Uncle Fu glanced at Gu Moran.
"Your Highness, will you personally make a move tomorrow?"
Gu Moran walked to the window and pushed one half open. The night breeze poured in, carrying the fragrance of flowers from the various courtyards.
"There's no need."
Uncle Fu frowned.
"Then if something unexpected happens at the poetry gathering..."
"Something unexpected?" Gu Moran rested his hand on the window frame and tapped it twice with his fingertips. "The worst thing on a chessboard isn't an opponent making the wrong move. It's an opponent refusing to move at all."
Uncle Fu bowed slightly and withdrew.
The system panel lit up in the darkness.
[Poetry gathering countdown: the night before zero.] [Ye Qingyun's fortune value: recent peak. Heavenly Dao Correction Force activity continues to rise.] [Highlight moment about to begin.]
The next day.
Before dawn, the teahouses on either side of the Hanlin Academy were already receiving customers.
Servers hurried back and forth with copper kettles. The scent of tea mingled with the smell of pastries and horse manure, churning into the morning mist. The whole street buzzed with restless energy.
In the square before the Hanlin Academy's gates, white drapes formed a poetry stage. Above it hung a plaque bearing four characters.
Brush and Ink Through the Ages.
Three quarters into the hour of the rabbit, a carriage with green bamboo curtains stopped outside the Hanlin Academy.
Ye Qingyun stepped onto the stone steps. Morning dew clung to the soles of his cloth boots, and the wind lifted a corner of his blue-gray robe, revealing the wax-sealed bamboo tube at his waist.
Shuhe followed with a bundle in his arms, jostled this way and that by the crowd.
"Young master, there are so many people."
"If there were fewer, today wouldn't be any fun."
Without looking back, Ye Qingyun raised his eyes to the plaque above the poetry stage. Its gold paint was fresh, and the morning light glinting off it made people squint.
He straightened his cuffs, walked forward, and handed over his invitation.
"Ye Qingyun, from Jizhou."
The clerk stopped turning the pages of the register and looked up to size him up.
Several scholars nearby were already whispering.
"Is he the one who wrote the three Jizhou quatrains?"
"He looks young, but his clothes are shabby."
"What's wrong with shabby? As long as his poetry is good."
Ye Qingyun heard them clearly and straightened his back even more.
The clerk handed his invitation back.
"Waiting area on the left."
Ye Qingyun took the invitation.
"Thank you."
Shuhe followed him toward the waiting area and lowered his voice.
"Young master, they're laughing at how plain your clothes are."
Ye Qingyun looked at the poetry stage ahead. The poetry manuscript in his sleeve pressed against his palm, its stiff edges digging into his skin.
"Plain is better."
"If they look down on me at first glance, it'll be all the easier to shut them up at the second."
Shuhe drew a breath of the morning mist and coughed twice as the sandalwood incense caught in his throat.
"Young master, that's satisfying to hear."
In the waiting area, the first Hanlin Academy scholar set to warm up the gathering stood at the edge of the stage, his lips moving constantly, the folding fan in his hand growing warm in his grip.
The second was the nephew of a Ministry of Rites official. He wore a fox collar over his brocade robe, and a servant beside him held a hand warmer for him.
Ye Qingyun stood beside the two of them in cloth robes, with his bamboo tube and old book bag. Everyone there knew he had come from elsewhere.
Someone chuckled.
"Brother Ye, you've come all the way from Jizhou. The journey must have been hard. Just don't bring the dust of the imperial road onto the poetry stage today."
Ye Qingyun looked over.
The speaker wore a jade-colored robe with a piece of white jade at his waist. He stood in a casual pose, gently waving a folding fan.
Ye Qingyun asked,
"And how should I address you?"
The man snapped his fan shut.
"Lu Zhibai, of the Imperial Academy."
Ye Qingyun's fingers touched the poetry manuscript in his sleeve, its edge pressing against his palm.
I have to endure it.
Today isn't the time to trade barbs with someone like him.
But if I say nothing, everyone else will only think I have stage fright.
Ye Qingyun raised his head.
"Brother Lu is right. Only after traveling a thousand miles through wind and dust is one fit to take the stage."
Lu Zhibai raised an eyebrow.
Ye Qingyun continued,
"If you've only walked from your front door to the Hanlin Academy, it's only natural that your soles are clean."
Someone nearby turned away, stifling a laugh.
Lu Zhibai gripped the handle of his fan, his lips tightening into a straight line.
"You have quite a way with words, Brother Ye. Once you take the stage, I hope that isn't all you have left."
Ye Qingyun looked away.
"That depends on whether you have the patience to wait until then."
Lu Zhibai was about to speak again when the servant beside him tugged his sleeve.
"Young master, Lord Zhou is here."
Directly opposite the poetry stage, five seats had already been set out for the judges.
Teacups, brushes and ink, registers, and celadon incense burners were all arranged neatly.
Zhou Wenyuan was the first to arrive.
Dressed in the official robes of a Hanlin scholar, he walked at an unhurried pace. As he passed Ye Qingyun, his gaze rested on the blue-gray robe for half a breath.
Ye Qingyun cupped his hands.
"Lord Zhou."
Zhou Wenyuan did not stop, merely nodding.
"Young Master Ye, write well today."
Ye Qingyun lowered his head.
"This student will remember."
At those words, the way the people around them looked at Ye Qingyun changed somewhat.
Lu Zhibai put away his fan and said nothing more.
Xu Wenli arrived afterward, accompanied by a young servant. A blue-green sachet hung at the servant's waist, and he kept looking toward the teahouse to the east as he walked.
On the second floor of a distant teahouse, one of Boss Zhao's men gripped a teacup, watching the sachet out of the corner of his eye. The hot tea in the cup scalded his hand, but he did not let go.
In the carriage parking area east of the Hanlin Academy, the chancellor's residence's carriage was parked inconspicuously.
On the other side, the Xie Clan's carriage slowly came to a stop.
Xiaodie got down first and helped Xie Wanqing out.
She wore a bamboo-green dress with a subtle woven pattern, with only a single jade hairpin in her hair. Two small pearl earrings swayed gently with her movements.
Several Imperial Academy scholars turned to look.
"Miss Xie came too?"
"She's the foremost of the capital's four talented ladies. It's no surprise she came to hear poetry."
Xie Wanqing heard them and looked up at the judges' seats.
Her father, Xie Huai'an, had not arrived yet.
Gu Moran's carriage had not arrived either.
She stood where she was for half a breath, then walked toward the women's seats.
Just as she sat down, Shen Ling'er's carriage arrived too.
Shen Ling'er lifted the curtain and poked her head out. The smells of tea, sweat, and leather rushed into her nose all at once. Her eyebrows twitched, and she took Cui'er's arm as she stepped down.
"So many people. The smell of medicine is strong today."
Cui'er did not understand.
"Miss, where's the smell of medicine coming from?"
"Fame and fortune are medicine. Take too much, and they'll go to your head."
Shen Ling'er swept her gaze over the poetry stage, then the judges' seats, then the scholars clutching their poetry manuscripts with sweaty palms.
She spotted Xie Wanqing and hurried over to sit beside her.
"Sister Wanqing, are you nervous?"
Xie Wanqing held her tea, its warmth brushing the backs of her fingers.
"A little."
Shen Ling'er caught sight of the corner of an envelope peeking from her sleeve and lowered her voice.
"Did His Highness give you that?"
Xie Wanqing nodded.
Shen Ling'er leaned half an inch closer.
"Did he tell you to curse back at anyone who dared question you?"
Xie Wanqing looked up at her.
"How did you know?"
Shen Ling'er laughed, her shoulders shaking lightly.
"He looks lazy, but when he's defending his own, his tongue is at its sharpest."
No sooner had she spoken than another carriage stopped nearby.
It was the Clear Frost Courtyard's carriage.
Su Yao stepped out, and the voices around her fell quiet for a moment.
Biyu supported her, her palm damp with sweat.
"Miss, are we really going in?"
Su Yao stepped onto the stone stairs. Sandalwood incense drifted from the Hanlin Academy's entrance, clogging her throat until it felt tight.
She could have stayed away.
But if she stayed away, they could say whatever they liked about the old agreement.
If she came, at least she would be sitting here.
"Let's go in."
Biyu pressed her in a low voice.
"What if Ye Qingyun really brings up the old agreement in public?"