Author Archives: Thingyan

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.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

“The farther north we go, the less it seems to rain.”

Qi Beinan and Zhao Guangzong had been on the road for seven days. Once they left the borders of Linzhou Prefecture, they reached the main official road leading toward the capital.

It had rained on and off for days back in Linzhou, making travel miserable. They, riding inside the carriage, had fared well enough, but their driver had to endure the damp spring drizzle while urging the horses forward.

Fortunately, they had come well-prepared with rain capes and straw hats, keeping themselves from being soaked.

Now, upon the open northern highway, the sky was finally clear.

After being cooped up in the carriage for several days, Qi Beinan and Zhao Guangzong stepped out to stretch their legs, walking alongside as the horses trotted ahead.

Then the carriage slowed.

“What’s wrong? The wheel stuck on a rock?”

“Sir, I’ve checked—the wheels are sound.”

As they spoke, they noticed two other carriages halted ahead, blocking part of the road. A few men were gathered around, looking puzzled.

Qi Beinan squinted and saw that one of the carriages bore an official pennant—apparently from Jinling Prefecture.

“Most likely fellow examinees on their way to the capital. Let’s go see what’s happened.”

Zhao Guangzong nodded, and the two of them quickened their pace.

“Has there been some trouble? Do you need a hand?”

Qi Beinan signaled their driver to pull aside so their own carriage wouldn’t clog the road further.

“Apologies, gentlemen,” said one of the men near the broken carriage. “Our wheel won’t turn for some reason—it must be blocking your way.”

“It’s no bother,” Qi Beinan replied.

Just then, a young man in a moon-white robe stepped around from the far side of the carriage. His hair was bound with a jade pin, and a fine jade pendant hung at his waist. He was slender and refined, with a faintly languid air.

He lifted his chin, revealing a tiny crimson mole between his brows.

Something about his posture felt familiar to Qi Beinan. When he got a clearer look at his face, he paused in surprise.

“Are you two also examinees bound for the capital?” the young man asked.

He glanced at the pennant flying from Qi Beinan’s carriage, inhaled lightly, and rubbed the bridge of his nose as if suppressing a sneeze. Translated on Hololo novels. His eyes looked slightly drowsy, as though he had been woken too soon from sleep.

“Yes,” Qi Beinan said.

The young man smiled faintly and bowed. “My name is Jiang Tangyuan. I’m traveling from Jinling to sit for the examination.”

Qi Beinan’s lips curved in recognition as he returned the courtesy. “Qi Beinan, from Linzhou.”

Zhao Guangzong also introduced himself.

All three were young men of similar age, and meeting by chance on the same road to the capital made for easy companionship.

Qi Beinan called Qin Jiang over to inspect the damaged carriage together with Jiang Tangyuan. They soon discovered that the axle inside had cracked—fortunately before the entire carriage collapsed.

The nearest station was still twenty miles away, and there was only a small village along the route. Repairing the carriage here would not be easy.

“Jiang Langjun,” Qi Beinan said, “if you don’t mind, you and your people can ride with us for now. One of your men can stay behind to handle the repairs. Once we reach the next city, you can buy another carriage and catch up without losing time.”

After a moment’s thought, Jiang Tangyuan nodded. “Then I’ll gratefully accept your kindness.”

He walked back to his carriage and called softly, “A-Tuan, we’ll be traveling with the two gentlemen ahead.”

A fair-faced young ge’er stepped down, holding a plump round-eyed cat in his arms. The cat stretched lazily as it emerged, its soft paws opening like four little petals.

The ge’er bowed politely. “Many thanks to both gentlemen.”

Qi Beinan froze for an instant—he hadn’t expected to see Jiang Tangtuan here.

It had been over ten years since he’d last heard that name.

Jiang Tangtuan, Jiang Tangyuan’s only younger sibling, had always been quiet and gentle, kind to the bone.

When Qi Beinan studied in Jinling years ago, Jiang Tangtuan would often prepare extra food for his brother, and sometimes even made a second portion for Qi Beinan as well.

Much like how Xiao Yuanbao cared for Zhao Guangzong, Jiang Tangtuan had treated Qi Beinan like an older brother.

But his fate had been short.

When Jiang Tangtuan came of age, his family married him to one of their favored students. The man had seemed devoted before marriage, but once he gained office through the Jiang family’s influence, he began to change.

Away from his in-laws’ supervision, he first took in a childhood sweetheart, then, one drunken night, raised his hand against Jiang Tangtuan.

By the third year of marriage, Jiang Tangtuan died in childbirth.

Qi Beinan had been furious beyond restraint. He hunted the man down to his appointed post and beat him nearly crippled.

For striking a government official, he was impeached by the censors and subsequently demoted.

Zhao Guangzong, unaware of these buried memories, returned Jiang Tangtuan’s greeting politely. But when he saw Qi Beinan staring, motionless and blank, he discreetly tugged at his sleeve.

Qi Beinan came back to himself and quickly bowed in return.

“What’s wrong with you?” Zhao Guangzong muttered as they returned to their own carriage. “Did the journey rattle your brain?”

Then, with a sly grin, he added, “If you keep staring at people like that, I’ll tell Bao-ge’er when we get back.”

One carriage was arranged for Jiang Tangyuan to share, while the other carried some of his luggage so the space wouldn’t be cramped.

Qi Beinan chuckled. “Don’t think too much—I’ve no ulterior motives.”

Before long, Jiang Tangyuan came over with his belongings. Some were loaded onto Zhao Guangzong’s carriage, while he himself joined Qi Beinan in the other.

As the carriage swayed gently, Jiang Tangyuan kept rubbing his nose, itching for a sneeze that wouldn’t come.

A hand offered him a water pouch. “The farther north we go, the drier the air. Warm water helps.”

Jiang Tangyuan took it and sipped.

Qi Beinan said, “If your nose feels irritated, you can press the Yingxiang and Bitong acupoints—it helps clear the passage.”

Jiang Tangyuan looked over curiously. “Brother Qi seems well read—and even versed in medicine?”

He capped the pouch and smiled. “My physician said the same.”

Qi Beinan wasn’t actually knowledgeable in medicine, but he happened to recall such details from someone close to him.

“I just happen to know a little,” he said lightly.

That opened the conversation, and the two spoke for a while longer.

Though Jiang Tangyuan had initially been cautious—after all, they’d only met on the road—he found Qi Beinan’s manner easy and genuine. He still avoided mentioning family matters or his household, speaking only of books, studies, and scenery along the way, but before long he realized how naturally their thoughts aligned.

Their views on literature and discussion of ideas flowed as if they’d been friends for years.

The journey became unexpectedly pleasant.

When they reached Xiangyang City, Jiang Tangyuan bought a new carriage and horse, yet instead of parting ways, he proposed continuing together toward the capital.

Traveling again side by side, he seemed more at ease and familiar.

That night at the inn, Jiang Tangyuan brought out Jinling specialties—a saltwater duck and several salted duck eggs—to share.

Qi Beinan, in turn, produced the jar of oil-pickled vegetables that Xiao Yuanbao had made with him. The meat pies and braised dishes he had brought earlier had long been eaten during their days crossing Linzhou.

It was early spring, still cool enough for food to keep, but after ten days on the road, everything else would have spoiled. The pickled vegetables, however, were steeped in rapeseed oil and lasted easily over a month if kept clean and sealed tightly.

Because they stored so well, Qi Beinan had been reluctant to open them—saving them for when they reached the capital, as though sharing them then would bring someone closer across the distance.

Zhao Guangzong, watching him finally open the jar, grinned and said to Jiang Tangyuan, “You’re in luck, Jiang Langjun. Today you get to taste A’nan’s oil-pickled vegetables. You’ve no idea how stingy he’s been—begged him several times along the way and he wouldn’t touch them.”

Jiang Tangyuan laughed. “What kind of delicacy is this, that Brother Qi guards it so closely?”

Qi Beinan replied mildly, “It’s nothing special—just keeps longer, that’s all.”

As he spoke, he lifted the lid. A rich aroma filled the room, warm and savory.

Jiang Tangyuan’s sleepy eyes brightened. “Just the scent alone is worth it. No wonder Brother Zhao’s been thinking of it.”

Qi Beinan spooned some into a dish. “Please, have some. It goes well with porridge—or stuffed into steamed buns and flatbreads.”

Jiang Tangyuan took his chopsticks and tried it without restraint.

The moment he tasted it, the flavor bloomed—salty, fragrant, and layered. He thought to himself that with a bowl of hot rice, he could easily eat three servings.

“This is remarkable,” he said between bites. “How is it made to smell and taste so good?”

Qi Beinan smiled faintly as he watched him enjoy it. “It’s made with tender bamboo shoots, mushrooms, pickled greens, and minced meat, stir-fried in rapeseed oil that doesn’t solidify in the cold. As for the exact spices, I’m not sure.”

“Looks simple, yet the craftsmanship is precise. Was it made by someone at home?” Jiang Tangyuan asked, genuinely impressed.

He was used to eating plain pickles on the road—usually out of necessity, never for pleasure. This, though, was another matter entirely.

“Yes,” Qi Beinan said. His voice softened. “It was made by my… husband.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly as he said it.

Zhao Guangzong glanced at him, amused, but said nothing.

Jiang Tangyuan’s brows arched in a smile. “No wonder you’ve been reluctant to open it—not just for the taste, but for the affection sealed inside.”

Qi Beinan lowered his gaze with a small laugh. “You’re teasing me.”

Jiang Tangyuan only laughed and urged them to try the saltwater duck and duck eggs in return.

The duck was lean and fragrant, the salted yolks golden and glistening with oil, rich and savory on the tongue.

Qi Beinan hadn’t tasted Jinling’s flavor in years. He ate several pieces of duck and two full salted eggs before stopping.

Jiang Tangyuan, pleased, took a small dish of the oil-pickled vegetables and sent it to his younger brother, Jiang Tangtuan, to share.

That night, Zhao Guangzong soaked his legs, swollen and heavy from long hours of sitting in the carriage.

The hot water rose past his ankles, and after fifteen minutes, he felt the fatigue melt away.

Knowing they would resume their journey at dawn, he decided to skip reading that night and go to bed early.

When Zhao Guangzong tried to stand, his stomach felt tight and full. The saltwater duck that Jiang Tangyuan had brought was too delicious; he had never tasted it before and ended up eating far too much. It was hearty meat, too, so even now he still felt stuffed.

The moonlight spilled across the window. The night outside seemed clear, and since he was too full to sleep, he thought he might as well walk around the post station courtyard to ease his digestion.

A few constables were still gathered outside, drinking and chatting by the gate. When they saw Zhao Guangzong step out, one of them called, “Sir, don’t wander too far.”

“I’ll just walk around the station,” he replied.

The moonlight was bright, though not as luminous as in midsummer nights. Still, it was the sixteenth of the month, and the moon hung round and full.

He circled the post station three times, and by the time he returned, his stomach had settled. The constables had already gone, leaving only an old woman tidying up the yard.

Just as he turned back toward his room, Zhao Guangzong looked up and saw someone standing on the upper gallery — Jiang Tangtuan.

He was wrapped in a hooded cloak of deep blue trimmed with white fur. The moonlight bathed him in a soft glow, his small, fine-featured face looking almost translucent under its silver sheen.

Perhaps he, too, was admiring the moon; his gaze rested quietly on the distant hills beneath the round disk of light.

Zhao Guangzong meant to look away, not wishing to disturb the stillness of the scene.

Just then, a breeze swept past. The plum tree beside the gallery shook loose its blossoms, petals scattering past Jiang Tangtuan’s shoulder.

Zhao Guangzong’s eyes lingered on him — just a heartbeat too long.

The person above must have noticed, for he lowered his gaze slightly. At that moment, the wind lifted the handkerchief in his hand, carrying it off the balcony.

The delicate square of silk drifted downward, caught in the air currents, and landed right against Zhao Guangzong’s chest. His body blocked the wind, and the handkerchief hovered there for a moment before softly settling.

He reached out to catch it.

When he looked up again, Jiang Tangtuan was leaning over the railing, a faint trace of tension in his posture as he looked down.

Their eyes met in the pale light, and neither spoke.

After a moment, a young servant — one of Jiang Tangyuan’s attendants — came down from the stairs to retrieve the handkerchief from Zhao Guangzong’s hands.

Back in his room, Zhao Guangzong found his mind still adrift.

He sat by the window, holding the memory of the silk in his palm — smooth, soft, and embroidered with lifelike bamboo leaves. A faint scent lingered on his fingers, light and clean, though he couldn’t name it.

It suited Jiang Tangtuan perfectly — quiet, refined, understated.

Lying down on his bed, Zhao Guangzong found his thoughts drifting again. Jiang Tangtuan truly spoke very little.

Since their journey began, they had barely exchanged a handful of words. Other than that polite greeting when first introduced, their meetings had been limited to brief nods, never a proper conversation.

At some point, Zhao Guangzong fell asleep without realizing it.

The next morning, everyone else was already finishing breakfast when he finally stirred.

Qi Beinan, seeing him come out, ladled him a bowl of porridge and handed him a steamed bun. “Didn’t sleep well at the inn? You’re usually the first one up.”

Zhao Guangzong accepted the food and shook his head. “No, I just overslept.”

It had felt as though he’d dreamed all night, yet awake now, he couldn’t recall a single image.

By the time Qi Beinan and his party reached the capital, thirteen days had passed since they left Ling County.

The imperial city was grand and dazzling — wealth and splendor at every turn, enough to make any scholar from the provinces straighten his back with renewed vigor.

Their fatigue melted away, replaced by awe and excitement.

The Jiang family had served in official posts for generations and still had relatives in the capital, so the brothers naturally had places to stay. They exchanged addresses and parted ways there.

Qi Beinan, though appearing to visit for the first time, knew his way around well enough. He led Zhao Guangzong to a district between the inner and outer city walls called Qiangwu Ward, where they found a small courtyard house to share.

Once they settled in, Qi Beinan immediately began writing a letter home, arranging for the courier to deliver it swiftly to Ling County.

He had originally planned to have Qin Jiang carry the letter back when returning, but since the man had only just arrived in the capital, it wouldn’t be fair to send him off again so soon. He’d let him rest for a few days before making the trip to fetch Xiao Yuanbao.

Meanwhile, back in Ling County, Xiao Yuanbao had already been counting the days on his fingers. By his reckoning, Qi Beinan should have reached the capital by now.

He began preparing the things he would take for his own journey.

Bai Qiaogui, visiting the house, couldn’t help feeling envious when she heard he was going to the capital. “He didn’t even mention bringing me. Doesn’t miss me at all.”

She bit into a piece of fruit pastry — sweet on her tongue but sour in her heart.

“Even if Luo Langjun wanted you to go,” Xiao Yuanbao said gently, “Uncle Bai would never allow it.”

Not knowing what the weather in the capital was like, Xiao Yuanbao couldn’t decide what clothes to pack. He picked out two of his favorites and set them aside, waiting for Qi Beinan’s letter before finalizing anything.

Bai Qiaogui asked curiously, “Since you two are engaged, have you set a wedding date yet?”

Xiao Yuanbao blinked. “Not yet. Probably not until next year.”

“This year’s exam will keep him busy, whether he passes or not,” Bai Qiaogui said knowingly.

Xiao Yuanbao nodded. That made sense.

“On the ninth, when the exam begins,” Bai Qiaogui suggested, “let’s go to the temple together to offer incense and pray for him. We can leave a little donation, too.”

“Alright,” Xiao Yuanbao agreed with a smile.

Bai Qiaogui agreed. By the time April arrived and the weather had warmed, more people were going out on spring outings, and it felt right to join the liveliness for a change.

“With spring coming, I wonder if Madam Feng’s health has improved any,” she said.

Xiao Yuanbao let out a quiet sigh. Madam Feng’s condition had hardly improved through the whole of last winter. When he’d visited, the entire house had smelled faintly of medicinal decoction, heavy in the air, enough to make anyone worry.

“I’m free today—let’s go visit her,” Bai Qiaogui suggested. Madam Feng had taught Xiao Yuanbao cooking and had always treated him well. Each time he visited, he would bring her something tasty and sometimes small, rare gifts.

Xiao Yuanbao agreed readily and, before leaving, prepared a pot of chicken soup on the stove.

Madam Feng’s liver had been unwell. Bai Qiaogui had once told him that dendrobium and polygonatum were good for nourishing the liver. He thought that since Madam Feng took bitter medicine day after day, even the most tolerant person would tire of the taste. To make something she could enjoy, he stewed black-bone chicken with those two herbs and added some dried orange peel for fragrance.

He had checked with Sister Gui to make sure it wouldn’t weaken the medicinal effect—and that it would still taste good when cooked this way.

“The flavor is deep and soothing,” Madam Feng said after tasting it. “Even knowing it’s medicine, I’d gladly have more.”

The herbal black-chicken soup had brought color to her cheeks. Smiling, she praised Xiao Yuanbao: “You thoughtful child—always finding ways to look after me. The medicinal dishes you brought through the winter truly did me good.”

Xiao Yuanbao said, “You flatter me, Madam Feng. I’m just happy to know you’re feeling better.”

“I’m not just saying it to please you,” she replied. “Your cooking is good—so good it makes the medicine easy to take. It tastes like a real meal, not a bitter draft, and that’s what’s nursed me back to health.”

She patted his hand. “This winter wasn’t nearly as hard as the last. Look—my complexion has evened out again.”

It was true. Madam Feng did look much better.

“That’s also thanks to Sister Gui,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “She’s the one who taught me which herbs to use. Without her, I’d never have figured out how to make these medicinal dishes.”

“You’re both good children,” Madam Feng said warmly.

After finishing the soup, she led them inside and took out two red lacquered boxes with gold trim, giving one to each.

When Xiao Yuanbao opened his, he found a delicate enamel mirror inside. He had never seen such fine workmanship—the reflection so sharp that every feature of his face stood out as if alive.

Bai Qiaogui’s box held a filigreed silver hairpin shaped like a dragonfly, its craftsmanship exquisite.

The gifts were so fine that neither dared accept them.

“I know you two are engaged,” Madam Feng said with a smile. “These are small tokens from an elder—take them.”

She pushed the boxes toward them. “It’s only a little gift for well-behaved juniors.”

They exchanged glances, then thanked her and accepted.

“The men you’re engaged to are both scholars,” Madam Feng went on. “They have fine prospects ahead—such good fortune.”

She was truly pleased for them, but as an older woman, she couldn’t resist offering a bit of advice. “I’ve lived long enough to tell you this—after marriage, don’t rely entirely on your husbands. You must find something of your own to do.”

Turning to Bai Qiaogui, she said, “You, I don’t worry about. Your medical skills are excellent—such talent will always bring you stability. As long as you keep up your craft after marriage, you’ll have your own standing, wherever you go.”

Then she looked at Xiao Yuanbao. “And you—you’re an ambitious child. You came to me to learn for the sake of skill, and that’s admirable. I’ve met your Qi Langjun a few times—handsome, intelligent, and steady. He’ll have a great future, I can see it. I’ve met many people in my life; I’m not mistaken about this sort.”

“When he becomes an official one day, though, it wouldn’t suit his household for his spouse to still be cooking at banquets. Among the gentry, people talk—even more than common folk do. They might praise an official’s husband who’s good at cuisine, but just as quickly, they’ll whisper that the official’s spouse is a common kitchen hand.”

She paused. “I know your bond is deep, but hearing such words again and again can wear on any heart.”

Xiao Yuanbao listened quietly. He knew she was right.

Ever since his A’nan brother had passed the county exam, people’s behavior around him had begun to change. Running banquets for work already made him feel a little embarrassed—if Qi Beinan were to rise even higher, become a jinshi, it would be another world entirely.

A “Qi official’s husband skilled in fine dishes” sounded like praise. But a “Qi official’s husband who works as a cook” did not.

Seeing his silence, Madam Feng said gently, “Don’t think I’m meddling. I’m saying this while your affection is still strong—so you can prepare your heart early.”

Xiao Yuanbao shook his head. “No, Madam Feng speaks very wisely.”

“I’ve learned many dishes under you,” he continued. “Enough to take on private banquets. If I wanted, families would be fighting to hire me. But I haven’t pursued it. Partly because the household’s been busy—and partly because, deep down, it didn’t feel right.”

With Qi Beinan gone to the capital, he’d had quiet days to reflect. And the more he thought about his own path, the more he realized how much he still had to figure out.

“I’ve trained in this craft since I was a child,” Xiao Yuanbao said. “If I stop cooking for banquets, wouldn’t all those years of learning be wasted?”

He felt conflicted.

Madam Feng smiled. “No skill is ever wasted. Knowing a craft is always a blessing. Even if you don’t cook for others, there will be other ways to use your talent.”

“You could open a small restaurant or a teahouse. When the owner knows food, business runs smoother.”

“There’s still a shop under your family’s name, isn’t there? Turning it into a dining house would be perfectly fine.”

He could hire chefs and oversee the operation himself—plan the menu, manage the quality, without standing over the stove. That way, no one would have reason to gossip.

But even then, the plan had its flaws.

If his elder brother achieved high office, he would never stay in Ling County. How would Xiao Yuanbao manage a business so far away?

Still, once the shop was established and running steadily, it wouldn’t need constant supervision. That would take at least a year or two, though.

Uncertain of what to do, he turned to Madam Feng for advice.

The old woman said gently, “Take your time. Learn about the trade first—how restaurants and taverns are run. Once you understand the business, you’ll know the right path to take.”

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

In the second month, Xiao Yuanbao celebrated his birthday, and before long, the calendar had turned to the third month.

Spring came late that year. Throughout the second month, rain fell almost daily, the sun rarely showed, and the chill clung to every breath. By early March, only the outskirts of the city had begun to show faint green across the grass, and the peach and apricot trees were just beginning to bud.

The imperial metropolitan exam would begin on the ninth day of the fourth month. As soon as the third month arrived, scholars preparing to take part were already making ready to depart.

Ling County lay far from the capital. Even with fair weather and smooth roads, the journey by carriage and horse would take more than ten days—half a month, at least, when accounting for the inevitable delays. Translated on Hololo novels. Upon arrival, candidates still needed time to find lodgings and familiarize themselves with the city.

The air and customs of the capital differed greatly from those of Ling County. The northern climate was dry, unlike the humid southern lands near Ling. Many students, unaccustomed to the change, would fall ill from the difference in water and food.

If one did not arrive early to adjust, even a simple stomach illness could ruin one’s performance. Worse still, the latrines in the examination compound were infamously inconvenient; those struck with dysentery from poor adaptation suffered miserably.

Qi Beinan explained all this to Zhao Guangzong, urging him to make his preparations early. The two decided to travel together to the capital.

There were few candidates from Ling County eligible to sit for the metropolitan exam that year. Among them, Qi Beinan knew only a handful from the county academy. Of the other three elder scholars who had passed the provincial exam, he was not acquainted and did not plan to join them. There was also Luo Tingfeng, who had his own arrangements.

Thus, only Qi Beinan and Zhao Guangzong would make the journey together.

Traveling in a small group had its conveniences. Safety was not a great concern this time—after the unrest during the autumn examinations, the authorities had doubled the number of guards and patrol officers along the main roads and post stations from the first month until the end of the fourth. Any would-be bandits targeting scholars would be walking straight into a trap.

Moreover, Qi Beinan planned to bring Qin Jiang along. With the young man’s fighting skills, the journey would be all the more secure.

By the first day of the third month, Xiao Yuanbao had already begun preparing Qi Beinan’s belongings for the journey. The departure was set for the fifth day.

“Though the road to the capital is long,” Xiao Yuanbao said while folding clothes, “it’s not so bad this time. The government provides official carriages for scholars and even gives travel stipends.”

That morning, the county office had sent a carriage to their gate. It wasn’t large, but perfectly suitable for one traveler. A county banner fluttered from its frame—anyone who saw it would know it was an official examination carriage, dignified and commanding.

Along with it came a stipend of ten strings of cash.

Frugal as they were, even that wouldn’t fully cover the expenses of the journey, but it was something. Better to have a little than none at all.

“If you pass the palace exam and become a jinshi, you’ll be a disciple of the Son of Heaven himself,” Xiao Yuanbao said softly. “I can’t even imagine what that will be like.”

Qi Beinan looked at the young man bending over the chest, sorting garments. The cabinet in his room was tall, and Xiao Yuanbao had to rise on his toes to reach the folded robes at the top shelf.

Qi Beinan stepped closer.

Xiao Yuanbao caught sight of a pair of long, slender hands reaching into the wardrobe beside him, brushing past his neck. When he turned his head, he nearly bumped Qi Beinan’s chin and quickly leaned back—only to press up against the bookcase behind him.

Qi Beinan didn’t withdraw. He leaned forward, eyes lowering as he looked at the young man trapped between his arms. “Do you like the idea of being a disciple of the Son of Heaven?”

Xiao Yuanbao blinked. He didn’t answer, only glanced at Qi Beinan’s slightly dry lips and, almost involuntarily, gave a small nod.

Qi Beinan’s voice dropped to a low murmur. “Then tell me—do you prefer the first-ranked zhuangyuan, admired by all? The calm, dignified bangyan? Or the elegant, graceful tanhua?”

The quiet, steady tone slid into Xiao Yuanbao’s ears, making them burn red. Qi Beinan’s voice had lost the boyish timbre of youth, deepening with maturity—smooth and magnetic, stirring something hard to name.

Unable to meet his gaze, Xiao Yuanbao turned his head slightly. “You speak as if it depends on my choice.”

Qi Beinan lowered his head further, moving closer still. “It’s only talk between us. There’s no harm in saying what you like.”

Xiao Yuanbao flushed, flustered by such teasing, and tried to slip away. But the arm caging him in front of the wardrobe didn’t move.

“I still need to finish packing your things,” he murmured.

“Say it first. There’s no rush.”

Seeing he couldn’t escape, Xiao Yuanbao relented with a sigh. “They’re all good. I’m not picky.”

Qi Beinan chuckled softly. “So easy to please? You could stand to be a little choosier.”

Xiao Yuanbao pursed his lips. “As long as it’s Brother Anan, I like them all.”

A smile touched Qi Beinan’s mouth. He reached out to straighten the young man’s collar. “I’ll be gone at least two months. Once I settle in the capital, I’ll send Qin Jiang back to bring you there. All right?”

Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes flickered. He had already calculated the time in his head. The trip alone would take half a month each way. The exam itself lasted nine days, plus another ten for results to be posted. Two months, easily—and if Qi Beinan passed and entered the palace exam in the fifth month, it would be even longer.

When Qi Beinan had gone to Linzhou for the provincial exam, they had been apart barely a month. This time, the separation would feel endless.

The closer the examination drew, the more uneasy Xiao Yuanbao felt.

But he couldn’t bring himself to say that he didn’t want Qi Beinan to go. The metropolitan exam was an important event—how could he, already nearly grown, show such childish reluctance? He’d be eighteen by his next birthday. He wasn’t a boy anymore.

Still, when he heard Qi Beinan mention that he planned to bring him to the capital later, his heart leapt.

“I can go to the capital too?” he asked, eyes lighting up.

Qi Beinan smiled. “Mm.”

Seeing the eagerness on his face, Qi Beinan went on, “If I pass the jinshi exam, there will be plenty of matters to delay me—ceremonies, assignments, all of it. If you’re in the capital, I’ll have one less worry. And if I don’t pass, well, you’ve never left Ling County. Seeing the capital’s sights and broadening your horizons will still be worth the trip.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s excitement swelled, but he held himself back enough to ask sensibly, “Wouldn’t I just be a bother?”

“How could you be?” Qi Beinan replied. “Once I arrange the carriage and horses, it’ll be no trouble. I’ll have Qin Jiang travel the road first to learn the route well.”

Qi Beinan didn’t like the idea of Xiao Yuanbao traveling alone, but after witnessing Qin Jiang’s skills, he felt reassured. By the time Qin Jiang returned to fetch Xiao Yuanbao, he would know the journey by heart.

Seeing that Qi Beinan had truly thought everything through, Xiao Yuanbao’s joy grew even greater. He grasped Qi Beinan’s arm. “All right. I’ll do as you say.”

Once he knew he could go to the capital, Xiao Yuanbao’s smile never seemed to fade. He packed with cheerful energy, practically humming as he worked.

On the fourth day of the third month, Xiao Hu came to the city to stay the night so he could see Qi Beinan off the next morning.

He had expected Xiao Yuanbao to be gloomy about the farewell, perhaps withdrawn or quiet. Instead, he found the boy busy and beaming, helping Qi Beinan prepare a table full of his favorite dishes, the air full of laughter. It was almost festive.

Xiao Hu was puzzled. He had worried that Xiao Yuanbao would feel lonely once Qi Beinan left for the capital and had planned to bring him back to the estate for a couple of months—after all, the manor was livelier than an empty city house. But seeing the boy’s bright face now, he realized his worries had been unnecessary.

The morning of the fifth dawned cold and drizzly. They had planned to escort Qi Beinan to the city gate, but the early spring rain came with a biting wind. Even holding umbrellas, the chill seeped into their bones.

So Qi Beinan and Zhao Guangzong decided not to have their families follow them beyond the outskirts. They said their farewells on the main road outside Dongyang Street.

“It won’t be long,” Qi Beinan told Xiao Yuanbao. “You’ll stay here for about a month, and by then Qin Jiang will have reached Ling County to fetch you.”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded. “I know. Once you’re on your way, I’ll start getting ready, so I’ll be packed when he comes.”

Because he would soon be following Qi Beinan to the capital himself, the farewell wasn’t quite as heavy. His heart, instead of aching, brimmed with anticipation.

Still, he fussed a little—reminding Qi Beinan to take his time on the road, to keep warm and not catch cold.

He still remembered the early autumn two years ago when a rainstorm had left Qi Beinan bedridden with fever for days.

Xiao Hu didn’t interrupt them, giving the young pair space to say their goodbyes. He simply pulled Qin Jiang aside and said quietly, “Take good care of your master on the road.”

Qin Jiang, whose face had long since healed, stood straight and strong with a bundle on his back, his spirit bright. Though he had traveled across Ling County many times as part of the escort bureau, he had never been to the capital, and the thought of it filled him with eager anticipation.

He patted his chest confidently. “Don’t worry, sir.”

The Zhao family elders had also come to the city to see Zhao Guangzong off.

The matter with the Yang family still weighed on their hearts. Zhao Lizheng and Madam Zhang had felt guilty for weeks—none of them had been at ease.

“The most important thing is to travel safely,” Zhao Lizheng said. “With young Qi accompanying you, your mother and I can rest easy.”

Madam Zhang stood beside her son, fussing over his clothes, afraid he might catch a chill.

“This isn’t my first trip for the exams,” Zhao Guangzong said with a small smile. “I know what to do. You and Mother should take care of yourselves and not work too hard.”

Hearing that, Zhao Lizheng exhaled slowly. “It was your mother and I who mishandled the matter with the Yangs. You’re grown now—we won’t interfere in your affairs anymore.”

He gave a faint, rueful smile. “Your mother and I are just farmers. Our way of thinking doesn’t match yours. The Zhao family’s future rests on you.”

“Father, that’s not what I meant,” Zhao Guangzong said quickly. “I don’t blame you or Mother. The Yangs and I simply weren’t meant to be. Marriage, like the examinations, rarely succeeds on the first try.”

“I know,” Zhao Lizheng replied quietly. “Your mother and I have thought it over—we really didn’t handle things as well as we should have.”

“Let’s leave it in the past,” he said at last. “Focus on your exam and don’t let anything distract you.”

“I won’t.”

From down the road, Qi Beinan called, “Guangzong, the time’s about up. Ready to go?”

Zhao Guangzong startled, then called back, “Coming!”

He turned to his parents. “It’s cold out here. Go back home before the wind makes you sick.”

“Go on,” Zhao Lizheng said. “Travel safe.”

Zhao Guangzong lifted his umbrella and crossed to Qi Beinan’s carriage.

As he passed, Qi Beinan grinned teasingly. “How old are you now, still clinging to your parents like a child?”

Zhao Guangzong gave a helpless laugh.

“I swear,” Qi Beinan added, “it feels like time’s gone backward. It’s as if you’re ten again, heading off for your first children’s exam. Lift your head—let me see if your eyes are red.”

Zhao Guangzong’s ears turned slightly red from Qi Beinan’s teasing. Rather than respond, he countered, “Strange—this trip will keep you away for months, yet Bao-ge’er hardly spoke to you before you left.”

Then, with a smirk, he added, “Could it be he’s grown tired of you and just wants you gone sooner?”

Qi Beinan chuckled. “It’s raining out. I couldn’t bear for him to stand there catching cold, so I got into the carriage quickly.”

Zhao Guangzong pressed his lips into a line, shaking his head. “Then it’s I who asked too much.”

They exchanged a few more jests like that, and the heaviness of parting grew lighter between them.

The carriage wheels began to turn, rolling over the wet cobblestones. The drizzle thickened, and the main street lay almost deserted—melancholy and quiet, but smooth for travel.

Xiao Yuanbao waved until the carriage disappeared completely from sight, only then lowering his hand.

Rain misted down; the wind cut cold against his cheeks. He wanted to stand there longer, but the three elders with him were all of advanced age. Though he was young and sturdy, he couldn’t let them shiver in the damp wind for his sentiment’s sake.

So he turned and urged the Zhao elders to head home with him.

When they reached the fork where the alley split toward their respective homes, they said their goodbyes.

As they walked, Xiao Hu suddenly said, “Did Anan mention your marriage?”

Careful not to step into a puddle, Xiao Yuanbao turned his head. “Father, you’ve forgotten again? Didn’t we already make things clear last year?”

“You silly boy,” Xiao Hu said. “I meant—did he say when the marriage would actually happen?”

Xiao Yuanbao froze for a moment. In truth, they hadn’t spoken of that yet. Both knew of the betrothal, and both had confessed their feelings, but as for arranging the wedding, he—being a young ge’er—was too shy to bring it up himself. It would be better for Qi Beinan to say it first.

“He’s been so busy since passing the provincial exam,” Xiao Yuanbao said after a pause. “There’s hardly been time to think about marriage. Don’t worry, Father. He’s not the kind to forget his promises or turn his back for gain.”

If Qi Beinan had wanted to seek someone of higher status now that he was a juren, he wouldn’t have openly told the Yang family that he was already engaged. He wouldn’t have let others know he was betrothed, nor suggested bringing Xiao Yuanbao to the capital later.

“I know what sort of man Anan is,” Xiao Hu said. “I just don’t want you two to delay too long. He’s twenty-two now. Most men his age in the village already have two children. When will I ever hold a grandchild?”

Xiao Yuanbao’s cheeks flushed. His brows drew together. “Father, what are you saying? We haven’t even set a date, and you’re already talking about grandchildren? Aren’t you embarrassed?”

“If you’d just fix a date for the wedding,” Xiao Hu muttered, “there’d be nothing to be embarrassed about.”

He exhaled heavily. “You two are still young—you can afford to dawdle. But I’m not. These past two years, I’ve felt my age catching up to me. My head spins, my back aches. A few more years, and I might not even have the strength to hold a grandchild.”

Xiao Yuanbao pursed his lips. His father was usually so strong and proud—yet here he was, feigning frailty just to urge him into marriage and grandchildren.

“If you’re not feeling well, I’ll fetch a doctor,” Xiao Yuanbao said at once.

His father waved him off.

Still, Xiao Yuanbao went on, “Though I think if you drank a little less wine, you wouldn’t have those dizzy spells.”

“Listen to you!” Xiao Hu huffed, half scolding, half amused. “Since when did you grow such a sharp tongue?”

Xiao Yuanbao made a small noise of protest and fell silent, following his father back into the house.

A short while later, Xiao Hu heard his son mutter from behind, “Then—then maybe when Brother Anan comes back, Father can test the waters and ask him?”

Hearing that, Xiao Hu smiled inwardly. So his son was anxious too, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

He said, “You’ll be heading to the capital yourself next month. Ask him then—no need to wait until he’s back in Ling County. Who knows when that’ll be?”

Xiao Yuanbao thought that over and found it reasonable. Still, he turned away and grumbled, ducking his head. “I’m not asking. I’ll wait for him to bring it up first.”

With that, he quickened his pace and retreated into his room.

Two days later, Xiao Hu returned to the estate.

At the end of last year, they had begun clearing new land beyond the mountain forest and hired several more tenant farmers. With the expanded fields and extra hands, he no longer needed to toil in the soil himself.

Still, spring planting was the busiest time of year, and he couldn’t rest easy unless he was there to oversee things.

The steward had also suggested that, with a mountain forest now in their possession, they could plant fruit trees—an orchard would yield far more profit than simply cutting firewood.

Xiao Hu agreed and began looking into buying saplings to plant.

Left alone in the city house, Xiao Yuanbao grew bored. After a few days, he decided to visit the Ming family.

“My good boy, you actually remembered I exist?” Ming Guanxin greeted him with mock ferocity, though his grin was wide.

Xiao Yuanbao, knowing he was at fault, gave a sheepish smile. It was true—he hadn’t visited in quite some time.

“I’ve just been busy lately,” he said. “But the moment I had a free day, I thought of you first. See? I even brought your favorite chicken and duck offal.”

“You weren’t busy,” Ming Guanxin retorted. “You were glued to Qi-langjun’s side and couldn’t get away. Now that he’s left the county, only then do you remember your friends.”

Xiao Yuanbao blushed to the tips of his ears.

Ming Guanxin looked at Xiao Yuanbao’s flustered face and laughed. “I can’t really blame you. If I had such a fine gentleman for a fiancé, I wouldn’t want to go out and play either.”

“Don’t tease me,” Xiao Yuanbao protested.

He reached out to tug Ming Guanxin’s arm in mock complaint, but when his hand brushed against him, he paused, eyes widening. “You’ve lost weight! Have you not been eating properly since I stopped bringing you food these days?”

Instead of worrying, Ming Guanxin looked delighted. “You really think I’ve slimmed down?”

Xiao Yuanbao gave him a careful look and nodded. “Your face looks the same, but your figure’s definitely thinner.”

Ming Guanxin grinned from ear to ear. “Then my effort hasn’t been for nothing!”

Xiao Yuanbao frowned in puzzlement. “What effort? Why on earth are you putting yourself through that?”

Lowering his voice, Ming Guanxin leaned close to his ear. “My family has been in talks with another household—if all goes well, a match will be set.”

He added quickly, “It’s not settled yet, so you mustn’t spread it around. I only told you because you’re my friend. Anyone else, I wouldn’t breathe a word.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s eyes lit up. “That’s wonderful news! Don’t worry, I know how to keep quiet.”

His curiosity rose. “So who is it? Do I know the gentleman?”

“I don’t know if you do,” Ming Guanxin said, dropping his voice even lower. “But he’s from Ling County too.”

Then, smiling a little mischievously, he added, “He’s actually here today—he’s in the main hall talking with my father right now. Do you want to sneak a look?”

Xiao Yuanbao hesitated. “Wouldn’t that be rude?”

“It’s fine. There’s a side room connected to the hall through the back garden. We can peek from behind the screen—they’ll never notice.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s heart thumped with both guilt and excitement. He wasn’t used to such sneaky business, and it reminded him of stealing peaches back home as a child.

Ming Guanxin dismissed the servants, and the two slipped through the back garden into the small side chamber beside the main hall.

A calm, clear male voice drifted from beyond the screen. “No one in the city runs a better cloth business than you, Uncle Ming.”

“My father always says,” replied another voice—Ming Guanxin’s father, “that few men in trade truly impress him, but you are one. He admires your skill and your talent for connections. He tells us juniors to learn from your example.”

The voice was unfamiliar to Xiao Yuanbao—steady, polite, and refined.

Ming Guanxin tugged him slightly to one side. Through a narrow gap in the screen, Xiao Yuanbao saw the man sitting across from Ming Guanxin’s father.

He was fair-skinned, with peach-blossom eyes and an elegant bearing that could almost outshine the light in the room.

Xiao Yuanbao blinked, stunned. When he turned to look at Ming Guanxin, his friend’s eyes were gleaming—a kind of brightness Xiao Yuanbao had only ever seen when food was especially to his taste.

“Well?” Ming Guanxin whispered eagerly once they’d crept back out to the garden. “Handsome, isn’t he?”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded earnestly. “Extremely handsome.”

“He’s the young master from Xiangyun Manor—Mu Langjun.”

“Mu Langjun?” Xiao Yuanbao recalled. “I’ve seen him once from afar. When Xiangyun Manor first brought the Wan Yue silk to market, everyone—brothers and sisters alike—flocked to see him.”

He chuckled softly. “I remember my brother even got jealous back then, scolding me over nothing. Took ages to coax him out of it.”

Then, surprised, he said, “But I saw your father and the Mu family’s master quarreling in the market that time. I thought your families didn’t get along.”

“Ah, merchants compete. A bit of rivalry and posturing—it’s all part of the trade.” Ming Guanxin waved it off. “The Mu family’s been trying to secure a supply of Wan Yue silk without success. They want to form a marriage alliance with us, to share in the profits.”

“And you agreed?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Ming Guanxin shrugged. “Father said if the marriage works out, he’ll hand me the business. It’s partnership and inheritance both—it makes everything more secure.”

He smiled, almost boyishly. “And after all, you saw him yourself. Mu Langjun’s looks are enough to make anyone agree. I’m not losing out.”

Xiao Yuanbao laughed. “That’s exactly what a merchant’s son would say—practical first, feelings later. But so long as you like him, that’s what truly matters.”

Ming Guanxin looked up at the sky, a faint wistfulness in his expression. “Bao-ge’er, you weren’t born into a merchant family. You wouldn’t understand—our lives revolve around one word: profit. We live well because of it, but we also have to protect it.”

“For families like ours, marriages aren’t made for love. If the match happens to please both sides, that’s a blessing worth thanking heaven for. Fortunately, my father dotes on me, and my mother is strong-minded enough to shield me in this big household. So even when they marry me for advantage, they’ll make sure it isn’t a poor match.”

Xiao Yuanbao pressed his lips together, thinking that every kind of family carried its own burdens.

Seeing his friend’s faint melancholy, he patted the back of Ming Guanxin’s hand. “At least this time fortune’s smiling on you, Xin-ge’er.”

Ming Guanxin gave a half-laugh, half-sigh. “I just worry that even if Mu Langjun agrees out of duty to his parents, he won’t truly be pleased with me.”

“You mustn’t lose heart,” Xiao Yuanbao said gently. “Affection takes time. Even I—Anan and I have been promised since childhood, grew up together, yet our path wasn’t without twists either.”

Ming Guanxin smiled. “Hearing that from you makes me feel much more at ease.”

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

When Zhao Guangzong left Qi Beinan’s residence, the hour was already late.

He walked slowly through the alley, where a thin layer of new snow had just fallen, reflecting the faint glow of lanterns ahead. His thoughts drifted as he went. Life, he mused, was never smooth for anyone.

Even someone as steady and prudent as Qi Beinan could still find himself caught in sudden troubles. Yet if one possessed Qi Beinan’s composure and ability, even misfortune held little to fear.

In dealing with people and the world, Zhao felt he was still like a child—he would do well to observe more and learn from Qi Beinan’s example.

Seeing the lighted lanterns down the street, he decided the night was not too far gone. He would stop by home, then read a while in his study before bed.

“Out so late in this cold? Where’ve you been?”

When Zhao reached his home, he was surprised to find his father and mother had come into town. Joy warmed his face at the sight of them.

“There was a lawsuit at A’nan’s house,” he said, meaning Qi Beinan. “I went to see how things turned out.”

Village Head Zhao nodded knowingly. The two boys had been close since childhood, and their friendship had only deepened through years of study together. Both families were pleased with the bond.

Their visits between town and village had grown frequent, and Zhao’s father often dealt with Steward Xiao as well.

He asked about the case and, hearing that all had ended well, sighed with relief. “That boy’s a capable one—he’s always made people feel at ease.”

Zhao Guangzong agreed, then asked, “But what brings you both here in this weather, so late?”

At that, his father smiled broadly. “Your mother and I brought some things. Come see if they please you.”

Curious, Zhao looked out and saw that they had come by ox cart, with a large hemp sack loaded in the back.

Inside were winter-cured delicacies—ducks and hens stretched open with bamboo sticks, long strips of dried fish, and thick cuts of glossy pork belly.

When he opened the sack, a rich fragrance rose—pinewood smoke and fruit peel mingled with the savory scent of cured meat.

“These are wonderful,” Zhao said, delighted. “I’ll take some to A’nan—they’ll think it’s delicious too.”

His mother, Madam Zhang, laughed. “Fragrant, isn’t it? We smoked them with pine branches and orange peel—freshly made this winter month. The chickens and ducks were just right—not too fat, not too lean. You can steam them and eat them right away.”

Village Head Zhao said, “Before you bring any to the Qi household, pack some neatly in a box. Line the bottom with a clean cloth and send them to Master Yang’s family—let your future father-in-law taste our country cooking.”

Madam Zhang quickly added, “I also got some dried mushrooms from the Xiao family. Seal them in the box too and send it as a New Year gift to Master Yang. Those mushrooms are rare in town—he’s sure to appreciate them.”

At that, Zhao Guangzong felt a pang of unease.

“Just last month we sent a whole cart of smokeless coal,” he said quietly. “Then two bolts of silk, and this month three more deliveries. Now this again—it’s starting to feel excessive.”

His father’s neck stiffened. “You foolish boy. The Yangs may have shown interest, but there’s been no formal proposal or betrothal. Nothing’s settled yet.”

“This is still a test—for you, and for our family. Courtesy never offends. The Yangs stand above us in rank; all the more reason for us to show diligence and respect. It’ll help put the Education Commissioner’s mind at ease.”

His mother nodded. “He’s right. Who goes through the New Year without exchanging gifts?”

Zhao Guangzong said nothing, his chest heavy with mixed feelings.

…

At the Yang residence.

“More gifts from them again?”

Late in the morning, Yang Xu was sitting at his dressing table when a cheerful servant came running in. “Young Master Zhao has brought another box.”

“He’s in the main hall speaking with the master now,” the servant added.

“Should I go greet him, young master?” the boy asked.

Yang Xu replied coolly, “The engagement hasn’t been settled—what would I be doing chasing after him?”

He still remembered the embarrassment of his bold visit to Qi Beinan before; it had been quite the scene. Translated on Hololo novels. Thankfully, Qi Beinan was a discreet man and hadn’t spread the story.

Who knew what kind of temperament Zhao Guangzong had? Best not to make him think the marriage was already certain.

By the time Yang Xu finished tidying himself, Zhao had already left.

He went to his father’s study. “What did they bring this time?”

Yang Xuezheng said, “Some home-cured meats—chicken, fish, duck, that sort of thing.”

Yang Xu sniffed lightly. “Smells rather nice.”

Though the Yang family held office, they weren’t particularly wealthy or business-minded. Much of their funds had gone toward securing official connections for Yang Dalang, leaving the household a bit strained.

Such gifts—simple cured meats—were hardly beneath them.

“These dried mushrooms are rare,” Yang Xuezheng said. “Pack them up neatly; they’ll make a good gift when we pay our respects elsewhere.”

Yang Xu lifted a handful, inhaled their earthy scent, and said, “For a farming family, the Zhaos seem quite well-off. They’ve sent so many things these past two months.”

A whole cart of smokeless coal at the start of winter—worth a good sum. Then two bolts of fine crescent-moon silk. And now, though these were ordinary goods, the sheer number of deliveries added up to something significant.

Yang Xuezheng showed no sign of pleasure at receiving the gifts. He said to Yang Xu, “Their home isn’t very large. If you do marry him, he’ll need to buy a new house—something fit for a couple.”

Yang Xu replied, “If he becomes an official, he surely won’t be stationed in Ling County. If I marry him, I’ll have to go wherever he’s assigned. A house here would just sit empty. As long as there’s a place to stay when we visit, that’s enough.”

“You’re already speaking in his favor,” said his father with mild irritation. “A few gifts and you’re swayed so easily.”

Yang Xuezheng shook his head. “All the gifts in the world can’t compare to a good examination rank. Instead of currying favor with trinkets, he’d do better to spend his energy writing a few more essays.”

He was still dissatisfied that Zhao Guangzong had barely scraped onto the provincial examination list. Such a ranking smacked of luck; there was little chance he’d achieve anything notable in the upcoming metropolitan exam.

Though Yang Xuezheng didn’t expect him to win the title of jinshi, he still hoped Zhao could at least earn a respectable score—it would make it easier to secure a post through patronage later.

Yang Xu didn’t argue further. If he did, his father would only go on criticizing Zhao’s every flaw, which always left him feeling bitter and trapped.

Inwardly, he wondered, If Zhao Guangzong is truly so unimpressive, why must I be the one to marry him at all? The thought stirred quiet resentment. Better not to marry than to marry unwillingly.

---

By the first lunar month, banquets filled every household.

Xiao Yuanbao hadn’t even managed a trip back to his village yet—the city feasts alone kept him eating day after day.

One morning, while dressing, he pinched his own stomach and frowned. “I swear it’s getting rounder again.”

All winter he had been wrapped in thick clothes; any extra softness hid easily beneath the layers. But at night, when he changed into lighter garments, the truth was clear—his figure had grown noticeably fuller.

He fretted quietly. I’m not even married yet. If I get too round, won’t I look terrible in my wedding robes?

“You’re still growing,” Qi Beinan said from across the table, watching him cover his bowl to block another serving. “You’re not fat. A bit of flesh in winter keeps the cold away.”

Xiao Yuanbao refused the braised pork—one of Madam Liu’s best dishes.

“Spring will come soon,” he said. “When I shed these winter clothes, I’ll still have the weight. What then?”

Seeing his gentle coaxing fail, Qi Beinan sighed and popped the piece of pork into his own mouth. “Then let me get fat instead. I don’t mind. Either way, fat or not, I’m still yours. Why starve yourself over appearances?”

Xiao Yuanbao’s face flushed. “If you eat it, I won’t either.”

“What a heartless boy,” Qi Beinan said with mock injury.

Just then, Tie Nan came hurrying in. “Zhao Guangzong is here.”

“Perfect timing,” Qi Beinan said. “Has he eaten? Tell him to join us.”

“I asked,” Tie Nan replied. “He says he’ll wait in the side hall—looks like he has something urgent.”

Qi Beinan’s brows drew together slightly. He set down his chopsticks. “Keep eating,” he told Xiao Yuanbao. “I’ll go see what’s wrong.”

But Xiao Yuanbao also put down his bowl. “I’ll come too.”

Qi Beinan didn’t object. They went together.

---

“I’m disturbing your meal,” Zhao said the moment they entered the side hall. He looked pale and restless, like a man clutching at his last bit of composure. Seeing Qi Beinan felt like finding an anchor in a storm.

“It’s all right,” Qi Beinan said. “Calm yourself. What happened?”

Zhao took a breath. “Since passing the provincial exam, merchants and farmers have been calling at my home one after another, hoping to be taken under my name. Last month, I accepted a merchant surnamed Dou as a retainer. The smokeless coal I sent you—it came from his trade.”

Qi Beinan nodded. He remembered the gift; Xiao Yuanbao had even joked that Zhao must have struck gold to afford such fine coal. At the time, Qi Beinan had simply assumed the Zhao family had found new business connections and hadn’t asked further.

“Has something happened with this merchant?” he asked.

Zhao’s tone grew anxious. “The county office just received a lawsuit. Someone’s accused Dou of monopolizing trade and using violence to settle a dispute—he even broke another man’s leg.”

“Worse,” Zhao continued, “Dou hasn’t apologized or paid compensation. He’s been boasting that he has powerful backing and fears no court.”

Qi Beinan immediately understood. “So he’s been using your name to act with impunity. And now the victims have filed charges against both him and you?”

Zhao nodded quickly. “Exactly. The county notified me this morning, asking if I personally know the man.”

Qi Beinan frowned. “When you accepted him, was there a written contract?”

“There was,” Zhao said grimly. “That’s what makes it worse. If it had only been a verbal promise, I could deny it—but with a signed contract, there’s no escaping the connection.”

Qi Beinan’s face darkened. That meant the merchant truly belonged to Zhao’s household in legal standing.

Zhao’s voice shook with frustration. “No one in our family has ever been dragged into a lawsuit before, and now it’s over an outsider! I don’t even know what to do!”

“It’s my own fault,” Zhao Guangzong said bitterly. “When I first passed the provincial exam, you warned me not to be swayed by merchants offering gifts. You said that while it might seem profitable at first, there’s no such thing as a free meal—whatever benefits I take today, I’ll pay back double tomorrow. I was truly foolish.”

The matter was already done, and Qi Beinan knew there was no use in blame. He asked instead, “It isn’t uncommon for scholars to take merchants or farmers under protection—many see it as one of the privileges of passing the exams. If there were no advantages, why else would so many crave the title of juren? When I warned you, it wasn’t to demand total refusal—it was to tell you to investigate carefully before accepting anyone. How did such a man slip through your gate?”

“This one was recommended by my father,” Zhao Guangzong said, his voice thick with regret. “He said the Dou family were honest and hardworking merchants who had long been bullied by those under powerful protection—shops they wanted were taken, and deals they’d negotiated were stolen away. They only wanted an official’s backing so they could do fair business in peace. My father knew them a little and, after hearing I’d passed the exam, agreed to bring them to me.”

“I had no intention of sheltering merchants,” Zhao Guangzong went on miserably. “The Zhao family isn’t rich, but we manage well enough.”

His face went pale, and his voice turned bitter. “But my father thought that since the Education Commissioner favors me and might want me as a son-in-law, our family can’t look too poor. To stay in the Yangs’ good graces, we had to keep sending valuable gifts…”

Pressed by his father and mother’s persuasion, Zhao Guangzong had finally agreed to accept the Dou merchant’s request for protection. Still, he knew it was a serious matter, so before signing the contract, he’d asked around.

The Dou family had been in the charcoal trade for years, with no record of wrongdoing—if anything, they were often bullied by others. Everyone called them honest people. Hearing nothing bad, Zhao Guangzong had believed it safe.

Qi Beinan sighed. “He was probably honest once. But once he gained protection, pride turned to arrogance. Having tasted power, he sought to make up for old humiliations—and that’s what brought this trouble on you. Unlucky timing for you indeed.”

Zhao Guangzong’s face twisted with anxiety. “What should I do now?”

“First,” Qi Beinan said firmly, “you must cut all ties with him at once. Today he’s only beaten someone; tomorrow it could be worse—perhaps even murder.”

Zhao Guangzong nodded quickly. “Of course. I’ll sever all connection with him, whether or not you say so.”

“Second,” Qi Beinan continued, “what’s done is done, so you must make amends. Bring generous gifts and visit the injured family in person. Whether they forgive you or not, you must show sincerity.”

“After that, submit a written appeal to the magistrate explaining your position. If all goes well, you’ll be cleared; if not, at worst you’ll be blamed for failing to supervise those under your protection.”

Hearing this, Zhao Guangzong’s mind began to settle. The panic drained from his face, replaced by focus. He rose and bowed deeply. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you. Truly.”

Qi Beinan patted his shoulder. “No need for formality between us. It’s normal to lose your composure when something sudden happens. What matters is that you stay calm enough to think through the solution. Go handle it—and if anything proves difficult, come to me.”

Zhao Guangzong nodded. “I will.” And with that, he hurried out.

After he left, Xiao Yuanbao still frowned, unable to shake the unease.

He remembered the offers that had come from merchants earlier—so many tempting deals. At the time, he’d thought it a pity that his brother had refused every one, being so strict and cautious.

But now, seeing what had happened to Zhao Guangzong, he understood Qi Beinan’s wisdom.

Even if one chose to accept a merchant’s favor, the effort it took to vet their background, investigate their conduct, and then watch them constantly for change of heart was exhausting. Better not to open that door at all. With that energy, one could build honest success instead.

“I just hope it ends without trouble,” Xiao Yuanbao murmured.

Qi Beinan, hearing the soft worry in his voice, took his hand. “It wasn’t Zhao Guangzong who ordered that merchant to bully others. He’s guilty only by association. There won’t be serious punishment.”

“But still…”

Xiao Yuanbao blinked. “Still what?”

Qi Beinan said quietly, “Let’s wait and see.”

---

Zhao Guangzong spent the next two days rushing about. First, he formally dissolved his contract with the Dou family. Then, following Qi Beinan’s advice, he brought ample gifts to visit the injured household.

They were far kinder than he’d expected—welcoming him with courtesy and even expressing gratitude for his apology.

Next, Zhao Guangzong submitted his statement to the county magistrate.

When the hearing opened, the plaintiff withdrew the charges against Zhao Guangzong and instead added a new accusation against Dou for “using the name of a gentry household to oppress others.”

The verdict came quickly: Dou was ordered to pay compensation for medical expenses, received ten lashes, and had one of his shops confiscated.

Zhao Guangzong was cleared of wrongdoing but still received a verbal reprimand—a warning to all scholars to keep their followers in check.

Xiao Yuanbao had gone secretly to watch the hearing from the crowd.

When the Dou merchant was brought forward for punishment, he saw the man’s face clearly and gasped on the carriage ride home.

“Brother,” he said to Qi Beinan, eyes wide, “do you know who that Dou merchant is?”

Qi Beinan didn’t go to the county office himself to watch the trial. He stayed in the carriage, waiting while Xiao Yuanbao went to see the commotion.

Closing the book in his hand, Qi Beinan asked, “You recognize him?”

“Not exactly,” Xiao Yuanbao replied, “but we’ve both seen him before.”

Qi Beinan lifted an eyebrow. “Where?”

“When our shop finished renovations and we went to inspect it—do you remember the two merchants arguing on the street that day?”

Qi Beinan thought for a moment and nodded. He remembered even sending Tie Nan to fetch Fang Youliang to break up the quarrel. The merchant causing the ruckus had looked simple and honest enough, but his manner had been domineering. He’d kept boasting that he was under someone’s protection.

Before Xiao Yuanbao even finished speaking, Qi Beinan already guessed the rest.

“If I’d known that man was one of Zhao Guangzong’s merchants back then,” Qi Beinan said quietly, “I would have scolded him on the spot. That might have spared us all this trouble now.”

He sighed. “Still, with that guileless face, it’s no wonder Zhao Guangzong was deceived.”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded in agreement.

The matter was resolved without further chaos, and Zhao Guangzong finally let out a breath of relief. If things had truly spiraled out of control, he might not even have been able to travel peacefully for the upcoming examinations.

But before his relief could settle, two days later, Yang Xuezheng summoned him.

Zhao Guangzong’s heart sank. He knew there was no hiding this affair from Yang Xuezheng and felt a bad premonition about the meeting.

Yang Xuezheng began mildly enough. “You handled this incident well. Visiting the injured family showed you have a kind heart.”

Zhao Guangzong felt a wave of shame. He stood with his head lowered, hands clasped in a formal salute. “It was my mistake, sir. By granting the Dou family protection, I gave them the confidence to act arrogantly and harm innocent people.”

Yang Xuezheng studied the young man before him. His attitude was sincere enough—but wrong was still wrong.

He raised his teacup, taking a slow sip. He neither stopped Zhao Guangzong’s bow nor said anything further right away.

Just thinking of the fine charcoal that had been sent to his household—charcoal that had come from that merchant’s hands—left him uneasy.

He finally spoke. “In a scholar’s household, the word integrity must always come first.”

“Do you know,” he continued, “what those great families in the capital and provincial cities despise most? It’s when scholars entangle themselves with merchants.”

“I myself came from a farming family and worked my way into office. I know how those old families look down on us newcomers. They sit on their old reputations and sneer at those who weren’t born into privilege.”

Yang Xuezheng set down his cup. “I don’t fault you for offering a merchant your protection. But your ability to manage and discipline those under you clearly needs refinement. That skill is vital—not only for running a household but also for serving in office.”

Zhao Guangzong had been listening all this time, unsure of where the lecture was leading. Now he began to understand.

“You weren’t formally punished,” Yang Xuezheng said, “but the verbal reprimand is noted. In the academic records, it will be marked down—and when it comes time for your appointment, that mark will make things difficult.”

He paused deliberately, letting the words sink in.

Zhao Guangzong bowed again. “Your guidance, sir, I will remember. I deserve the reprimand. It is just.”

Yang Xuezheng continued, “If that mark remains, it could hinder your future selection for office. On the other hand, I could overlook it—share a cup of tea with the county magistrate, and the matter would disappear.”

He looked at Zhao Guangzong steadily. “Would you prefer that?”

Zhao Guangzong lowered his head even further. “Of course I hope to enter official selection with a clean record, sir. But I wouldn’t dare make things difficult for you.”

Yang Xuezheng smiled faintly. “It’s not difficult. I only hope that, as I look after your future, you’ll also think of Xu Ge’er’s.”

At that, Zhao Guangzong lifted his head sharply. Their eyes met. His throat tightened; a flood of emotions churned through him.

---

When Zhao Guangzong was summoned from Qi Beinan’s home and returned hours later looking pale and hollow-eyed, Qi Beinan immediately knew something had gone wrong.

“Was your record marked?” Qi Beinan asked.

“No.” Zhao Guangzong shook his head.

He told Qi Beinan everything that had transpired.

“Am I such a shameless man,” Zhao Guangzong asked quietly, “that I’d sacrifice a marriage for my own career?”

Qi Beinan looked at him steadily. “Why belittle yourself so? It isn’t you who refused the marriage. Yang Xuezheng simply doesn’t wish it to continue.”

“He offered you two choices,” Qi Beinan said after a moment. “But they were never truly two. It was one disguised as two. He made sure you’d choose your career. After all, if you married his child, would he ever record his own son-in-law’s fault? He only wanted a reason to withdraw gracefully.”

Zhao Guangzong gave a bitter laugh. “I know you’re right. But knowing doesn’t make it any easier to accept.”

Qi Beinan understood. Zhao Guangzong had taken the merchant under his protection for the sake of this very marriage, and now it had all unraveled because of that same merchant. After all the effort, he was left with nothing but a tarnished name.

“Such is life,” Qi Beinan said softly. “Nothing stays certain. You’re still young, Guangzong. There will be other chances, and better matches ahead.”

Zhao Guangzong nodded faintly.

When he returned home, he shut himself in his room and slept for three days straight before finally regaining his strength.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

Qi Beinan, you—what brings you here?”

Clerk Qian’s expression shifted the instant he saw him. Something told him this visit would not go well.

Qi Beinan didn’t spare him a glance. He strode straight past and stopped in front of Xiao Yuanbao, pulling him closer to check him from head to toe.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

Although Fang Youliang had already given him a brief account on the way and said Xiao Yuanbao was unharmed, the thought of such a thing happening—of someone daring to trap and assault his people in the county—still filled him with urgency and fury.

Since driving that wicked Madam Qin out of the Xiao household, Xiao Yuanbao had never suffered such humiliation under his care.

Now, seeing him safe brought a measure of relief, but the anger only burned hotter.

“I’m fine,” Xiao Yuanbao said softly. He could see the furrow in Qi Beinan’s brow, the sheen of sweat on his forehead, as though the man had rushed the entire way.

Though the fright had left his heart pounding, he hadn’t suffered a single scratch. He didn’t want Qi Beinan worrying further, so he murmured gently, “Really, I’m all right. Poor Qin Jiang’s the one who took the blows.”

Qi Beinan’s gaze lingered on him, confirming that he was indeed unhurt. His worry began to ease—but his rage did not.

The sight of the six men crouched nearby only fanned it. Broad-shouldered, thick-bearded, rough-faced—they were clearly used to throwing their weight around. To think six grown men had locked their shop, trapped two young boys, and dared to strike them—despicable.

If not for Qin Jiang’s martial skill, it could have gone far worse.

Clerk Qian, realizing Qi Beinan had indeed come to demand justice, felt a chill settle in his chest. He cursed the constables inwardly for not warning him first that the boy and youth were Qi Beinan’s household members.

Now that he had walked straight into it, there was no graceful way out.

He bent slightly and forced a smile. “Fortunately the young master wasn’t hurt, or I truly wouldn’t know how to answer for this. When I heard such a commotion in town, I came at once to scold these hotheaded fools myself.”

“Not hurt?”

Qi Beinan’s tone cut cold. He saw through the man’s attempt to downplay the matter.

He turned, lifted Qin Jiang’s chin, showing the bruised jaw and purpling cheek to the clerk. “This,” he said icily, “is what you call ‘not hurt’?”

Clerk Qian opened his mouth to argue. “Between men—”

Qi Beinan didn’t let him finish. “The County Magistrate is known for diligence and strict governance. Yet in broad daylight, such thugs run loose?”

His voice rang sharp and commanding. “If today they dare assault the household of a provincial scholar, tomorrow they’ll dare lay hands on an official! When the gentry themselves are no longer respected, what of the common folk—are they to be beaten at will?”

He narrowed his eyes, fixing Clerk Qian with a cold stare. “Surely such audacity must come from their own arrogance—not from protection behind them. For if someone is backing them, using rank to shield bullies, I trust the County Magistrate will see their patron punished as well. Don’t you think so, Clerk Qian?”

The man’s heart dropped. He had met Qi Beinan before and always thought him a gentle, modest scholar—refined, polite, easy to talk to.

Only now did he realize how wrong he’d been.

Facing that steady, unyielding gaze, he dared not speak in defense. “Yes, Scholar Qi is quite right,” he said quickly.

The bearded horse dealer, seeing his “godfather” Qian yield so easily, grew desperate.

“It was that boy—he said our good horses were sick, then struck first! Look, he—”

Before he could finish, Clerk Qian slapped him hard across the face.

“Still not repentant, and now you slander Scholar Qi!” he roared. “A learned man, most courteous and measured—and his attendants never cause trouble. And that young lad—how could one youth possibly fight six grown men unless provoked?”

The horse dealer reeled from the blow, too stunned to answer.

He dared not call Qian “godfather” again. He just clutched his cheek and moaned, “I’ve been wronged, I’m wronged…”

Inside, he cursed his luck. Translated on Hololo novels. Had he known these boys were connected to a provincial scholar, he’d never have picked this fight. Now he’d been beaten, hauled before the magistrate, and even his backer was bowing low. There would be no compensation—only losses.

Clerk Qian tried again, carefully. “The young master and your people have suffered a fright. How about we let these men pay generous restitution for the medical expenses and offer a formal apology? Would that satisfy you, Scholar Qi?”

“A private settlement?”

Qi Beinan gave a sharp, humorless laugh.

“Even if it weren’t about pride—even for the county’s peace—this cannot be hushed up.”

Clerk Qian hadn’t expected him to be so unyielding, so fierce in temper.

“Scholar Qi,” he said, lowering his voice, “might we speak in private?”

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” said Qi Beinan calmly. “If Clerk Qian has something to say, he may as well speak plainly.”

Seeing Qi Beinan unmoved, Clerk Qian signaled subtly. The others in the hall caught on and backed away, leaving the two some space.

He lowered his voice. “This was truly a case of the Dragon King Temple flooding itself—kin fighting kin. Had we known, no one would’ve dared lay a hand on your people. It would do no one good for this matter to blow up. Let those foolish men pay one hundred taels of silver and a fine horse to the young master as medical compensation—would that satisfy you, Scholar Qi?”

Qi Beinan’s eyes grew cold. “Does Clerk Qian think I’m the sort of man to covet compensation money?”

“Of course not,” the clerk said hastily. “You are upright and refined. It was their fault, and they will sincerely apologize.”

He continued, speaking with the tone of one advising reason. “But think of it another way—I’m only doing this for your own good.”

“Oh?” Qi Beinan said evenly. “And in what way, exactly?”

“Your young master is at a delicate age,” Clerk Qian said, choosing his words. “I don’t know if he’s betrothed or not, but whether he is or isn’t—if word of this incident spreads, tongues will wag. People are cruel with gossip. Though those ruffians were at fault, for the sake of the young master’s reputation, it would be better to let this go quietly.”

Qi Beinan said nothing, only looked at him. His expression was calm, but his gaze—dark, steady—made the clerk’s heart lurch.

Qian felt a chill crawl up his spine. He swallowed, forcing himself to stay composed.

Then Qi Beinan laughed, a short, mirthless sound. Leaning close, his voice dropped to a whisper.

“I hadn’t even thought of that,” he said. “But since you mentioned it, you’ve reminded me—there’s one more charge I’d overlooked.”

Clerk Qian blinked, uncertain.

Qi Beinan’s tone turned to ice. “You should be grateful those men didn’t lay any improper hands on my betrothed. If they had, prison would have been far too merciful. I’d see them dismembered at the marketplace by noon.”

With that, he took Xiao Yuanbao by the hand, called for Qin Jiang, and said curtly over his shoulder, “Wait for my petition.”

Then he left.

“Godfather! Godfather, you must save me!”

The bearded horse dealer panicked the moment he realized Qi Beinan had left with anger unappeased. Seeing no settlement had been reached, he crawled to clutch at Clerk Qian’s leg.

But the clerk still heard Qi Beinan’s cold words echoing in his ears. Sweat trickled down his back as the young man’s figure disappeared from sight.

His heart pounded like a drum. He had thought Qi Beinan merely a polite scholar of twenty—yet now he understood the calm surface hid a blade’s edge.

He had well and truly offended him, and the thought made his gut twist with dread.

When the horse trader grabbed him again, pleading, Qian snapped. “Who told you to be arrogant! You’ll face your punishment in court!”

He kicked the man aside and stormed off, hands clasped behind his back, mind already racing over how to explain this to the County Magistrate before word reached him through another mouth.

---

“…When they bolted the door, my heart almost stopped,” Xiao Yuanbao said animatedly later that evening at home, recounting the ordeal. “I was wondering where I could even run—and just then, Qin Jiang flew forward and kicked that bearded man right in the jaw. I swear I heard a crack.”

Even retelling it made him shudder and grin at once. “I could feel it from across the room. The guard tried to rush in but was scared out of his wits, shaking his head like a rattle drum. Then he tried to flee and got kicked halfway across the yard for his trouble.”

“I heard Fang Da’s voice outside,” he went on, gripping Qi Beinan’s hand. “I ran out, and he looked like he’d just seen a ghost—Qin Jiang was still landing on one of the dealers he’d knocked over. Brother, can you believe it? Qin Jiang’s still so young, but he’s incredible!”

Qi Beinan didn’t respond. He only listened quietly, his gaze distant.

Xiao Yuanbao noticed the silence, turned to ask what was wrong—but before a word left his mouth, Qi Beinan suddenly pulled him into his arms.

Startled, Xiao Yuanbao froze.

Qi Beinan’s arms wrapped tight, firm enough that not even air could pass between them. His chin came to rest on Xiao Yuanbao’s shoulder.

The brazier glowed warmly in the room, and the faint scent of bath herbs on Qi Beinan’s skin rose with the heat—familiar, comforting.

Beneath that warmth, Xiao Yuanbao’s voice softened. “I told you, I’m really fine.”

“I can tell,” Qi Beinan murmured against his ear. “You wouldn’t be talking so much otherwise.”

Still, he held him tighter, fear and longing both twisting in his chest. “If something had happened to you,” he whispered, “I think I would have gone mad.”

Xiao Yuanbao knew how deeply he worried. He reached up to stroke Qi Beinan’s back gently. “We can’t foresee danger. Neither of us went looking for trouble—it just found us. No one’s to blame.”

He spoke softly, reasoning. “Next time I’ll be more careful. Nothing like today will happen again.”

“Good.”

Qi Beinan nodded, then said, “I used to think too many people around the house were troublesome. I see now we need a few strong guards here. When I’m away for the exams, I won’t be at ease otherwise.”

“All right,” Xiao Yuanbao agreed readily. “Whatever you say.”

He smiled faintly. “It does feel safer with someone capable nearby. After today, I truly understand the value of it.”

They spoke for a while longer. Seeing Qi Beinan’s mood settle, Xiao Yuanbao tried to slip from his embrace—after all, they’d been holding each other quite some time, and he was beginning to feel shy.

But Qi Beinan refused to let go. His arms only tightened again, his warmth pressing close, as if by holding him he could finally quiet the echo of fear in his chest.

Now that his temper had cooled, Qi Beinan simply wanted to hold Xiao Yuanbao.

Xiao Yuanbao looked slender and delicate, but his body was soft and well-rounded. Years of good care had given him gentle curves; his small frame made the fullness only add to his graceful build.

He was beautiful to look at and comfortable to hold—warm, soft, and faintly fragrant. Qi Beinan had no wish to let go; the fact that he resisted the urge to kiss or nibble was restraint enough.

“I–I can’t breathe,” Xiao Yuanbao whispered, his face flushed.

Qi Beinan loosened his arms a little, though not enough to let him go.

So Xiao Yuanbao stayed where he was, feigning composure and polite resistance, though inside he was quietly delighted.

“What does Brother plan to do with the people from the livestock market?” he asked.

“The imperial law forbids taking justice by force,” Qi Beinan replied. “Otherwise, I’d teach them a proper lesson myself. Pain teaches memory, and it’d do my anger good.”

He added, “Since I can’t touch them, I’ll make sure they don’t go unpunished. A taste of prison labor will remind them well enough.”

Xiao Yuanbao hesitated. “Those men are old acquaintances of Clerk Qian. He pleaded several times for leniency today. If we don’t let it go, won’t that offend him?”

“I’m not afraid of offending a petty clerk,” Qi Beinan said flatly. “People call him ‘Master Qian,’ but he’s just a lowly hire in the county yamen. Whether he’s shown respect or not depends entirely on the magistrate’s mood.”

In his heart, Qi Beinan thought—if Qian hadn’t tried to use Xiao Yuanbao’s reputation to force a private settlement, he might have overlooked it. But since the man dared such conduct, courtesy was no longer owed.

Xiao Yuanbao nodded. He trusted Qi Beinan completely with such matters and felt at ease.

After the long morning’s commotion, the shock had worn him out. The warmth of the room and the safety of Qi Beinan’s arms made him drowsy. Before he realized it, he’d drifted off to sleep.

Qi Beinan listened to his breathing even out, saw his peaceful face, and quietly exhaled.

He carefully carried him to bed, removed his shoes and socks, and tucked him in. The sheets were cool from disuse, so he lay beside him in his clothes until the bedding warmed, then covered him properly.

He didn’t leave the room, choosing instead to set out ink and paper at the small desk. Frowning slightly, he began to write the legal petition.

“Master, someone from the Qin household has arrived,” Tie Nan announced softly at the door.

Qi Beinan paused, set down the brush, and said, “Have them wait in the side hall.”

After a brief tidy-up, he went to the guest room.

“Master, is the young master all right?” Qin Jiang jumped up when he saw him enter.

“Sit,” said Qi Beinan. “He’s fine—just a little tired and resting.”

He turned to the physician who had come to check the boy’s injuries. “Are they serious?”

“Merely superficial wounds,” said the doctor. “Young people heal fast. Apply the ointment, and he’ll be well in a few days.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

After sending the man off, Qi Beinan noticed the bruise at the corner of Qin Jiang’s mouth had darkened; hidden injuries were beginning to show. Fortunately, none were grave.

The boy’s spirit was still bright; he clearly hadn’t been beaten into despair.

“Master, it was my fault today,” Qin Jiang said guiltily. “I let the young master be frightened. I just joined the household and already failed—it must make me seem useless.”

Qi Beinan sat beside him, dipped his fingers into the medicine, rubbed it warm between his palms, and gently applied it to the bruises.

“You did very well,” he said. “Five or six grown men—an ordinary person would’ve been beaten senseless. It’s thanks to your skill they were the ones who suffered instead.”

Then his tone softened into instruction. “But you’re still young—bold and straightforward. It’s good to be brave, but not reckless.”

“You saw the dealer try to sell a sick horse—that was sharp of you. But when you confronted him and called it out so bluntly, of course it stirred conflict. Yes, the fault was theirs, but if your candor had led to greater harm, would it have been worth it?”

“Next time, temper yourself. Be tactful. Don’t clash with them directly. Come back and tell me—I’ll see to it myself. There’s no need for you and the young master to face danger head-on.”

“Those men today were no match for you, so you walked away with a few bruises. But one day, if you meet harder foes and lose an arm or an eye—how would I ever explain that to your father?”

Qin Jiang listened, deeply moved. Guilt and respect welled in his heart.

He wasn’t a troublemaker, but his quick fists often outran his judgment. Even Escort Chief Qin found him hard to discipline at home.

Usually, when he caused trouble, his father’s stick handled it, and his little uncle would hold him after, scolding his father for being too harsh.

Few had ever taken the time to tell Qin Jiang why something he did was wrong—what exactly the mistake was and how to correct it.

Hearing Qi Beinan speak now, not as a master scolding a servant but like an elder brother patiently guiding him, filled his heart with a strange, wordless warmth.

“Master,” he said quietly, “I remember everything you’ve said. I won’t act so recklessly again.”

Qi Beinan saw the sincerity in his eyes and was comforted. “I’m taking the trouble to talk this much for two reasons. First, because I admire your skill. I’d hate for your straight temper to make that skill your downfall. Second, because you’re still young—this is the age when mistakes are easiest to correct. Learn from this, and you’ll have a fine future ahead.”

He smiled faintly. “Boys your age respond better to praise than punishment. Truth be told, all men do. I’ve learned that a few right words often do more than a heavy stick.”

Then he rose. “Tie Nan said someone from your household is here—likely your father, hearing what happened. Come, let’s go to the side hall.”

When they entered, the visitor was indeed Escort Chief Qin.

“Father! You’ve come back?”

“You little rascal,” Qin Piaotou barked. “I’ve only just returned to the county, hadn’t even had a sip of water before hearing you’d caused trouble again!”

He had been waiting in the side hall for some time, restless and uneasy. He wasn’t worried his son had been beaten badly—he knew Qin Jiang’s strength well—but he feared the opposite: that his boy had gone too far and crippled someone.

He had just sent the lad to Qi’s household the day before, and now there was already an incident. If it led to a lawsuit, why would the Qi family bother defending a servant so newly taken in?

For ordinary folk like them, one lawsuit could ruin a lifetime.

Now seeing his son’s bruised, mottled face, Qin Piaotou nearly kicked him on the spot.

Qi Beinan, noticing the travel dust on the man’s clothes, saw he truly had just returned. “Escort Chief Qin, don’t be angry. The matter wasn’t his fault.”

At that, Qin Piaotou stayed his foot. Qin Jiang instinctively slipped behind Qi Beinan, looking every bit the obedient retainer.

“Master, I’m deeply ashamed,” said Escort Chief Qin. “He’s been here only two days and already stirred up trouble. I’ll take him back for a proper beating.”

Qi Beinan sat down, calm as ever. “I’ve already spoken with him. You’ve just come home, tired from the road—no need to add to your worries. In truth, his merit outweighs his fault. He did well.”

The escort chief relaxed a little. “Thank you for your generosity, Master. But… what will happen about the others?”

“I’ll submit the petition to the magistrate,” said Qi Beinan. “No one in the Qi household will ever be bullied without answer.”

Hearing this, Qin Piaotou finally let out a breath.

He had come in such haste because Qin Jiang had been involved in trouble so soon after entering service, and with little connection to his new master, he feared the boy might be made the scapegoat.

After all, the horse dealers had ties to Clerk Qian. For commoners like them, a case against officials or their friends was nearly impossible to win.

Now that Qi Beinan himself intended to press charges, the escort chief was reassured. He spoke privately with his son for a long while before heading home.

---

Later, in another corner of the county office, the Magistrate was sitting beneath a pavilion in his garden, painting a snow scene with a wolf-hair brush.

A kettle of tea simmered beside him, sending up thin white steam; on a wire rack above the brazier, a few chestnuts and tangerines roasted slowly.

“Sit and drink,” he said mildly. “Why are you standing there?”

Clerk Qian bent at the waist, hands respectfully folded. “I’ll just wait on you, my lord. I’m not thirsty.”

The magistrate looked at the man, thinking that after all these years of working together, the old clerk had been a dependable assistant. With his own promotion drawing near, he was inclined to grant a favor or two.

“All right,” the magistrate said. “You’ve served well. I won’t stand by and let you suffer for it. I’ll handle the matter as I see fit.”

“Thank you, my lord—thank you!”

Relief swept through Clerk Qian. “You honor me beyond measure. When the year ends, I’ll send two fine horses to serve you on your new posting. Even though the court provides transport, a few good mounts will make the journey easier.”

The magistrate smiled faintly. “Trust you to think of every detail.”

---

Two days later, Zhao Guangzong arrived in haste at the Qi residence.

Inside, he found Qi Beinan and Xiao Yuanbao calmly playing pitch-pot by the brazier. “The whole county’s in an uproar, and here you two sit playing games?”

“The yamen is interrogating those horse dealers today, and you’re not even going to take a look?”

Xiao Yuanbao hurried to call for tea for him, then said with mild reproach, “I wanted to go see too, but Brother wouldn’t let me.”

Qi Beinan, holding an arrow shaft between his fingers, said lazily, “A provincial scholar has no business loitering around the court. Going there myself would only make me look guilty—like a thief returning to the scene.”

“All the necessary documents have been submitted,” Qi Beinan said calmly. “The petition, the physician’s report for Qin Jiang’s injuries, the prescriptions, and the receipts for the calming medicine and tonics Xiao Bao used after the fright—all properly filed. The magistrate will deliver his verdict in due time. I’ve no need to trouble myself further.”

Zhao Guangzong leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I heard those horse dealers were under Clerk Qian’s protection. He’s served beside the magistrate for years—there’s likely some connection.”

“There is,” Qi Beinan replied evenly. “But no connection outweighs an official’s ambition when promotion is near.”

Zhao didn’t quite understand, but seeing Qi Beinan unperturbed, he kept quiet and waited.

By noon, news from the county office finally arrived.

Tie Nan came running in, beaming. “The horse dealers each received twenty strokes of the rod and three years of hard labor. The Honglong Livestock Market has been shut down. They’ll also pay compensation for the household’s medical expenses.”

Zhao shot to his feet, tea still in hand. “So harsh a sentence!” Then he grinned at Qi Beinan.

Tie Nan continued, “Seems Honglong Market’s been crooked for some time. When the verdict was read, the townsfolk outside the court cheered and clapped.”

Xiao Yuanbao, who’d been confined at home fretting over the case, finally relaxed when he heard. “What about Clerk Qian?” he asked. “Didn’t he beg for his godson?”

“They hired a legal advocate to defend them,” Tie Nan said, “so Clerk Qian had to recuse himself. He couldn’t very well plead for his own men in open court. Besides, every witness present that day was involved—they couldn’t testify. But Qin Jiang was injured on their property, and when the constables arrived, they found the livestock yard locked. Those facts were beyond dispute. Their lawyer had nothing to argue and couldn’t refute Master Qi’s petition.”

Xiao Yuanbao’s heart lifted. Those ruffians had long bullied others, hiding behind powerful backers. Now, at last, justice had caught up to them—and not lightly.

Zhao looked at Qi Beinan. “What exactly did you write in that petition to make the magistrate punish them so severely?”

“I merely wrote the truth,” said Qi Beinan. “In character—they were bullies who preyed on the weak. In trade—they coerced and cheated. In social order—they banded together to provoke unrest and showed no respect toward the gentry.”

He added, “The province has been tense ever since the attack on the exam candidates during the autumn trials. The culprits haven’t been caught, and local officials are on edge. I emphasized their ‘disrespect toward scholars and officials’—it was enough to make an example of them.”

Bullish horse dealers were exactly the sort of men who caused uprisings. With Clerk Qian backing them, the magistrate likely saw them as arrogant underlings emboldened by protection, not realizing deeper implications. Still, when Qi Beinan briefly referenced the recent exam attack, the magistrate would have understood the warning.

No county official nearing reassignment wanted even a whisper of negligence tied to his name. A mishandled disturbance could cost him not just promotion but his position.

And so, even with Clerk Qian pleading sentiment, the magistrate would not risk his career for it.

Zhao whistled softly. “No wonder he came down so hard.”

Qi Beinan said, “Had I only written of their forced trading and assault, Clerk Qian’s mediation might have softened the sentence. The magistrate, out of fairness, would’ve fined and reprimanded them, maybe issued a public warning—but the den would’ve stayed open.”

Zhao nodded. “True enough. Without the shutdown, they’d think they could keep getting away with it.”

Qi Beinan smiled faintly, squeezing Xiao Yuanbao’s hand. “Satisfied now?”

Xiao Yuanbao nodded, eyes bright with relief.

Those thugs had haunted his dreams for days; this news finally cleared the last of his fear.

Meanwhile, Clerk Qian’s situation took a sharp turn.

Just the day before, he had sent the magistrate two fine horses worth a hundred taels as a year-end gift. The very next day, Honglong Market received the harsh sentence—not only were the men condemned to hard labor, the business itself was sealed shut.

He wasn’t worried only for his godson; he’d profited handsomely through that same market. Now, seeing both his men punished and the property confiscated, panic rose in his chest. He tried to seek out the magistrate but couldn’t even gain an audience.

When he arrived at the office, the two horses he’d gifted were being led back out to him. His stomach dropped.

“Clerk Qian,” said Manager Huang mildly, “the roads are icy and you’re not young. The magistrate’s worried for your health. Go home for the New Year—no need to come by so often.”

“Manager Huang,” Qian said urgently, slipping a heavy purse into the man’s sleeve, “please, help me understand! The magistrate won’t see me, and my heart’s on fire. How can I go home and celebrate?”

Huang accepted the bribe with a practiced ease and sighed. “Since we’ve known each other long, I’ll tell you this much. Back in autumn, a provincial scholar was attacked on his way to the exams—the culprits still haven’t been caught. Every official’s on edge. Your godson’s a brute who offended Qi Juren himself—what nerve! Qi Juren is this year’s top provincial candidate. Having suffered trouble on the exam road and now insulted again in our county, of course he’ll take it personally.”

Clerk Qian blanched, a cold sweat breaking down his spine. “Those fools may be crude, but surely they didn’t commit a crime worth execution!”

“The magistrate knows you’re an honest man,” Huang said. “But given the political climate, he has to be cautious. You must understand.”

Clerk Qian left trembling—half terrified, half remorseful.

No wonder the punishment had been so severe, and no wonder the magistrate now refused to see him. Because of those idiotic horse dealers, suspicion had fallen on him as well.

He cursed himself bitterly. How had he ever thought to cross a man like Qi Beinan?

He should have known better. For one so young, from a humble farming family, to rise so far—he had to possess uncommon ability.

But regret came too late. The lesson had already cost him dearly.

˙✧˖°🎓 ༘⋆｡ ˚

After the maintenance and upgrades, the ground floor of the internet café expanded to double its previous size, adding 60 new computers. On the second floor, which originally had rooms along the walls in a suspended corridor, new redwood bridges were built, forming a cross-shaped structure extending toward the center. These bridges were divided into private rooms of varying sizes, from single-person to three-person rooms, adding 30 more computers.

The newly built third, fourth, and fifth floors were temporarily closed to customers. During the upgrades, Lu Yao also expanded the convenience store and the package pick-up area on the ground floor.

Because she was busy with store expansions and constructing the virtual world, Lu Yao could no longer work shifts. Following Jiao Niang’s recommendation, she hired Xiao Xiao, a small flower demon (whose true form was a mimosa), to take turns with Jiao Niang working day and night shifts.

Cheng Ye took full responsibility for the game development and operations. He and Xiao Zhong recommended Wen Rong, the leopard spirit, and the devil clan’s Guan Zhong to serve as system administrators. With the café’s larger scale, both the upper and lower floors needed staff to keep things in order. After brief interviews, Lu Yao signed probationary contracts with Wen Rong and Guan Zhong.

On the grand reopening day, all new staff members were on site. Regular customers stepped into the café, hesitating at first due to the dramatic overnight transformation. The shop now boasted a total of 90 additional computers, making Super Dimensional Internet Café comparable to a large, bustling city-center internet café.

Familiar with the owner’s extraordinary capabilities, customers quickly adapted. The layout changes—such as a one-meter-wide pathway between the bar, the convenience store, and the package rack—meant queues for logging in, purchasing snacks, or picking up parcels were now less crowded and more orderly.

Curious customers roamed about for a moment, discussed the updates with their companions, and then quietly queued at the counter or sought assistance from a system administrator to log in. Everyone remembered that the new game’s beta testing started today. While the expanded café was more spacious, they didn’t want to take chances and hurried to secure a seat.

When the “Tales of the Six Realms” beta test launched, a 90-second opening CG was projected simultaneously above the first and second floors.

In the animated sequence, various scenes from the immersive game world unfolded, resembling mystic realms familiar to the inhabitants of the Floating World. The visuals borrowed heavily from the aesthetics and settings of the continent itself. Most customers found the imagery novel yet strangely familiar, though not particularly shocking.

However, a few moments stood out, especially in the scenes of team battles where demons, devils, and cultivators weren’t fighting as opponents but as allies. The opposing team included a reconnaissance sparrow demon, ghosts, and even celestial beings. The combat was intense and fluid, captivating everyone’s attention.

What truly struck a chord was the seamless cooperation among humans, demons, devils, and ghosts within the teams. The battle scenes showcased a dynamic synergy, with each side fighting fiercely yet harmoniously.

Sitting in the hall, Ling Xiangsi of Tianyan Sect frowned slightly, her arms crossed. “Why would cultivators mix with demons and devils in this game?”

Beside her, Jian Buyi of Jiujue Sect glanced at her before surveying the hall, where demons, devils, and even cultivators mingled freely. He said nothing—after all, the lines had long since blurred.

Following the recent competitive season, cultivator teams had repeatedly challenged the shopping street team to meet the so-called “Strongest in the Three Realms.” Though the store staff were often busy, they sometimes allowed disciples from the Floating World Sect to fill in. Despite numerous attempts, the cultivator teams had never bested the shopping street team, only managing to scrape by with a minor victory here and there—falling far short of meeting the strongest.

Over time, cultivators and demons had learned to ignore each other in the café, occasionally even discussing online memes or gaming strategies. However, the idea of trusting one another enough to watch each other’s backs in life-or-death battles, as depicted in the opening CG, was absurd and outrageous to the orthodox cultivators.

Demons and devils weren’t thrilled either. Casual interactions at the internet café were one thing, but trusting those self-righteous cultivators? Out of the question.

Once the CG ended, the beta test officially opened. Customers from all three realms—each harboring their own subtle grievances—began logging in one after another.

Logging into the game interface, players are greeted with a one-minute introduction to the game’s world background. Following this, six black bronze gates appear on the screen.

In Tales of the Six Realms, players can choose from six available races: Humans/Cultivators, Magic beasts, Demons, Devils, Ghosts, and Celestials.

The little sparrow demons eagerly picked the “Gate of Ten Thousand Demons” without hesitation.

Next to them, the half-demon bear cub hesitated for a while before also entering the “Gate of Ten Thousand Demona.”

Meanwhile, Guan Zhong, who was on shift, noticed that Danxi chose the “Gate of Refining Devils.”

The cultivators, without exception, all entered the “Gate of Seeking the Dao.”

After selecting a race, players proceed to choose their cultivation path from a detailed list and then customize their character’s appearance.

The character customization interface provides both preset “parts” and an option to sketch your design manually, allowing players full creative control over their appearance.

Once the character creation is complete, the game officially begins.

At this stage of the beta, Tales of the Six Realms offers three main gameplay modes:

1. Exploration and Quests
   Players traverse the map, complete quests, and collect experience points, spirit stones, and enhancement materials.
2. Team Dungeons
   Players form parties to grind dungeons for materials.
   These two modes resemble standard browser-based RPGs, where players use experience to level up, spirit stones and materials to enhance attributes, strengthen weapons, and refine pills. Weapons and pills can be sold at weapon shops or alchemy halls for additional resources.
3. Multiplayer Online Battles (unlocked at level 20)
   This is a faction-based PvP mode where players push through maps to defeat the opposing team.
   Players can choose from three battle formats: 3v3, 4v4, or 5v5.
   The mode, akin to a wuxia-inspired MOBA game, is called “Trial Cliff” in Tales of the Six Realms. In Trial Cliff, players are no longer restricted to their initial race selection. Instead, they can pick from a pool of characters representing various races and lineages. Characters are regularly updated, and each one is tailored to a specific sub-race within the six factions.

The first character designed for the game was the Sparrow Scout from the demon race. Its inspiration came from the sparrow demons who frequented the café and a humanoid sketch drawn by Lu Yao for them.

Thanks to the rich and vivid source material, the design of the sparrow scout’s demon form, human form, skills, and backstory was completed in just two days.

On the first day of testing, most players hadn’t yet reached level 20 and were busy exploring maps and completing quests.

One unique feature of Tales of the Six Realms is that each race receives unique quests, maps, and dungeon content, with slight differences in quest rewards.

Players could exchange gameplay tips and tasks on the world chat and privately trade materials.

By the end of the first day, around 200 players had logged in, but actionable feedback was sparse.

On the second day, a few players reached level 20 and gained access to Trial Cliff.

Given the small beta testing pool, only a handful of players managed to level up so quickly. At this point, Trial Cliff only supported AI matches, limited to the 3v3 mode.

Coincidentally, the first three players to enter the mode were all cultivators: Jiang Yan from Hengze Sect, Ling Xiangsi from Tianyan Sect, and Xiao Yi from Kunlun Sect.

When entering Trial Cliff for the first time, players watch a beginner tutorial video introducing the map, gameplay mechanics, and currently available characters.

Halfway through the video, the three players began to relax—they were familiar with this type of gameplay.

“This is just team-based combat!”

They quickly realized that the team battles allowed characters of different races to cooperate, explaining the mixed-race teams depicted in the opening CG.

During the character selection phase, all three players chose cultivator characters, specifically sword cultivators.

One unique feature of Tales of the Six Realms is that players on the same team can select the same character, which sets it apart from other MOBA games.

The AI opponents consisted of a diverse lineup: the demon race’s scout sparrow, the blood demon from the demon generals, and a human race’s zither cultivator.

After selecting their characters, the map began loading.

In the three-player mode, the map consists of a single main lane, but each faction has multiple buff points along the lane, providing plenty of opportunities to contest resources.

Ling Xiangsi and Xiao Yi, both sword cultivators, had no hesitation in choosing the only sword cultivator character from the pool.

Jiang Yan’s reasoning was more personal. In reality, his poor aptitude had prevented him from pursuing sword cultivation in Hengze Sect, forcing him to become a pill cultivator.

When Jiang Yan entered Tales of the Six Realms, he chose the “Gate of Seeking the Dao.” During the second stage, “Cultivation Path,” he opted to become a sword cultivator instead of a pill cultivator.

The path of a sword cultivator differs significantly from that of a pill cultivator. Even though the game’s setting doesn’t fully replicate reality, Jiang Yan experienced a brief joy of practicing swordsmanship in the game.

Motivated by his newfound passion, he worked hard to level up and became one of the first players to reach level 20.

When he unlocked the Trial Cliff mode and saw the available characters, he instantly chose the only sword cultivator among the four cultivator options.

Once the three players entered the map, they finally examined their characters’ skills:

• Basic attack
• Combo skill
• Ultimate skill

The sword cultivator character is designed as an assassin, boasting high burst damage and powerful output. However, it comes with four-star difficulty (out of five) and low durability.

Xiao Yi quickly formulated a plan:
“As long as we survive until level 5 and upgrade the ultimate skill during the Golden Core stage, we can slice through the enemy like butter.”

Ling Xiangsi had the same idea.

Having spent considerable time playing 5v5 games at the café to challenge the Three Realms’ Strongest, they quickly grasped the mechanics of this new mode.

Jiang Yan practiced the controls, rolling across his keyboard to familiarize himself with the skills, and quietly followed his two teammates.

The plan was simple: stay cautious, farm until level 5, and unleash their ultimate skills to dominate the enemy.

The opposing AI team had other plans.

At level 5, the scout sparrow transformed, summoning five untransformed sparrow minions. These minions had little attack power but were annoyingly effective at scouting, harassing opponents, and providing cover.

Meanwhile, the blood demon, as a melee fighter, built up blood rage to deal painful attacks with life steal. Upon transforming, their weapon could morph into a swarm of vampiric bats capable of mid-range attacks.

To make things worse, the zither cultivator supported the team perfectly: providing speed buffs when the sparrow minions harassed and healing the blood demon precisely when their health was low.

After healing, the blood demon launched devastating attacks, shielded by the sparrow scout’s interference. In no time, the three squishy sword cultivators were wiped out.

Frustrated but not defeated, the sword cultivator team respawned and tried again.

They relied on their skill, hoping to turn the tide through superior gameplay. But each time they initiated a team fight, their desperation grew. They lost three consecutive battles, their performance worsening with each attempt.

Within twenty minutes, the AI team destroyed the players’ base.

Xiao Yi and Ling Xiangsi stared blankly at the large “DEFEAT” text on their screens, unable to comprehend how their sword cultivators lost so badly.

Sure, the blood demon was powerful in the late game, but by the end, they couldn’t even take down the scout sparrow, which had minimal attack power and tanky gear that made its health bar nearly invincible.

Xiao Yi and Ling Xiangsi were deeply dissatisfied with the game’s mechanics. Feeling demoralized, they logged out after filling out feedback surveys, unwilling to continue playing.

Jiang Yan, however, stayed online for a few more rounds. He was paired with AI teammates for subsequent matches, but the repetitive experience soon bored him as well.

He exited the Trial Cliff and went back to taking quests and farming materials, occasionally recruiting players in the world chat to team up for dungeons, continuing to level up.

When Jiang Yan exited the Trial Cliff, he happened to level up, and for a brief moment, his vision darkened, as if he had seen a strange door.

But the moment passed so quickly that by the time he reacted, everything was back to normal. He assumed he had been playing too long and his eyes were tired, so he didn’t think much of it.

By the afternoon, around thirty beta players had reached level 20.

With more players online, it was inevitable to encounter other races in the Trial Cliff.

At first, players tended to choose characters of their own race, and team configurations were no longer as extreme as the three sword cultivators. This made the matches much more enjoyable.

The character designs in Tales of the Six Realms were fresh and interesting. Both the demon and monster races featured pre- and post-transformation forms, while cultivators would change their equipment and weapons as they leveled up. Just exploring the upgraded forms of different characters kept many players entertained for hours.

The most excited were the sparrow demons in the café.

They hadn’t known that the shopkeeper had turned sparrow demons into game characters. They didn’t understand what they saw in the CG until they entered the Trial Cliff and saw the familiar yet unfamiliar character cards in the pool. The sparrows were stunned.

Scout Sparrow of the Demon Race!

They were scouts!!!

The sparrows chirped noisily in excitement, and in their first match, they all chose the scout character.

The scout’s strength lay in its agility, excelling in harassment and support. Post-transformation, it even gained companions to help.

When they reached level 5 and unlocked their transformation, the sparrow demons, who had dreamed of transforming, jumped up and down in excitement.

Once they cultivated enough to transform in real life, they would surely look just as amazing and powerful.

Besides the sparrow scout, there were a total of 24 released character cards, spanning humans, demons, devils, ghosts, and other creatures.

By evening, the café was abuzz with discussions about Tales of the Six Realms.

Devil and demon customers were particularly enthusiastic about discussing the character cards in the Trial Cliff, especially those whose true forms were similar to certain game characters. They spoke with pride, as if they had been awarded a certificate.

The sparrow demons, in particular, were so proud they seemed about to sprout wings.

Meanwhile, Xiong An’an was sulking again.

Despite being the café’s most beloved little bear demon and a national treasure, he didn’t have his own character card in the new game.

The sparrow demons, who couldn’t even transform yet, not only had a character card but were also the most popular characters discussed on the second day of the game’s launch.

The little bear demon rolled on the floor of the café in frustration, whining pitifully.

Zhong Lianjia entered the store carrying his bag and saw the little furball, now covered in dust like a sesame rice ball. He didn’t mind, though, and bent down to pick him up. “Why’s our little bear demon upset?”

Xiong An’an whimpered in grievance, his beady eyes filled with resentment as he stared at Lu Yao.

Lu Yao, holding the little Tang Kang in her arms, sighed helplessly. “He’s throwing a tantrum because I didn’t turn our great national treasure cub into a character card.”

Hearing her tone, Xiong An’an immediately realized he’d made a mistake—she was soft-hearted, not one to yield to hard tactics.

Scrambling out of Zhong Lianjia’s arms, he scampered over to hug Lu Yao’s leg, switching to a routine of cuddling and being adorable.

Suddenly, a chilling aura filled the shop, making the air feel uncomfortably cold. Lu Yao turned, scanning her surroundings.

Dark red water stains began to slowly emerge on the wall beside the courier shelves. Lu Yao instinctively clutched the little Tang Kang tightly and pushed Zhong Lianjia away. “The ghost gate is opening—get out of here.”

Zhong Lianjia froze. “…”

What’s going on?

Lu Yao was also considering the visitor’s intentions.

Was it because the little Tang Kang’s time had come?

Or was it related to the ten invitations she had sent to the underworld?

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