Pei Cijing had been living like a deity these past few days.
Every day, at the third quarter of the Mao hour, he would arrive at the Hanlin Academy to register his attendance, signing his name in that thick attendance ledger. Then, with a leisurely stride, he’d saunter back to the duty room.
He’d pull a casual book from the shelf, brew a pot of fragrant tea, lean back against the chair, and that would be his entire day.
At first, Liu Zhixing and Chen Wangbei were a bit reserved.
After all, they were new top achievers, freshly inducted into the Hanlin Academy.
Their nerves were taut, every string pulled tight.
Each day, upon entering the duty room, they’d sit upright and proper, a classic picture of readiness, eyes fixed on a classical text spread before them, as if expecting an inspection from their superiors at any moment.
But for three days straight…
Administrator Wang only showed up on the very first day.
He was a man in his forties, a middle-aged civil official with a lean face, sporting three strands of long beard, dressed in a blue official robe embroidered with an egret pattern on the badge.
When he stepped into the duty room, his pace was unhurried and measured. His gaze swept over the three faces, carrying a faint smile.
“Since you three have just arrived, there’s no need to rush into handling official duties,” he said calmly, standing at the doorway, his eyes scanning their faces. “First, familiarize yourselves with the rules of the Hanlin Academy, understand the responsibilities of each department, and get to know your colleagues. As for the actual work, there’s no hurry. Wait until you’re properly settled.”
With that, he turned and left, his footsteps steady and deliberate, the corner of his blue robe flashing briefly beyond the threshold before vanishing down the corridor.
Efficient and straightforward.
Not a word of unnecessary pleasantries.
Liu Zhixing and Chen Wangbei exchanged glances, puzzled.
Was that it? No instructions on what to do? No assignments? Just… left hanging?
Both felt a bit uneasy.
But Pei Cijing read something different between the lines. Watching Administrator Wang’s retreating figure disappear down the corridor, a sly smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
No rush to assign tasks.
Wasn’t that tacit permission to slack off on the clock? If the higher-ups weren’t in a hurry, why should he be? There was no point in volunteering for extra work.
That wasn’t diligence.
That was foolishness.
So, that very day, Pei Cijing had his revelation — a complete awakening. He abandoned the last shred of pretense and restraint and fully embraced his true self.
The next day, he brought a set of purple clay tea ware from home. The teapot was no bigger than a fist, its surface radiating a warm, glossy sheen — a fine piece his maternal grandfather, Zhou Youfu, had brought from Jiangnan.
On the third day, he pulled a volume of the *Great Qian Geographic Records* from the shelf. The opening pages detailed the scenic landscapes and customs of various prefectures across the Great Qian empire. Though a serious text, it was far more entertaining to read than those dry treatises on classics and strategies.
On the fourth day, he switched to a book of *Former Dynasty Anecdotes*, filled with unofficial stories and gossip not recorded in the official histories — wild tales and miscellaneous chatter that were more amusing than any popular novel.
And the number of juicy gossip points he had to savor increased by several hundred — an unexpected bonus.
It seemed that unofficial histories might indeed be unofficial…
But that didn’t necessarily mean they were entirely fabricated.
When the drum sounded to mark the end of duty, Pei Cijing would snap the book shut, pack up his things, and rise to leave. His movements were smooth and natural, crisp and decisive, as if rehearsed countless times.
On time to sign in.
On time to sign out.
Never arrive a moment early, nor linger a minute longer.
At first, when Liu Zhixing and Chen Wangbei arrived at the duty room each day, they sat upright and solemn, books spread out before them, yet their eyes kept drifting toward Pei Cijing.
There sat Pei Cijing, leaning back in his chair, a tea cup held casually in one hand while the other flipped through the pages of a book. When something amusing caught his eye, the corners of his mouth lifted slightly; when the content grew dull, he turned the pages more swiftly. Occasionally, he would rise to refill his tea or stroll over to the window to glance at the few clusters of verdant bamboo outside.
That posture.
That expression.
That complete ease and leisure.
He treated the Hanlin Academy’s duty room as if it were his own private garden.
Two days later, Liu Zhixing finally couldn’t hold back any longer. He quietly set down the book he had already read through three times—*Commentaries on the Great Learning*—walked over to the bookshelf, pulled out a volume of *Memorials of Famous Ministers Through the Ages*, and returned to his seat, imitating Pei Cijing’s relaxed pose, leaning back in his chair.
Hmm.
Indeed, it was comfortable.
Behind him, Chen Wangbei soon succumbed as well. He fetched a book titled *Records of Border Towns*, which detailed the treacherous landscapes and strategic military positions of the northern frontier towns—just the kind of material that piqued his interest.
The atmosphere in the duty room had completely transformed.
Liu Zhixing no longer sat rigidly upright; Chen Wangbei’s face was no longer tense. The three men each claimed a desk, each held a book, each sipped from their own pot of tea. Occasionally, they would lift their heads to share a few amusing anecdotes from their readings or stand up to stretch their limbs.
Quiet, but not dull.
Leisurely, but not careless.
Like three sheep grazing contentedly in a spring meadow, left unherded, each absorbed in their own peaceful feast.
All of this did not escape Administrator Wang’s notice.
His office was diagonally opposite theirs, separated only by a carved wooden lattice window. If he wished, he could observe their every move with perfect clarity.
Newcomers to the Hanlin Academy.
As per tradition.
They must first endure a period of idleness.
Ten days or half a month at the shortest, one or two months at the longest. This was neither neglect nor harshness, but an unwritten rule cultivated over decades—tempering the newcomers’ temperaments.
Those who passed the highest imperial examinations and ranked among the top scholars were not unaccustomed to hardship—ten years of relentless study, emerging victorious from the sea of candidates. Who among them was not proud, even a little arrogant?
But the Hanlin Academy was no ordinary examination hall, no grand imperial palace. It was the intellectual heart of the empire, the direct link to the emperor himself.
Many matters, seemingly trivial, could affect the entire realm. Those who could not bear the quiet, who lacked patience and constantly fidgeted or tried to ingratiate themselves, would sooner or later cause trouble.
Therefore, every head scholar who had ever overseen the academy had issued the same directive—when newcomers arrive, first let them cool their heels.
See if they can sit still on the bench, if they can settle their minds, if they can wear away that restless impatience that comes with fresh success.
If they can calm down and quietly endure, they are talents worth nurturing, to be cultivated slowly over time. But if they cannot sit still, constantly scratching and prying, scheming to ingratiate themselves—
Then they need a stern lesson!
Until that restless spirit is worn away,
Only then will the real work begin.
This is tempering, testing, and selection all at once.
So this time, as usual, he showed up only on the first day, exchanged a few polite words like “no need to rush,” then quietly retreated behind the scenes to observe.
On the first couple of days, Liu Zhixing and Chen Wangbei behaved fairly by the book.
Though somewhat tense, they managed to keep their composure, sitting there reading and writing, neither snooping around nor showing the slightest hint of restlessness. By the standards of newcomers, that was already quite commendable.
Pei Cijing, the youngest Tanhua, was actually the most relaxed of the three. He held his teacup up to his nose, inhaled the fragrance of the tea, then took a satisfied sip—his demeanor and posture perfectly embodying that of an aging, soon-to-retire scholar.
By the third day.
The fourth day.
Administrator Wang began to sense something was off.
Those two newcomers who had been so tightly wound at first seemed to have been mellowed by Pei Cijing. Day by day, they grew more and more at ease.
Liu Zhixing lifted his teacup with a calm grace; Chen Wangbei leaned back in his chair. Behind them, the other two were already chatting and laughing with Pei Cijing, sipping tea, reading, and chatting idly. Their manner and expressions were as carefree and at ease as if they were entertaining friends in their own living room.
Administrator Wang sat in his office, peering through the carved lattice window at the three across from him. His hand holding the pen paused slightly, and a tiny ink blot spread on the paper.
What on earth was this?
In previous years, which newcomer hadn’t been trembling with anxiety, walking on eggshells?
Sitting in the office, not daring to breathe too loudly, afraid the superiors would think them lacking in steadiness.
Occasionally, the restless ones would quietly ask around or pretend to pass by his office door, trying to gauge the atmosphere.
But this batch?
Not only did they keep their composure, they kept it too well.
So well, in fact, that they had begun to enjoy themselves. So well that they treated the Hanlin Academy’s office as if it were their own study. So well that they drew their government salaries with the leisurely air of someone on paid leave.
Administrator Wang was momentarily at a loss—should he commend their temperament, or criticize them for being overly relaxed?
If he said they couldn’t keep calm—
They were clearly calm, calm to the point of being carefree.
If he said they were steady—
They were steady to a fault, steady enough to make him, as their superior, feel uneasy.
The affairs of the Hanlin Academy weren’t exactly overwhelming, but everyone had work to do every day.
Colleagues in the Compilation and Proofreading Department were all bent over their desks, tirelessly writing. Those who edited were editing, those who proofread were proofreading, those who drafted documents were drafting.
Even the older scholars who loved to slack off had to put on a show of being busy—always clutching a pen, always with a book open in front of them.
But these three newcomers?
They didn’t even bother pretending.
Tea tasting, reading, chatting—one day passed just like that. They came and went on time, punctual to a fault. Pei Cijing was even more excessive: at the end of each shift, his steps were so light it was as if he walked on clouds, and the smile at the corner of his mouth was impossible to hide, as if he had stumbled upon some great bargain.
Their salaries were the same as everyone else's, yet these three newcomers didn’t have to lift a finger. How could their life at the Hanlin Academy be so carefree...?
Administrator Wang took a deep breath, pushing down the subtle sense of injustice brewing inside him.
No.
This test of his temper ends here.
He absolutely could not tolerate these three newcomers casually drawing their official salaries from the court without doing any real work!
Young men,
It’s time to get to work!
On the sixth day, at the break of dawn,
Pei Cijing, as usual, stepped into the duty room right on time, placing the official document box on the desk. Just as he reached for the day’s “leisure reading” from the bookshelf—
Footsteps echoed outside.
They were neither hurried nor slow, steady and measured, striking the bluestone floor with a soft “thud, thud.”
Pei Cijing’s hand paused at the edge of the bookshelf.
These footsteps were not the casual visits of colleagues; this was the pace of a superior’s arrival.
He withdrew his hand.
And turned around.
Liu Zhixing and Chen Wangbei also heard the sound. Without a word, they put down their books and stood up.
The footsteps halted just outside the door.
Then, three light knocks came against the doorframe.
“Thud, thud, thud.”
Neither too loud nor too soft, perfectly measured.
Administrator Wang cleared his throat twice and stepped over the threshold.
Today, he wore a brand-new azure official robe, the embroidered egret on the rank badge meticulously crafted. His beard was neatly groomed, and his entire demeanor carried a weightier solemnity compared to his first day here.
Pei Cijing and the others quickly bowed.
“Greetings, Lord Wang.”
Administrator Wang nodded slightly, his gaze sweeping over the three faces, lingering a moment on Pei Cijing before moving on.
“How have you all been settling in these past few days?” His tone was calm and even, as if casually inquiring about the weather.
The three exchanged glances.
Liu Zhixing was the first to reply, “Thank you, Lord Wang, for your concern. The Hanlin Academy is serene, with a rich collection of books. These past few days have been very rewarding.”
Chen Wangbei nodded in agreement, “The same for me, my lord. The Academy is excellent.”
Pei Cijing spoke last, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he cupped his hands, “I have also adapted well. Thank you, Lord Wang, for your kindness.”
Administrator Wang listened to their answers, his gaze circling their faces once more.
Liu Zhixing’s expression was composed; Chen Wangbei’s earnest; but Pei Cijing’s... that smile on his lips was just plain irritating.
Settled in well?
Of course, you’ve settled in well.
So well you’re practically treating the duty room like a teahouse.
Administrator Wang snorted inwardly but remained expressionless, simply nodding and saying, “Since you’ve all become familiar with life at the Hanlin Academy, it’s time to officially take on some duties.”
At these words,
The atmosphere in the duty room shifted subtly.
Liu Zhixing’s eyes brightened—a rare flicker of anticipation in his usually cool and distant gaze.
Ten years of hard study, passing the imperial exams with top honors—finally, the time to put his knowledge to use had come. To say he wasn’t looking forward to it would be a lie.
Chen Wangbei was even more straightforward. He instinctively puffed out his chest, his square face beaming with eagerness. He was the type who couldn’t stay idle. Though he had been able to focus on reading these past few days, his heart felt empty, as if all his strength had nowhere to go.
Finally having some work to do, he actually let out a sigh of relief.
Pei Cijing’s reaction was far more subtle.
His face still wore a faint smile, his demeanor remained calm and unhurried, yet when Administrator Wang uttered the words “take over the affairs,” the corner of his mouth twitched downward just enough to be barely noticeable.
It had come!
Inevitable, after all.
The days of getting paid to slack off were gone for good.
He silently lit a candle for himself in his heart, but on the surface, he had to maintain a respectful posture. Together with Liu Zhixing and Chen Wangbei, he cupped his hands and said, “At your command, sir.”
Administrator Wang took in the reactions of all three.
Liu Zhixing’s eager anticipation, Chen Wangbei’s barely contained enthusiasm — both were exactly as he expected. Newcomers, fresh on the scene, all brimming with energy to prove themselves. That was a good thing.
But Pei Cijing’s expression — a mix of reluctant acceptance and determination to do the job well — made the discomfort in his own heart vanish instantly.
Excellent!
Very good!
If someone else was uncomfortable, then he would feel all the better. Clearing his throat, he wasted no more words and cut straight to the point: “The task before you is to revise the ‘Great Qian Water Chronicles Commentary.’”
“The ‘Water Chronicles’ was written over a century ago by a remarkable man — Master Shuijing. He dedicated most of his life to traveling the land, meticulously recording the courses, flows, and hydrology of rivers and lakes, and proposing targeted management plans.”
“At the end of the previous dynasty, the failure to prioritize water governance led to consecutive years of flooding, destroyed dams, submerged fertile fields, and countless displaced people. Those who could no longer survive were the last remnants of the nation’s fortune, all swallowed by the floodwaters.”
“A lesson from the past, a guide for the future.”
“Since the founding of Great Qian, every emperor has attached great importance to water management. Each year, the court allocates funds and mobilizes laborers based on the ‘Water Chronicles’ to build dams and manage waterways.”
“Where to build dams, where to dredge, where to open channels, where to store water — all guided by the ‘Water Chronicles.’”
“The ‘Great Qian Water Chronicles Commentary’ compiles and organizes the effects of water management measures taken over the years into a formal document, preserving it for future generations. This task is handled annually by the Hanlin Academy. Your three only need to compile last year’s results...”
