Second month, ninth day, the fourth watch of the night.
The sky over Shengjing was still as black as if an iron cauldron had been clamped over it. Not a single star could be seen in the thick ink of darkness. Only a few dim yellow lanterns flickered atop the distant city walls, like the eyes of a drowsy man, blinking and on the verge of dying out.
Inside Anle Residence.
Pei Cijing sat at a table, before him spread a full feast: braised pork hock, steamed perch with soy sauce, spiced beef, scallion-braised sea cucumber, chicken stewed with mushrooms, four-joy meatballs, osmanthus-glazed lotus root stuffed with sticky rice...
Dishes of all sorts lined the table.
In the center sat a large bowl of steaming silver-thread noodles, topped with two fried eggs, sprinkled with vibrant green scallions, and drizzled with sesame oil. The aroma drifted straight up his nose.
A chicken leg in his left hand, chopsticks in his right.
He wielded both at once.
Eating with the speed and ferocity of a dust storm.
His cheeks were stuffed full, like a hamster hoarding food. He chewed at an astonishing pace, nearly swallowing everything whole.
Shen Ninghuan sat beside him, chin resting on her hand. Her brows were curved, her eyes smiling as she watched him. Her gaze held resignation, amusement, but most of all, tenderness.
"Husband, perhaps you shouldn't eat anymore."
She advised softly, her tone gentle but carrying a hint of seriousness. "Eating like this is not good for your stomach. And besides, it's time to leave. If you delay any longer, you'll miss the entry time."
Pei Cijing's mouth was crammed full. He mumbled an ambiguous response but didn't stop his hands. He grabbed another piece of braised pork hock and shoved it into his mouth. The rich, non-greasy meat melted on his tongue, the flavor so divine that his eyes narrowed into slits.
"Just one more bite. One bite."
He swallowed what was in his mouth and reached for the bowl of silver-thread noodles. The noodles slurped into his mouth with a loud sound, his enjoyment utterly unrestrained.
Shen Ninghuan watched him, this man eating like a starving ghost reincarnated. She couldn't help but cover her mouth with a laugh. Reaching out, she gently wiped a smear of sauce from the corner of his mouth, her movement natural and tender.
"Really, you had dinner last night, didn't you? What's with you, like you haven't eaten in three days?"
Pei Cijing finally set down his chopsticks. He cast a lingering, reluctant look at the leftovers on the table. His expression was one of deep attachment and unwillingness to part, as if saying goodbye to a dearly beloved.
"Darling, you don't understand," he sighed, his tone carrying the world-weary wisdom of a seasoned veteran. "In the next few days, I'm afraid I won't be able to have a single proper meal. If I don't eat my fill now, who knows when the next meal will be?"
As he spoke, he pulled a small porcelain bottle from his sleeve, shook out two pills, tossed them into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. The pills were slightly bitter at first, then dissolved, spreading a cooling sensation from his throat to his stomach.
"No need to worry about my digestion. I have digestive pills — they work wonders."
Shen Ninghuan looked at his serious expression and laughed even more deeply. People really do have a knack for doing things at critical moments that leave you both speechless and amused.
She stood up. Straightened his collar. Walked behind him to smooth down his robes. Then stepped back two paces to examine him, and nodded with satisfaction.
"Alright, time to head out. Father and Mother are waiting outside."
Pei Cijing acknowledged her.
He took one last look at the dishes on the table, took a deep breath, cut off that look of reluctance as if making a momentous decision, and turned resolutely.
At the entrance of the Marquis Manor, two lanterns swayed gently in the night breeze, casting a warm yellow glow over the area. Pei Fugui and Lady Zhou were already waiting there.
Lady Zhou's eyes were rimmed slightly red. In her hand, she clutched a handkerchief, wrung and crumpled beyond recognition. She stepped forward, took Pei Cijing's hand, and looked him over from head to toe for a long while. Her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but she swallowed it back.
"Be careful on the road," she finally said, her voice a bit choked. "It doesn't matter whether you do well or not on the exams. What matters is your health. You've never suffered hardship in your life. I don't know if you'll be able to endure it."
Warmth flooded Pei Cijing's heart. He held his mother's hand tightly in return, squeezed it firmly, and said with a smile, "Mother, don't worry. Your son is in good shape. It's only a few days — I can handle it easily."
Pei Fugui stood aside, his round face bearing a smile. It was rare for him not to chime in with a joke, but his eyes clearly showed pride, expectation, and poorly concealed nervousness.
He stepped forward, patted his son on the shoulder, and said nothing more.
But everything was conveyed in that silence.
"Father, Mother, I'm off."
The carriage was ready and waiting outside the door. It was an inconspicuous carriage with a blue canvas canopy—small, but cleaned thoroughly. The curtain was newly replaced, the seat cushions were extra thick, and a thin blanket was placed inside. Shen Ninghuan had arranged everything in advance.
Pei Cijing helped Shen Ninghuan into the carriage and then jumped in himself.
He lifted the carriage curtain.
Waved towards the outside.
"Father, Mother, go back inside! It's cold outside!"
Pei Fugui and Lady Zhou stood at the entrance, watching the carriage rumble out of the lane and disappear into the night. Lady Zhou's tears finally broke free, streaming down her cheeks.
Pei Fugui reached out, draped his arm over her shoulder, and patted gently.
"Don't cry. Cijing is just going to the examination hall, not to the execution ground."
Lady Zhou sniffled and shot him a glare. "What kind of talk is that? I know that! It's just... I can't help worrying about him."
Chuckling, Pei Fugui said, "How about we go donate some more incense money?"
"Yes, a bit more! The sincerity must be shown, so Heaven will bless him!" Lady Zhou nodded, agreeing with Pei Fugui's suggestion.
The couple ordered a servant to prepare another carriage...
...
The carriage carrying Pei Cijing rumbled onward. Outside the window, the night colors gradually lightened: from thick ink to deep gray, and from deep gray to pale gray. Faintly, the first hint of fish-belly white appeared on the horizon.
As they advanced,
more carriages and travelers soon lined the road.
There were horse-drawn carriages, donkey carts, sedan chairs, and people on foot, all gathering from every street and lane, all heading in the same direction.
Some examinees sat inside their carriages still flipping through books, trying to make out each character by the sliver of light from the curtain. Muttering under their breath. Others spoke in low voices with their companions, offering mutual encouragement—when their nerves got the better of them, their voices dropped even lower. Some traveled alone, carrying their exam trunks on their backs, walking in brisk steps, with somber, unwavering gazes straight ahead.
Families seeing off their candidates, servants, carriage drivers—a motley crowd merged together, blocking every route to the examination compound.
Halfway there,
the traffic came to a standstill.
Pei Cijing lifted the carriage curtain to glance outside. The scene ahead was a dense, dark sea of heads. Carriages, sedan chairs, donkey carts, all tangled together, barely moving an inch.
Some people shouted "Make way!" at the top of their lungs. Others knocked on the sides of their carriages, urging the driver on. A couple of people were arguing, their sharp voices mingling into the noisy chaos, indecipherable.
"Darling, let me get off here."
Shen Ninghuan glanced outside, nodded, and retrieved an exam trunk from beside the seat, handing it to him.
The trunk wasn't large.
She had specially commissioned it.
The wooden box was lightweight, its corners rounded smooth to avoid chafing hands. Inside, it was divided into several compartments: brush, inkstone, candle, dried provisions, and a water flask — each item neatly arranged. She had personally inspected every piece. They were plain and unadorned, making it immediately obvious nothing concealed had been added.
"Everything is here. Take another look, make sure you haven't left anything behind."
Pei Cijing took the examination box and checked it again. Only after confirming everything was in order did he sling it over his shoulder. He jumped down from the carriage, turned around, and gazed at the gentle face behind the curtain.
He raised his hand in farewell.
Shen Ninghuan smiled at him. In the morning light, that smile resembled a flower slowly unfurling.
"Husband, I will wait for your return."
A warmth surged in Pei Cijing's heart. He nodded firmly, then turned and merged into the dense, dark stream of humanity.
The examination hall was located in the southeastern corner of the capital, chosen for its auspicious meaning of "purple qi coming from the east."
This structure was over a hundred years old, with gray walls and black tiles, towering and solemn. At the entrance stood two stone lions, baring fangs and glaring with wide, angry eyes, as if warning all who harbored ill intentions — this was a sacred ground of culture and education, not to be profaned.
Above the gate hung a plaque inscribed with two characters: "Examination Hall."
The brushstrokes were bold and vigorous.
It was said to be the personal calligraphy of the founding emperor.
Over the years, under the erosion of wind and sun, the ink had somewhat faded, but its imposing aura remained undiminished, perceptible even from a great distance.
Pei Cijing followed the crowd, step by step.
He walked unhurriedly yet steadily, the examination box on his shoulder, not heavy, yet he dared not be careless. Around him, some had servants carrying their luggage, gathered in small groups, chatting and laughing; others, like him, carried their own boxes, their faces solemn, eyes fixed straight ahead.
Pei Cijing had not brought Yuanbao along.
These things.
One had to watch them personally to feel at ease. If someone tampered with them and secretly slipped in something incriminating, it would be impossible to explain, even with a tongue.
Such things.
Had happened before in history.
Someone, jealous of a fellow student's talent, had tampered with the examination tools, hiding cheat notes. When they were discovered at the entrance, the accused had no way to exonerate himself. He was not only disqualified from the exam but also stripped of his scholarly title, his entire life ruined.
Pei Cijing had no desire to become such a scapegoat.
Though he was wary of the Eighth Prince's scheming, he also knew that in a crowd of tens of thousands, finding him specifically to plant something on him would first require locating him in that vast sea of people.
Tens of thousands had gathered here. Simply locating one Pei Cijing amidst this crowd was no easy task. To then slip something into his examination box in full view of everyone...
The difficulty.
Was hardly less than scaling the heavens.
Yet he remained cautious. In this world, the most terrifying foes are not the obvious ones, but the hidden malice in seemingly unimportant hearts.
Before the examination hall, a long queue had formed.
Several lines snaked outward, their ends invisible. Pei Cijing stood in the middle of a queue, inching forward with the flow.
The morning light brightened. The pale fish-belly white on the horizon had turned into a faint gold. A few rays pierced through the clouds, landing on the gray tiles of the hall, coating them with a thin warmth.
Finally, his turn arrived.
The first step was credential verification.
Pei Cijing took from his sleeve the prepared "examination admission slip" — a document stamped with the Ministry of Rites' seal, bearing his name, hometown, age and appearance, as well as three generations of family history.
The official in charge took the document, compared it against the description, and scrutinized Pei Cijing from head to toe. Pei Cijing stood still, allowing the inspection, his expression calm, his gaze frank.
The official nodded, made a checkmark on the roster, and returned the document.
"Next."
Pei Cijing put away the document and followed the guidance to the second checkpoint.
This was the search area, the most nerve-wracking stage for all examinees.
The Great Qian Dynasty had extremely strict precautions against cheating.
Upon entering, examinees had to remove their outer robes, untie their hair, and undergo a thorough search from head to toe. Hats, boots, belts, and seams were all examined. Even dried provisions had to be broken open to ensure no notes were hidden inside.
For scholars, such inspections were somewhat humiliating, but rules were rules — a system established by the court, from which no one was exempt.
Pei Cijing stood in the queue.
Watching those ahead of him being searched one by one.
Some remained calm, accepting it with composure; others flushed crimson, as if suffering a great injustice; and then there were those caught with hidden notes, immediately escorted out, faces pale, their cries echoing over the examination hall, making everyone's heart tighten.
When it was Pei Cijing's turn, he placed his examination box on the table, removed his outer robe, loosened his hair, and spread his arms, submitting to the search with complete composure.
The searching official moved swiftly, checking from head to toe, from seams to soles — every spot carefully examined. Another person opened his box, taking out each item: brush, inkstone, candle, dried provisions, water flask — every single one inspected in detail.
The dried provisions were made by Shen Ninghuan's own hands — a few flatbreads, wrapped in oiled paper, tied firmly. The official picked them up, broke them open to check, and confirmed there was nothing hidden inside before putting them back.
After the entire search, nothing was found.
The official nodded, handed back his outer robe, and said flatly, "Put it on."
Pei Cijing took the robe, dressed, and retied his hair. His movements were unhurried, his demeanor composed. This inspection was merely routine, not worth getting tense over.
He picked up his box and followed the guidance to the next area.
The allocation of examination numbers took place in the main hall of the grounds.
To ensure fairness, the Great Qian Dynasty made examination numbers completely random. Only after passing the inspection did the officials draw lots to assign them. This rule had been established since the founding emperor's era and had remained unchanged for over a century.
In the main hall stood several long tables, on which were placed several bamboo tubes filled with numbered sticks. Each stick corresponded to a cell in the examination hall.
Examinees entered with their lot number — whatever they drew, that was where they sat.
It was all up to luck.
No examinee could know their seat in advance.
When Pei Cijing entered the main hall, many were already queued inside. He stood in line, his gaze casually drifting toward the tables.
Then, he paused slightly.
Behind the tables stood two people.
One was the official in charge of drawing lots, dressed in a blue robe, about forty years old, with a gaunt face that seemed honest and steady.
The other wore dark civilian clothes, hands clasped behind his back, with a handsome, resolute face and a calm, thoughtful gaze as he watched the examinees draw their lots, lost in thought.
The Sixth Prince, Li Chengyu!
Li Chengyu had also seen him.
Their eyes met briefly in the air, then each looked away. There was no exchange, not even a moment's delay — as if they were two complete strangers who had never met.
Yet Pei Cijing's heart stirred slightly.
Why was the Sixth Prince here?
His presence here — was it a coincidence, or...?
Pei Cijing did not dwell on it. His expression remained as calm as still water. He moved forward one step at a time in the queue. When his turn came, he handed over his document.
The official took the document, checked it, then casually pulled a bamboo slip from the jar and handed it to him. “Heavenly Rank, Building C, Number Thirty-seven.”
Pei Cijing took the bamboo slip, glanced at it, picked up his examination case, turned, and walked away.
Li Chengyu was looking in another direction, as if utterly indifferent to what was happening nearby. Only after Pei Cijing had gone far did his gaze quietly shift back, the corners of his lips curving slightly—so faint it was almost imperceptible.
He lowered his eyes, smiling inwardly with contempt.
He was scoffing at Li Chengyan’s pettiness. That night of the coup, the Weiyuan Marquis’s estate had disrupted the Crown Prince’s plans for paving the way, and now Li Chengyan held a grudge, seeking revenge in the examination hall.
Arranging a stinking cell!
Giving out a broken-down examination hut!
Such trivial tricks, and a prince of the realm at that—so small-minded. Li Chengyu simply couldn’t understand why the Crown Prince would bother clearing the path for the Eighth Prince.
There must be a hidden reason!
Li Chengyu didn’t dwell on it. His gaze fell on the official who had drawn the slip, and his eyes flickered with satisfaction.
A few days earlier, he had learned that the Eighth Prince had found this particular official in charge of drawing slips, promising him many favors in exchange for swapping the Weiyuan Marquis’s candidate’s lot to the worst-smelling cells in the Earthly Rank section and assigning the shabbiest examination hut.
At the time, the official hadn’t dared to refuse.
But he had some backbone.
Though his rank was low, he didn’t want to commit such a dishonest act, so he came to Li Chengyu seeking protection.
Li Chengyu had agreed immediately. He didn’t tell the man to expose the matter—after all, without solid evidence, it wouldn’t harm Li Chengyan. Instead, he handled it differently.
He didn’t focus on his own duties.
Instead, he hovered around the drawing-official, occasionally making “inspection rounds.” That way, the official could use Li Chengyu’s presence as an excuse, claiming he couldn’t tamper with the results while being watched.
The Eighth Prince wouldn’t suspect a thing.
He would simply think Li Chengyu was deliberately causing trouble to sabotage his scheme.
As for the official, he no longer had to worry. He simply drew slips from the jar, one by one, fairly and impartially. As for which number Pei Cijing got, it was entirely up to luck.
Good or bad!
Li Chengyu would neither give special treatment nor deliberately cause hardship.
He remembered the favor owed to the Marquis’s estate, but since they hadn’t come asking, he wouldn’t force repayment. What he could do was ensure the fairness of this examination!
If Pei Cijing were unlucky enough to draw a stinking cell, that would be fate—no one else to blame.
But today, his luck seemed rather good.
Li Chengyu’s gaze lingered on the direction Pei Cijing had gone, his eyes narrowing slightly. Then he withdrew his look, clasped his hands behind his back, and continued watching the next batch of candidates enter the grounds.
...
Pei Cijing followed the corridor inside the examination compound, heading east all the way.
The sky had fully brightened, and the morning light spilled through the battlements atop the high walls, casting streaks of shadow across the bluestone path.
On both sides of the path grew a few old locust trees, their branches gnarled and bare, not yet sprouting leaves. But the bark had already taken on a faint greenish hue—in a few more days, they would likely start budding.
The examination cells lay at the end of the path.
From a distance, Pei Cijing could see rows of low, cramped huts packed together like a honeycomb, lined up neatly, one next to another.
These were the examination cells.
Each cell was no more than three feet wide and four feet deep—just enough room for one person to turn around. Inside, there was only a narrow wooden plank bed, a low table, and an oil lamp.
Pei Cijing found the Heavenly Rank, Building C area and counted the cells one by one until he stopped at Number Thirty-seven.
He poked his head in for a look.
The cell wasn’t large.
But it was fairly clean.
No mold on the walls, no puddles on the floor, and the roof tiles were neatly arranged, with no sign of leaking. The low table was old but steady—he pressed his hand on it, and it didn’t wobble.
Pei Cijing let out a long sigh of relief.
Not bad.
At least it was far from the latrines; the smell was bearable.
He set his examination case on the table, sat down on the wooden plank bed, and reached out to touch the bedboard. It was hard and bare—not even a straw mat.
Pei Cijing couldn’t help sighing again.
This tiny space was smaller than the double bed at home.
He thought of the spacious canopy bed in the Peaceful Rest House, with its thick mattress and soft quilt, and the sweet, warm wife lying beside him...
“Ah—”
Pei Cijing sighed once more, shaking those untimely thoughts out of his head. He opened his examination case and took out the items one by one, laying them neatly on the table.
He leaned against the wall.
Closed his eyes.
Suddenly, he remembered seeing Li Chengyu in the central hall earlier. Throughout this whole process—from entry to drawing the lot—everything had gone smoothly. No one had harassed him, and no one had played tricks.
The Eighth Prince...
Was he really that magnanimous?
Pei Cijing thought it over and found it unlikely.
After failing to eliminate the Empress and the Sixth Prince during the coup, that man already harbored a grudge against the Marquis’s estate. Now that he had a chance for revenge, how could he do nothing?
Yet, along the way—
Nothing had happened at all.
Pei Cijing pondered for a moment, recalling the Sixth Prince he had just encountered. Maybe someone had tried to make trouble, but someone else had stopped them.
He stopped thinking about it.
Listening to the gradually quieting sounds outside,
the examination was about to begin...
