Chapter 44: A Guest Talks Magnanimously About Fame and Fortune
At this moment in the capital, there was no one else who could make Hong Ji of the Northern Office willingly act as a "pawn."
Standing in this kitchen full of the warmth of cooking fires, Chen Ping'an was inexplicably reminded of the daily necessities of life during his student days.
Wei Zhe tested the waters, saying, "Grand Tutor, how about I go discuss with some acquainted guests and vacate a room?"
Chen Ping'an waved his hand and smiled. "You can't rush customers to leave early when running a business. That's not how you do things. We're not in a hurry anyway; we can wait."
He pointed at Hong Ji and teased, "If it takes too long—say, half an hour with no seats available—Shopkeeper Wei, don't worry. We'll just put the bill on Commander Hong's tab. He's treating today."
Hong Ji's expression was awkward. Because of the earlier message from the Grand Tutor's residence, he didn't dare make a big show of things, fearing that the Grand Tutor might misunderstand. Otherwise, he wouldn't need to speak personally; he could have had Situ Dianwu send someone to inform the restaurant and have Wei Zhe reserve a premium private room with ease. For the Northern Office's Hong Ji to treat someone to a meal and end up without a seat—if that got out, people would laugh their teeth out.
Wei Zhe stole a glance at Hong Ji. Hong Ji's scalp tightened in annoyance, and he immediately fixed his gaze on his nose and his nose on his heart, striving for inner calm.
Chen Ping'an smiled. "Please, Shopkeeper Wei, bring us each a bowl of iced plum soup first, so Commander Hong doesn't get impatient and start keeping a tab on you in his mind."
Wei Zhe instinctively looked at Hong Ji again. Truth be told, the name carried weight. The entire capital had been thoroughly startled by the Northern Office, and Hong Ji had already earned the nickname "Hong the Infernal Judge." There was no helping it—the Northern Office was domineering now. It seemed that anyone the Ministry of Justice dared not arrest, the Censorate dared not investigate, or the Supreme Court dared not convict—without needing anyone to weigh pros and cons—would all be handled by the Northern Office.
Hong Ji couldn't help but laugh and curse, "Shopkeeper Wei, is there plum soup on my face?"
He couldn't figure it out: You, Fat Wei, aren't afraid of the Grand Tutor, so why keep watching my expressions? Are you afraid that I, Hong Ji, might not fear the Grand Tutor?
Wei Zhe, like a man granted amnesty, immediately scurried off to ladle the plum soup. Rong Yu followed to help.
Hong Ji quickly fetched a chair. Chen Ping'an didn't sit; instead, he let Guo Zhujiu take the seat. When he took a bowl of plum soup from Wei Zhe, he first handed it to Guo Zhujiu. She took a big gulp, let out a "wow," and praised it profusely, turning to tell her master that it tasted like their own tavern's brew.
Hearing this, Chen Ping'an couldn't help but smile. Back then, at the Demon-Suppressing Tower in Tongyezhou, the Sage of Sages suddenly wanted fine wine, and Chen Ping'an had asked, "Would the Bamboo Sea Sky Cavern wine brewed at our own tavern count?" Thinking back, even Chen Ping'an felt his face was a bit thick.
And why had the Sage of Sages granted him permission to open a winery in the Bamboo Sea Sky, even waiving the rent? Chen Ping'an had racked his brains but couldn't come up with a sufficiently plausible reason. So he asked Guo Zhujiu's opinion via heart voice, wanting to hear her take. After all, this youngest disciple's thinking was always wild and unpredictable.
Guo Zhujiu thought for a moment and said that the Sage of Sages probably thought a scholar selling counterfeit wine would disgrace the image of an old bookworm.
Chen Ping'an laughed silently and said it was impossible.
Standing by the chair, Chen Ping'an raised the celadon bowl slightly, glanced at the mark on the bottom, and recognized it as fine craftsmanship from a certain master potter at Baoxi Kiln. Those days, due to the trend of Longquan celadon imitating official ware, credit went to the business acumen of the behind-the-scenes figure Dong Shuijing. The once-unemployed dragon kiln artisans had found new life, like withered trees blooming again, able to return to their old trade. Chen Ping'an swirled the bowl and casually asked, "Business this good?"
Wei Zhe, who often spoke without thinking, said bluntly, "Too many restaurants along the Sweetflag River closed down these past couple of days. Anyone in the capital with a bit of money who wants to treat out-of-town friends to a meal or drinks will definitely choose this place first. With so many closed, they all flock to mine. Grand Tutor, I'm not bragging, but my restaurant—well, besides being a bit... plain, has none of those fancy tricks."
Wei Zhe paused briefly. Since the Grand Tutor was "incognito" at his restaurant this time and surrounded mostly by women, he didn't feel comfortable delving into certain topics. He quickly changed the subject. "The chefs in charge of regional specialties here are all local masters hired at high salaries. That's a golden reputation along Sweetflag River. Unlike those unscrupulous rivals, my restaurant never gouges customers. None of that nonsense about serving so-called immortal offerings to fool people. And bullying customers just because we're big? Absolutely not here."
Chen Ping'an nodded with a smile. "So, Shopkeeper Wei, your restaurant stands out from the crowd along Sweetflag River."
Wei Zhe grinned from ear to ear, still being polite, saying it was just a bit of a name, just a bit.
Hong Ji shot Wei Zhe a glare. *Brother Wei, mind your mouth!*
Believe it or not, tomorrow the two hundred-plus restaurants on Sweetflag River would all be thanking Wei Zhe's ancestors for eighteen generations.
Wei Zhe was excellent at reading people. Seeing Commander Hong staring at him with eyes like copper bells, he immediately realized he'd said something wrong.
Chen Ping'an said, "Having already struck at Yichi Alley and Chier Street, if you came to Sweetflag River to throw your weight around, it wouldn't showcase the Northern Office's power; it would feel like an anticlimax. The good stretches of Sweetflag River fall under Changning County's jurisdiction. Let Han Yi manage it well; that should be fine."
Hong Ji could only smile bitterly and lower his head to take a gulp of plum soup.
In truth, Chen Ping'an's suggestion that Hong Ji treat was purely spontaneous, nothing worth overthinking. At most, it was meant to quickly familiarize Rong Yu with the Northern Office.
But for Hong Ji, it probably required turning eight hundred corners, deliberating over and over again, before he could relax a little.
Hearing the Grand Tutor's teasing of Commander Hong, especially the verbal commendation of Han Liu'er, Wei Zhe secretly grinned. Hong Ji, sharp-eyed as he was, bore no grudge—he was just exasperated by this "broad-minded and fat" Wei Zhe.
Wei Zhe was the type who could hide unhappiness well but could never conceal happiness when it came. Simple.
To say such a person was just a fool with good fortune wouldn't be quite right. After all, a person's true heart and their human heart often don't allow them to live simply.
Chen Ping'an smiled. "Zhujiu, go with Rong Yu to pick some dishes. Choose a few you like. If there's anything you've heard of but never tasted, just tell the restaurant. Since Shopkeeper Wei has already bragged, let's see how good his golden reputation really is."
Guo Zhujiu finished her bowl of iced plum soup—perfect for "beating the heat"—stood up, and went to consult with the head chefs. Wei Zhe didn't dare reveal who the guests were. The cooks and kitchen maids didn't recognize Commander Hong of the Northern Office; they just assumed the group were friends of the boss. As a cook in the Grand Tutor's residence, Yu Qing followed them to order dishes. She asked via heart voice, "Miss Rong, does the Grand Tutor find my cooking not to his taste?"
This former disciple of the Cherry-Blue Robe lineage, real name Gongsun Lingling, had hidden her identity for years. Before meeting her senior sect elders, she had longed desperately to have her name re-entered on the ancestral altar. After meeting Xiao Pu of the Bamboo Basket Hall, she instead lost that desire, as if waking from a dream. It was like hiding in the Grand Tutor's residence, leaving a certain decision to a tomorrow that was both near and far.
Rong Yu said softly with a smile, "Sister Yu, you're overthinking."
Yu Qing nodded but couldn't hide the gloom between her brows. Unexpectedly, Rong Yu followed up, "Instead of worrying about this and that, Sister Yu might as well learn a few signature dishes from this restaurant."
Yu Qing's melancholy instantly dissipated. As her heart broadened, she glanced at the gentle woman beside her and somehow felt that Rong Yu was more like an... assassin, but one in the grand court.
Wei Zhe's restaurant had three floors. The first floor was the main dining hall, already packed to the rafters with a cacophony of voices. Most were out-of-town wealthy guests drawn by reputation—coming to the capital and not drinking along Sweetflag River would be a wasted trip. The third floor had premium private rooms, already filled with distinguished guests clinking glasses. Even the second floor was full. Whether those guests felt superior or inferior probably depended on which way they looked.
His proud student Cao Qinglang was probably on the third floor, drinking with a roomful of fellow examination graduates serving as officials in the capital.
Somewhat unexpected was that Guan Yiran was also hosting a dinner here. A prefectural governor of Dali, eating on the second floor—wasn't that a bit shabby?
In another room on the second floor, a young, relatively unknown literary secretary from the Grand Tutor's residence seemed to be having dinner with his father, who had temporarily come to the capital for a court meeting.
And Lu Hui—how did he end up with Shipowner Zhou and that Master Yan?
Chen Ping'an walked to the window with his bowl. Hong Ji silently followed and keenly noticed the direction in which the Grand Tutor was looking: the Haidai Gate of the capital. In early Dali, the capital had nine gates. The supervisor of the Haidai Gate, in charge of taxation, was an undeniably fat position. By rule, it changed annually and was always held by a member of the Song clan. Appointees only needed to go to the office once at the start of their term—a tradition in Dali officialdom—then just collect their salary. So the real work was done by two deputy supervisors: one appointed from the Ministry of Revenue, the other uncertain. For instance, before Pei Mao switched from civil to military office, he had served as a deputy supervisor of Haidai Gate while a Hanlin academician. It was probably around then that Pei Mao truly came to the emperor's attention or gained the favor of Grand Tutor Cui.
Later, around the same time that Piyun Mountain was promoted to Dali's Northern Sacred Mountain, the capital underwent an expansion, and the Haidai Gate gained the prefix "old," gradually becoming a historical anecdote.
Hong Ji speculated inwardly: *Could the Grand Tutor be planning to shake up Dali's border troops?* The emperor's current trip to Northern Jambudvipa to discuss an alliance—was it a move to avoid suspicion?
Pei Mao, as a Grand Inspector, certainly had enough weight! But Hong Ji's mind raced. After thinking it over, it seemed Pei Mao had no leverage. He had a good official reputation and solid military achievements. Though not as famous as the two Grand Inspectors Su and Cao, Pei Mao's merits were too numerous to list. For example, when young, he had firmly held the position of Dali's poetry altar master. After "abandoning the pen for the sword," he hadn't ended up as a paper-pushing armchair general but had steadily accumulated military merits to become a regional official. Even Prince Huai, Song Changjing, regarded him highly.
Chen Ping'an slowly withdrew his gaze, settling on the golden-flowing waters of Sweetflag River outside the restaurant.
He recalled the last time he was at the golden arch bridge, he'd had a thought: a river of time was like the word "now."
That time, he'd run around with Qingtong, wandering through landscapes, begging people for help. Wei Bo had reminded him of the subtle deviations in perspective; Fan Junmao, that high-ranking deity's turn, had made her double-entendre remark: "The senior official calls the shots." And Qingtong's final impression after traveling with Chen Ping'an was that it was like "a straight line"... So, had they each noticed some clues? No wonder the Sage of Sages had made a remark about "emotions," roughly meaning "one can reach the summit but cannot ascend to heaven."
Chen Ping'an gathered his thoughts, took a sip of the refreshing plum soup, and wondered where Little Rice Grain and the others had wandered off to.
He decided he'd have Yu Qing add this iced plum soup to the Grand Tutor's residence menu.
Recently, the Grand Tutor's residence had been having private meals. Guo Zhujiu's three standard dishes were unchangeable: soybean milk, vinegar fish, and houttuynia cordata. Yu Qing was utterly baffled and asked how she came up with that. Guo Zhujiu had grimaced and frowned, saying that us martial artists can't be cowards when facing strong enemies. At the time, Pei Qian had piled another big chopstick of vinegar fish onto Guo Zhujiu's plate.
At present, Pei Qian had already ridden out of the Dali capital region, venturing alone into the martial world, heading north. She planned to go to Northern Jambudvipa again.
Partly because that place had the most chivalry, partly because her master had left many landscape stories there.
During her leisurely journey, Pei Qian discovered that in the bundle her master had prepared, there was a book in two volumes about "mountains," titled *Pure Yang Sword Art*. One book recorded just a single sword technique. The upper volume was very thin, the lower very thick—handwritten manuscripts. The preface was quite brief. Her master first roughly explained the origin of the technique, saying the upper volume was Xiao Mo's achievement, and the lower was his own dog's tail appended to a sable—just supplementing it.
Thus, the same sword technique, through different perspectives and understandings of two sword cultivators, made it convenient for Pei Qian to comprehend on her own.
The second preface was a single picture. The pages were made of a special material: a green-blue paper.
The third "preface" was blank pages. Chen Ping'an let Pei Qian add her own insights after practicing the sword technique.
Lü Yan had displayed that Pure Yang sword strike at the Demon-Suppressing Tower in Tongyezhou, without any concealment. After a close-up "observation of the sword," Chen Ping'an, who had already become famous for "stealing lessons," could only see seventy to eighty percent. Xiao Mo, however, had carefully recorded it all in the book.
In fact, Chen Ping'an also treasured a handwritten copy of a sword manual, now enshrined in the Green Lotus Sword Sect's ancestral hall.
It was originally from Lü Zu's own hand three thousand years ago, but Chen Ping'an had obtained it by chance from Li Huai during a previous visit—a sword manual pointing straight to the Golden Core?
Finally seated, Hong Ji breathed a sigh of relief. *Damn it, just a meal—no more surprises, please.*
Within Sweetflag River, following the water vein, a tall, red-faced man in a blue robe, hands on a white jade belt, was leading a patrol of the Water Inspectorate on a routine inspection. The lights from both banks reflected on the water, swaying slightly, like a splendid river of stars overhead for the water mansion officials.
A water-subordinate grinned joyfully. "Master, today our Sweetflag River has seen so many luminaries in their prime. Truly a glorious day."
Sweetflag River's water god, Wu Gangzheng, remained silent.
The subordinate complained, "Master, it's not that I'm stirring trouble, but the court is really stingy. You have both merit and toil—why haven't you been promoted? Why not give you a bigger official hat to wear?"
Last time, during a reshuffle of landscape and water officialdom unprecedented in ten thousand years in Vastsea Continent, many orthodox deities saw their golden jade registers upgraded in rank and their golden bodies elevated accordingly. But Wu Gangzheng's official status remained at the sixth rank, neither up nor down. As stable as the county magistrate ranks of Changning and Yongtai counties in the capital.
Wu Gangzheng glared. "If you've got the guts, go ashore and shout! If you're really sincere, go to the Grand Tutor's residence and plead my case for me."
The subordinate shrank his neck. "I'm afraid I'd not only fail to get you promoted but also get you on the Ministry of Rites' bad side."
Wu Gangzheng continued his patrol, recalling a time years ago when he had the fortune to chat briefly with Grand Tutor Cui. Cui had laughed and asked how he came by such a name.
Among the countless landscape and water deities of Dali, if one asked who was most "under the emperor's feet," Wu Gangzheng was undoubtedly first.
During those years when that Embroidered Tiger, Grand Tutor Cui Can, had "disappeared" from Dali officialdom, the water mansion officials and clerks patrolled Sweetflag River day after day. Their greatest impression was probably the ceaseless coming and going on the banks, increasingly lively and noisy. The dishes and wines of the restaurants and taverns grew more refined and precious. Also, the old officials' robes and boots seemed to be fewer; their accessories increased, and their jade pendants grew more valuable.
In Dali Song's history, there had only been one relocation of the capital. When choosing this site for the new capital, Sweetflag River and the Azure Mystery Cave near the Monkey Plank Road were both reasons. Earlier, there had been discussions in the capital court about moving the capital to Luojing near the Great River. The Sweetflag River water mansion, from top to bottom, was extremely nervous, fearing that if Dali moved the capital, Sweetflag River would lose even its liveliness.
Although the heated relocation talk had become absolutely impossible after Chen Ping'an became Grand Tutor, Wu Gangzheng still felt that some... stories were yet to unfold. Just now, that man had scooped water to wash his face by the riverbank, and they had met face to face. And Wu Gangzheng had been a near neighbor to that man surnamed Pei for a year.
In a small room on the second floor of the restaurant, Pei Jing seemed to be taking credit, smiling. "Dad, if I hadn't booked two days in advance, looks like we might not even have gotten a second-floor spot."
The man didn't sit down immediately. He looked up at an unsigned painting of a Dragon Palace refined gathering. In the painting, a dragon palace beauty held a drinking vessel. The ancient artifact had a somber, bone-deep green-blue hue. The painter used meticulous brushwork; the figure was lifelike, the vessel like a real object. Three thousand years ago, dragon palaces everywhere—whether in the sea or on land—were treasure troves. The tales of weirdness and erotic notes written by down-and-out scholars were, in this matter, not untrue.
He said casually, "People on the third floor dine on others; those hosting on the second floor toast others; only the first floor's main hall is truly about eating."
Pei Jing was speechless. Remembering something, he asked puzzledly, "What about Uncle Luo and the others? Didn't they follow you to Sweetflag River?"
Normally, when his father went out, he had at least two personal attendants. If in the provinces, openly or covertly, mountain immortals paired with martial arts masters, the number of attendants only increased. For example, the attendant Pei Jing respectfully called "Uncle Luo," real name Luo Wanji, was a veteran martial arts master with the reputation of "Fist coming out of the Qiantang River."
In Dali, they were uniformly called "literary military secretaries," and the "rank" and number of such attendants were clearly defined by court regulations. The earliest reason for arranging these attendants was simple: to prevent high-ranking officials and regional ministers from being assassinated by enemy states or mountain cultivators on the battlefield or in the provinces.
The man said, "They rarely come to the capital. They asked for leave to catch up with old friends."
Pei Jing was very surprised. "Dad, you alone—be careful."
The man said, "For the flawless execution of that ceremony, the court has turned the capital upside down. Even if a few fish slip through the net and survive, they're probably bait used by the Grand Tutor's residence and the Ministry of Justice to catch bigger fish. Would they dare to jump out and offer themselves as merits? Is Hong Ji of the Northern Office not infamous enough?"
Pei Jing nodded.
The man recalled that chaotic, messy, and absurd capital storm, and sneered. "During the gap between the old and new Grand Tutors, everyone thought they were smart again."
Pei Jing was extremely nervous, lowering his voice to warn, "Dad, walls have ears."
The man looked up at a painting of a retired scholar with a staff, curling his lip. What he was thinking about now was the border pass with solitary smoke in the desert and the sun setting over the long river—the autumn wind on the battlefield with iron horses and weapons. He wondered why the new Grand Tutor had summoned him to the capital. Was he planning to let him serve as a companion tutor and become the Minister of War to retire? Or was he preparing to vacate his position for someone else?
Having been accustomed to being a wild scholar in the vanity fair, he had abandoned the pen for the sword back then, tying his life on the line and going to the battlefield, seduced by a line of poetry: *The horse longs for frontier grass, its mane bristling; the falcon's eyes open wide in the clear sky.* Probably like Minister Guan of the Ministry of Personnel said: A young man shouldn't read frontier poetry. If he truly reads it, he'll be lured to walk through the realm of life and death. Perhaps Ministry of War official Shen Chen was also right: A young man must read frontier poetry.
Regardless of the order in which guests arrived at the banquet, their seats were already predetermined.
It considered both their ranking in the imperial examinations and their current official positions.
That was a comprehensive consideration. It was a bit difficult for the host today, Yang Shuang, but the seating arrangement was generally not too snobbish.
For instance, Cao Qinglang sat next to Xun Qu. The host seat was temporarily empty, reserved for the top scholar, Zhang Ding.
But Zhang Ding was already half an hour late, so they didn't need to wait for him before drinking. He'd have to penalize himself with three cups later.
Xun Qu said via heart voice, laughing, "So I'm riding on Second Scholar Cao's coattails? Otherwise, according to the rules, I should be sitting opposite you."
Cao Qinglang teased, "Not at all, not at all. It's clearly because Clerk Xun recently leaped over the dragon's gate and entered the Grand Tutor's residence."
Xun Qu mocked himself, "Smooth official career—seeking a smooth official career."
This was probably the largest room in the restaurant, seating over thirty fellow graduates, with a wide age range.
There were those nearly fifty like Yan Yi, and those in their early twenties like Yang Shuang.
Xun Qu asked, "Why isn't Zhang Ding here yet?"
Cao Qinglang shook his head. "Probably the Ministry of Revenue is swamped with work, and Zhang Ding left the office late."
Xun Qu said, "When Zhang Ding arrives, he'll definitely hear some cold remarks."
As the top scholar of their year, Zhang Ding was famously never writing poems or lyrics. Over the years, he had only buried his head in work and served as an official honestly. He almost never socialized. Every day after leaving the office, he returned to his residence and lived in seclusion. He didn't seek connections with anyone, and few friends visited. Moreover, in the capital's officialdom, no one had heard of him latching onto any big shot or gaining the favor of any major figure.
Starting as a Hanlin Academy compiler, Zhang Ding's official career began at the sixth rank. After several years' work as an attache in the Ministry of Justice, he transferred to the Ministry of Revenue. Now he was a fifth-rank official, stagnating for many years in the Coinage Office. Compared to ordinary officials, his career couldn't be called bumpy, but calling it smooth would be an insult. Many fellow graduates in the room thought Zhang Ding didn't dare show his face. These days, the Ministry of Revenue suffered under Minister Mu Yan's internal turmoil. Everyone present knew the unrest.
Xun Qu said, "Zhang Ding is a man of his word. Since he agreed to drink, he won't break his promise."
Cao Qinglang nodded. Among his fellow graduates, he and Xun Qu had the best impression of Zhang Ding, who was still delayed—not because he was top scholar, but because Zhang Ding had the most composure. Xun Qu hesitated but still asked, "Has the Grand Tutor never mentioned Zhang Ding?" Cao Qinglang answered truthfully, "He mentioned him once, but only about Zhang Ding's examination paper, nothing else."
Xun Qu asked via heart voice, "Have you truly decided to resign from office?"
They were close friends with no secrets, so Xun Qu knew Cao Qinglang's background well. Besides being the Grand Tutor's student and a second-generation disciple of the Literary Sage lineage, he was also the first peak master of Green Lotus Sword Sect's Jingxing Peak.
Cao Qinglang said, "If you don't make a decision, it will cause trouble later. You can't want everything."
For instance, on the Great River in Tongyezhou, he had a rather covert assignment. According to an agreement between his little senior brother and the East Sea Water Lord, he was responsible for liaising with the Water Lord's manor on specific matters. Now, the two most critical sections of the Great River had been formally joined. His true body had to go there to oversee things.
Xun Qu said helplessly, "I just lament that in the capital, I'll have one less confidant to chat about anything with."
Cao Qinglang laughed. "A friend and confidant is not as good as a female confidant."
Xun Qu waved his hand. "At the table, there are guests who talk magnanimously about fame and fortune."
The room's walls were hung with many calligraphy and paintings by famous hands. Zhou Bingtai, a former Maolin Scholar, asked curiously, "Scholar Yang, you're an expert in connoisseurship. Are these all genuine?"
A man named Ma Ping, a second-rank jinshi now serving in the Ministry of Rites and recently promoted to the list of capital officials, laughed. "Wei Zhe is at least a son of Yichi Alley. He probably wouldn't hang fakes here and make a fool of himself."
Zhou Bingtai frowned slightly. His intention was to ask Yang Shuang about some calligraphy and painting knowledge, but Ma Ping had several times made sarcastic remarks about Wei Zhe. Just now, when Shopkeeper Wei came to toast, Ma Ping had already pricked him with a few words, but the other party didn't mind. If it were Zhou Bingtai, he might not have been able to endure it.
Why was Ma Ping like this? Because he came from a humble background, he often deliberately antagonized aristocratic sons. It was said that this made him close to Wang Yongjin of Yongtai County. Zhou Bingtai looked down on this. Not because he was from a good family—on the contrary, his background was poorer than Ma Ping's, and his student days were harder. In Zhou Bingtai's view, if Ma Ping truly had backbone, why didn't he speak with biting irony to those aristocratic colleagues in officialdom? Why did he have to bully Wei Zhe, an honest businessman from Yichi Alley?
Yang Shuang smiled faintly. "Poetry, prose, antiques, calligraphy, and paintings—they have always sought to elevate the ancients."
Ma Ping said regretfully, "It's a pity that Scholar Yang failed to invite Vice Minister Zhao."
He glanced at the "old man" Yan Yi sitting opposite. *What a useless fellow—can't even invite his own examination mentor.*
Wang Qinruo, sitting next to Yang Shuang, smiled. "Vice Minister Zhao is busy with affairs. It's normal for him not to come; if he came, that would be abnormal."
Yan Yi looked wooden. Earlier, Yang Shuang had privately suggested that Yan Yi mention the matter to Vice Minister Zhao and see if he could invite him. Yan Yi said he would try, but in fact, he never went to seek favor from that examination mentor.
Anyone paying attention in the capital officialdom had calculated that the people who visited the Grand Tutor's residence most frequently were, besides Minister Cao of the Ministry of Personnel, Zhao Yao of the Ministry of Justice.
The year they participated in the metropolitan examination in the auxiliary capital and the palace examination in the capital was widely regarded as Dali's big year for imperial examinations.
Praised by both court and commoner as an unprecedented grand event in Dali for a hundred years. First, the scale was large; second, the talents were outstanding.
Because a continent had once been a country, even after the Song clan had just returned half the territory, their year's Dali metropolitan examination still set the examination venue in the auxiliary capital Luojing, which was more convenient for southern candidates. The subsequent palace examination was in the capital. That year, over nine thousand candidates took the exam, forcing Dali to break precedent and establish fifth-grade jinshi for the first time. Even so, the total number of jinshi and associate jinshi was only around three hundred sixty.
The "chancellor examiner," known as the "Zushi," was Liu Qingfeng, then Minister of Rites in the auxiliary capital.
The top three of that year were: top scholar Zhang Ding, second scholar Cao Qinglang, and third scholar Yang Shuang.
The now-renowned Vice Minister of Justice Zhao Yao was then a little-known figure, just one of sixteen examination officials responsible for grading papers in different rooms.
Zhao Yao's "disciple" count was relatively low—two second-rank jinshi.
One was the youngest newly-appointed jinshi, then only fifteen years old, Li Xian. The other was Yan Yi.
Coincidentally, they now both served in the Ministry of Justice, but one in the capital, the other in the auxiliary capital.
Among their fellow graduates, the one recognized as having the best literary talent was Wang Qinruo, a Maolin Scholar.
Obtaining a second-rank Maolin Scholar status was already considered the purest of the pure stream.
Zhang Ding, Cao Qinglang, and Yang Shuo—the top three—plus Wang Qinruo and the Cheng brothers, the three Maolin Scholars—had all participated in the Hanlin Academy's compilation and collation of the four major book collections. Under normal circumstances, these six fellow graduates were deemed to have the most promising futures.
As a result, except for second scholar Cao Qinglang, who hadn't moved from the Hanlin Academy all these years, the other five had gone to other offices. So inviting Cao Qinglang this time—aside from the fact that not inviting the second scholar would have been unreasonable—also carried a bit of schadenfreude.
If it weren't for Clerk Xun Qu now serving in the Grand Tutor's residence and being a close friend of Cao Qinglang, the Scholar Cao might have been teased by people like Ma Ping: *All these years without promotion—no external post, no experience in the six ministries—are you planning to retire in the Hanlin Academy?*
Yan Yi happened to meet Cao Qinglang's gaze. They each raised their cups, said nothing, and silently drank a cup.
Whether it was mutual sympathy due to their stalled official careers or similar personalities and shared feelings, it was rare to meet, so they drank.
Xun Qu joined them for a cup. Yan Yi hesitated, then somewhat awkwardly, holding his cup with both hands, toasted Xun Qu from across the table.
Xun Qu and Cao Qinglang then each refilled their cups and drank. The table was lively, and no one paid attention to such trivial details.
Top scholar Zhang Ding arrived.
Cao Qinglang was the first to stand up. Amid a roomful of teasing remarks—some telling Scholar Zhang to penalize himself three cups—he nonchalantly helped adjust a chair.
On the second floor.
In one room, Zhou Gong, from the Storm Snow Temple, was about to become the shipowner of a brand-new Dali sword boat. In high spirits from drinking, his face flushed red. He suddenly used heart voice to share an embarrassing story about Yan You's request to spar with the Grand Tutor, using that as a drinking story. Zhou Gong's comrade, the deputy magistrate of Jiayu County, had learned his lesson from a previous drunken episode and was drinking very restrainedly this time. When he heard that the young martial arts master had made such a bold move, he couldn't help but down a large bowl of wine. County Marshal Lu Hui suddenly widened his eyes, looked at the still alive-and-well Yan You, and silently raised his wine bowl in a toast to Master Yan.
The naming rule for Dali military ships: they were named after a prefecture, commandery, or county of Dali. Sword boats were always named after prefectures.
This was an unwritten rule established by former Grand Tutor Cui Can.
The sword boat Zhou Gong commanded was called "Juzhou."
Coincidentally, also on the second floor and even more coincidentally, the new Juzhou Prefectural Governor Guan Yiran and his friends were also discussing that "Juzhou" sword boat in their room.
Hong Ji was drinking and eating, hesitating about when to send a few rascals from his own office to mix around here and show their faces.
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According to the agreement with Jingqing, Little Rice Grain followed Zhong Qian northward, retreating as far as possible from the battlefield ruins, that haunted and troublesome place. Little Rice Grain was still worried about Jingqing. A martial hero out on the road, no matter how good his martial arts, can't fight four enemies with two fists. Besides, the schemes of the mountains were winding and tricky. Even though Jingqing always said he was an experienced veteran in the martial world of Northern Jambudvipa, Little Rice Grain still couldn't let go.
Zhong Qian couldn't bear to see her anxious and suggested they stop. Since they were far enough away, they might as well wait and see. If Jingqing ran into trouble and couldn't get an advantage over there, they could provide support. Little Rice Grain asked seriously, "If we stay here, won't we cause trouble for Jingqing?" Zhong Qian said no. Little Rice Grain scratched her head. Zhong Qian had to pat his chest and guarantee there was absolutely no problem. Only then did Little Rice Grain nod, leap onto a branch of an ancient tree on the mountaintop, curl up, and watch the battlefield ruins from afar.
She felt that she and Zhong Diyi were like a "hidden force" in military texts, ready to rush to the battlefield at any moment.
Zhong Qian leaned against the tree trunk, shading his eyes with his hand, straining his vision to peer at that ghost-ridden place full of dense evil energy.
He was only at the bottleneck of the Golden Body realm, far from the great powers of mountain immortals. Using the method of gathering sound into a thread, he asked Wen Zixi, "How's it going? Have they started fighting?"
Wen Zixi, hiding nearby, said irritably, "I'm not a Nascent Soul. I can't perform the means of palm-inspecting mountains and rivers. Besides, if they had started fighting, with Chen Lingjun's temper, would it be so quiet over there?"
Zhong Qian asked doubtfully, "Aren't you a registered cultivator from a sect-level Dao field? Don't you have a few extraordinary special skills?"
Wen Zixi laughed angrily. "Sorry, no."
Zhong Qian asked, "Those spies?"
Wen Zixi said, "I temporarily immobilized them with a body-fixing spell. They can't break free. They're just standing there shouting 'Immortal, spare me.' We'll see how things turn out after Chen Lingjun's chat over there."
Zhong Qian said, "Then we'll wait patiently."
Too bad this place was far from Cloud Mist Mountain and the Mengliang Kingdom. Otherwise, just by Chen Lingjun being the latter's imperial supplier, they might have been able to mobilize a border army. On the drinking table, Chen Lingjun always boasted about how well he got along with Emperor Huang Cong, how they hit it off and called each other brothers. Zhong Qian had heard a few earsful but didn't take it seriously. Still, as Chen Lingjun had said, Sword Immortal Mi had indeed followed him and been invited to serve as a guest official of the Mengliang Kingdom. Even if the wine was watered down, it couldn't be considered fake, right?
Wen Zixi sighed inexplicably, his voice low. "It's only been a few years, and it's already the same old story."
Though Wen Zixi on Downfall Mountain had started as a punchbag and then taught boxing, south of Vastsea Continent, "Wen Lang" was quite popular. Moreover, he always liked to travel below the mountains, and he encountered more than just beautiful women and confidantes. As a "Two Golds"—both a Golden Core earth immortal and a Golden Body realm martial artist—Wen Zixi only seemed unremarkable on Downfall Mountain. Anywhere else in the Haoran World, he was a rare existence.
Zhong Qian was silent for a moment, then said slowly, "I used to drift alone in the martial world. I didn't understand anything beyond martial arts and the jianghu."
Wen Zixi smiled. "Then never understand these things. It's fine for a jianghu person to only have eyes for the jianghu."
Zhong Qian glanced at this son of heaven who had come to Downfall Mountain to seek hardship. Some words came to his lips, but since they weren't on the mountain and not sharing a late-night meal, Zhong Qian swallowed them.
Wen Zixi crossed his arms, leaning lazily against the trunk. "We're brothers. Speak your mind."
Zhong Qian wasn't polite. "Wen Zixi, to be honest, you don't seem like the type of mountain immortal who cares about good and bad in the mortal world."
Wen Zixi wasn't angered. Instead, he nodded. "I'm not necessarily kind-hearted. How can I pity those lonely ghosts trapped on the battlefield, never meeting them, their lives and deaths having nothing to do with me? But after spending time with those young boys and girls who came up the mountain to learn boxing, it's easy to imagine them as those people, and then it feels like it concerns me."
Zhong Qian nodded. "After staying on one's own mountain for a long time, it's hard to have a heart of stone. It softens easily."
Wen Zixi sighed helplessly. "Zhong Diyi, have you forgotten that my registry is still at Spirit Flying Palace?"
Zhong Qian answered off-topic, "A soft heart doesn't mean soft fists."
Those female ghosts led the way, their skirts dragging on the ground as they slowly moved forward, preparing to lead the unknown Azure-clad child to pay homage to the Prefectural Lord.
As for whether the other party lived or died, whether they could get a scrap of leftover food, depended entirely on the Azure-clad child's fortune.
Everywhere were uncollected skulls and remains. In the distance, faintly, the crying of young children pulling at clothes and sleeves could be heard.
Even Chen Lingjun, using his divine powers, could only see blurred figures of various heights.
The seductive female ghost holding a pipa, with nothing to do and still some distance from the Dao field, plucked the strings with her fingers and sang in a theatrical tone a line from a wandering Daoist from earlier years: "They all say human life has a fixed number—why are the untimely deaths so numerous here?"
Chen Lingjun said coldly, "You know it well!"
She smiled charmingly. "Little brother speaks amusingly. I am a ghost of this place—how could I not know how we were born and how we died?"
Chen Lingjun was silent.
The other seductive ghost, who had bragged about not having tasted a cultivator's heart and liver for a long time, stared at the Azure-clad child with a gloomy gaze. "Our master is a strongman respected even by the rulers of neighboring countries. In life, he killed enemies like mowing grass, casting people aside like breaking strings. In death, he rules over a region. How many mountain immortals have come here? Not only did they fail, but many were kept as guests in our mansion. Those lucky enough to escape by invoking their ancestors' names and slinking away in disgrace thought themselves fortunate. Afterwards, they dared not complain about our Prefectural Lord. Their senior masters would personally visit to apologize to him."
Chen Lingjun gave them a thumbs up, grinning. "After Dali's iron cavalry unified Vastsea Continent and before the Chunping era was proclaimed, if you dared say such things, I'd consider you something."
Hearing the Azure-clad child's words, they became suspicious. Could he be a dragon from another river with some backing? Please don't let it be a registered cultivator related to some immortal mansion of Dali north of the Great River.
Although they had seen plenty of such blustering half-baked registered cultivators over the years—mouthing off about slaying demons and vanquishing ghosts, but once in their master's hands, they would end up kneeling, kowtowing, and begging for mercy, some even wetting their pants in terror.
She quickly calculated. The mountains and regions of the neighboring kingdoms had already been thoroughly scouted. Within ten thousand miles, there were very few who shouldn't be provoked, and those their master feared, they always flattered. Outside of that, others shouldn't dare provoke them.
At the hint from the pipa-holding female ghost, one of them asked in a delicate voice, "May I ask, little brother, just what deity are you? Why not give your sister some idea—are you from the north or the south?"
The Azure-clad child flicked his sleeve. "Don't bother with this empty talk. Little Master here comes from the jianghu."
She still wouldn't relent, probing, "Our Prefectural Lord has friends all over the world. Don't let seawater crash into the Dragon King's temple and hurt our friendship. Little brother, don't hold back. Tell us your master's name, your Dao field's location. If your ancestor happens to be an old acquaintance of our Prefectural Lord..."
Chen Lingjun cut her off, saying calmly, "You can rest assured—definitely not acquainted."
In the early years, their master, the Prefectural Lord, secretly allied with a few mountain Daoist friends, worried that Dali Song would renege on their word and that Dali's iron cavalry would counterattack and settle scores after the autumn harvest. In the past, when one continent was one country, all of Vastsea Continent was Dali Song's. Every evil way, every ghost and spirit, dared not act recklessly, only regretting not fleeing fast enough. Countless illicit shrines, and even landscape gods once officially recognized by various courts but violating Dali laws, had been broken down, their temples razed, and their golden bodies shattered!
For several years, they were severely constrained, afraid to show their faces. When they finally confirmed that Dali Song had no intention of "restoring the mountains and rivers" by marching south, returning half the territory, allowing kingdoms to be restored or established, these shadowy forces returned to their carefree, indulgent days. Like them, following their self-styled Prefectural Lord, they felt that being ghosts was far more pleasant than being humans.
Chen Lingjun gritted his teeth. "You can be a hundred percent at ease. Your Prefectural Lord has definitely heard of my master, but my master absolutely doesn't know him."
They were first stunned, then burst into loud laughter, their figures swaying like flowers.
At that moment, a gust of eerie wind swept overhead, turned back, and several cultivators landed gracefully.
Seeing the visitors' appearances, the pipa-holding female ghost showed fear. She composed herself and said coquettishly, "What fragrant wind blows you here?"
The leader was a high-chignoned palace-gowned woman. Looking at those insignificant seductive ghosts, she didn't hide her disgust—a bunch of faded flowers only slightly better than lonely souls. *Looking at them a second longer would dirty my eyes. How did Prefectural Lord Shen find such lowly servants?*
The woman said not a word, just tilted her chin at the unfamiliar Azure-clad child. *Who are you?*
After roughly hearing the reason, the high-chignoned woman looked playful and sneered. "A little brat with a crotch and no hair yet—unexpectedly a righteous avenger. Spill it: who's your master and where's your Dao field? If you've got some weight, I'll spare your life. Remember from now on, take a detour. If not, don't leave."
Chen Lingjun just stared blankly, seeing and hearing nothing.
He'd been on Downfall Mountain too long, and coming here made him sad—sad that Vastsea Continent had such a place.
This Azure-clad child, who had once gathered friends and summoned companions on the Imperial River of the Huangting Kingdom, had seen brilliantly lit banquets with distinguished guests, seen bragging without batting an eye, seen the extravagant spending of immortal mansions without a frown, seen the prideful disputes on the mountains, fights splashing with blood, and seen many, many things. But he had never seen those on high mountains and those with power below persistently bullying the weak, especially their behavior of crushing an ant and complaining about dirtying their boots.
In the jianghu, whether practicing cultivation or making friends, one must always have a "righteousness" in the heart.
But what exactly "righteousness" meant, Chen Lingjun couldn't articulate. Probably it was encountering certain people and certain things on the road, feeling his blood boil, his mind filled with only one word: "Wrong!"