Gu Moran turned the red invitation over to its last line.
"I recently heard that Ye Qingyun, a gifted scholar from Jizhou, will be arriving in the capital soon. Perhaps we may enjoy some fine works together then."
He laid the invitation face down on the table.
The Hanlin Academy's paper carried a faint scent of ink. It felt thin, but its weight was no small thing.
"How soon is soon? System, stop playing dead and give this prince the exact time."
[Refreshing the countdown to the Son of Destiny Ye Qingyun's arrival in the capital.]
The numbers began to jump.
Ten days.
Eight days.
Six days.
Three days.
[Calibration complete: the Son of Destiny Ye Qingyun will arrive in the capital within 3 days, coinciding with the poetry gathering.]
Gu Moran stared at the words "three days" and pressed his tongue against a back tooth.
A whole week early.
Good grief. If you're that fast, why don't you go deliver takeout?
Gu Moran turned the invitation back over and read the signature again.
Zhou Wenyuan, Hanlin Academician of the Imperial Lectures.
Zhou Wenyuan had come from the Imperial Academy, in the same year as Xie Huai'an.
The second prince had only approached Xie Huai'an a few days ago, and today an invitation from the Hanlin Academy had landed on his desk.
Coincidence?
He pushed the invitation aside.
This prince has spent twenty years in the capital, and coincidence is the last thing I believe in.
"Uncle Fu, summon the covert operative."
Uncle Fu opened the door and beckoned.
The covert operative outside entered, the hem of his robe still carrying the dusty smell of the eaves.
Gu Moran looked up.
"Ye Qingyun's coming early. Investigate him again."
The operative cupped his hands.
"What part should I investigate, Your Highness?"
"From Jizhou to the capital: which route he took, which courier stations he stayed at, who met him on the way, and who delivered letters to him."
The operative cupped his hands.
"At your command."
Gu Moran picked up his teacup, then put it down again.
The tea had gone cold, its bitterness pressing against the back of his tongue.
"Don't touch him."
The operative looked up.
Gu Moran tapped the red invitation on the table.
"There's something very uncanny about him. If you go after him, even an old woman selling flatbread by the roadside might pull out a knife and carry out heaven's justice."
The operative's face stiffened.
"Understood."
"Investigate him. Don't go serving up your heads."
The operative withdrew.
Gu Moran opened the system panel.
[Son of Destiny Ye Qingyun, fortune status: rising.]
[Fortune value increased by 12% after the Jizhou literary gathering. The ancient scroll's cultivation technique has reached the second level.]
[Current strength assessment: capable of defeating an entry-level martial artist in a direct confrontation.]
After reading it, Gu Moran's fingertip came to a stop on the edge of the table. Scenes from the original novel came flooding back. The banquet to break off the engagement. Ye Qingyun was humiliated. A single poem stunned everyone present. Su Yao looked up at him, and from then on, the plot took off. But Su Yao wasn't at the chancellor's residence now. She was at Prince Yi's Residence, in the Clear Frost Courtyard, where she had worn three brushes bald from writing. *This prince has already married her and brought her home. And this play still wants to go on?* He took the three Jizhou quatrains from a drawer. The first was about the frontier. The second was about the sorrow of parting. The third was about ambition. He spread out the three sheets, and the scent of ink mingled with the smell of old paper. Gu Moran looked at the second couplet of the third poem and circled it with his brush. "Press down first, then lift, and finally turn it all the way over." He circled the second poem as well. "Same approach again." It was well written. But the formula was all too familiar. Gu Moran took his brush and wrote two characters beside it. Scope. "Ye Qingyun is exquisite, so this prince will show him what a grand spectacle looks like." His brush touched the paper, then stopped. He couldn't do it himself. If the capital's number one good-for-nothing suddenly started composing polished verse on the spot, the entire Imperial Astronomical Bureau would be working overtime the next day. He needed someone else. He looked up, toward the window. In the direction of the Tranquil Ink Courtyard, half a pothos leaf peeked out from a windowsill. Xie Wanqing. The foremost of the capital's four talented ladies. *She'll be the face of it, and I'll wield the brush.* Gu Moran smiled. "I know this job. In my last life, I wrote speeches for the boss. In this life, I'll copy famous works for my wife." He had just dipped his brush in ink when Uncle Fu poked his head through the doorway. "Your Highness, the Azure Wolf Courtyard has sent another question." "Has Murong Xue chopped through the wooden stakes again?" "Yes. Batuer says there aren't enough stakes and asks whether she should go into the mountains to cut more." "Cut them." Gu Moran didn't even look up. "Cut as many as she wants. As long as she's happy and doesn't tear down this prince's residence, that's fine." Uncle Fu acknowledged him, but didn't leave. "The Iron Plum Courtyard sent a question too. Zitang says Miss Lin is practicing her sword today. Will Your Highness go and watch?" Gu Moran looked up. "Not today. What about the Clear Frost Courtyard?" Uncle Fu's expression was complicated. "Madam Su sent Biyu out to buy five new brushes." Gu Moran rubbed his temple. Five. She had already worn the previous three bald. Her anger still hadn't subsided. The two characters of Su Yao's name on the paper pressed into his mind. The scent of osmanthus, the sound of shattering porcelain, the lamp that stayed lit past midnight in the Clear Frost Courtyard. "Uncle Fu." "Yes, Your Highness?" "Take her a message. Tell Madam Su this prince will have new tea ready in the study tonight, and invite her to come sit for a while if she has time." Uncle Fu waited a moment. "That's all?" "That's all." Uncle Fu rubbed his nose. "This old servant will go at once." After Uncle Fu left, Gu Moran spread out the xuan paper again. He wrote half a line of poetry, then stopped. He had to talk to Xie Wanqing. He had to keep things steady with Su Yao. Ye Qingyun would arrive in three days. And the second prince was still at his side, handing out knives. "How is this a rear courtyard?" Gu Moran looked in the direction of the six courtyards. "This is six-lane gameplay. Even a button-masher would uninstall after seeing this." The sky gradually darkened. The study smelled of ink, and the evening breeze carried the scent of flowers and trees in through the window. When Uncle Fu returned, his expression was even more complicated than before. "Your Highness, Madam Su has sent her reply." Gu Moran put down his brush. "Speak." Uncle Fu cleared his throat. "Madam Su said there's no need for new tea. If Your Highness has time, you might do better to shut the Green Vine Courtyard's gate more tightly first. The wind in the residence is too strong, and it's blowing unrest into all six courtyards." Gu Moran was silent for a moment. *Well said.* Not a single dirty word. The knives were all hidden inside. He smiled and shook his head. "A young lady raised in the chancellor's residence even follows the rules when she scolds someone." Uncle Fu asked cautiously. "Will Your Highness still invite her, then?" "No." Gu Moran rose and opened a cabinet. Inside sat a purple clay teapot set, an old gift from Noble Consort Chen. The pot had a warm, smooth finish, with a fine grainy texture to the touch. He took it out and placed it in Uncle Fu's hands. "Take it to the Clear Frost Courtyard." Uncle Fu's hands trembled. "Your Highness, you never let anyone touch this set." "That's why I'm sending it." "Shall I leave a message?" "No." Gu Moran closed the cabinet door. "She knows it." Holding the pot, Uncle Fu hesitated. "What if Madam Su asks why you sent it?" Gu Moran returned to the desk and picked up his brush again. "Tell her the wind in this prince's study is strong too, and the pot won't sit steady. I'm sending it to her place to help tamp down the fire." Uncle Fu's mouth twitched, and he left with the pot. Gu Moran pulled out the xuan paper pinned beneath the inkstone and continued writing. These famous poems could not follow Xie Wanqing's usual style. They could not be graceful. They could not be small in scope. When Ye Qingyun took his place at the poetry gathering, he had to know at first glance that the capital was not Jizhou. The system panel lit up in the corner.
[Monitoring: Hanlin Academy Attendant Scholar Zhou Wenyuan entered the palace for an audience with the emperor this afternoon. The contents of his report and replies are unknown.]
[After leaving the palace, he passed the Second Prince's residence and stopped in front of it for approximately a quarter of an hour.] ```
Gu Moran's brush stopped on the paper, and a drop of ink spread across it.
Zhou Wenyuan.
The Second Prince.
The Hanlin Academy poetry gathering.
Ye Qingyun had entered the capital ahead of schedule.
He looked at the blot of ink, his smile fading a little.
"Second Brother."
"Are you building a stage for Ye Qingyun, or digging a pit for this prince?"
Outside the window, the last trace of twilight sank away.
The lights in the six courtyards came on one after another.