng were negligent in their duties.

Outside, as Li walked with a fellow academician, his companion asked, “Who recommended that Lu Zheng fellow as a Shujishi?”

“Not sure,” Li replied. “Likely a Ministry of Personnel assignment. Why?”

“He seems… rather unimpressive. The others from this year’s class finished their work long ago and went home. He alone stayed behind, still struggling with simple drafts.”

Li frowned slightly. “The Academy’s workload is light now. If he’s already this slow, how many tasks will he manage when things grow busy?”

“Perhaps he’s just trying to make a good impression,” the other scholar suggested. “A newcomer wanting to show diligence isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

Li shook his head, recalling Lu Zheng’s earlier words about “those two already having left.” His unease deepened. “Ah, he certainly has plenty of scheming in him. If only his talent matched his cunning.”

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

After earning his title, Qi Beinan found that one social obligation followed another without pause.

Though he had risen from the provinces and had no relatives or close acquaintances in the capital, which spared him the burden of hosting private banquets, there were still public ones to attend.

Three days later, he went to the Qionglin Banquet, held for the new jinshi and personally attended by the emperor. Qi Beinan served as an attendant at the imperial table and, despite his strong tolerance, ended up quite drunk that night.

Five days after that, he reported to the Ministry of Personnel, was formally assigned to the Hanlin Academy, familiarized himself with his future place of duty, met his colleagues, and received his official robe and cap.

That same day, after morning court, the Grand Academician of Hanlin hosted another banquet, inviting him to join. Though it wasn’t as heavy a drinking affair as the Qionglin Banquet, as a newcomer surrounded by superiors, he couldn’t easily refuse toasts.

Soon, a few other officials extended invitations as well; Qi Beinan carefully selected a couple of them and attended two more gatherings.

By the time the Ministry of Personnel approved his request for home leave, it was already the end of June.

He was granted a month and a half, with instructions to travel swiftly and return on time.

It was common for newly appointed jinshi to be given a long leave after their first posting—once they entered official service, such lengthy absences would be nearly impossible.

The purpose was to allow provincial scholars to return home, settle affairs, and then begin their careers fully focused.

Qi Beinan and Xiao Yuanbao wasted no time. They prepared the carriage and horses at dawn and hurried back to Lin County.

The weather was clear, the roads smooth, and they already knew the route. The return journey took only twelve days.

Upon arrival, they divided their tasks to handle the county’s social obligations.

Qi Beinan went to pay his respects to the magistrate, teachers, and former classmates. Xiao Yuanbao delivered gifts from the capital to families they had long been close with.

In turn, they received a steady stream of return gifts.

Once the county visits were finished, they went back to their manor and stayed a few days.

That night, the family gathered in the main hall to soak their feet, just as in the old days.

Only now, instead of sharing one basin, each had their own.

Qi Beinan spoke with Xiao Hu about his future plans.

“I’ll be serving in the capital for now, and it won’t be easy to change posts. Even if I’m later sent to a provincial office, that wouldn’t be for at least three to five years.

“For that reason, I should start establishing a household in the capital. I want to plant roots there.”

For most officials, there were only two places worth investing in: their home province or the capital.

Qi Beinan’s start was a high one. As a jinshi, he would serve directly in the capital, unlike many of the second- and third-rank jinshi who were immediately sent to regional posts by the Ministry of Personnel.

Those men often spent their entire careers being transferred from one local office to another, never once entering the central government.

Even among those who never managed to serve in the capital, many still bought property there—if not for themselves, then to pave the way for their children and grandchildren.

Qi Beinan, however, was not thinking that far ahead. Translated on Hololo novels. He simply knew that he and Xiao Yuanbao would be living in the capital for some time and would need to settle down properly.

“That’s the right thought,” said Xiao Hu. “It’s not good to have all your property in the countryside. When you need funds, it’s harder to get them quickly. The farm has earned well these past two years. I had Tienan organize the accounts recently—if you hadn’t come back, I was planning to send money to you anyway.”

“I’ve heard from Guangzong that the capital is prosperous but expensive,” he added. “You’ll need some silver on hand. Life might feel tight otherwise, and I don’t want others looking down on you.”

Qi Beinan was warmed by the old man’s thoughtfulness. “We won’t lack for expenses,” he said. “The rewards from my examination are still more than enough to live on for a good while. What I wanted to say, Uncle Xiao, is—would you be willing to come live with us in the capital?”

“The county is far from the city,” he continued. “It’s not like the distance between town and village—news can’t travel in a few hours. We’ll miss you if we’re so far apart.”

Xiao Yuanbao added quickly, “Yes, Father. We came all this way partly for the county visits, but also because we wanted to bring you to the capital with us.”

Xiao Hu looked at him, smiled faintly, and said, “I’m old now, not like when I was young and ready to wander. I once lived my whole life in the mountains, then turned to farming. It took time to get used to that, but now I find it far happier than hunting ever was.

“To give all this up and go live in the capital—spending my days with caged birds? I’m not suited to such a life.”

Qi Beinan had already guessed his answer. The manor and fields could easily run themselves now.

He and Xiao Yuanbao had invited him to the county town before, but he had refused each time—just like the Fang elders, who only agreed to move because of illness.

Xiao Hu, still strong and healthy, had no such excuse.

Xiao Yuanbao said, “Next year, Brother Anan and I will be married. Once we’re busy with official duties, we won’t have much time to come back. The wedding will probably be held in the capital—surely Father won’t miss seeing us married?”

“Of course not,” Xiao Hu replied with a small chuckle. “I’ll come early when the time comes. No need for you two to make the long trip back.”

Xiao Yuanbao pursed his lips but said nothing.

“You’re both grown now,” Xiao Hu said gently. “You can look after yourselves. As long as I know that, I can stay here at the manor without worry.”

Instead of being persuaded, Xiao Hu began persuading Xiao Yuanbao instead. “Now that Beinan has achieved such success, everyone in the village treats me with utmost respect. If I were to go to the capital, I might not enjoy such days again.”

That was, indeed, the truth. In the county and the village, everyone knew him, and everyone knew his son-in-law served as an official in the capital. Even the magistrate gave him due courtesy.

But in the capital, he would not hold the same kind of honor.

Seeing he could not persuade the old man, Qi Beinan softened his tone. “It’s all right not to rush. After all, we haven’t yet settled everything properly in the capital. Once things are in order—perhaps in a couple of years—when there’s a child, then Uncle Xiao won’t be able to refuse to come.”

At that, Xiao Yuanbao’s face flushed red. He gave Qi Beinan a quick glare, thinking they weren’t even married yet, and he was already talking about children.

“Agreed,” said Xiao Hu, laughing aloud. “When there’s a grandchild, I’ll come to the capital and help take care of the little one.”

Xiao Yuanbao thought to himself that his father’s idea of ‘helping’ might be questionable, but he didn’t argue further. That was enough to make everyone happy.

“Then it’s settled,” Qi Beinan said.

Outside, the stars were scattered thick across the sky, and the moon hung round and bright.

The countryside was quiet, filled with the chirring of insects and croaking frogs.

Xiao Yuanbao stood in the courtyard for a while, the night breeze gently cooling his face.

In the past, a few short steps would take him to the village lane to look at summer nights. Now it took a long walk through the larger estate.

The village itself had not changed much. The trees were the same, the fields the same.

Only the saplings had grown taller, and the fields broader and more fertile.

At the entrance to the village stood a new stone stele—raised in honor of the tanhua. It gleamed with pride and respect.

Xiao Yuanbao thought, if life went well for him and Beinan in the capital, his father’s days here would not be bad either. With that thought, his heart settled.

“Aren’t you afraid of mosquito bites? What are you staring at?”

Qi Beinan came out through the main gate and saw Xiao Yuanbao standing under the night sky, lost in thought.

Lamp oil was expensive, and most of the village had long extinguished their lights. Only a few well-off households still glowed faintly with yellow oil lamps, soft against the moonlit night—a quiet warmth.

“Just thinking about childhood,” Xiao Yuanbao said.

“Happy memories or unhappy ones?” Qi Beinan asked.

Xiao Yuanbao turned and smiled. “I can’t really think of anything unhappy enough to still remember.”

Back then, he’d had more cakes and sweets than any other child in the village. There wasn’t a single pastry shop in town he hadn’t tasted, nor a single new snack from the street stalls he hadn’t tried.

He had two new sets of clothes each season—bright silks in spring and summer, and soft, thick cotton in winter.

He owned more than a dozen pairs of shoes, for every season.

Every child in the village had envied him; only the wealthiest farmer’s children lived anything like that.

Granny Fang, the Fang brothers and sisters all doted on him. The village headman always had something sweet in his pocket to give him.

And Jiang Fulang—whatever good thing he found, he always saved some for Xiao Yuanbao: fresh fruits, marinated chicken legs, fragrant duck thighs.

Every country path was dear to his memory now.

The years learning his craft, the days spent with his father and Beinan—when those times returned in dreams, they were wrapped in peace and warmth.

“Talking about it makes me wish I could go back,” he said with a small laugh.

He remembered being so easily content as a child—one piece of cake could make him happy for days.

Now that he was grown, he’d eaten finer things and seen more of the world, but the pure joy of childhood could never quite be regained.

Still, he thought, life now was good too.

Qi Beinan listened as he reminisced, the delight in his tone, the warmth in his eyes, and felt a tide of emotion rise in his chest.

He stepped forward and quietly embraced him. “I’m glad your childhood was so happy.”

Xiao Yuanbao, unaware of the deeper feeling behind the words, simply replied, “I was happy because I had you.”

He hadn’t forgotten the years when Madam Qin had been in the household, nor the occasional hardships that came from it. But those memories were brief—overshadowed by all the peaceful days that followed.

To Qi Beinan, this moment of fulfillment was no less than the triumph of passing the imperial exam.

Ten years of study had forged his success in the examinations, but it had also shaped Xiao Yuanbao’s life—and his own heart.

The next day, they visited Jiang Fulang and shared a meal at Headman Zhao’s house.

When they returned to the capital, it was already August.

Their rented residence awaited them, and the golden osmanthus in the courtyard was in full bloom. As they pushed open the door, a soft fragrance filled the air.

After days of travel, Xiao Yuanbao felt his body nearly falling apart.

Thankfully, they had returned early—five days remained before his leave ended.

They shut themselves in for two full days of rest before their bodies finally felt whole again.

Then they began unpacking the mountain of luggage brought from Lin County—an entire cart’s worth, more than ten chests in all.

Since they planned to settle permanently in the capital, they had brought everything they might need: seasonal clothes, bedding, washbasins, and toiletries. Qi Beinan had even packed part of his library and a few of his own calligraphic works.

Among the things they brought back were foodstuffs from their own estate: fragrant mushrooms they had cultivated, smoked and roasted chicken, duck, fish, cured ham, and mutton.

Such items might not seem valuable, but in the capital, where prices were steep, even these humble foods would cost a great deal to purchase.

Xiao Yuanbao did some quick calculations. Buying that much in the city would easily take several dozen strings of cash, so he chose instead to endure the trouble of transporting them by cart—saving a good sum of money.

Though they still had a decent amount of silver on hand, he knew well that what seemed sufficient here would mean little in the capital.

Settling in a new place and building a life required more expenses than one could imagine.

To begin with, they had no property, no farmland, and no shop in the capital.

Xiao Yuanbao hadn’t yet found time to inquire about the going prices for such holdings, but even the rent for their current small house cost ten strings of cash a month—enough to show how exorbitant it would be to buy a home.

When they had left, Xiao Hu had given them five hundred taels in jiaozhi banknotes. Counting their own savings and the imperial rewards Qi Beinan had received for his success, they had about twelve hundred strings in total.

Such a fortune would make one strut like a peacock back in the county, yet in the capital, it was barely enough to keep one’s tail tucked between the legs.

Their old house in the county had taken much time and care to renovate, piece by piece turning an empty, run-down place into a comfortable home. Unfortunately, they hadn’t enjoyed it for long before having to move again.

“Someday, when we’re old and ready to retire,” Qi Beinan said, “that home will already be well set up. We can return and live there in comfort, without scrambling for lodging in our later years. It won’t have been in vain. For now, we’ll slowly build things up in the capital—something for us, and for the children who come after.”

Xiao Yuanbao smiled. “You’re thinking far ahead—already preparing an inheritance for children who don’t exist yet.”

Qi Beinan sighed softly. “Because they’d be ours, I can’t help but want to plan for them.”

Xiao Yuanbao, a little embarrassed at the mention of children, steered the conversation away. “Even if we don’t have much in the capital right now, at least you have a respectable position.”

Qi Beinan rubbed his nose with a wry look. “Respectable, yes. As a Hanlin compiler, the post is prestigious—but the salary, well… not so glorious. When I collected my robe and cap from the Ministry, I happened to glance at the pay scale. I hadn’t told you yet.”

A seventh-rank official earned seventy-two strings a year—about a hundred with the year-end bonus.

The stipend also included two pigs, a small bit of gold and silver, three bolts of cloth, one cart of charcoal, and two shi of rice.

Xiao Yuanbao counted on his fingers, eyes widening. “That means your monthly pay is barely ten strings?”

Qi Beinan nodded. “The bonus only comes at year’s end. Month to month, it’s six.”

Xiao Yuanbao felt faint. “Then just paying this house’s rent would swallow it whole.”

“Exactly,” Qi Beinan said. “We’re surviving on the emperor’s generous rewards.”

Bitterness filled Xiao Yuanbao’s mouth. He had always imagined being an official meant power and glory—no one had told him how little it actually paid.

He had seen local prefects and education commissioners living comfortably and assumed their salaries were large. Now he realized—those who lived well either had family wealth or found other means.

With such meager pay, how could anyone feed a household?

He finally understood why Qi Beinan had always been so intent on acquiring property and starting small ventures, even after years of exhausting study.

It wasn’t greed—it was foresight.

He admitted to himself that the generous gifts and prizes from the examinations had spoiled him. He had believed that once Qi Beinan became an official, the money would only increase.

“The court rewards its new scholars,” Qi Beinan said evenly, “so that they can establish themselves and not depend on their stipends alone. But those rewards are fleeting. Only the top scholars receive them, and only once or twice in a lifetime.”

“The empire has to support thousands of civil and military officials, and still inspire future scholars by providing stipends. How wealthy would a dynasty need to be to do all that?”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded slowly. He understood, but still felt uneasy.

Merchants, after all, spoke in hundreds and thousands of strings, while even respected officials seemed poor by comparison.

“The pay may be low,” Qi Beinan continued, “but everyone still dreams of office. It must have its compensations.”

Xiao Yuanbao said, “Then I’ll be careful with our spending. We’ll manage.”

Qi Beinan smiled, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Thank you, my dear Yuanbao. I’ll be relying on your thrift.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s ears flushed red, and he jabbed him lightly in protest.

Of the three remaining days of leave, they spent two finding a broker and purchasing two servants—a young maid and a boy, both about twelve or thirteen, for thirty strings of cash.

The girl was called Hongtang, the boy Wenge. They had been born into a wealthy household but were sold after their master’s family fell into ruin.

Both were well-trained and literate—ideal for service.

The older woman who had managed their rented house before was willing to stay on, so Qi Beinan signed her for a three-year contract, letting the previous male servant go.

It wasn’t out of vanity or indulgence. Now that Qi Beinan held an official post, it was unseemly to have guests and colleagues visit without anyone to greet them or pour tea.

After finishing the matter of hiring servants, Luo Tingfeng came to visit their home.

On the first day after returning to the capital, Xiao Yuanbao had already asked Qin Jiang to deliver the gifts from Sister Gui and the Luo family to him. Luo Tingfeng was staying with a relative in the outer city, which was quite a long trip from their place.

Ever since the results had been released, he had been waiting for the Ministry of Personnel to assign his official post. Because of that, he hadn’t gone back to the county with Qi Beinan, and his family had been worrying about him.

The Ministry had been slow to issue appointments, and with no connections to ask for updates, he didn’t dare to inquire on his own. Nor could he leave the capital without permission—if the Ministry summoned him while he was gone, he might lose his position entirely.

Qi Beinan knew such things had happened before: when a new official wasn’t in the capital to receive his post, the Ministry simply replaced him with someone else.

For scholars from small provincial towns like them, with no ties to powerful families, one had to be especially careful and deferential.

Before Qi Beinan returned home for his leave, he had met Jiang Tangyuan in the palace. Jiang had already received his appointment five days after the Chuanlü ceremony: a temporary post at the Hanlin Academy as a Shujishi (probationary scholar). After three years of satisfactory service, he could be promoted to a full compiler.

For a second-rank jinshi, entering the Hanlin Academy was considered an exceptional placement.

Qi Beinan also knew that Jiang’s quick and favorable posting came thanks to generations of official lineage—his family’s background smoothed the way.

Now Luo Tingfeng said, “I came today to bid farewell to Brother Qi.”

Qi Beinan asked, “The Ministry has assigned you a post?”

“Yes,” Luo Tingfeng replied. “County magistrate of Lantian County, under Jinxiang Prefecture.”

Qi Beinan was silent for a moment. Jinxiang Prefecture bordered the capital—close enough—but Lantian was its most remote and least prosperous county.

Given Luo Tingfeng’s examination rank, a prefectural appointment would have been well within reason. Yet the Ministry had placed him at a distant county office.

Still, there was no sense in complaining now. Qi Beinan said, “Jinxiang Prefecture isn’t far from the capital. The trip to court won’t take long. When do you take up the post?”

“I’ll stop by my hometown first,” said Luo Tingfeng, “then head there directly.”

“Well,” Qi Beinan said, “at least the wait is over. Many jinshi are still without posts. Jiang told me some might wait until next year before they’re assigned.”

Luo Tingfeng, however, had no bitterness in his tone. He understood well enough—without influence in the capital, it was difficult to remain. A county posting, though not what he had hoped for, was still a start.

The two talked for some time before Luo Tingfeng finally took his leave.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

The results of the palace examination were released five days later.

The grading was overseen by the Minister of Rites, with over twenty officials from the Grand Secretariat, Hanlin Academy, and other departments assisting in the process at Wenhua Hall.

Each of the 120 examination papers was circulated through every examiner’s hands, each marking it with one of five ranks.

After three days of review, the supervising officials presented the top ten essays to the emperor, who personally read them and determined the final rankings.

The first three were designated as First Class; the fourth through tenth as Second Class.

Once the seals were removed and the names written in, the completed list became the Golden List.

On the fifteenth day of the month, the Golden List was finally posted. In or out—one glance told all.

“Hmm…”

Qi Beinan looked at the board and murmured softly, then turned to Xiao Yuanbao. “Neither surprise nor disappointment,” he said.

Perhaps because Qi Beinan had reassured him over the past few days that his answers were steady and his performance in the palace exam solid, Xiao Yuanbao had come expecting him to pass as a jinshi. With that confidence, he wasn’t nearly as nervous now.

Still, part of him had secretly hoped for more. Given Qi Beinan’s top ranking in the metropolitan exam, it would have been a shame if the palace exam had pushed him back.

But when his eyes fell on the name “Qi Beinan” listed as third in the First Class, all doubts vanished.

At that moment, he exhaled a long-held breath, the tension dissolving into sheer joy.

Whatever the ranking—whether thrilling or not—stability alone was enough to make Xiao Yuanbao’s heart bloom. His eyes sparkled like stars.

He bit his lower lip to hold back his excitement, careful not to draw attention. He remembered well the chaos at the last announcement, when merchants had swarmed the successful candidates, trying to seize eligible scholars for their daughters.

He silently thanked the heavens he had come to the capital, and that he and Qi Beinan had come to see the results together—otherwise, someone might have dragged his “brother” off to a carriage before he could intervene.

This, after all, was not just any list. This was the Golden List of the palace exam, where the names inscribed would soon become newly appointed officials, granted positions by imperial decree—far above the tribute scholars of the earlier rounds.

If people realized the new tanhua was standing right there among them, they might have thrown all propriety aside and carried Qi Beinan off on the spot.

They next checked the names of Jiang Tangyuan and Luo Tingfeng—both had passed.

Jiang Tangyuan ranked twelfth in the Second Class, while Luo Tingfeng was twenty-second.

Compared to Qi Beinan, their results were lesser, but among the vast sea of scholars, still remarkable achievements.

The three congratulated each other politely but didn’t linger long. Such joyous news had to be shared with family and friends, and they would soon need to receive the congratulatory officials. They agreed to meet again after the formalities.

This time, the officials who came to announce the success were extraordinarily warm, their flattery especially effusive.

Qi Beinan, now a First-Class jinshi and tanhua (third in rank), received far grander rewards than during the metropolitan exam.

When Xiao Yuanbao saw the procession of officials carrying boxes and trays—some even balancing large chests tied with red silk on poles—he assumed they were for multiple households. Translated on Hololo novels. Only when everything was brought into their own residence did he realize every piece of it belonged to his brother.

The announcing officer received a heavy pouch of silver and said cheerfully, “I’ve served as a congratulatory officer many times, but rarely have I seen such abundant imperial rewards. Clearly, His Majesty holds the Grand Scholar in high favor.”

Qi Beinan replied, “His Majesty’s boundless grace humbles this student.”

As the official drank his tea, Xiao Yuanbao smiled and asked, “His Majesty must truly cherish scholars. But tell me, do all the newly appointed jinshi receive such lavish rewards? You must be very busy these days.”

The man laughed. “To serve as a messenger of joy is an honor. How could I complain of fatigue?”

Then he added, “But this abundance of gifts, I must say, is for the First-Class jinshi only. Those in the Second and Third Classes receive much less.”

Hearing this, Xiao Yuanbao’s delight grew even stronger.

Qi Beinan knew well Emperor Kaide’s temperament. This year’s First-Class scholars were all young, handsome men—the emperor, pleased with both their talent and appearance, had evidently decided to be generous.

After finishing his tea, the official reminded Qi Beinan to attend the palace ceremony of proclamation the next day, then departed.

Overjoyed, Xiao Yuanbao ran inside to inspect the gifts.

It was his favorite part of the process—unpacking the rewards. Fame and rank were abstract things, distant and intangible. But the imperial gifts—those he could touch, hold, and marvel at.

First came a set of scarlet brocade jinshi robes, complete with a black gauze hat and polished leather boots.

Next, a chest of official documents: the jinshi certificate, admonitory scrolls, and others. Most striking was the new token—engraved with large characters reading “Tanhua,” bordered with fine script recording the examination year.

Xiao Yuanbao admired it; this one was far grander than any he’d seen before.

Then came a dark green case containing a white jade ruyi scepter, two folding fans with jade ribs, and a plum-blossom patterned pouch carved of translucent green jade.

“The emperor seems quite fond of jade,” Xiao Yuanbao remarked.

Qi Beinan smiled. “A gentleman should be like jade.”

He recalled Emperor Kaide once saying the same during a banquet when he’d summoned the handsome Hanlin scholars to accompany him at wine.

Finally, Xiao Yuanbao opened the large chest that had been carried in.

Inside was a full collection of brocades and silks—twelve bolts in all.

Each pattern, each weave was exquisite, flawless in craftsmanship.

He thought every single bolt was exquisite, far finer than any he had ever seen in a fabric shop. Even the delicate Wan Yue gauze, once considered clever and rare, now seemed frivolous beside these superb silks and brocades.

He liked the gifts immensely, but still wondered aloud, “Brother is a jinshi now. It makes sense for the emperor to reward you with brushes, ink, and paper, but why so much fabric?”

Qi Beinan laughed. “To dress in bright robes and ride a fine steed—perhaps that’s what His Majesty believes a good young man should look like.”

Xiao Yuanbao smiled to himself. “The emperor is certainly more thoughtful and understanding than those stiff-necked old scholars.”

Qi Beinan chuckled softly, slipped his arms around Xiao Yuanbao from behind, and asked in a low voice, “Are you happy?”

The brush of his chin against Xiao Yuanbao’s neck tickled; Xiao Yuanbao nodded.

How could he not be happy? His beloved wasn’t just a new jinshi, but the tanhua, third of all in the realm. Few could boast such fortune.

Even in storybooks, such tales of triumph were always the most stirring.

Qi Beinan pressed his chin lightly against Xiao Yuanbao’s soft cheek. “If you’re happy, then I am too.”

“Tomorrow,” he added, “come to the street to see me in the procession.”

“Of course I will,” said Xiao Yuanbao. “I’ve already asked Qin Jiang to reserve a good spot at the Anhua Pavilion and to buy fresh flowers. When you ride by tomorrow, I’ll throw them to you myself.”

It was an old tradition. After the jinshi ceremony at court, the newly ranked scholars would leave the Hall of Supreme Harmony and return home along the main street. Crowds would gather to watch, cheering and celebrating.

When young women saw the elegant, handsome scholars ride by in their crimson robes, they would throw embroidered pouches or handkerchiefs toward them. Over time, this custom became formalized, and the top-ranking jinshi—the zhuangyuan, bangyan, and tanhua—were required to parade once through the inner city streets on horseback.

But as more and more onlookers crowded in, mischief followed. Some resentful men began hiding sharp objects inside the pouches, injuring the scholars.

After that, the court banned the throwing of sachets, allowing only flowers—and only along the section near Anhua Pavilion.

Qi Beinan nodded with a smile. “All right.”

That evening, they sent letters home.

Though the Ministry of Rites would already dispatch official notices to the provincial offices, which would then forward them to the counties, letters from family were still more personal.

The imperial couriers rode swiftly, but even so, by the time Xiao Hu received word that Qi Beinan had passed as a jinshi, it was already June.

Outside the county school, a great red board was posted with the names of those who had passed. The whole city was abuzz—this year, not only had two men from their county become jinshi, one of them had placed third in the empire. Students crowded to read the board, full of admiration and envy.

Zhao Guangzong, Ma Junyi, and other classmates who had once studied alongside Qi Beinan wrote letters to the capital to offer their congratulations.

In the village, Xiao Hu became a man of prestige overnight. Wherever he went, people congratulated him. Even the village elders and local gentry greeted him with deferential smiles.

The newly appointed county magistrate, who had taken office in May, even sent an invitation to have tea with him.

Xiao Hu, unaccustomed to such social attention, politely declined, saying he would visit after the tanhua returned home.

Once a quiet, fearsome hunter, he had suddenly become the pride of the entire county.

His joy was boundless—not merely because of his newfound respect among neighbors, but because the child he had raised had achieved such greatness.

He asked Zhao Guangzong to help him write a long letter to Qi Beinan and Xiao Yuanbao, which he sent through the courier station.

In the city, families who knew the two were also overjoyed. Qin Piaotou, returning from a trade run, beamed with pride when he heard that Qi Beinan had placed tanhua, delighted that his son had long followed a man destined for high office.

Such was the happiness filling Ling County after the news arrived.

Back in the capital—

At dawn on the fifteenth day, before the sky had fully brightened, Qi Beinan rose early.

Today was the chuanlü ceremony at court, when the emperor would personally proclaim the new jinshi. It was a solemn affair—every detail had to be perfect.

He bathed in hot water scented with the fine soap he usually saved, brushed his teeth with the best tooth powder, and dressed carefully.

After drying off, he put on his inner robes, then the jinshi robe that had been hung before the incense burner all night to absorb its fragrance.

He tied his hair, pulled on his boots, and already carried himself with the air of springtime triumph.

When Xiao Yuanbao lifted the bamboo curtain and entered with breakfast, he stopped short, momentarily dazed.

Before him stood the tall figure of the newly appointed jinshi.

Qi Beinan’s frame was straight and sturdy as a pine, and the fine crimson robes fit him perfectly. Neither the man nor the garment diminished the other.

He had always preferred dark, steady colors since boyhood, rarely wearing anything bright. Yet the deep red of the jinshi robe did not clash with him—it lent him an air of brilliance and dignity.

Even without the weight of rank or honor, Qi Beinan’s posture and bearing alone would have been enough to draw every eye. Now, with this robe of status, he was dazzling.

So this, Xiao Yuanbao thought, must be what people meant when they said handsome as the wind, graceful as jade.

Though he had seen that same face for over ten years, today, seeing Qi Beinan like this, his heart still leapt wildly in his chest.

Qi Beinan noticed him standing frozen at the doorway, eyes wide, and stepped forward to take his hand. “Why do you still act shy about coming into my room? We’ve already agreed to marry next year. I wrote to Uncle Xiao about it just yesterday.”

Xiao Yuanbao pressed his lips together. Today was a day of great joy, one of the brightest moments in Qi Beinan’s life, and he didn’t want to be stingy with praise. In a soft voice, he said, “Brother Anan looks… very handsome today.”

At those words, Qi Beinan’s brows lifted slightly. He stopped walking and turned toward Xiao Yuanbao, who seemed a little embarrassed.

Qi Beinan’s lips curved, his chin tilted just slightly upward as he looked at him, and in Xiao Yuanbao’s bright eyes shone open admiration—something tender and unhidden.

No man could resist such a gaze. Qi Beinan’s heart stirred. Without warning, he reached out, lifted Xiao Yuanbao, and set him on the square table before him. The smaller youth was instantly higher than he.

Before Xiao Yuanbao could speak, Qi Beinan asked, “Do you like it?”

Sitting face to face like this, Xiao Yuanbao felt a strange flutter inside him, but when he met those dark, steady eyes, he still nodded softly.

“I want you to say it,” Qi Beinan murmured.

Xiao Yuanbao laughed a little and leaned forward, his voice close to Qi Beinan’s ear. “I like it.”

So near, he could smell the clean scent of fresh bathwater and the faint incense that had clung to the scholar’s robe overnight. He truly liked it—it felt like having a celestial gentleman step out of a story and into his arms.

Qi Beinan’s ear tingled under the warmth of his breath, turning faintly red.

He was not a man of icy restraint. Some doors, once opened, were not easily closed again.

When Xiao Yuanbao drew back, a blush still lingered on his face.

Qi Beinan’s gaze fell upon those pale-pink lips; his eyes darkened, and he leaned forward.

Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes widened slightly. His lips parted, his ears warm and damp, and only then did he realize what Qi Beinan was doing.

From deep within his chest came a trembling that spread outward—no pain, only a strange, ticklish heat that reached every part of him, something he had never felt before.

It tickled, but there was no way to soothe it.

After a long while, Qi Beinan finally released the ear that had flushed a deep red.

“Don’t tease me,” he said hoarsely. “I’m not someone who can endure being teased.”

Xiao Yuanbao blinked at him, feeling wronged. Who was teasing whom, exactly?

He had never so much as read a romantic story between men and ger, his thoughts still simple and unguarded.

He didn’t know how to respond, only thought he must have done something wrong. Instinctively, he covered his ear with one hand, as if hiding the evidence of a guilty secret, pretending nothing had happened—though his heart pounded so loudly it seemed everyone could hear it.

Qi Beinan gently took his hand away, looking at the reddened ear with quiet satisfaction. He even pinched it lightly, as though admiring his own work.

Xiao Yuanbao wished the earth would open beneath him. He wanted to run, but sitting on the table with a mountain of a man before him, there was nowhere to go.

At last he realized why Qi Beinan had lifted him onto the table in the first place.

“You—you should eat your breakfast and go to the palace before you’re late.”

Qi Beinan wrapped his arms around him again. “You’re the one who said you liked me. I only wanted to spend a little more time with you—why drive me away so soon?”

In his embrace, Xiao Yuanbao felt his shyness fade a little. Maybe it was because Qi Beinan had held him like this many times before—this closeness felt safe, familiar.

“I…” He faltered, unsure what to say. After a pause, he murmured, “It just feels… strange.”

“Then you don’t like it?”

Xiao Yuanbao didn’t answer. He didn’t dislike it, but he couldn’t bring himself to say he liked it either. His body’s reaction confused him and left him too shy to admit anything aloud.

“Go eat,” he said softly. “The food’s getting cold.”

His tone carried a faint plea.

Qi Beinan laughed, released him, and tapped his forehead. “All right, all right—whatever you say.”

Soon after, three sharp cracks of the ceremonial whip struck against the marble steps, and grand music swelled through the courtyard. The new jinshi knelt together in reverence.

The herald’s voice rang clear: “In the twenty-seventh year of Kaide, the First Rank is granted jinshi ji di! The Second Rank is granted jinshi chushen! The Third Rank is granted tong jinshi chushen!”

The announcing officials called each name in order, their voices echoing through the plaza.

“First of the First Rank, Lin Qingyu—appointed Compiler of the Hanlin Academy!”

The scholar stepped forward from the ranks, knelt, and received the decree.

“Second of the First Rank, Ren Heng—appointed Editor of the Hanlin Academy!”

Then came Qi Beinan’s turn.

“Third of the First Rank, Qi Beinan—also appointed Editor of the Hanlin Academy!”

Only the top three of the First Rank received titles immediately in court. The Second and Third Ranks would later report to the Ministry of Personnel for assignment.

With so many jinshi each year, dozens of appointments could not be read aloud—the emperor himself would never have the patience for it.

After conferring the honors, Emperor Kaide offered a few words of praise and admonition, and the ceremony neared its end.

The jinshi bowed once more and withdrew. Led by the zhuangyuan, the top three of the First Rank exited through the Meridian Gate along the imperial path, a mark of the emperor’s favor toward scholars.

Outside the palace, the escorting procession was already assembled. Armed guards stood ready, holding the reins of fine, well-trained horses for the new First-Rank scholars to mount and ride through the city in triumph.

The horses, each adorned with a red silk flower on their necks, were led out at once by three officials. Qi Beinan paused slightly, waiting until the zhuangyuan and bangyan had mounted before he swung himself onto his own horse.

The bangyan, Ren Heng, was an easygoing sort. He vaulted onto the saddle in one clean, agile motion—faster even than the zhuangyuan, Lin Qingyu, who seemed less skilled at riding and needed the official’s hand to steady him as he climbed up.

Qi Beinan took in all of this quietly.

He knew these two men already. They had taken the same examination in the past, though he had never grown close to either.

Back then, he had been young and full of ambition, thinking life in the Hanlin Academy too idle and dull, so he had requested a transfer to the provinces for experience. He’d only stayed six months before leaving, and so never built any deep bond with those colleagues.

Still, both men were interesting figures—each destined for a remarkable life—but that was a story for another time.

The procession moved out from the palace, through the gates, and into the city.

The capital, lively on ordinary days, was even more vibrant now with the new jinshi parade passing through.

Mounted on his fine horse, Qi Beinan lifted his gaze to the clear, boundless sky. Below him stretched the crowded streets, throngs of people gazing up in admiration from all directions. Pride rose in his chest, a feeling beyond words.

Even after living life over again, this sense of triumph in springtime glory could still make his heart surge.

“The emperor must be delighted this year! Such fine faces among the new scholars!”

“So much talent, and such looks—what’s rarest of all, the top three are all extraordinary in both appearance and learning!”

From afar, Xiao Yuanbao heard the drums and gongs drawing nearer from the main avenue leading from the palace.

He stood on the fourth floor of Anhua Pavilion, the tallest and grandest building in the area, with a perfect view of the parade route.

Below, the line of more than twenty riders slowly advanced. The moment Qi Beinan came into view, Xiao Yuanbao’s gaze was drawn helplessly toward him.

As the riders approached closer, chatter rippled through the building.

Everyone was marveling at this year’s spectacle—how splendid the parade was, how fortunate they were to witness it.

Since he was already there, Xiao Yuanbao thought he might as well take a proper look at the zhuangyuan and bangyan too.

Indeed, they were both handsome—each in his own way.

But honestly, even if all three men stood side by side without rank or shared history, he knew he would still prefer Qi Beinan.

“Which one do you like best?” one young lady whispered nearby.

“They’re all fine,” her companion replied. “The zhuangyuan is refined, the bangyan elegant, and the tanhua—tall and striking. If I had to choose, I’d favor the tanhua’s bearing. He looks more manly.”

Hearing this, Xiao Yuanbao couldn’t help but smile, the corners of his lips curving up with pride.

Good taste, he thought smugly.

Just as he was feeling pleased with himself, he noticed one of the girls shyly lift her round fan to her face—then boldly tossed a pink peony toward the passing scholars.

Startled but inspired, Xiao Yuanbao quickly grabbed the basket of flowers he had prepared.

When the procession reached the front of Anhua Pavilion, he leaned out carefully, aimed for Qi Beinan, and overturned the basket. A rain of petals fluttered down through the sunlight—beautiful as snowfall.

The watching crowd cheered.

Qi Beinan looked up just in time to see Xiao Yuanbao leaning slightly over the railing. Their eyes met. His lips curved in a subtle smile.

Flustered and delighted, Xiao Yuanbao pulled a single magnolia blossom from his sleeve and tossed it toward him.

From the pavilion, several sharp-eyed young nobles immediately recognized the flower. Their gazes turned toward Xiao Yuanbao, full of judgment and surprise—who would be so bold?

What they saw was a face that was not particularly refined—ordinary, even plain—but gentle, reserved.

“How improper,” one wealthy young man sneered. “Look at his simple clothes. Probably some minor household’s ger. He must be desperate to catch the eye of a jinshi, dreaming of sudden fortune.”

But before the words had fully faded, gasps rose from all around.

The tanhua, without hesitation, had raised his hand and caught the magnolia midair—and even smiled up at the one who’d thrown it.

The street erupted in excitement.

Even the zhuangyuan, Lin Qingyu, and Ren Heng beside him turned to glance.

Ren Heng arched an eyebrow with a teasing grin. “Tanhua, you’re quite the charming man. Catching flowers from admirers—better be ready to take responsibility when they come knocking.”

Qi Beinan tucked the magnolia openly into his sleeve, still smiling. “I wouldn’t dare claim your kind of charm, bangyan. But if a whole room of people saw, then I suppose I must take responsibility for them all.”

The two laughed, saluting him in jest and in congratulations.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

In early May, the results of the metropolitan examination were released. Before the successful candidates could even catch their breath, those who had made the list were required to proceed to the palace examination in midmonth, where they would appear before the emperor himself.

At this time, the examination system had not yet been reformed, so even among the tribute scholars who passed the metropolitan exam, some would still fail the palace exam. Only those who passed the palace examination would officially earn the title of jinshi, allowing the Ministries of Personnel and Rites to assign them government posts.

Years later, however, imperial policy grew more generous toward scholars. The new decree granted jinshi status to all who passed the metropolitan exam, making the palace examination a mere formality—serving only to rearrange rankings rather than determine success or failure.

But prosperity often leads to decline. As the number of degree-holders multiplied, so too did the ranks of idle officials and bureaucrats. Scholars became increasingly common, and thus, less valuable.

In time, many below the jinshi rank found themselves without any official post at all. Even those who held the title had to wait for vacancies. Some passed the exam in their forties and did not receive a position until their hair turned gray; others never did and were forced to seek other livelihoods.

Later, when a new emperor ascended the throne, he dismissed many corrupt or ineffectual officials, reduced bloated ranks, and tightened the quotas for examinations, restoring the rigor of the selection process.

Year by year, the worth of a scholar’s title began to recover.

So it is with life—one’s fortunes rise and fall with the times.
If born under the right star, the world opens its doors; if not, every path is a wall.

In this particular spring examination, one hundred and twenty candidates had passed. Based on past years, around eighty would eventually become jinshi, leaving forty to try again the next year.

Qi Beinan, however, was not worried. He had placed in the top tier of the metropolitan exam. Translated on Hololo novels.
As long as he conducted himself properly in the palace examination—without offense or error—his title as jinshi was nearly assured. The only matter left to shape was his final rank.

When they returned home, less than a stick of incense later, the messengers arrived with drums and gongs to announce the good news.

The ceremony was much like the one for passing the provincial exam.

This time, Xiao Yuanbao handled it with practiced ease. After tossing silver coins to the cheering crowd, he discreetly handed the herald a heavy pouch.

“Please, come inside and rest, have a cup of tea for your trouble,” he said warmly.

The officer, clearly accustomed to such gestures, pocketed the money and replied politely, “Many thanks, but we’ve still more houses to visit.” With that, he led the troupe onward.

Xiao Yuanbao noticed that though the man smiled, it was a thin, formal smile—nothing like the hearty congratulations they’d received back in the county.

The others saw it too, but said nothing. They simply maintained decorum, greeting the well-wishers who came for red packets.

Though the official’s tone was cool, the procession itself was far grander than before—drums, gongs, and a long parade of attendants. Every street they passed through filled with curious onlookers.

In the capital, even among the wealth and splendor, there were plenty of ordinary and poor families; at the sound of the drums, many rushed out hoping to catch a few scattered coins.

After the herald departed, Xiao Yuanbao threw more coins three separate times before finally returning indoors.

“Strange,” Zhao Guangzong muttered once the door closed behind them. “You’d think passing as a tribute scholar would be even more glorious than the provincial exam—but somehow it doesn’t feel that way.”

“Exactly,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “That man took the silver fast enough, but he couldn’t even muster a smile.”

Qi Beinan chuckled. “The heralds of the metropolitan exam only deliver the message—they don’t know the candidate’s rank. When they looked at our doorway and saw no plaque or household insignia, they could tell at a glance we’re just visitors lodging here from the provinces.”

He added, “And since we have no influential relatives in the capital, their attitude is nothing unusual. They weren’t rude—merely reserved. If we took offense over that, it would only make us seem petty.”

Xiao Yuanbao frowned, realizing how complicated the capital’s ways were—how easily warmth turned to calculation.

Qi Beinan soothed them with a smile. “Come now, let’s see what reward the tribute scholars receive.”

At that, the mood brightened again. They opened the red lacquered box trimmed with gold. Inside was a silver token engraved with “Tribute Scholar,” along with the official certificates. The paper itself was finer than that used for the provincial degree, but otherwise there was nothing remarkable.

What surprised them most was the lack of any property grant—only a set of imperial ink, a pair of five-tael gold ingots, and a porcelain vase from the royal kilns.

Xiao Yuanbao shook the empty box. “That’s it?”

Qi Beinan laughed. “Once you reach this level, rewards aren’t about wealth but status. The ink and the vase are imperial gifts—things you can’t simply buy. In a city like this, surrounded by nobles and scholars, that carries more weight than gold or land.”

Xiao Yuanbao blinked. “Then I’ll have to set them on a fine shelf, dust them every day, and make sure they shine.”

Two days later, Zhao Guangzong packed his things and set off for Ling County once more.

Zhao Guangzong hadn’t made the list, and with nothing left for him in the capital, he decided to return home early to deliver the good news of Qi Beinan’s success.

At dawn, Qi Beinan and Xiao Yuanbao accompanied him to the city gate.

Though farewells always carried a trace of melancholy, both felt a quiet gladness too—for now, at last, it was just the two of them.

The morning breeze met their faces, cool and light, refreshing to the spirit.

Qi Beinan looked at Xiao Yuanbao beside him, something stirring in his chest. “No rush to go back,” he said. “Let me take you somewhere.”

He took Xiao Yuanbao’s hand and led him down a narrow lane so tight that not even a cart could pass.

Xiao Yuanbao followed curiously as Qi Beinan guided him through two winding streets.

He found these cramped alleys of the capital oddly charming—so narrow that when they walked side by side, their sleeves brushed together, bringing them close. Suddenly, they emerged from the alley’s end into a grove of ginkgo trees.

A wide street stretched ahead, lined on both sides with tall, thick-trunked ginkgoes rising straight toward the sky.

The new leaves were lush and fan-shaped, overlapping like green scales. The air was filled with their fresh scent.

There were few ginkgoes back in Ling County, and seeing an entire avenue of them amazed Xiao Yuanbao.

He tilted his chin upward, gazing at the verdant canopy glowing under the morning sun, and drew a deep breath.

“I can’t even imagine how this place must look in autumn, when all these leaves turn gold.”

His eyes sparkled as he looked at Qi Beinan.

“There are many tea houses and taverns along this street,” Qi Beinan said. “They all use the ginkgo trees as their draw. Each season brings a new view, so business never wanes.”

“If we’re still here come autumn,” said Xiao Yuanbao, “I’d love to sit in one of those tea houses and watch the golden leaves fall.”

Qi Beinan smiled—he had known Xiao Yuanbao would like this place, just as before.

When he’d lived in the capital, he rarely went out, but when he did, he often came here.

They had once walked this same ginkgo avenue through the four seasons together—seen the buds sprout, the leaves thicken, the fruits form, the leaves fall, and snow blanket the bare branches.

But back then, Xiao Yuanbao’s brows always carried a faint sadness, as if happiness stayed just out of reach. It had made Qi Beinan’s heart ache.

He had even wondered then—perhaps Xiao Yuanbao did not truly love him.

Now, walking this path again, the memory overlapped with the present so vividly that Qi Beinan felt disoriented, unsure which time he was in.

Xiao Yuanbao was glancing around, curious and bright. When no reply came, he turned and found Qi Beinan standing still, watching him with an absent expression.

“Are you worrying about the palace exam?” he asked, stepping closer.

It was strange—Qi Beinan had been the one to suggest this outing, yet now he looked far from cheerful.

Qi Beinan reached out and lightly tapped between Xiao Yuanbao’s brows.

The young man’s eyes were lively and clear—where could sorrow hide in such a face?

Qi Beinan smiled suddenly and shook his head, then took Xiao Yuanbao’s hand.

“I’m not worried about the exam,” he said softly. “I’m just…”

After a moment’s pause, he finished, “Just grateful.”

He drew Xiao Yuanbao into his arms. The real, solid warmth of the embrace steadied the uneasy flutter in his chest.

Xiao Yuanbao blinked up at him. “Grateful for what?”

Grateful—to have you again.

But Qi Beinan didn’t say that aloud. Instead, he smiled faintly. “Grateful for many things. For making the list… and for you being here.”

Then he loosened his hold just enough for Xiao Yuanbao to meet his gaze, still resting one arm lightly around his waist.

“Xiaobao,” he said, “once everything here is settled, once life steadies—”

“When spring comes again and the flowers bloom, let’s get married. Will you?”

Xiao Yuanbao froze, taken aback.

Though the engagement had been set long ago, hearing the word “marriage” spoken aloud felt entirely different.

In truth, his father had sent him to the capital with the very purpose of sounding Qi Beinan out—to see when he intended to wed.

During the journey, Xiao Yuanbao had tried to think of how to bring up the matter delicately, but no phrasing ever felt right.

And once he arrived in the bustling capital, swept up in the joy of Qi Beinan’s success, he’d pushed the matter entirely from his mind.

Now, unexpectedly, Qi Beinan had brought it up first.

Caught unprepared, Xiao Yuanbao’s heart leapt with joy, though he was too shy to show it.

He lowered his gaze, avoiding Qi Beinan’s steady eyes, and gave a small nod.

Then, feeling that seemed too slight an answer, he quickly added, “All right.”

Spring would be warm—perfect for a wedding.

And truthfully, he wanted it too.
He wanted not only to live under the same roof, but to share the same bed.

The thought startled him; his face grew hot all at once.

It wasn’t Qi Beinan’s proposal that embarrassed him—it was his own thought that did.

“But—” he stammered, “but I’ll have to tell Father first. He has to agree.”

Qi Beinan laughed softly. Seeing Xiao Yuanbao’s bashful acceptance filled him with warmth.

For years, all the affection he’d lost with his parents’ deaths, all his hope for love and life itself—he had placed them in this young man he had once been promised to without even seeing his face.

He still remembered clearly the first time he saw Xiao Yuanbao. Even though the young man had not been particularly striking, he had liked him right away.

In his past life, he had also asked Xiao Yuanbao if he was willing to marry him, and Xiao Yuanbao had said yes.

But that “yes” had felt different then. Back then, Xiao Yuanbao had seemed to agree only because he had no better choice.

At that time, Xiao Yuanbao had been timid and reserved, barely daring to look him in the eye or speak more than a few words. Perhaps that agreement had simply been a chance to escape the household controlled by the Qin family.

Now, however, his “yes” came after thought and sincerity. The answer was the same, but the meaning was entirely different.

Qi Beinan was not usually one to overthink, but when it came to Xiao Yuanbao, he couldn’t help it—his calm always faltered.

Like now, when he still found himself asking, “Of course. But… what if Uncle Xiao doesn’t agree?”

“How could he not?” said Xiao Yuanbao. “Father likes you so much. Now that you’re a tribute scholar, he’ll only be prouder of you.”

Qi Beinan teased, “But what if—just what if—he still refuses? What would you do then?”

Xiao Yuanbao blinked. A first-tier tribute scholar, almost certain to become a jinshi, asking such childish questions—it was absurd.

But he’d long grown used to such moments from Qi Beinan. “If Father doesn’t agree,” he said matter-of-factly, “then you’ll just have to make him agree. It’s not me who’s unwilling. Whatever happens, I’m not the sort to run off with you and elope without a proper matchmaker or betrothal gifts.”

Qi Beinan burst out laughing. He pinched Xiao Yuanbao’s cheek—no matter how he pinched, he found it unbearably endearing.

“Our little Bao has grown up. Not so easy to fool anymore.”

Xiao Yuanbao swatted his hand away. His face was no longer the soft, round one of childhood; his features had grown firm, and the pinch was uncomfortable.

He reached out to pinch Qi Beinan’s cheek in return, but before his fingers could touch, Qi Beinan turned his head and brushed his lips against them.

His lips were cool and soft.

The sensation sent a current through Xiao Yuanbao’s finger, running all the way up his spine. His whole body tingled; his ears turned crimson.

Qi Beinan chuckled at the sight of him frozen. “Even that flusters you?”

Xiao Yuanbao’s face was aflame. He turned away quickly, curling his fingers tight, unable to steady his gaze.

It wasn’t that it couldn’t happen—it was just… overwhelming.

The palace examination was held on the sixteenth of May.

Before dawn, Qi Beinan climbed into a rented carriage bound for the palace gates.

The capital was vast, divided into the Imperial City, the Inner City, and the Outer City. Even with clear roads and no traffic, the journey from the outer districts to the palace took nearly the time of two sticks of incense.

But the city was dense with people. Morning court began early, and even before sunrise the streets were alive—shops sweeping their thresholds, vendors preparing their wares. It wasn’t as crowded as midday, but swift passage was impossible.

For those officials living outside the Inner City, commuting to court was daily torment.

Qi Beinan had suffered that once himself—when he’d first come to the capital for the metropolitan exam, lured by cheap lodging in the outer districts.

On the morning of the test, he had nearly lost his wits hurrying to make it on time.

This time, wiser for the experience, he had paid extra to stay near the edge of the Inner City. Even so, reaching the palace still took nearly a stick of incense.

When he arrived at the towering red gates, dozens of tribute scholars were already gathered, waiting.

Luo Tingfeng had come early and was leaning against a carriage, flipping through a book. His eyes barely tracked the words—clearly reading only for distraction.

When he spotted Qi Beinan, he closed the book and greeted him in a low voice.

It was everyone’s first time appearing before the emperor. For provincial candidates like them—who had barely glimpsed high-ranking officials, let alone the Son of Heaven—it was hard not to feel nervous.

Those born in the capital or into bureaucratic families, on the other hand, were chatting and laughing easily.

Qi Beinan offered Luo Tingfeng a few quiet reminders about palace exam etiquette.

Not long after, Jiang Tangyuan arrived late as always.

Barely had he joined them when an official from the Ministry of Rites appeared, register in hand, calling names and ordering them into formation.

The murmuring crowd fell silent at once. Each name called received a crisp reply.

The lineup followed their metropolitan exam rankings: Qi Beinan, being first-tier, stood third in line.

The candidate in second place glanced back at him—impressive bearing, dignified. Then looked toward the first-ranked scholar at the front—graceful and elegant as jade.

His own lips twitched downward. Quietly, he slipped the small mirror he’d been hiding in his sleeve back where it belonged.

When the appointed hour came, the ritual officer recited the rules of entry. Then, with a solemn creak, the vermilion gates opened, and the procession of scholars filed in.

Marble pillars gleamed white as frost; golden roofs dazzled in the dawn light. Though the scholars kept their eyes lowered, the grandeur around them was impossible to ignore.

By the time they reached the Hall of Supreme Harmony, the chill morning air had already turned their backs damp with sweat.

The emperor was seated within, robed in gold and crimson, crowned with jade strings that shimmered faintly as he moved.

Emperor Kaide was in his middle years, a little heavy at the waist but still stately—one could imagine that in youth he had been a striking prince.

The candidates knelt and bowed according to custom. The emperor addressed them briefly, and when the time came, bade them take their seats.

The palace examination, being imperial, had no formal examiners. The emperor himself presided, assisted only by two grand secretaries of the Inner Cabinet, six ministers of the Six Boards, and four censors to supervise.

Unlike the cramped cells of previous exams, this one was held openly within the vast hall—one hundred and twenty desks neatly arranged beneath the soaring ceiling, each scholar seated in full view of the throne.

Around the hall, a dozen court ministers moved among the rows of desks, and even the emperor himself strolled between them, observing how the candidates wrote their essays.

For those sitting the palace examination for the first time, it was sheer torment—cold sweat running down their backs, hearts pounding.
It turned out that being confined in a tiny exam cubicle had been far more comforting than sitting here under the emperor’s gaze.

In those narrow cells, at least one could settle the mind. But here, as they wrote, someone might suddenly stop beside them—perhaps a Grand Secretary, perhaps the emperor himself—standing close enough to feel his shadow. It was enough to make any man’s hand tremble.

The palace examination consisted of a single policy essay, submitted the same day.
The question was personally chosen by the emperor.

When Qi Beinan took the palace exam for the first time, he too had been uneasy. It had taken him nearly a stick of incense to calm his nerves and focus.

In truth, although the emperor set the question, the topic was usually simple and never deliberately obscure.
For candidates who had survived the fierce trials of the provincial and metropolitan exams, it was not truly difficult.

This test measured not knowledge, but composure.
Hence, many who failed the first time would pass the second, and if not, then surely the third.
As the saying went—once unfamiliar, twice routine.

Now, this was Qi Beinan’s second palace examination.
Even setting aside the fact that he had passed on his first try, his years as an official had made him deeply familiar with the system.
He had served as a regional examiner, supervised exams in the Hall of Supreme Harmony itself, and even graded papers.

This time, the exam was almost effortless for him.

Still, he did not dare appear too relaxed. He forced himself to act a little nervous for a quarter hour before finally setting brush to paper, his writing flowing steadily across the page.

Then, a faint scent of dragon musk drifted past.
A flash of imperial yellow brushed the corner of his vision and stopped beside him.
Qi Beinan’s brush paused ever so slightly—but he did not look up. He simply continued writing.

The presence lingered for a long while before moving on.

When they finally handed in their papers and exited the Hall of Supreme Harmony, many of the candidates still looked dazed, as if their souls had been left behind in the hall.

“How was it? Went smoothly?”

Qi Beinan found Luo Tingfeng outside. The crowd was thick, the carriages endless. He didn’t see Jiang Tangyuan anywhere.

Once they had moved to a quieter street, Luo Tingfeng said, “His Majesty’s question was ingenious—benevolent toward scholars.”
Of course, he didn’t dare say outright that the topic had been easy.

“It was only the emperor’s presence,” he added, “that made it hard to concentrate at first.”

Qi Beinan replied, “With your learning, Brother Luo, you surely did the emperor’s grace justice.”

The two shared a knowing smile.

Meanwhile, inside the palace, the emperor himself was in fine spirits.

“Your Majesty’s pleasure shows these tribute scholars have met your expectations,” said the chief eunuch, offering him tea. When the emperor was happy, his servants were too.

“I found the first-tier candidates quite satisfactory,” said the emperor after a sip of Longjing. “Their essays show genuine scholarship. The Ministry of Rites has not sent me mediocrities this year.”

He chuckled again. “And they are all handsome, well-mannered fellows. Talented and pleasing to the eye—what more could one ask?”

Indeed, when he had looked upon the top three candidates, his eyes had brightened again and again.
He had always appreciated scholars who possessed both talent and beauty.

“The third-place one,” he said, “writes a fine hand—elegant strokes, true mastery. Young, too. Rare to see such refinement at that age.”

The eunuch laughed softly, cautious but eager to please. “All three are fine—good essays, good faces, good calligraphy. Still in the prime of youth, not old repeaters like before. Your Majesty, you may well have trouble choosing this year.”

The emperor set down his cup, amused. “Indeed! In past years I’ve worried there wasn’t a single decent face among the top ranks—how could one choose a tanhua like that? But this time, they’re all striking. How is a man to decide?”

Emperor Kaide had been handsome in his youth and prided himself on a keen eye for beauty.

When it came time to select the tanhua—the third-ranked jinshi—he was notoriously particular, refusing to pick a man who was merely learned but plain of face.

After all, when the tanhua rode through the streets in scarlet robes, it was meant to be a sight of grace and elegance.

In his younger days, as a carefree prince, he had once watched such a parade and been captivated by the sight of a tanhua riding high on horseback, radiant as a flower in spring.

Even after ascending the throne, he still enjoyed inviting the new tanhua to his banquets, where music and dance mingled with poetry and laughter.

For a ruler burdened with endless affairs of state, such beauty—whether in a man’s grace or a woman’s charm—was a welcome respite for the heart.

Emperor Kaide was a wise sovereign, but he too had his private tastes and pleasures.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

When May arrived, the gentleness of spring had faded from the capital’s air, replaced by the restless heat of early summer.

The days grew longer, the nights shorter. As dusk deepened, tall buildings lit their lanterns early. By the time the sky turned pale gray at the horizon, the streets and markets were already glowing. From above, the twelve bustling districts shimmered like a river of gold.

The results of the metropolitan exam would be posted on the fifteenth. By tomorrow, the list would hang on the walls outside the examination compound.

Qi Beinan stood in the cool night breeze, hands clasped behind his back. He didn’t know the exact day Xiao Yuanbao had set out, but judging from the timing, he should arrive around the day the results were announced.

He looked out into the deepening night, thinking that perhaps he wouldn’t get to see Xiao Yuanbao before the list was posted.

The air was dry, and though he had drunk several cups of tea, he couldn’t fall asleep. Stepping outside, he noticed that the lamp in Zhao Guangzong’s room was still lit—clearly, he too was too anxious to rest.

Qi Beinan didn’t disturb him. Instead, he left the residence for a walk.

But as soon as he stepped out the gate, a carriage turned into the alley. He stopped instinctively.

These past few days, he had often come out at night to watch the street, glancing at every carriage that passed. Translated on Hololo novels. His reaction now came almost without thought.

The carriage drew nearer, and the young man at the reins, whip in one hand and bridle in the other, was unmistakably Qin Jiang.

Qi Beinan’s heart leapt with joy. He hurried down the steps toward the gate.

“Whoa—”

Seeing him, Qin Jiang brightened. “Langjun!” he called.

Qi Beinan smiled. “At this hour? I told you not to travel at night.”

“The ge’er said the list comes out tomorrow,” Qin Jiang replied. “If we stayed outside the city another night, we’d miss it. So we pressed on and arrived now.”

Qi Beinan went quickly to the carriage, reaching to lift the curtain—but a hand beat him to it, pulling it aside from within.

A yellowish, sallow face appeared before his eyes.

He started. “What’s happened to your face? Are you that worn from the road?”

Xiao Yuanbao couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m not that exhausted. I painted it myself—makes traveling easier this way.”

Qi Beinan exhaled, smiling faintly. “Always full of tricks, you.”

Then he reached out and took Xiao Yuanbao’s hand. It had been nearly two months since they’d last seen each other, and his heart was full.

Xiao Yuanbao was about to step down, but Qi Beinan, still holding his arm, slid an arm around his waist and lifted him down from the carriage.

Early summer in the capital was warm, and Qi Beinan’s clothes were thin. Under Xiao Yuanbao’s palm, pressed against his chest, he could feel the firm, taut muscle beneath the fabric—so unlike his own soft skin.

A tremor ran through him; his fingers curled slightly, and the tips of his ears turned red.

“You’ve lost weight.”

Qi Beinan’s hand gave a light squeeze at his waist as he said it.

“It’s only that I’ve shed the winter fat,” Xiao Yuanbao replied quickly. “My figure’s the same as before.”

Qi Beinan smiled. “You’ve always preferred being a little leaner. Then this suits you.”

He called for the newly hired housekeeper and the gatekeeper to bring the luggage in, then told Qin Jiang to rest—after three long trips, the man had earned it.

Xiao Yuanbao went inside, washed his face, and stopped by Zhao Guangzong’s room to greet him. They exchanged only a few words; Zhao Guangzong could tell how tired he was and didn’t keep him long.

Back in his own room, Xiao Yuanbao dropped onto a stool, too weary to move another step.

It was his first time traveling such a long distance, and the novelty had worn off quickly—he realized just how tiring it was. Days spent cramped in a carriage had left his calves sore and swollen, his feet puffy. Sleep in the inns along the way had been light and restless.

He was rubbing his aching legs when Qi Beinan entered, carrying a food box. Behind him, the housekeeper followed in with a large bucket of steaming water.

“Eat a little,” Qi Beinan said. “You probably haven’t had a proper meal for days.”

When Xiao Yuanbao lifted the lid, a wave of fragrance filled the room—spicy stir-fried rabbit, tofu soup with greens, a dish of pickles, and a bowl of polished white rice.

The rich aroma made his stomach tighten with sudden hunger.

“Just bought it fresh from a nearby tavern,” Qi Beinan said. “Eat it while it’s hot.”

Xiao Yuanbao picked up his chopsticks and began eating heartily.

“This tavern’s food is delicious,” he said between bites. “The rabbit isn’t the least bit gamey, and it’s perfectly seasoned.”

“Good, eat more if you like it. Guangzong and I have been ordering from this place while we’ve been here—it’s small, but the cooking’s homey.”

“The capital is wonderful,” Xiao Yuanbao said in surprise. “Even this late at night, you can still get hot food.”

Qi Beinan chuckled. “That’s the capital for you—so many people, so much competition. Until the curfew, you can buy almost anything.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes sparkled. From the hills outside the city, he had already seen the sea of lights; now, walking through it, he felt as if time itself had stopped. Even at midnight, the streets teemed with people—like a festival night back home.

He looked around the street—shops lined both sides, spotless and orderly, selling every imaginable thing.

The alleys wound and branched like a maze; buildings rose tall and elegant, packed tightly together in neat rows.

The streets were broad, and fine horses and carriages passed by one after another, dazzling the eyes.

It was truly a city of wealth and splendor.

“If you like it, I’ll take you out to see it properly when there’s time,” Qi Beinan said.

He fetched a basin, poured in the freshly delivered hot water, and added a handful of rose salt.

Crouching beside Xiao Yuanbao, he said, “Soak your feet a bit—you’ll feel much better.”

Xiao Yuanbao was about to put down his chopsticks, but Qi Beinan stopped him. “You just eat.”

He gently lifted Xiao Yuanbao’s foot, removing his shoes and socks.

The feet, already slender and pale, were now swollen from the long journey, the skin stretched tight.

Qi Beinan’s heart ached at the sight.

“I can do it myself,” Xiao Yuanbao murmured, face reddening, trying to pull his feet back. But a large hand caught his ankle firmly, keeping it still.

“Don’t move, or you’ll kick the basin over.”

After testing the water temperature, Qi Beinan lowered the foot into the basin. The water was just hot enough to reach the calves.

Xiao Yuanbao took a long breath—the warmth was blissfully soothing.

Seeing his eyes relax, Qi Beinan wiped his hands and let him soak quietly.

When the meal was done, Xiao Yuanbao leaned back in his chair, half-dozing. The inns along the road had basins too, but none of them had felt this comfortable. It was true—nothing was as restful as being home.

When Qi Beinan saw the water cooling, he came over, dried Xiao Yuanbao’s feet with a towel, and said, “You’re not used to sitting in a carriage that long. Your legs and feet are swollen—I’ll massage them.”

Before Xiao Yuanbao could protest, Qi Beinan lifted him easily and set him down on the soft couch.

Xiao Yuanbao knelt upright at once. “You write with those hands—how can you do such work?”

Qi Beinan sat beside him. “Hands don’t know what’s proper or not proper. If a man who hauls dung can still hold chopsticks, why can’t I do this?”

Xiao Yuanbao pressed his lips together, unable to answer.

“I’m not an outsider,” Qi Beinan said gently. “Why be afraid?”

He looked into Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes. “You don’t want your husband to massage your feet?”

At the word husband, something fluttered softly through Xiao Yuanbao’s chest, like a feather brushing the heart. His ears burned hot.

After a moment’s hesitation, he sat properly and stretched out his feet.

Qi Beinan smiled faintly, took the warm, flushed foot into his hands, and drew him closer.

Xiao Yuanbao’s skin was fair, his calves smooth and slender, his ankles fine enough for one hand to encircle completely.

He wasn’t thin, though—there was a gentle softness to him, a kind of living warmth that made him all the more endearing.

Qi Beinan’s thumb pressed into the tender sole; the skin yielded under his touch like dough.

He kneaded slowly, eyes half-shadowed, suppressing the stir of long-contained desire.

When his hands moved to the tight calf muscle, a shiver ran through Xiao Yuanbao—half from comfort, half from the heat of Qi Beinan’s palms, warmer even than the water.

He looked at the man before him—brows dark as ink, eyes bright as stars, his face so fine it could have been painted by a master’s hand.

With such a face bent over him, focused only on massaging his feet, Xiao Yuanbao’s heart fluttered wildly. Embarrassment tangled with a quiet, secret joy.

When Qi Beinan finally left the room, Xiao Yuanbao felt light and relaxed all over.

His body loose, drowsiness soon followed.

He stretched, about to blow out the candle.

As he neared the window, the red candle crackled, sending up a spark like a tiny firework in the winter night.

His eyes brightened—when a candle pops, it’s a sign of good luck. Tomorrow would surely bring fortune.

Outside, he heard a servant say softly, “Langjun, let me take care of this. I’ll pour the water out.”

Qi Beinan’s voice answered, low, “Bring some fresh water to my room—not too hot.”

Hearing that, Xiao Yuanbao’s ears perked in confusion.

He had clearly smelled the faint scent of soap on Qi Beinan earlier—surely he’d already bathed. Why take another? Was it because he’d sweated while massaging him?

The thought made Xiao Yuanbao feel a twinge of guilt. Had he known, he’d have told him to stop sooner.

The next morning, at dawn, Qi Beinan, Xiao Yuanbao, and Zhao Guangzong rose early and dressed to go see the exam results posted outside the compound.

Qi Beinan had planned to let Xiao Yuanbao sleep longer after his long journey, but surprisingly, he woke even earlier—bright and alert.

It was a big day; he couldn’t have stayed asleep even if he tried.

The results would be posted at mid-morning, so by early hour they were already on their way.

Whenever the examination lists came out, the crowd was always immense—it was best to go early and claim a good spot.

“Bao-ge’er, keep an eye on Anan,” Zhao Guangzong teased. “I hear the people of the capital are quite bold—there’s a custom of catching a husband right under the list.”

“Anan looks too good for his own good. If he ranks high, someone might try to drag him home as a son-in-law.”

He laughed. “These past days wandering the city, I’ve seen all kinds of antics—martial contests for marriage, embroidered balls tossed to choose a groom…”

“The young lady stood on a high balcony, veiled and dressed in bright red—she was impossible to miss. I thought it looked amusing, so I stopped to watch. Turns out she had a good aim—the embroidered ball flew straight toward Anan’s side.”

Xiao Yuanbao widened his eyes. “There really are such things as embroidered-ball matches? I thought that was just something storytellers made up.”

“It’s real,” Zhao Guangzong said. “First time I’d ever seen it myself—quite the spectacle. They say the girl’s from a wealthy merchant family here in the capital. Built a special tower just to toss the ball. Extravagant doesn’t even begin to cover it. The capital truly lives up to its name.”

Xiao Yuanbao couldn’t help glancing at Qi Beinan and asked quietly, “Did you catch it, then?”

Qi Beinan replied, “Don’t listen to his nonsense. I wasn’t even standing within the marked area.”

“Besides, I’m already betrothed—why would I join in? It would’ve been misleading. The ball was meant for a handsome young man standing just in front of me.”

Hearing Qi Beinan openly mention his engagement, even in front of Zhao Guangzong, made Xiao Yuanbao’s heart fill with quiet delight.

He smiled and teased, “Ah, I see now. It was Third Brother Zhao who wanted to catch the ball, but he didn’t dare go alone, so he dragged my brother along.”

“I had no such thought!” Zhao Guangzong protested at once, then shook his head with a laugh. “You two really are inseparable—no one could ever come between you.”

Qi Beinan smiled faintly and, without drawing attention, took Xiao Yuanbao’s hand.

By the time the three of them reached the examination compound, there was still a stick of incense’s time before the list would be posted—but the street was already jammed with carriages and people shoulder to shoulder.

It was fortunate they hadn’t come by carriage; otherwise, they’d never have found a place to stop.

Ahead, four guards were roping off the notice board to keep the crowd from pressing too close. This rule hadn’t always existed—it came about years ago when a man who failed the exam went mad and tore the list to shreds, ruining it for everyone else. Since then, guards had been assigned each year to prevent such chaos.

They squeezed their way forward, waiting for the announcement.

Before long, the Ministry official arrived with the red list, earlier than expected.

Xiao Yuanbao saw the curled red paper in his hands and felt his heart pound so hard it hurt. His whole body tensed.

Qi Beinan squeezed his hand lightly and murmured by his ear, “Don’t be nervous.”

Xiao Yuanbao turned to him and only then noticed his palms were sweating. He tried to pull away, but Qi Beinan held on.

Their wide sleeves hid their joined hands from view, and in the crowd, no one noticed. Qi Beinan leaned close and said softly, “So a bit of sweat—what of it?”

Xiao Yuanbao bit his lip, about to answer, when suddenly two men pushed through the crowd, knocking him straight against Qi Beinan.

Qi Beinan reacted quickly, catching him and shielding him in his arms.

“The list is up!”

The herald’s shout rang out, and the guards swiftly pasted the red paper onto the wall.

The crowd surged forward in excitement.

Before the list had even been fully smoothed out, the top few names were already visible.

Xiao Yuanbao’s breath caught. His fingers clutched tightly at Qi Beinan’s sleeve.

He looked dazed, turned his head toward Qi Beinan, and whispered, “There wouldn’t happen to be someone else with the same name, would there?”

Qi Beinan chuckled. “Not impossible. Check the name’s county of origin to be sure.”

Xiao Yuanbao leaned forward to read more carefully.

Spring Examination Results — Names of Successful Candidates.

First Class, Third Rank: Qi Beinan, of Ling County, Lin Prefecture.

The surge of joy left him dizzy, but in that very dizziness, he felt strangely calm.

Perhaps after years of seeing others’ names on lists, he had learned steadiness. Neither he nor Qi Beinan shouted or cheered—but the pressure of their joined hands tightened unmistakably.

Only they could truly feel the rush of emotion coursing between them.

They silently read through the rest of the list from top to bottom.

There was Jiang Tangyuan’s name, and Luo Tingfeng’s—but Zhao Guangzong’s was nowhere to be found.

Even after three careful passes, it remained absent. All three of them understood.

For Ling County to produce two successful scholars in a single national examination was already extraordinary.

Qi Beinan patted Zhao Guangzong’s shoulder. “There will be other chances. You’ve come far already—don’t lose heart.”

“I know,” Zhao said. “Few ever pass on their first attempt. I only just made the lower ranks last time; I knew I wasn’t ready for this level yet.”

He looked wistful for a moment, but the feeling faded quickly as he turned to smile at Qi Beinan.

“If I had passed now, I’d probably have felt unsteady—like standing on clouds without firm ground beneath me. I’d rather take my time and do it right.”

Qi Beinan nodded. “That’s the right mindset. Calmness matters more than results.”

Zhao laughed and clasped his hands in mock formality. “Anan, congratulations.”

Qi Beinan smiled. “Then I’ll accept your good wishes.”

A voice in the crowd called out, “That gentleman’s name is on the list! May we know your honorable name?”

As soon as the words left the man’s mouth, two sharp-eyed merchants pushed their way through the crowd and surrounded Qi Beinan with eager smiles.

“This gentleman has both talent and looks—what a rare young scholar.”

“My little daughter is just sixteen, fair and well-mannered. Looking at you two, I daresay you’d make a fine couple.”

Xiao Yuanbao froze. He had thought Zhao Guangzong’s earlier remark about “catching a husband” was just teasing, but it turned out the merchants truly did linger here waiting to offer their daughters to new scholars.

He felt relieved that he hadn’t cried out in excitement just now.

Qi Beinan, calm as ever, raised his still-joined hands before the merchants and said evenly, “I thank you for your kindness, but I am already betrothed—my heart as steadfast as stone.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s cheeks flushed when he felt the merchants’ gazes shift toward him.

Feigning composure, he straightened his back and said, “You both have fine taste, same as mine. It’s only unfortunate that I got there first.”

The two merchants could only smile awkwardly and back away.

After reading the list, the three were about to leave the crowd when they ran into Luo Tingfeng.

For once, the studious man wasn’t clutching a book, and his face shone with open joy. They exchanged a few words and congratulations before parting.

Just as they squeezed their way free of the crowd, a carriage pulled up. From it descended Jiang Tangyuan, holding a perfumed handkerchief to his nose, arriving late as usual.

Qi Beinan wasn’t surprised—Jiang Tangyuan had always been like this, even back in the academy days, perpetually tardy.

“Well then,” Jiang Tangyuan said, glancing from Qi Beinan to Zhao Guangzong, “how did you both fare?”

His gaze lingered briefly on Qi Beinan, then moved to Zhao Guangzong—and finally returned to Qi Beinan, noting the unfamiliar young man at his side. Curiosity flickered in his eyes.

“Your name’s on the list—twelfth place,” Qi Beinan told him first, so he wouldn’t grow anxious. Then added, “As for me, I was fortunate enough to place third.”

Zhao Guangzong congratulated Jiang Tangyuan, laughing. “Looks like I’ll need to spend a few more years in study yet.”

Jiang Tangyuan barely had time to rejoice for himself before turning to Zhao Guangzong, bowing politely. “There’s still plenty of time. This was my second metropolitan exam. You’re talented—don’t let it discourage you.”

“I’m fine,” Zhao Guangzong said. “Failing doesn’t sting so much now. If anything, it’s lit a fire under me. Coming to the capital wasn’t for nothing.”

Seeing how easily Zhao Guangzong took it, Jiang Tangyuan’s respect for him grew.

“Then this must be the fiancé Qi mentioned so often.”

Turning toward Xiao Yuanbao, Jiang Tangyuan smiled. “Qi, aren’t you going to introduce us properly?”

Qi Beinan chuckled and made the introductions. “This is Jiang Tangyuan. By coincidence, his family’s estate includes our village lands. His father once served as county magistrate.”

Xiao Yuanbao was slightly surprised and bowed courteously.

Jiang Tangyuan said, “I’ve heard much about you along the way. Even before meeting, I already had the pleasure of tasting your cooking. Now that I’ve seen you, I see Qi wasn’t exaggerating—skilled hands and a refined spirit indeed. No wonder he thinks of you constantly.”

Xiao Yuanbao, embarrassed yet polite, replied, “I hardly deserve such praise. It’s kind enough that you don’t find my simple cooking coarse. I should be the one thanking you for looking after my brother during the journey.”

Just then, another carriage came up behind them and stopped. From it stepped Jiang Tangtuan. He had come with Jiang Tangyuan to see the results, but the crowds had delayed his carriage.

Now arriving, he saw Jiang Tangyuan speaking with Qi Beinan and a young man he didn’t recognize, while Zhao Guangzong stood beside them smiling.

Perhaps sensing his glance, Zhao Guangzong looked back; their eyes met briefly before both turned away.

“Ah-Tuan, I passed!” Jiang Tangyuan called, hurrying over to pull him closer. “And Qi Beinan placed third! Only poor Guangzong shared my fate from last time.”

Jiang Tangtuan greeted them with a courteous bow.

“Victory and defeat come and go—examinations are no different. Zhao Langjun is a diligent man. A setback now only means a greater success later.”

Zhao Guangzong returned the bow. “Thank you, Young Master Jiang, for your kind words.”

Jiang Tangtuan smiled faintly, then turned to Qi Beinan to offer his congratulations as well.

Qi Beinan took the chance to introduce Xiao Yuanbao to him too.

He was glad for it—years ago, Xiao Yuanbao had only a handful of acquaintances among the gentry, and Jiang Tangtuan had been one of them.

They used to exchange letters; when Xiao Yuanbao’s literacy was still limited, many of those letters had been written by someone else on his behalf, but the friendship had been genuine and deep.

Now, meeting again under such circumstances, there was every reason to hope that bond could be renewed.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

On the third day of the fourth month, Qi Beinan sent Qin Jiang back to Ling County to fetch Xiao Yuanbao.

Six days later, before dawn, Qi Beinan and Zhao Guangzong entered the examination compound together.

The gates shut, and the spring examinations officially began.

That same morning in Ling County, Xiao Yuanbao also rose early. He had arranged with Bai Qiaogui to go to the temple and offer incense.

The weather was bright and clear. Along the main road, trees had sprouted fresh green buds, and peach and plum blossoms bloomed side by side.

The breeze carried the tender scent of spring. Sitting at the back of the ox cart with Bai Qiaogui, Xiao Yuanbao found the cool wind wonderfully pleasant.

With the fine weather, many wealthy townsfolk were out enjoying spring outings. In the fields, villagers were busy sowing seeds and planting beans, their laughter and chatter filling the air.

“After we finish at the temple, shall we stop by my family’s estate for a bit before heading back?” Xiao Yuanbao asked.

“Gladly! I’ve never been to your village before,” Bai Qiaogui said with a grin. She truly looked forward to it.

Xiao Yuanbao was pleased. The estate had been renovated late last year, expanding the pens for livestock and poultry, and even adding a new mushroom shed. It was larger and livelier now—better managed than most farms.

They chatted idly as they arrived at the temple, which was even more bustling than the road outside.

The courtyard was filled with people; incense smoke curled thickly into the air, and the offering burners were packed full.

Together, they lit their sticks of incense, bowed before the Bodhisattva, and donated some coins for temple upkeep.

A young monk, seeing that Xiao Yuanbao’s offering was generous, urged him to draw a fortune slip.

Xiao Yuanbao thought to himself that a good fortune would be well enough, but a bad one might unsettle his mind, so he politely declined.

When they stepped out of the hall, it was still early. The wild cherry trees in the temple yard were in full bloom, so the two wandered beneath them.

White petals lay scattered across the blue stone path, like unmelted snow—a sight too beautiful to look away from.

They walked and walked until, without realizing it, they had reached a quieter part of the grounds.

Xiao Yuanbao glanced around. Though the scenery was fine, the place was deserted. Remembering the stories Qi Beinan had told him about thieves lurking in such spots, he felt uneasy.

He was about to suggest heading back when voices drifted from behind a cluster of rocks.

“You came here to meet me—does he know?”

“How could I let him know? With that temperament of his—so blunt, so stiff—and that figure of his, so far from yours…”

The voices were oddly familiar, but Xiao Yuanbao couldn’t place them.

And the words—ambiguous, suggestive—piqued his curiosity despite himself.

Though eavesdropping wasn’t right, such a conversation was impossible not to overhear.

He crept closer on silent feet and peered around the rock. Beneath a wild cherry tree stood a man and a woman meeting in secret.

They made a handsome pair, so striking together that Xiao Yuanbao froze in shock.

If not for his composure, he might have cried out loud.

“The way you speak of him—how shameless!”

The woman in pink scolded, though her tone was sweet with delight, as though she enjoyed hearing it.

“He’s been fasting for days because of you,” said the young man with a wry smile. “He’s much thinner now. If you saw what he used to look like, you’d probably have nightmares.”

“No matter how much he fasts,” she teased, “it won’t change his face. I just wonder how, under one roof, some people are blessed with such beauty while others are so coarse.”

“You’re good at flattering me,” she added, her smile playful. “But you’re still engaged to him, aren’t you?”

The young man sighed dramatically. “That engagement was my elders’ doing. I’d never loved anyone before, so I let them arrange it. How was I to know that, just as the match was being settled, I’d meet the person who truly moved me? Heaven must be mocking me.”

The girl laughed softly. “And between me and him—whom would you choose?”

“That’s hardly a question,” the young man said at once. “Anyone with eyes would choose you. But I’ll say it again, so you know my heart—I only have you in it.”

“You don’t mind that I’m born of a concubine?”

“Legitimate or not—those distinctions belong to official families who love to rank their own kin. We’re merchants. We don’t live by such rules. I don’t care about anyone else’s opinions; I care about you.”

The girl was overjoyed, her lips curved in a radiant smile. Her body swayed softly as she leaned into the young man’s embrace.

Just then, a gust of wind swept by Xiao Yuanbao, and he realized Bai Qiaogui had quietly followed him.

Her expression darkened as she watched the scene. When the two lovers wrapped themselves in each other’s arms, she could stand it no longer and moved to rush out from behind the rock.

Startled, Xiao Yuanbao grabbed her just in time.

His years of wielding heavy pots and ladles had made his grip strong—strong enough to pull her back before she exposed them both.

The couple under the tree, still lost in affection, hadn’t noticed a thing.

The young man sighed, voice full of feeling. “Though I love you with all my heart and wish I could marry you this instant, my family would beat me half to death and make me kneel at the ancestral hall for three days and nights. I don’t fear punishment—but I’d hate to see you suffer for it.”

The young woman saw the sorrow clouding the young man’s face and felt her heart ache.

“What do you mean by that?” she asked softly.

“I hold you dear,” he said, his voice low. “So I won’t hide the truth from you. The Ming family’s moon-silk business has done too well—it’s nearly cut off the Mu family’s trade route. This marriage they’re arranging between me and Ming Guanxin is to join the two houses, to secure access to the moon-silk supply so both families can profit.”

His tone grew bitter. “But if I go against Uncle Ming’s original wishes—if I refuse the match—even if he’s still willing to marry you to me, how could he ever share his silk routes with the Mu family again?”

The girl’s heart filled with pity and love. She couldn’t bear to see her beloved troubled.

She said earnestly, “Don’t worry. I’ll find a way. I’ll get the Ming family’s silk supply for you myself—and give it to you as part of my dowry.”

“Yutang, you treat me too well,” he said, his eyes full of false tenderness. “I don’t even know how to thank you. I can only repay you by being good to you for the rest of my life.”

…

“What did you stop me for?” Bai Qiaogui burst out once they had left the secluded grove. “I should’ve gone up there and clawed those two shameless faces!”

She was fuming, and though Xiao Yuanbao had dragged her back to the busier part of the temple grounds, her anger only grew hotter, like a string of firecrackers ready to burst.

She had gone to the Ming household with Xiao Yuanbao before and knew about the engagement between the Ming and Mu families. Translated on Hololo novels. Back then, she had been happy—she’d drunk wine with Ming Guanxin, talking and laughing about his future marriage.

And now, in just a few short days, this.

Her stomach churned like she’d swallowed a fly.

Xiao Yuanbao said, “Even if you’d rushed out, could you really have fought them? Storming in like that and alarming them might not have been wise.”

He himself felt unsettled. He had met Ming Yutang before—he knew her temperament. So in truth, her actions didn’t surprise him much. What he hadn’t expected was that the Mu family’s young master was just as base.

That pretty face of his, all charming smiles like peach blossoms in April—it had fooled everyone, hiding the filth beneath.

And poor Guanxin, who had truly liked him, fasting and dieting just to please him—his sincere heart given to someone utterly unworthy.

No wonder his brother always said never to judge by appearances. He’d never really listened before, thinking Qi Beinan was being pedantic. But today, he’d learned the lesson the hard way.

They simply hadn’t met enough people to understand how tangled and ugly hearts could be.

“We have to tell Guanxin,” Bai Qiaogui said, her voice shaking with fury. “He can’t be left in the dark while they make a fool of him.”

Xiao Yuanbao sighed. “We’ll tell him, yes. But how he chooses to handle it—it’s his family’s affair, not ours. We can’t interfere too much.”

He was right. They only knew of the Ming–Mu match because they were close to Guanxin. This matter couldn’t be spread around.

Bai Qiaogui nodded quickly in agreement.

Neither of them was in the mood to visit the estate anymore. They went straight back to the county town and, that very afternoon, met with Ming Guanxin.

When he heard what they had seen, he froze for a long while before his expression hardened.

Of course he believed them—neither would ever make up such a lie. And as for Ming Yutang… that little vixen had always loved to steal his things and compete with him.

In the past it had been trivial—clothes, trinkets—but now that a handsome young man wanted to marry him instead of her, how could she not grow spiteful?

Regardless of who had seduced whom, the two were equally shameless.

Rage and humiliation surged up all at once.

“Fine! Wonderful!” Ming Guanxin spat, his chest heaving violently. He looked ready to smash everything in the room.

“What a fine pair of filthy wretches!”

Bai Qiaogui had never seen him so angry. When she noticed his gaze fall on a porcelain moon vase on the table, she hurried over to grab it. “Don’t you dare break anything!”

“I won’t!” he said coldly. “Not worth ruining my own things over two disgusting worms.”

He poured himself a full cup of cold tea and drank it down in one gulp. “If I make a scene, it’ll spread to my parents. Without proof, Ming Yutang will just deny everything—and then I’ll be the one scolded. I’m not giving her that satisfaction.”

He had grown up in a merchant household, well-schooled in how to survive under one roof full of rivals. He’d learned young that losing his temper only handed the enemy a victory. To do so now would mean he’d learned nothing—and that, he couldn’t bear.

Bai Qiaogui exhaled in relief. “You’re the sensible one. That Mu boy never deserved you anyway.”

“Thank you both for telling me,” Ming Guanxin said, voice steadier now. “Otherwise, I’d still be letting those two deceive and humiliate me.”

Xiao Yuanbao had worried the news might wound his pride, but silence would have been worse. So he spoke gently: “The marriage isn’t settled yet. It’s better to see the Mu family’s true nature now than after everything’s official. Don’t be too angry—they aren’t worth it.”

“I know,” Ming Guanxin said, though his tone was tight. “And I won’t let them get what they want.”

Xiao Yuanbao and Bai Qiaogui stayed with him for a while, offering comfort until he seemed calmer, then finally left.

Ming Guanxin saw them out with a composed face, calm as still water. But once he returned to his garden and the door closed behind him, all that self-control shattered in an instant.

Before the door even shut behind him, Ming Guanxin could no longer hold back. He covered his face and broke down, sobbing bitterly.

He wept for the first love that had ended before it ever truly began, and he wept for the humiliation of being betrayed so cruelly behind his back.

For three days, he shut himself inside his courtyard, refusing to go out or eat. He felt dazed and hollow, his body weak and his spirit dull.

One day, Ma Junyi came to the house, stopping by his garden hoping for something good to eat.

“What’s going on? You’ve lost so much weight! Are you ill?”

Ming Guanxin looked at him wearily. “There’s nothing good here today for cousin to eat.”

“Look at you, pale as a ghost. You think I’m so heartless I’d still care about food right now?”

Ma Junyi studied him, stunned by how thin he’d become—he almost thought he’d entered the wrong courtyard. “What happened to you? You look completely worn out.”

“Just some trivial family matters,” Ming Guanxin said, unwilling to explain further. Then, changing the subject, he asked, “But how is it you’re out and about today? You’ve been locked away studying ever since you failed the exam. Now that the spring session’s begun, you’ve decided to let it go?”

“That wasn’t such a big deal,” Ma Junyi replied easily. “I’ll just take the exam again in a few years. My grandfather says the family can afford it—even if I spend my life taking the exams, it won’t be a problem. My father already thinks I’m a hopeless case, so why rush to please him? I used to torment myself over it, but once I stopped, I realized it’s not worth the misery.”

He looked at Ming Guanxin. “I’m being honest with you—so tell me what’s really going on.”

Ming Guanxin’s own family didn’t even know the truth. How could he bring himself to tell Ma Junyi?

When he stayed silent, Ma Junyi frowned. “You’ve always been so straightforward. Seeing you like this… don’t tell me it’s your engagement that’s gone wrong?”

The words hit home. Ming Guanxin’s chest tightened. After a pause, he said quietly, “There’s no harm in telling you.”

“I heard from Grandfather it was with that handsome young man from the Mu family,” said Ma Junyi. “What—did he mistreat you? Tell me and I’ll go straighten him out.”

“Don’t mention him.” Ming Guanxin’s tone grew bitter. “The whole matter is ugly, and I’ve no wish to talk about it.”

He glanced at Ma Junyi, who looked refreshed and lively, his face bright and full of color—a far cry from the gloomy scholar he’d been during the New Year. Then he thought of himself now, listless and sunken, looking exactly like what he had once mocked in others.

“I shouldn’t have said those things to you before,” Ming Guanxin murmured. “When a man’s down, nothing gets through to him anyway.”

Ma Junyi was surprised to see him admit fault, a rare thing. “What on earth happened to make you reflect like this?”

But Ming Guanxin’s face shifted again. Tilting his chin upward, he said, “I show you some sympathy, and you start mocking me for it.”

“I’m not mocking you,” Ma Junyi said quickly. “I’m worried about you.”

Ming Guanxin stared at him a moment, then said quietly, “What if I told you it was Ming Yutang who deceived me—what would you do for justice then?”

Ma Junyi frowned. “You two have always been at odds. Seeing you like this, she must’ve done something truly out of line. Of course I’d take your side.”

Hearing that, Ming Guanxin’s heart eased a little.

“Seeing you in good spirits again today,” he said, “I’ve no reason to keep wallowing.”

“That’s the spirit!” Ma Junyi laughed. “Now that’s the same boy who once dared to fight me when we were children.”

Ming Guanxin couldn’t help but smile too. When they were small, Ma Junyi had always put on the airs of a nobleman’s son, prancing about with his fine manners—so easy to dislike.

Once, during a holiday, a bunch of children were flying kites in the garden, and the two of them had fought over one. Ma Junyi, though older, had been scrawny and frail; Ming Guanxin, sturdier, had pinned him down easily.

The story had been retold every New Year for laughter.

What once had been an embarrassment for Ma Junyi was now just a funny childhood tale—something to make even a wounded heart lighter.

Feeling steadier, Ming Guanxin said, “Just wait and see. I’ll make sure those who wronged me don’t have an easy time of it.”

Ma Junyi grinned. “That’s more like it. Now get dressed properly. The two of us will go out, have a good meal, and lift our spirits together.”

That was the first time Ming Guanxin had stepped out of his courtyard since the incident.

…

When Xiao Yuanbao next heard news of Ming Guanxin, it was already late April.

Qin Jiang had returned swiftly from the capital, rested a couple of days, and was preparing to depart again for the north.

Xiao Yuanbao was packing his trunk when Qin Jiang arrived, walking in upright and confident.

Seeing that, Xiao Yuanbao’s heart eased, and he immediately set aside his work to ask, “How did things go?”

“I managed to get Ming Yutang talking,” Qin Jiang said. “That little vixen was full of pride—she exposed herself without realizing it. Once I confirmed what you’d told me, I went straight to her mother.”

Madam Ming was furious. From the way things looked, the Mu family had used the marriage as a cover to gain access to the Ming family’s moon-silk trade routes.

Realizing the matter wasn’t simple, she discussed it with Ming Da.

Though Ming Da favored his concubine, he wouldn’t risk the family’s fortune. A seasoned man of business, he immediately saw through the Mu family’s scheming once his wife explained the situation.

Ming Guanxin proposed setting a trap. Ming Yutang, that foolish, lovestruck girl, was so enchanted by the Mu family’s young man that she never suspected her family had laid a snare for her. She actually went and stole the Ming family’s supplier address for the moon-silk and secretly delivered it to the Mu family.

Just as the two were whispering sweetly together, Ming Da caught them red-handed.

“My third sister really gave Father a fright this time,” Ming Guanxin said. “For the sake of a man, she forgot her parents entirely. Father was furious, called her an ungrateful wretch, and gave her several lashes. No matter how her mother wept and pleaded, he wouldn’t relent. She’s now confined in the ancestral hall and forbidden to leave the garden.”

“As for the Mu family—disgusting. To send their son out to seduce someone and steal trade secrets! Have you ever heard of such a thing? I’d only ever heard of using pretty daughters or delicate boys to lure people, never a man. Shows how far the Mu family will stoop for profit.”

“The two families have completely broken ties now. From here on, bridges are bridges and roads are roads. My father won’t let the Mu family live easily in this county.”

Ming Guanxin exhaled at last, the weight in his chest lifted.

With a glint of pride, he added, “Father said I handled myself calmly, even knew how to plan ahead—that I’ve got what it takes to manage the family business. So he’s handed me the moon-silk trade to oversee.”

He tried to speak lightly, but his delight showed through. “And mark my words, this isn’t over. That Mu brat dared to toy with me—he won’t find the business world so easy from now on.”

Xiao Yuanbao listened quietly the whole time, his eyes curved with amusement, lips gently upturned.

“What are you smiling at like that for? Have you gone soft in the head?” Ming Guanxin asked, feeling oddly embarrassed, and nudged him lightly.

“Xin-ge’er,” Xiao Yuanbao said softly, “you’re like morning dew under sunlight—you shine.”

Ming Guanxin pressed his lips together, smiling. “Listen to you spout nonsense. Seems Qi Langjun’s learning rubbed off on you.”

Xiao Yuanbao straightened his expression, inhaled deeply, then let it out slowly. Taking Ming Guanxin’s hand, he said, “I’m leaving for the capital soon. I’ve been worried about you—afraid you’d stay upset or take things too hard. Seeing how well you handled it, I can travel with an easy heart.”

“I’m not so easily broken,” Ming Guanxin said. “Really, I owe it to you and Gui-jie. If not for you two, my family wouldn’t have seen the Mu family’s true face so quickly. That man—he fooled us all with his manners and smooth talk. My father liked him, and I followed along blindly.”

He sighed. “People’s hearts are complicated. To meet someone truly kind and upright is rare. When you reach the capital, even with Qi Langjun looking after you, be careful. The city’s grand and bustling—every sort of person’s there.”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded. “I’ll remember.”

“As for your marriage,” Ming Guanxin said with a wry smile, “it’ll have to wait again.”

“Fate decides such things,” Xiao Yuanbao replied. “If there’s no one I truly like, what’s the rush? Better to live freely and happily. I’m not like you and Gui-jie.”

They talked for quite some time before parting.

On the eighteenth day of the fourth month, Xiao Yuanbao boarded a carriage, said goodbye to Xiao Hu, and set out for the capital.

By coincidence, it was the very day Qi Beinan emerged from the examination compound.

Xiao Yuanbao rolled the carriage curtain high, letting the spring wind pour in, tugging at his robe hems.

His appearance was plain and modest—he wore a dark blue, steady-looking outfit, neatly arranged like a proper married man.

His fair cheeks were darkened with a yellowish tint, and he’d dotted on a few fake freckles to mar his looks.

When Qin Jiang saw his disguise, he couldn’t help but laugh.

Travelers on the official road would glance into the carriage, then quickly avert their eyes, as if offended by the sight. That, oddly enough, reassured Xiao Yuanbao—it meant the disguise worked.

Qin Jiang said it had taken them fourteen days to reach the capital before, and twelve to return by horse. The distance was long; Xiao Yuanbao had never traveled so far. Even with Qin Jiang beside him, unease lingered in his chest.

But after several days of quiet, uneventful travel, he grew used to the road, letting his nerves ease. All he thought of now was reaching the capital soon.

In the capital, Qi Beinan left the examination hall and returned to their lodging, where he and Zhao Guangzong collapsed into sleep and didn’t stir for an entire day.

By the next morning, their strength had returned.

After nine days locked inside the exam hall, it felt suffocating—stepping out, they felt alive again.

No one was even thinking about the results yet. Everyone just wanted to breathe freely, to celebrate surviving it.

“That exam really strips a man’s skin off,” Zhao Guangzong groaned, sprawled on a rocking chair beneath the apricot tree in the courtyard. “Nine days of it, and my brain still feels like mush.”

Qi Beinan laughed. “Even the scholars from the Imperial College come out of those exams half-crazed. Feeling muddled is normal.”

“What’s done is done. Worrying won’t change a thing. Since we’ve come all this way, we might as well enjoy the capital while we wait for the results.”

So they did. During the waiting days, they wandered through every corner of the inner and outer city.

Along the way, they met up with Luo Tingfeng and Jiang Tangyuan for tea and wine.

Others fretted about their rankings, but Qi Beinan just counted the days, wondering whether Xiao Yuanbao would arrive before the results were posted.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚