The wooden planks of the pier creaked beneath Xu Qinghuan's feet.
She walked slowly, not deliberately putting on airs, her moon-white crossed-collar long gown fluttering in the hot wind.
Zhao Xuan stood at the very front, his Adam's apple bobbing violently. He had already raised his right arm, the wide sleeve slipping down to his elbow, his index finger about to poke Xu Qinghuan's nose.
But the moment Xu Qinghuan drew near, she didn't even turn her head to glance at him. That kind of disregard, seeping from her very bones, slammed hard into Zhao Xuan's chest.
Zhao Xuan's arm froze in mid-air, his fingertips trembling before finally falling to his side.
None of the students on either side spoke. Their heels scraped against the wooden planks as they involuntarily took a half-step back. The originally blocked pier was forced to yield a two-foot-wide path.
Wangyue Pavilion, second floor, private room.
The Ru kiln teacup in Xiao Jingyan's hand stopped an inch above the table.
His thumb rubbed against the red-stained jade archer's ring, his gaze passing through the carved window lattice, fixed on the back of the woman in plain clothes on the pier. After a long while, the base of the teacup hit the red sandalwood tabletop with a crisp sound.
Next door.
Xie Yunwan, who had been leaning back in her chair, was now leaning completely forward. Her hands gripped the armrests, her knuckles turning pale from the excessive force.
She had sent that invitation. She knew better than anyone the weight that thing carried in the literary circles of the capital. She had imagined Xu Qinghuan using it to throw her weight around, and she had imagined Xu Qinghuan using it to curry favor with the Imperial College.
The only thing she hadn't calculated was that she would dare to throw it into the muddy waters of Shichahai in front of five hundred students.
Lunatic.
Xie Yunwan clenched her back molars, yet a trace of a shudder rose in her heart.
In front of the main door of the waterside pavilion, Xu Qinghuan stopped.
The moss on the steps was a bit slippery, and she looked down at the hem of her skirt.
Behind her, Zhao Xuan finally snapped out of his oppressive feeling. He spun around, his face flushed the color of pig liver—the shame and anger of being overwhelmed by the aura of a merchant's daughter.
"Halt." Zhao Xuan's voice cracked, breaking at the end.
He rushed to the edge of the pier in a few strides, pointing at the mass of dark red paper pulp that was rapidly dissolving and sinking on the water's surface.
"An invitation signed personally by the Grand Chancellor, a sacred object that scholars all over the world covet. You actually dared to destroy it." Zhao Xuan turned his head abruptly, his eyes bloodshot as he stared at Xu Qinghuan's back. "Wicked woman of the Xu family, arrogant to the extreme. What you destroyed was not a piece of paper, but the face of the Imperial College, the dignity of the scholars of the world."
The surrounding students were awakened by this roar, and instantly the crowd grew indignant, the cursing boiling over once more.
Zhao Xuan turned to look at the two armed guards standing outside the pavilion, shouting sternly, "What are you still standing there for? This madman who despises the scholars and destroyed the invitation signed by the Grand Chancellor, throw her out."
"According to the laws of the Great Qian, drawing a sword against a titled noble without cause is tantamount to treason."
A thin figure suddenly stepped forward, wedging himself firmly between the guards and Xu Qinghuan.
Xu Zijin's washed-out blue cloth gown looked very thin before the gleaming blades. He did not retreat, his back straight, his folding fan held against his chest, his eyes fixed on the two guards.
The guards paused.
In this moment of stalemate, a muffled sound came from deep within the inner hall of the pavilion.
Thump.
The sound of wood striking the bluestone slabs.
Thump. Thump.
The sound was unhurried, yet it struck the hearts of everyone present.
"Step back."
An old but vigorous voice came from the inner hall.
The bead curtains of the pavilion were lifted from both sides by two young attendants in green.
Two old men stepped over the threshold side by side.
The one on the left, with white hair and beard, wore a coarse cloth robe without any ornamentation, leaning on a boxwood cane. The Grand Chancellor of the Imperial College of the Great Qian, the seventy-third generation direct descendant of the Kong family, Kong Zongyun.
The one on the right, thin in stature, wore a half-old scholar's robe, the cuffs even showing a few traces of mending. The titan of the Jiangnan literary world, Gu Zongming.
If these two were to stomp their feet, the literary world of the Great Qian would tremble three times.
Almost the moment the two stepped out of the inner hall, inside and outside the pavilion, up and down the pier, five hundred scholars in round-collar robes, including Zhao Xuan, fell to their knees in unison.
The rustling of fabric rubbing against the ground formed a continuous wave.
"Students pay their respects to the Grand Chancellor. Pay respects to Elder Gu."
The chorus of five hundred people shook the willow branches outside the pavilion.
The guards had long since been frightened into sheathing their swords, kneeling on the ground and trembling.
Xu Qinghuan did not kneel.
She stood where she was, not even bending her waist, just calmly looking at the two old men on the steps.
Zhao Xuan knelt at the very front, his forehead touching the stone slab, his voice filled with unconcealed excitement: "Grand Chancellor. This woman is arrogant and perverse. Just now, in front of everyone, she threw the invitation you personally signed into the water. Such actions simply trample the face of the Imperial College underfoot. I beg the Grand Chancellor to punish her severely."
Kong Zongyun did not look at Zhao Xuan.
He leaned on his cane, his cloudy yet sharp gaze falling on Xu Qinghuan.
Thump.
The cane struck the stone slab heavily.
"That invitation, this old man sent someone to deliver to the Earl Chengyi's mansion." Kong Zongyun spoke, his pace very slow.
Zhao Xuan, kneeling on the ground, jerked his head up, his face full of astonishment.
Kong Zongyun looked at Xu Qinghuan, his shriveled lips moving: "This old man originally thought that the Xu family was besieged on all sides in this capital. If this girl came in with this old man's invitation, she would want to borrow the momentum of the Imperial College to find an umbrella to shelter herself from the wind and rain."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the dark red mass that had already dispersed on the water's surface.
"But she sank the invitation."
Kong Zongyun's gaze returned to Xu Qinghuan's face, a trace of something complex in his eyes.
"She doesn't want this old man's umbrella. She stands here today, not borrowing the name of the Imperial College, not borrowing the momentum of the Kong family. She walked into this Shichahai by herself, as Xu Qinghuan of Jiangning, the Commandery Princess Ci'an of the Great Qian."
As Kong Zongyun's words fell, a dead silence fell all around.
This old fox, with one sentence, elevated Xu Qinghuan's arrogance to the strength of character that scholars valued most.
He was testing. Testing whether the Xu family only knew how to bite, or if they had their own backbone.
Xu Qinghuan did not want his protection, but by a twist of fate, she suited this Grand Chancellor's taste.
Gu Zongming took a step forward, standing at the edge of the steps.
He came from a poor background, without the mannerisms of a century-old aristocratic family like the Kong family, carrying a sort of unyielding spirit of the Jiangnan water towns.
"Shichahai is a place to discuss the Way." Gu Zongming's gaze swept over the dark mass of people kneeling below, his voice loud and clear. "Those rotten accounts of confiscating property and amassing wealth outside, those dog-eat-dog factions forming cliques for selfish interests in the court—when you reach the threshold of this pavilion, swallow them all back into your stomachs."
He pointed to the long table in the center of the pavilion.
"Here today, we do not ask about background, we do not ask about grudges. We only discuss the highs and lows of essays. Whoever's pen is sharper, sits in the seat of honor."
"If anyone dares to use court matters to throw a tantrum here again, this old man will personally strip him of his scholarly honors."
The rules were set.
With one sentence, Gu Zongming forcefully stripped away the layer of political stigma on the Xu family, leaving them completely clean.
In this waterside pavilion, there was no Earl Chengyi, no Commandery Princess Ci'an, no confiscation of property, only a pure slaughter of words.
Zhao Xuan gritted his teeth and stood up from the ground.
He was unwilling to accept this. He had planned for so long and absolutely could not let Xu Qinghuan retreat unscathed.
"The rules set by Elder Gu, this student dares not disobey." Zhao Xuan cupped his hands, his fingertips pointing straight at Xu Qinghuan. "Since we are only discussing literature, then this student is bold enough to ask Princess Xu for her guidance."
He raised his voice, almost shouting, "That poem from Jiangning, A Moonlit Night on the Spring River, stands alone in its brilliance and is indeed a masterpiece for the ages."
"But how could a merchant family, reeking of copper coins, write something of such an ethereal and lofty realm?"
Zhao Xuan sneered and looked around.
"There have long been rumors in the capital that this poem was nothing more than a ghostwritten piece bought by the Xu family with a heavy sum of gold."
"All to plate their shameful origins with a layer of elegant gold foil."
As soon as these words came out, the imperial students who had been suppressed earlier grew restless again.
"That's right, merchants buying poetry has existed since ancient times."
"Since today is a discussion of the Way, then please have Princess Xu compose a poem on the spot to prove her innocence."
"If she cannot, then she is deceiving the world and stealing a name. Get out of Shichahai."
Dozens of students chimed in simultaneously, their voices rising wave after wave. They seized upon this vulnerability, attempting to use the method scholars were best at to ruin Xu Qinghuan's reputation completely.
Kong Zongyun did not stop the uproar.
Leaning on his cane, he slowly turned around, raised his hand, and pointed a withered finger at the massive wooden plaque hanging in the center of the waterside pavilion's main hall.
On the plaque were four large characters written in wild cursive calligraphy: Heaven, Earth, Antiquity, and Present.
"Since we need proof, let us prove it clearly." Kong Zongyun's voice echoed within the pavilion.
He looked at Xu Qinghuan, deep calculation hidden in his cloudy eyes.
"This plaque was personally inscribed by the founding emperor of our dynasty."
"It encompasses the primordial universe and the long river of time. Today, we shall use these four words as the topic."
Kong Zongyun tapped his finger lightly in the air.
"Princess Xu, please."
As soon as this was said, the scholars and students could not help but discuss among themselves.
"Heaven, Earth, Antiquity, and Present? This topic is far too grand!"
"There is simply no way to start! An ordinary poet might spend their entire life and still not touch the edges of these four words!"
"The Grand Chancellor has given an impossible topic! Let alone improvising on the spot, even if you gave me three years, I wouldn't be able to squeeze out half a word!"
Countless scholars gasped in cold air, some even unconsciously biting their cuffs, sweating profusely in anxiety, as if they were the ones being tested.
This topic was too grand, too abstract! If she wrote something mediocre, it would confirm the accusation of ghostwriting; if she could not write anything, even that A Moonlit Night on the Spring River would become a laughingstock to the whole world!
An ordinary poet might spend their entire life and still not touch the edges of these four words. On the surface, Kong Zongyun was giving Xu Qinghuan a chance to prove herself, but in reality, he had laid down a deadly trap.
Meanwhile, an uncontrollable ecstasy immediately surfaced on Zhao Xuan's face.
Writing something mediocre would confirm the accusation of ghostwriting, and the Xu family would never again have a foothold in the literary world.
Failing to write anything would completely ruin her reputation, and even A Moonlit Night on the Spring River would become a laughingstock to the world.
Everyone's gazes simultaneously pierced into Xu Qinghuan.
A sneer appeared on Zhao Xuan's face.
Upstairs, Xie Yunwan's breathing completely stopped.
Xiao Jingyan's fingers, pinching his thumb ring, tightened slightly.
Everyone's eyes were focused on Xu Qinghuan, waiting to see her make a fool of herself.
Xu Qinghuan looked neither at Kong Zongyun nor at Zhao Xuan.
At this moment, Xu Qinghuan's face was cold and detached, and the system's voice appeared in her mind once again.
Ding! Hell-level topic Heaven, Earth, Antiquity, and Present detected. The system library has been activated. Searching for an eternal masterpiece for you...
Search successful. Match rate 100 percent. Redemption requires one hundred thousand taels of silver.
Do you wish to redeem?
Looking at this group of pedantic scholars in front of her who considered themselves noble and were waiting to see her as a joke, she sneered in her heart.
One hundred thousand taels to buy the shattered Dao hearts of these Great Qian scholars and secure her position in the literary world—this was an absolute steal!
Redeem.
Xu Qinghuan did not look at Kong Zongyun, nor did she pay attention to the ecstatic Zhao Xuan.
While the hall full of scholars scratched their heads and racked their brains, she took a step, walking on the bluestone slabs, step by step, to the wide red sandalwood desk in the center of the pavilion.
On the desk, Chengxintang paper was spread out, and the ink in the Duan inkstone was not yet dry.
Xu Qinghuan stood still.
She raised her left hand, pinched the wide moon-white cuff on her right side, and unhurriedly rolled it up two folds.
Then, she reached out and took down a wolf-hair brush from the pen rack.
The brush tube was slightly cool against her fingertips.
The surroundings were so quiet that one could hear a pin drop. Five hundred pairs of eyes stared at the tip of her brush.
Xu Qinghuan turned her wrist and pressed the tip of the brush against the Duan inkstone.
The thick black ink quickly climbed up along the texture of the wolf hair, full and heavy.
She lifted the brush, her wrist suspended in mid-air.
The tip of the brush was only half an inch away from the Xuan paper.
A drop of ink fell from the tip of the brush, smashing onto the paper and blooming into a blot of ink.
Xu Qinghuan's eyes did not waver in the slightest.
Her wrist pressed down.
On the Xuan paper, ten large characters leaped out—
Looking forward, I see not the ancients; looking back, I see not those to come.
