By the second month of the year, the weather grew warmer with each passing day.
In the early afternoon, the willow tree at the entrance of the alley sprouted fresh branches, their tender green hue like a wisp of smoke. Aunt Gu and a few other neighbors sat beneath it, sewing and sorting vegetables, basking in the warm sunlight that enveloped them. They waved over a child selling apricot blossoms on the street, buying a few flowers to wear in their hair.
Taking advantage of the midday lull in customers, Shen Miao took Lei Ting and Zhuifeng out for a walk. As she passed by, she overheard the women passionately discussing a popular opera that had been running since last year and still drew packed audiences.
Aunt Gu, stitching the sole of a shoe, asked absentmindedly, "Which act of The Scholar Wang Divorces His Wife are they performing now? I haven’t gone in two days. The theaters are so slow—taking seven or eight days just to stage one act. It’s unbearable not knowing how it ends!"
"They’re on the twelfth act, Lady Pan Drowns and Loses Her Child. That wretched concubine framed Lady Pan, causing her to fall into the water and lose her baby. And Scholar Wang actually defended the concubine and scolded Lady Pan! It made my teeth grind with anger—I nearly rushed onstage to drag the actor playing Scholar Wang down and give him a beating!" Grandma Zeng huffed indignantly.
Sister-in-law Gu sighed. "How tragic. Lady Pan never should’ve allowed that maid-turned-concubine into the household. If she hadn’t, none of this would’ve happened."
Aunt Gu gave a loud snort, slapping the shoe sole emphatically. "In my opinion, the real problem is Scholar Wang himself. Lady Pan ought to take him to court! Last time Shen family’s little Chuan came by, he mentioned something about ‘demoting a wife to concubine status warrants a hundred lashes.’ The magistrate should have that scoundrel beaten to death!"
Shen Miao was nearly yanked past the aunties by the two dogs but still managed a quick greeting. However, they were too engrossed in their discussion, and only Aunt Gu responded distractedly without looking up, "Oh, girl, walking the dogs, eh? Wait—Scholar Wang dares to divorce his wife for a concubine? That bastard! Who wrote this cursed play? It’s infuriating! Lady Pan should sue him, bribe the bailiffs to give him a good thrashing, then remarry someone better! Why keep that worthless rat around?"
"Even if she doesn’t take him to court, she should write to her family and have her brothers come with clubs to teach him a lesson!"
"Exactly! The bastard deserves to be beaten to death!"
The wind carried the women’s increasingly heated voices as Shen Miao, who had always been too busy making money to watch operas, finally realized—so ancient China had its own version of soap operas?
She had assumed each act was a standalone story, but thinking about it, it made sense. Peking opera had serialized plays, and Yuan dynasty operas featured recurring characters like Judge Bao. To the people of this era, watching these performances must’ve been no different from binge-watching a drama in later centuries.
And they even got to see it live, with the actors right before their eyes. The most popular moni (the equivalent of a leading man) in the theaters would have silk and silver coins thrown at him after a performance, and it was said his costume headdress would be adorned with banknotes gifted by noblewomen.
After half an hour of walking the dogs, Shen Miao returned home, panting and drenched in sweat.
These daily outings with Lei Ting and Zhuifeng counted as her cardio. The dogs were getting heavier—she’d tried lifting Lei Ting recently and suspected he weighed seventy pounds, while Zhuifeng was at least forty. When both ran at full speed, it was a struggle to hold them back.
Back in the Shen family courtyard, Tao was sweeping the ground while three chickens pecked leisurely for worms. The idle men had taken Eleventh Young Master and Shierniang out to deliver fast food. Since Shierniang’s arrival, Shen Miao had returned the rented donkey cart—now the two oxen pulled two "food carts" together.
Unfortunately, the broker still hadn’t found her a good cook, which was a headache. Thankfully, the stove in the half-finished shop was nearly built, and the wok was ready. Everything was set—except for a strong, capable chef.
On a brighter note, Aunt Li and Uncle Li had successfully boarded a ship heading south. Shen Miao saw them off at the city’s outer gate, listening with a smile as Aunt Li spent nearly half an hour fussing over the dogs before finally leaving.
When she returned, the stable was emptier—Zhou Da had also departed for Chenzhou, carrying a thick stack of letters from Ninth Brother and accompanied by the horse, Rolls-Royce.
Now, only a young calf remained in the stable, munching on soft, juicy alfalfa. It was halfway through weaning, and most of Shierniang’s milk was now reserved for human consumption.
Niu Sanshi explained that after weaning, the cow could continue producing milk for another seven or eight months, though the quantity would gradually decrease. Still, milking twice a day would yield about ten pounds without issue.
While milking, Niu Sanshi sang to the cow, claiming it helped with output. His singing was horribly off-key, grating enough that even Zhuifeng covered his ears, but oddly, Shierniang didn’t seem to mind—she even swayed her head and tail to the erratic tune.
Probably used to it since birth.
Thanks to Shierniang, the household now enjoyed an abundance of milk.
Shen Miao made sure the children drank a cup of warm milk every morning, and the results were striking. Ji Brother and Chen Chuan had shot up in height, their growth marks on the pillar noticeably wider each time.
Sister Xiang grew more slowly but had still gained height. Tao mentioned her sleeves were getting short and planned to add an extra length soon. Sister Xiang’s baby fat had also faded as she stretched into a lankier frame, now looking more like a proper young girl.
Occasionally, Shen Miao treated herself to a cup of milk tea, brewed with ginger, brown sugar, red dates, and longan—a nourishing concoction. But she avoided drinking it daily for fear of overheating.
Back inside, she unhooked the dogs’ leashes and let them roam before wiping off her sweat and changing into fresh underclothes. Walking the dogs had left her drenched—sometimes it was hard to tell who was walking whom.
As she stepped out, she glanced through the window of Ji Brother’s room. He was hunched over his desk, scribbling furiously. The academy would reopen in a few days, and Shen Miao had just learned the lecturer had assigned several "winter break essays." Having spent the New Year festivities in carefree play, Ji Brother had only now remembered he hadn’t written a single one and was now cramming.
Shen Miao never policed Ji Brother’s homework, leaving it entirely to his own discipline. For one, she couldn’t teach him much—she wouldn’t know how to write an essay analyzing a line from the Four Books and Five Classics either. Secondly, learning was mostly self-driven; force-feeding knowledge had too many drawbacks.
So… his work was his own responsibility, and so were the consequences, good or bad.
But today, someone else was supervising Ji Brother’s studies.
Xie Qi stood beside him, a cat perched on his head, leaning slightly to examine the boy’s writing. Every so often, he tapped the paper, murmuring corrections.
The light filtering through the window lattice illuminated his profile—smooth, fair, and clean, with a faint downy glow near his ear.
Shen Miao swallowed, suddenly thinking of a phrase: fresh and dewy.
He was wearing a wide-sleeved silk robe embroidered with auspicious birds and mythical beasts today, cinched at the waist with a girdle, causing the skirt to drape in graceful arcs around his body. The outfit made him appear tall and slender, standing as straight as a fresh bamboo shoot in spring, tender and dewy.
Shen Miao had noticed early on that the Song people were quite fond of nostalgic attire, and Ninth Brother’s outfit was a classic example of Wei-Jin dynasty fashion—all he lacked was a lacquered gauze hat to complete the look.
As for Ninth Brother, he had spent the entire day holed up in his residence two days prior, only regaining his senses after finishing a letter home. Shen Miao had no idea what he had written, but the envelope had bulged to the size of a brick, so thick that it couldn’t even be sealed properly. She watched as he folded another envelope to fit the letter inside before finally sealing it with wax.
In this era, people usually kept their letters concise—why on earth had he written so much just to ask the Cui Family's Eldest Lady to find a matchmaker? Shen Miao, a practical soul, couldn’t fathom it no matter how hard she tried.
And Xie Qi refused to tell her.
But thankfully, he had finally snapped out of it and was back to his usual talkative, cheerful self—though he seemed even clingier than before. Unless Shen Miao was busy in the kitchen, Ninth Brother was always within three steps of her.
He didn’t do anything particularly remarkable—just came early to teach Sister Xiang martial arts, helped Ji Brother with his homework, groomed and fed Qilin, or assisted with bookkeeping and serving customers in the shop. He seemed perfectly content, seamlessly blending into the daily rhythm of the Shen household.
Because of this, whenever Shen Miao lost sight of him for even a moment, she’d catch herself wondering, Where has Ninth Brother gone?
From the window drifted Ninth Brother’s clear, melodious voice:
"Breaking down the phrase ‘A gentleman is not a vessel’ isn’t difficult, but Ji Brother, your interpretation—that ‘a gentleman should not confine himself to a single skill but master many to achieve great utility’—is still somewhat narrow. Think about it: ‘vessel’ refers to a tangible tool. But is a gentleman’s virtue a tangible object? A gentleman aspires to the Way, grounds himself in virtue, relies on benevolence, and roams freely among the arts—boundless, unlike a vessel. This layer must be explained. Lastly, mere words without action are meaningless. You must also address how a gentleman puts this into practice."
After a pause, Xie Qi carefully summarized for him:
"For questions involving textual analysis, you must dissect them layer by layer and argue from multiple angles—there’s never just one meaning. And most importantly, you must ground it in reality. Writing lofty essays full of empty rhetoric won’t cut it. Only by keeping the people and the world in mind can you elevate the essence of your writing. Ji Brother, you must remember: passing the imperial exams means becoming an official. As an official, you must shed the mindset of a commoner and view the world through the lens of governance. Keep this in mind when answering exam questions, and you’ll write well."
Ji Brother, enlightened, immediately picked up his brush and began scribbling furiously.
This was not just targeted guidance—it was a full methodology lesson! Even Shen Miao, listening through the window, understood and felt reassured. With an expert like Ninth Brother helping, Ji Brother’s looming winter break homework was in safe hands.
She turned away, stretching lazily as she walked, then breezed into the kitchen. After surveying the fresh ingredients delivered by the vendor, she started preparing dinner.
For once, the kitchen was empty except for her.
Fu Xing and Tang Er had taken Yan Shu to check the exam results, and they still hadn’t returned. In fact, it was Shen Miao who had urged them to go after hearing the results were out.
Ninth Brother hadn’t even thought to check!
She was more nervous than he was. Meanwhile, he was calmly tutoring Ji Brother, utterly unbothered, as if he hadn’t even taken the exam.
Shen Miao had assumed he was just naturally composed, but Yan Shu, munching on a buttered pineapple bun while brushing crumbs into his mouth, blurted out, "Don’t fret, Mistress Shen. For Ninth Brother, just finishing the exam is blessing enough—whether he passes or not doesn’t matter."
The truth dawned on her.
Xie Qi nodded with a smile. "Exactly."
Shen Miao didn’t care—it was fine if he didn’t dwell on it, but checking the results was non-negotiable. Outside, the streets were already abuzz. Early that morning, scholars had gathered near the examination hall, lingering in hopes of being the first to see the rankings. Some were even hired to check results for others, pacing anxiously with paper and brushes in hand.
As for Sister Xiang, Chen Chuan, and Youyu—
They were busy too.
Chen Chuan had gone to study law with Lawyer Deng. Sister Xiang, after her morning martial arts training with weighted sandbags, took Youyu, Liu Douhua, and the others to Gu Dalang’s house to play. Word was that Gu Dalang had gotten Bao and Di a new puppy—a black-and-white fluffball, just weaned and still toothless, so round and clumsy it tripped over its own paws and rolled into a ball.
With their own dog at home no longer cute enough, the trio was utterly smitten with the new pup. They stayed so long they even had lunch there. Shen Miao stood in the alley calling for them, but Gu Dalang eventually poked his head out, bowl in hand. "No need to shout, Eldest Sister. The kids are eating here."
Fine. Shen Miao shook her head and let them be.
Now, she began dicing bamboo shoots. Spring bamboo shoots, freshly unearthed, were already being sold in the market—tender and fragrant, if a bit pricey. Still, she couldn’t resist buying a few.
A few customers came in for noodles, so she paused her prep work to cook for them. As she served the bowls, one regular noticed the new tableware and remarked, "Mistress Shen, these new bowls are Chenzhou pottery, aren’t they? I can tell at a glance—such fine glaze is rare in the capital."
Shen Miao smiled. "You’ve got a keen eye."
"Not really. There’s a porcelain shop next to my place. I’ve seen this black pottery before—it’s not cheap."
She didn’t elaborate, just clasped her hands politely. "Enjoy your meal."
More customers arrived in waves. Shen Miao made over a dozen bowls of noodles, and even the shop’s braised meat sold out. Suddenly, people began rushing toward the main street, followed by the clamor of gongs and drums—the results were out.
Before long, Tang Er returned, panting heavily with an ecstatic Yan Shu on his back, alongside Fu Xing. The three of them arrived almost simultaneously with the official heralds.
At that moment, Shen Miao was still in the kitchen, wrapping paper-thin shaomai.
Dinner tonight would be these delicate shaomai, paired with a couple of stir-fried dishes—a simple meal. Yesterday, she’d polled the whole household, and they’d agreed on a barbecue for late-night snacks. Whether Ninth Brother passed or not, celebrating after the exam was a Shen family tradition.
Why shaomai? Well, a few days ago, she’d made sticky rice chicken wrapped in lotus leaves, and the taste had suddenly rekindled her craving for shaomai.
Now, with all the ingredients ready, she dove right in.
Shen Miao didn’t care whether this dish was more commonly eaten as breakfast—when she craved it, she wanted it immediately, regardless of the time. After all, shaomai was essentially stuffing wrapped in dough, so wouldn’t it be fitting to have it as the main course for a meal?
She had already sifted the flour and kneaded the dough, which was now resting under a damp cloth. The wrapper for paper-thin shaomai was essentially just an extremely thin dumpling skin, made the same way. Shen Miao was quite skilled at this.
As for the filling, Shen Miao preferred a richer version. While some later variations of shaomai used only glutinous rice, she liked to add pork, fresh bamboo shoots, diced shiitake mushrooms, salted egg yolk, and sometimes even preserved mustard greens.
First, she diced the pork belly and fried it in hot oil until the fat rendered out. Then, she added diced carrots, bamboo shoots, and rehydrated, chopped shiitake mushrooms, stir-frying everything until fragrant and steaming. Next came the seasonings: soy sauce, five-spice powder, half a spoonful of sugar, and a bit of homemade bean paste—a substitute for oyster sauce, which wasn’t available at the time.
After that, she mixed in the pre-steamed glutinous rice, stirred everything well, and shaped the filling into balls with clean hands. She then placed each ball onto a paper-thin, translucent dumpling wrapper and pinched the edges into pleats, just like making baozi.
Once assembled, the shaomai went straight into the steamer.
The aroma while steaming was intoxicating, quickly filling the entire kitchen with the savory scent of paper-thin shaomai.
Shen Miao continued wrapping the next batch when suddenly, the sound of celebratory music and drums erupted outside the shop.
Yan Shu burst in, shouting excitedly, “Wow! It smells amazing—no, wait! Mistress Shen, Ninth Brother passed the exam! Ninth Brother came in first! He’s the top scorer!”
“First place?!” Shen Miao was overjoyed. She immediately set down the glutinous rice ball and dumpling wrapper in her hands, wiped her fingers, and stepped outside. Ji Brother and Xie Qi had also heard the commotion and came out.
No—the entire alley had come out.
“A scholar! Our Willow Lane has produced a scholar!”
Yan Shu, quicker than Shen Miao, was already entertaining the messengers bearing the good news. By the time Shen Miao stepped out, he had already poured tea for them and handed out reward money, grinning from ear to ear. “Thank you, thank you! Please sit and rest, have some tea—”
Though Yan Shu was a glutton, he had often handled accommodations and expenses when traveling with Ninth Brother, so he was well-practiced in social interactions.
When accompanying Ninth Brother on trips, Yan Shu also managed most of their funds. This was because Ninth Brother was easily swindled—once, he encountered someone claiming to sell themselves to bury their father. Moved by the pitiful weeping, he offered money, only for the “dead father” to suddenly leap up, snatch his purse, and run off.
There were also those threatening to jump into rivers, those stranded far from home, and children fleeing abusive stepmothers… After being duped one too many times, Ninth Brother became more cautious, but then he’d encounter even more outrageous scams. Eventually, he developed the habit of splitting their money with Yan Shu, so even if he got robbed or tricked, at least Yan Shu would still have some funds left.
Today, faced with such joyous news, Yan Shu didn’t hold back. He gave each messenger a piece of silver, delighting them so much that their smiles stretched ear to ear, and they showered him with endless blessings.
After seeing off the messengers, the neighbors poured in to offer congratulations.
Xie Qi was immediately swallowed by the sea of well-wishers.
The grandmothers and aunties of the alley pulled him this way and that, inspecting him closely. One old granny even clung to his right hand while using her other hand to pat his topknot, claiming she wanted to absorb some of Xie Qi’s scholarly aura to pass on to her own grandson.
By the time the neighbors finished fussing over him, Xie Qi’s hair was thoroughly disheveled.
Grandma Zeng sighed regretfully, “If you weren’t already betrothed to our eldest girl, I’d introduce you to my niece. She’s not as capable as our eldest, but she’s still quite good.”
Xie Qi blushed but shook his head firmly. “Thank you, Grandma Zeng, but I only wish to marry Mistress Shen.”
Shen Miao’s face grew warm too, as the aunties immediately swarmed her, asking when the betrothal would happen, when the wedding would be, and even calculating auspicious dates for childbirth.
Truthfully, Shen Miao had no idea how this news had spread. It was as if overnight, every household in the alley knew about Xie Qi’s impending betrothal to her.
When she asked Aunt Gu where she’d heard it, Aunt Gu said it was from Aunt Li. When she asked Aunt Li, the woman simply retorted, “Isn’t this good news? Why worry? The Xie family is wonderful!”
Still—how had it gotten out in the first place?!
Every time Shen Miao walked through the alley, she was teased until her smile grew stiff. Meanwhile, ever since Ninth Brother had regained his spirit, he seemed to relish the “gossip.” When people congratulated him, he cheerfully replied, “The pleasure is mutual.” If someone remarked on his good fortune to have such a capable woman like her, he’d humbly say he was the lucky one. And when asked about wedding plans, he’d smile and promise to send an invitation.
His responses were flawless.
But back in the courtyard, he was still the young man who blushed at the mere sight of her. Sometimes, when no one was looking, Shen Miao would lightly squeeze his hand, and he’d instantly turn as red as a boiled shrimp—from his forehead all the way down to his chest (not that she’d seen his chest, but his neck and collarbones were so flushed that it was a reasonable guess).
The more he reacted this way, the more she enjoyed teasing him.
Occasionally, when the courtyard was empty, she’d sneak up and hug him from behind before darting away, leaving him so flustered for the rest of the day that he’d bump into pillars, doors, or trip over his own feet. It was endlessly amusing.
After serving the neighbors good tea and snacks and sending them off, Shen Miao instructed Tang Er, Tao, and Yan Shu to go to the kitchen and enjoy the shaomai instead of lingering around the excitement. She also sent Fu Xing to Gu Dalang’s house to fetch the children.
For a moment, only she and Xie Qi remained in the courtyard.
The wind seemed to hush around them. Standing face to face, Shen Miao noticed his topknot had been loosened by the aunties’ enthusiastic patting. She reached up to smooth his unruly strands, but Xie Qi suddenly pulled her into an embrace.
He bent slightly, resting his chin on her shoulder the same way he did when holding Qilin.
Shen Miao wrapped her arms around him in return. “This is wonderful. From now on, things will only get better. We won’t have to struggle like before.”
“So even I can be blessed by the heavens,” he murmured, inhaling deeply the scent of shaomai lingering on her. “I used to worry I’d only be a burden to you.”
“How could you be? Ever since I met you, my luck has only improved. I think you must have a talent for bringing fortune to your wife.” Smiling, she nestled against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
Xie Qi’s chest was firm yet slightly springy with muscle. Unable to resist, Shen Miao rubbed her cheek against the fabric of his robe.
Suddenly, the kitchen door slammed with a loud clang, followed by a chaotic commotion inside. Shen Miao’s face burned, and she hastily pushed Xie Qi away.
Xie Qi’s arm paused mid-air, lingering in a posture of embrace with a hint of regret. But he quickly curved his eyes into a smile, because Shen Miao pretended nothing had happened and pushed open the kitchen door.
Tao and Tang Er immediately scattered like startled birds, bustling around the kitchen as if suddenly very busy.
Only Yan Shu sat obliviously on a small stool by the stove, wholly absorbed in devouring a shumai. When Shen Miao entered, he raised the remaining half of the large shumai in his hand, mumbling excitedly with his mouth full, "Lady Shen, this is as delicious as sticky rice chicken! Just now, I almost swallowed my tongue!"
Shen Miao couldn’t help but laugh. "Yan Shu, is there anything you don’t like to eat?"
Yan Shu was stumped by the question and pondered seriously before answering, "No."
He grinned carefreely. "I love them all! Especially the ones you make, Lady Shen—they’re the best, my absolute favorite!"
Yan Shu’s world seemed simple, revolving only around good food and Ninth Brother. Satisfied, he happily took another big bite of the shumai.
Shen Miao walked over, using bamboo tongs to pick a few more from the steamer. She took a bite and nodded in approval.
Not bad—no culinary disaster here. She had worried that without oyster sauce, the umami flavor wouldn’t come through, but the fermented bean paste substitute added its own unique richness.
Once steamed, the shumai wrappers were thin as paper, the meat juices soaking through until they gleamed translucently. The taste was soft, sticky, and savory, with an appealing sheen that made them even more enticing than ordinary shumai.
Shen Miao had wrapped them generously, each one hefty and filling—two or three would satisfy even an adult. The first batch had half a salted egg yolk nestled in the glutinous rice, giving a pleasantly grainy yet moist texture.
The second batch included more dried pickled mustard greens, yielding a robust, salty-sweet chewiness that was equally delicious.
And the aroma of the dried mustard greens was irresistible. When Shen Miao carried the steamer outside, the scent quickly wafted through the alley, so enticing that Aunt Gu brought over her homemade rice noodles to trade for a few. Tugging at her snug waistband, she complained jokingly, "Young lady, with you whipping up such delicious treats every day, even I’ve put on weight!"
Since Shen Miao opened her shop, Aunt Gu had become a regular, buying noodles, lamb, and later roasted duck, to the point where she hardly cooked at home anymore. Worse, the two ungrateful men in her household, now spoiled by Shen Miao’s cooking, had started grumbling about her own dishes.
Furious, Aunt Gu had once bolted the door with a latch, banishing them to sleep on the floor at the wine shop.
Later, Aunt Gu took a shumai to the front shop for Gu Tusu to try. Tentatively, she asked, "Did you know Lady Shen is set to be betrothed to that Xie family’s Ninth Brother?"
Gu Tusu wiped his sweat with the cloth around his neck, stuffed the shumai into his mouth, and nodded after swallowing. "Good for her. That Xie scholar seems decent enough."
Aunt Gu exhaled in relief at his calm demeanor. "I’m glad you’re taking it well."
Gu Tusu muttered as he carefully rolled a wine barrel, "What’s there to take badly?"
Only after Aunt Gu returned to the backyard did he straighten up, gazing at the bustling street under the twilight.
Strangely, ever since the Lotus Festival incident, his feelings for Lady Shen had gradually faded, as if washed away by the water’s flow. Perhaps it was also because he could no longer find traces of the girl she once was in her.
After that day, his heart no longer ached. It was as if everything had passed, and even the version of her in his dreams had vanished.
He never dreamed of her again.
Yet she was right there, living her lively life across the street. Sometimes, Gu Tusu felt muddled, unable to make sense of it.
On the post road from Chenzhou to the capital, Cui Wan Niang was once again dressed in men’s Hu attire, a fake mustache pasted above her lips, preparing to ride out of the city with her companions.
Perched atop a saddle laden with luggage, she gripped the reins tightly, her knuckles whitening from the force. She held back tears, refusing to look back even once.
The dusk was dim and golden.
By the city gate stood a tung-oil carriage bearing the Cui family lantern, its curtain half-drawn, obscuring the figure inside. But the maid standing beside it was none other than the personal attendant of the Cui Family’s Eldest Lady.
The carriage’s shadow stretched long, half of it cast upon the city wall.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Cui Wan Niang straightened her back, gave the reins a light flick, and urged her horse forward.
Hooves clattered, kicking up dust.
As the horse picked up speed, the city gate grew distant, and the carriage shrank into a blurry speck amid the swirling yellow earth.
Cui Wan Niang resolved to return to Youzhou without delay after delivering the profit share to Lady Shen.
During her time in Chenzhou, she had secretly met her mother several times, but now they must part again. The journey ahead was long and uncertain—who knew when they would reunite? Yet she dared not look back, afraid that one more glance would shatter her resolve to leave.
Clenching her teeth, she vowed silently: One day, she would achieve something so remarkable that no one could erase it, and then she would reunite with her mother openly and honorably.
Meanwhile, in the inner palace’s Funing Hall...
Zhao Boyun had finished reviewing the day’s memorials, having just allocated hundreds of thousands of taels of silver to establish noodle workshops in Yanzhou, Mozhou, and other regions. The recently replenished imperial treasury was already half-empty again.
He sighed at how quickly the money vanished.
And what remained wouldn’t last—the envoy mission to carve a path through the Western Regions was about to depart.
Zhao Boyun exhaled wearily.
After a moment, he faintly heard the clamor of the city outside the palace walls, louder and more animated than usual.
Ah, today was the day the provincial exam results were posted.
Preoccupied with General Yue’s workshops, he’d forgotten.
Curious, he turned to Liang Qian and asked, "Who ranked first in this year’s exams? Have the top three candidates’ essays been submitted to the palace?"
This year’s exam was an additional round he had ordered to recruit more talent, so he paid closer attention than usual. Moreover, to pave the way for commoners, he had barred several aristocratic families from participating for three generations. Without the usual top candidates from the Guo, Xue, Xu, and Jiang clans, he had hoped to see more humble scholars on the list.
But when he looked expectantly at Liang Qian, the latter offered an awkward smile. "First place went to Xie Qi of the Chenjun Xie clan. Second was Meng Qingyuan—technically the son of a wealthy farmer, though his father bought him a minor official title to enter the Imperial Academy. But aside from him... every single candidate from first to twenty-third on the list is still from aristocratic families..."
Zhao Boyun was speechless.
He had expanded the exam and purged the most powerful clans—how was this still happening? Only one. Just one commoner.
He sighed deeply.
Nurturing talent from humble origins would take far more time than he’d hoped.
"Bring me Xie Qi and Meng Qingyuan’s exam papers. I want to see just how exceptional Xie Qi’s writing truly is."
Zhao Boyun was still unconvinced, his already dark face as gloomy as a pot's bottom as he sat sullenly on the throne. With a wave of his hand, he commanded, "No, bring in the examination papers of the top ten candidates from the first rank."
