The sound of Lin Yi's footsteps faded into the distance along the corridor, and the duty room fell silent for a moment.
That moment was brief.
So brief that before Pei Cijing could even sit down, two figures had already closed in on him from both sides.
Liu Zhixing leaned in from the left, Chen Wangbei blocked him from the right. Neither of them spoke a word. They just stared at him with unwavering gazes, their eyes shouting the same message—confess and get leniency; resist and face the consequences.
Pei Cijing felt a shiver run down his spine under their scrutiny.
Instinctively, he stepped back half a pace.
His back met the edge of the desk.
There was nowhere left to retreat.
“Brother Pei,” Liu Zhixing spoke first, his tone carrying a hint of restrained curiosity and a trace of reproach from being kept in the dark. “You’re actually connected to Minister Shen? How come you never mentioned it?”
Chen Wangbei nodded emphatically from the other side before adding in a low, blunt voice, “Exactly. Brother Pei, you’ve hidden this deep. We’re all top scholars of the same examination, part of the same Hanlin Academy, likely to work together for a long time. We talked for ages at the Qionglin Banquet, and you didn’t breathe a single word about it.”
They went back and forth, one after the other.
It sounded like an interrogation.
But there was no real blame in their tone.
Rather, it felt like close friends who had just discovered there was still a secret between them, their curiosity impossible to contain.
Pei Cijing looked at the two faces before him, both clearly screaming “Spill the gossip,” and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.
Well.
No hiding it now.
To be fair, the three of them were newly minted top scholars, though their rankings differed. Since meeting at the Qionglin Banquet, they had developed a certain camaraderie as fellow graduates.
After all, from now on, the three would serve together in the Hanlin Academy, crossing paths every day. They would likely work side by side for years to come. Since they were destined to be long-term colleagues, getting to know one another better was only natural.
That day at the Qionglin Banquet, amid the clinking of cups and flowing wine.
They had indeed talked quite a bit.
He remembered how Liu Zhixing spoke about his upbringing, his expression as calm and detached as if he were discussing something unrelated to himself.
His father was merely a county-level scholar who ran a private school. Having produced a few other scholars himself, he had earned some local reputation. The family was comfortably off.
“But my father never managed to pass the provincial examination in his lifetime,” Liu Zhixing had said, cup in hand, his tone steady. “He placed all his hopes on me. As far back as I can remember, the walls of our home were plastered with essays. Every evening, no matter how tired he was after returning from the school, he would personally test me on my lessons.”
He spoke without any hint of grievance in his expression, simply stating the facts. But Pei Cijing could hear, beneath that calm surface, the weight of endless days and nights of toil, the relentless study that never ceased through heat or cold—carrying the full burden of his father’s expectations.
A triple first in the imperial examinations, bringing glory to one’s ancestors.
Those four words concealed the desperate gamble of two generations of the Liu family, spanning nearly thirty years.
Chen Wangbei had also shared his story that day.
His family hailed from the northern frontier, three generations of military service. His grandfather had been an obscure squad leader in the border forces, and his father had scraped by for half a lifetime to barely become a platoon leader.
A life lived on the edge of a blade, trading blood for advancement. But when it came to Chen Wangbei’s generation, the elders flatly refused to let him follow the same path.
“I’ve loved swords and staves since I was a boy,” Chen Wangbei had said, and for a moment, that honest face broke into a rare flash of youthful spirit. But it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by resignation. “But my father wouldn’t allow it. He said generations of the Chen family had gambled their lives on the edge of a knife, and all it earned them was a few rundown huts and some barren fields. By my generation, the family had to change its fortunes.”
And so the descendant of a military household, who should have been wielding a spear and riding a horse, was forcibly seated at a desk.
The hands meant for weapons were stuffed with a writing brush.
For more than twenty years.
“I’m slow-witted,” Chen Wangbei had admitted, scratching his head in that endearingly honest way of his. “What others could memorize after reading three times, I had to read thirty times. What others could grasp in a flash, I had to mull over for days. But my father said, being slow doesn’t matter—what matters is not being lazy. So I just read to death, recited to death, and wrote to death.”
“And here I am, a success of sorts.”
He said it so lightly, but Pei Cijing knew that phrase “to death” was no exaggeration.
It was twenty-plus years of grit.
As for himself... well, Pei Cijing hadn’t gone into detail about how seriously he had actually studied.
Compared to those two.
Pei Cijing’s family background was indeed illustrious.
Although he was merely the only son of the concubine-born second branch of the Marquis of Weiyuan’s household—meaning the title would never fall to him—just having the words “Marquis’s Estate” attached to his name was a status beyond the reach of most mortals, even if they stood on stilts.
As for the connection to his father-in-law, Shen Zhongcheng, Pei Cijing hadn’t elaborated on it at the Qionglin Banquet.
It wasn’t deliberate concealment, really; he just felt it was unnecessary. Meeting new colleagues for the first time and immediately saying, “My father-in-law is the Minister of Personnel,” would sound too much like showing off and likely breed resentment.
But he never expected that on his very first day of duty, his superior would expose him on the spot. Looking at the two faces brimming with curiosity before him, Pei Cijing decided to stop hiding.
He spread his hands, his expression completely open. “Since you’ve caught me, I won’t deny it. Lord Lin was right. That man is indeed my father-in-law. My wife is the legitimate daughter of the Shen family.”
He said it as plainly as if he were remarking on the weather.
But to the ears of Liu Zhixing and Chen Wangbei, it struck like a bolt of lightning inside the duty room.
Both of them inhaled sharply.
The air in the room changed, tangibly shifting.
Sour!
It was truly sour!
Liu Zhixing managed to maintain some semblance of a scholar’s composure, but even his usually cool eyes betrayed a rare flicker of complicated emotion.
Chen Wangbei, however, was far less reserved. His mouth hung open, his eyes wide, his expression like that of someone who had just swallowed a whole lemon—his features puckered with envy.
They might be strangers from other provinces, new arrivals in the capital.
But if they wanted to make their way in the capital and establish themselves in court, they had to know the key figures.
The Left Prime Minister, Lu Fang. The Right Prime Minister, Du Hui. The six ministers, the heads of every department.
They had done their homework.
Maybe not in depth, but at least they knew the names.
Minister of Personnel Shen Zhongcheng.
How could they not know that name?
Minister of Personnel—without the word “acting.”
Over nearly six months of probation, the entire court had witnessed Shen Zhongcheng’s work: meticulous, decisive without losing fairness. He had kept order without leaving himself exposed.
Just a few days ago, the old emperor’s brush had brushed away the word “acting” that had hung for half a year. Shen Zhongcheng was officially appointed Minister of Personnel of the Great Qian Empire.
Chief of all civil officials.
The hub of the entire bureaucracy.
And such a powerful, red-hot figure was the father-in-law of this young man sitting before them—this Tanhua (third-place scholar) who was several years their junior? And he had married the man’s legitimate daughter?
Liu Zhixing and Chen Wangbei exchanged glances, reading the same bitter sourness in each other’s eyes.
A marquis’s estate for a family.
A minister for a father-in-law.
And his wife was the legitimate daughter.
This Pei Cijing – not only did he pass the imperial examinations and earn the rank of Tanhua at such a young age, but the patrons backing him were also one more formidable than the next. For others, managing to secure even one such patron would have been an extraordinary stroke of luck. But him? He had two great mountains sitting firmly under him, and he wore an expression of calm resignation, as if to say, "What can I do? It's not my fault."
The two men silently suppressed the sourness rising in their hearts.
Not jealous!
Really!
Not jealous at all!!!
The office fell quiet for a moment. The silence carried a subtle, awkward tension, along with an indescribable fragrance of lemon that slowly spread among the three of them.
Chen Wangbei scratched his head, then suddenly seemed to think of something.
"That doesn't add up," he said, frowning, his eyes fixed on Pei Cijing's face as if he were trying to solve a troublesome passage in the classics. "Brother Pei, with your background... normally speaking, you shouldn't be worthy of your wife, should you?"
He began counting on his fingers, analyzing with mock seriousness: "Think about it. Minister Shen is the Minister of Rites. Even before he rose to that position, he was a third-rank high official. You were the son of the second branch of the Marquis's estate. The Marquis's estate is fine, but you weren't in line to inherit the title, and at that time, you didn't even have any scholarly achievement."
"There's a huge gap in status between you. How on earth did you manage to marry her?"
The moment he said this.
The office fell completely silent.
It was so quiet you could hear the rustling of the bamboo groves outside the window in the wind, the faint whisper of orchids under the eaves brushing against each other, and the low murmur of conversation drifting from some other office far away.
The corner of Liu Zhixing's mouth twitched.
He turned his head.
And glanced at Chen Wangbei.
This Brother Chen, his mind was certainly sharp, and his reactions were quick.
While others were still pondering the depth of Pei Cijing's connections, Chen had already reached this level of insight. Such keenness was a good thing when applied to scholarship or official duties.
But the problem was.
He was also far too blunt.
There were indeed suspicious points about Pei Cijing's marriage. For the son of the second branch of the Marquis's estate, who held no title and had no official rank, to marry the legitimate daughter of the Minister of Rites – under normal circumstances, this honestly didn't match.
But knowing it in one's heart was one thing; asking it to someone's face was another matter entirely.
Liu Zhixing quickly cleared his throat and stepped forward half a pace, his tone carrying an urgent desire to smooth things over: "Brother Chen's mouth often gets ahead of his brain. He says whatever comes to mind and means no harm. Brother Pei, please don't take it to heart."
By then, Chen Wangbei had also come to his senses.
He seemed to have said the wrong thing again.
He had only thought it was strange and asked offhandedly, but after he said it, he realized how inappropriate the question was. How a person's marriage came to be was their private affair. There might be hidden circumstances that shouldn't be disclosed to outsiders. To ask so bluntly like that – wasn't he exposing a vulnerability?
"Brother Pei, I..." He scratched his head, his square face full of embarrassment. "I'm just thoughtless when I speak. Don't hold it against me. Just pretend I never asked."
As he spoke, he repeatedly cupped his hands in apology, looking sincere and clumsy all at once, like a bear that had accidentally stepped on someone's foot, pacing around anxiously, not knowing how to make amends.
Pei Cijing looked at him and couldn't help but smile.
"It's nothing."
He waved his hand, his tone relaxed, without a hint of displeasure at being offended.
By the time of the Qionglin Banquet, he had already figured out Chen Wangbei's character. This man spoke directly, saying whatever came to mind, never beating around the bush.
But precisely because of that.
When he asked this question.
It was definitely not out of any ill intent.
He was simply curious and voiced it. Compared to those who smiled to your face but stabbed you in the back, such an honest, straightforward personality was actually more reassuring.
The problem, however, was that it wasn't an easy question to answer.
The matter of swapped marriages involved the scandal of Shen Ningyue and Pei Ciling's illicit affair, and both families covering up the disgrace. Although anyone would naturally find it suspicious, there were things that were better left unsaid but understood. He certainly couldn't tell outsiders about any of that.
Pei Cijing pondered for a moment, then spoke in a calm tone, with both sincerity and a fitting touch of emotion: "There are some things that are indeed difficult to explain in detail."
He paused, his eyes slightly lowered, as if recalling something, or perhaps confirming his own feelings.
Then he raised his head, the corners of his mouth curving slightly – not a big smile, but carrying a warmth that came from the depths of his heart.
"But my wife and I did come together because of all this. I won't go into the twists and turns, but for me, being able to become husband and wife with her is a blessing bestowed by fate."
He paused again, his voice growing more earnest.
"And I cherish it."
Four words. Simple and plain, without any unnecessary embellishment.
But the solemnity in his voice carried a weight of a thousand jun, landing heavily in the office.
Liu Zhixing and Chen Wangbei could both tell that these words were not perfunctory, not mere politeness, but came from the heart. They exchanged a glance and, almost simultaneously, breathed a sigh of relief.
Good.
Pei Cijing wasn't offended.
Not only was he not offended, but he had also sincerely spoken these words. Although he hadn't revealed the specific details, the phrase "a blessing of fate" and the words "I cherish it" were enough to make his stance clear.
This showed.
That Brother Pei truly regarded them as friends.
There were just some things that genuinely couldn't be discussed.
The unease in their hearts largely dissipated after these few words.
But dissipating their unease didn't mean dissipating their envy.
On the contrary, after Pei Cijing said all this, the aura emanating from him only made the already somewhat sour air even more acidic.
It was an indescribable flavor.
Not the pungent, nose-pinching sourness of an overturned vinegar jar. It was a longer-lasting, finer, more uncomfortable sourness.
Like slicing a lemon and slowly roasting it over charcoal, filling the room with that sour, fragrant scent.
Or like unripe green apricots in early spring – pretty to look at, but one bite would make your teeth ache with sourness.
Liu Zhixing pursed his lips.
Chen Wangbei swallowed.
Without a word, they both turned away, no longer looking at Pei Cijing and no longer continuing the topic. Not because they didn't want to talk about it, but because they simply couldn't go on.
If they kept talking, they feared they wouldn't be able to stop themselves from grinding their molars to dust.
The two silently walked back to their respective desks.
Sat down.
Spread out their paper.
Picked up their brushes.
Their movements were remarkably synchronized, as if they had planned it in advance.
But inside, their hearts were like deep-water bombs had been thrown into them, churning up tsunamis of emotion.
Dammit!
As if they didn't have wives themselves!
At their age, don't talk about wives – they had children too, and at least two each.
Liu Zhixing had been married for six years; his eldest son was already five, and his second son was three, both already reciting the San Zi Jing[Chinese classic text]. Chen Wangbei had been married even longer – eleven years – and had two sons and a daughter. The eldest one was already old enough to help chop firewood and carry water around the house.
Their wives, though not the legitimate daughters of a Minister's mansion or noble ladies from marquis estates, were still daughters of respectable, honest families.
During those years when they buried themselves in their studies, it was these wives who managed the household, served their parents-in-law, raised the children, and kept everything in perfect order so they could have no worries.
Their virtues.
No worse than anyone else!
But they had traveled a long distance to the capital for the imperial examinations and hadn’t brought their families along. Their original plan was to wait until after the palace exam, receive an official post, settle down, and then send for their wives and children to reunite in the capital.
Now, with Pei Cijing stirring them up like this, that thought flared up like a flame doused in oil, shooting high into the air.
They needed to write home as soon as possible.
Have them pack their bags.
A family.
It was better to be together.
The two men bent over their desks, writing furiously. The tips of their brushes scratched against the paper, producing a rustling sound that was especially clear in the quiet duty office.
Their handwriting carried a bit more urgency than usual, a bit more longing, and an indescribable surge of emotion, sparked by someone’s goading.
Pei Cijing stood by his own desk, watching the scene, a little bewildered.
Weren’t they just chatting pleasantly a moment ago?
Why had they suddenly gone silent?
He glanced at Liu Zhixing, who had his head down, his brush moving like a dragon or snake in flight, as if he were pouring all the thoughts in his heart onto the paper. Then he looked at Chen Wangbei, who was also hunched over his desk, writing at lightning speed. That square, honest face carried a rare seriousness, along with a faint, gentle look, as if he were missing someone.
Pei Cijing opened his mouth, about to ask what was wrong.
But the words died on his lips.
The way those two were absorbed in their work made it clear they didn’t want to be disturbed. He had no idea what had happened, but he had enough sense to pick up on that.
Forget it.
He wouldn’t ask.
Pei Cijing tactfully withdrew his gaze, turned, and walked over to the row of bookshelves against the wall.
The Hanlin Academy was, after all, the Hanlin Academy. Just the books on the shelves in this duty office were far superior in quality to the random collection he had in his study at the marquis’s mansion.
Pei Cijing casually pulled out a volume titled Records of the National History Office from the shelf. Flipping to the title page, he saw it was the handwriting of a Hanlin elder from the previous dynasty, documenting the evolution of the laws and institutions from the early years of the Great Qian Dynasty.
He carried the book back to his desk.
Sat down.
Opened it.
Since no tasks had been assigned to him, he certainly wasn’t about to go looking for work. The sunlight was perfect today, and after a quick mental calculation, he decided it was the ideal time to slack off…
