The imperial residence was especially lively today. From two streets away, Xiang Yuan could see the sea of bobbing heads, a dark mass packed so tightly that not even water could seep through.
With vendors who had rushed over upon hearing the news joining in, clamor rose and fell without end—three parts livelier than a temple fair.
Most of those in the jammed crowd were dressed as scholars and literary gentlemen.
More than half were genuine scholars, in blue robes and gauze caps, elegant and free-spirited, every gesture steeped in refinement.
Among them, too, there were ranks high and low.
Some stood with their hands behind their backs, gently fanning themselves with folded fans. Their clothes were sumptuous and their brows haughty; one look told you they came from prominent, wealthy families, had received elite educations, and moved among high society.
Some gathered in groups of three or five, composing poems and matching couplets. Their gazes were clear and upright, and they possessed a certain righteous air. Though born into humble households, they had devoured books by the cartload and truly had ink in their bellies.
As for the quality of the rest, that was hard to say. They chattered in clusters, one person loudly reciting a new work while a wave of cheers immediately rose around him. Never mind whether the writing was any good—the hired shills were certainly giving it their all.
The other half were fake scholars. At a glance, they too looked like bookish students, but because of their builds and physiques, the more one looked, the more awkward they seemed.
A few were hulking brutes, broad-backed and bear-waisted, with swallow jaws and tiger whiskers, lion noses and wide mouths, leopard heads and round eyes. Their clenched fists cracked, their door-plank teeth ground together, yet they