After eating a few bites, Yuan Cheng set down his chopsticks and quietly withdrew from the banquet.
At this moment, everyone was discussing who would win from the Emperor’s topic selection. Not knowing Mo Zi’s abilities, they felt Artisan Number One had a greater chance of winning. Supposedly, the carp this artisan had made in the previous “true to life” round had received the highest score.
Ming Nian was able to come along today to serve, and seeing his master come out, he hurried forward. “Is the great minister worried about Miss Mo Zi?”
Worried? Was he worried? Yuan Cheng raised his eyes and looked toward Mo Zi’s tent. The entrance was cold and deserted, the door curtain pulled tight—he couldn’t see inside.
“Who do you think will win?” he asked his manservant.
Ming Nian patted his thin chest. “Naturally the young lady will win. Those flowers she makes look just like real ones, with butterflies flying around them. Also, the carved fish on the column of our Heron-Viewing Pavilion—even the white herons come to peck at it. Carving a small bird—isn’t that just easy as picking it up?”
“Indeed!” Yuan Cheng suddenly lowered his head and laughed. “Has it already reached this point?”
Ming Nian didn’t understand, but he continued on his own. “Great Minister, a woman like Miss Mo Zi who doesn’t require men to worry about her—Ming Nian thinks she’s extremely good. My father often says my mother only causes him trouble. All the women in the world seem to only cause men trouble, and the more beautiful they are, the more they make men worry until their hair turns white. So Miss Mo Zi is good. Whatever matter falls on her, she’ll definitely think of ways to solve it herself and not cause people trouble.”
“Hasn’t she caused me trouble?” Yuan Cheng was still smiling, but his eyes were no longer gentle—they seemed to burn with intensity. “What your father said may not be wrong, but you’ve misunderstood it. Men like the women they love to cause them trouble. If they like them even more, even when the woman doesn’t want to cause him trouble and he himself knows the woman is completely capable, he’ll still forget himself and rush up to find trouble. When it reaches this point—”
“When it reaches this point?” Ming Nian didn’t understand.
Yuan Cheng frowned, pressed his lips tight, his gaze not leaving that nearby tent.
“When it reaches this point, what happens?” Though he didn’t understand, he inexplicably felt he must know his master’s answer.
“Well… then it’s not something that can be sorted out with the two words ‘interesting’—it requires…” His voice trailed off.
Ming Nian nearly put his ear against Yuan Cheng’s face.
“Young Master.” Zan Jin came running over.
“What are her instructions?” Yuan Cheng’s eyes were lustrous and bright.
“Brother Mo said she wants to eat roasted meat, the roasted meat from Young Master’s tent. Rabbit meat, deer meat, mutton—all are fine. She said if you don’t give her meat to eat, she’ll lose this round, have the Emperor dismiss her from this meaningless official position, and go back to being a steward instead.” Zan Jin relayed the message.
“Her nose is quite sharp—she can even smell that I brought a chef who specializes in roasting.” Yuan Cheng smiled like the summer sun.
Ming Nian jumped up and said while running, “Great Minister, I’ll go prepare roasted meat for the young lady right away.”
“Zan Jin, help me convey a message.” At this moment, Yuan Cheng’s radiance was dazzling.
“Please speak, Young Master.” So dazzling it was impossible to look directly at him, Zan Jin squinted.
“…Never mind, I’ll tell her myself.” Though he said never mind, his brilliance didn’t diminish. “Just convey one sentence. Win or lose doesn’t matter—eat your fill of roasted meat.”
Zan Jin tilted his head and cheerfully assented.
“Win or lose doesn’t matter?” Mo Zi used the small knife Zan Jin gave her to cut a piece of leg meat and pursed her lips. “He just wants me to win but says it so cryptically.” Yet in her heart, because of these four words, there was warmth.
“Young Master seems sincere.” Zan Jin had already torn off a rabbit leg. Though he had changed in many ways, his manner of eating still retained mountain habits—large bites of meat, large gulps of wine.
“Sincere?” Before the competition ended, she couldn’t meet with other people—this was the rule. So Mo Zi had Zan Jin go get meat to eat.
Smiling so brightly it shone in every corner, so dazzling I couldn’t open my eyes—after thinking it over, Zan Jin was too embarrassed to say this out loud. Especially with Ding Gou present, he would definitely say his eyes had problems.
“Did his complexion look good?” Getting hit by an arrow was like scraping off a bit of skin—after three days he was already out socializing.
“Quite good.” Zan Jin recalled. “There was an alcohol scent.”
Ding Gou listened impatiently. “Are you and Minister Yuan married? Why ask so carefully!”
Mo Zi’s heart thumped wildly. She exhaled. “Ding Gou, either you say you’re not interested in married women, or you casually call people married couples. Spring is coming, so you’re about to act up, right?” Compete in sharp tongues? She usually just let him off easy.
Pfft—
This time, those who spat out their food were Zheng Wen and Qi Xiu.
After eating their meal, drums beat repeatedly, urging open another round.
Mo Zi walked out of the tent and found herself directly facing Yuan Cheng standing outside the low barrier.
He smiled at her, smiling so brightly that he absolutely could no longer be described as gentle and refined.
Mo Zi smiled back at him, then turned around.
“Don’t smile at me like that!” she muttered viciously. Yuan Cheng—this person—part of her wanted to get close to him, part of her wanted to stay away. Her feelings toward him were very complex. From the beginning when she regarded him as an old man, to when he appeared in black morning robes half-open and barefoot, with that transcendent, pure coldness—she could no longer sort it out.
She was no longer naive, so she used the relationship of “mutual benefit as friends” to keep him at a distance. He used her, she also used him. But had they been kept at a distance? She only felt they’d grown closer. Speaking heartlessly, now when she encountered times needing to confide, when she encountered any difficulty, the first person to appear in her mind wasn’t Dou Lu, Jin Yin, not Qiu Sanniang or Bai He, not anyone—it could only be Yuan Cheng! Only Yuan Cheng!
Cautiously, seemingly casually glancing around as she turned her head, she saw him smiling even more brilliantly. Mo Zi immediately twisted back around. “Done for, done for, done for…”
She said “done for” over a dozen times in one breath, cursing herself internally: Mo Zi, are you a pig? You liked one ruthless person, now you like an even more ruthless one. One silently used you—you being foolish can be forgiven. One clearly stated he’d use you—if you’re foolish again, you’re seeking your own death.
Another voice said: He’s been quite good to you. He said he’d save your life and saved your life, said he’d protect you and protected you. It’s not entirely using you. His body language is always ambiguous, as if he has some intention.
She shook her head, suppressing unwholesome thoughts. Literary scholars—they love to speak with ambiguous tones, but the content is actually perfectly proper. To think he has designs is narcissism. Her fate wasn’t good. A pile of people hiding who-knows-where wanted to kill her, and old debts she thought were settled, but the creditor refused to acknowledge it—there would be entanglements.
Better to think like before—be casual, follow him. Whether as friends or as a steward, maintain peace of mind. Peace of mind!
Hearing her keep saying “done for,” Zheng Wen couldn’t help being very nervous. “Magistrate Song, you must win.”
Moreover, moreover, someone like him definitely had many romantic prospects. There was already a Xiang Shiyi. Looking at how the Emperor liked him, he might even bestow a marriage. She absolutely, absolutely could not share a husband with others!
“Great Minister? Magistrate Song?” For some reason, he could no longer call her Miss Song. Zheng Wen had developed admiration from the abilities she’d previously displayed.
Mo Zi quickly gave him a glance.
Killing intent! Zheng Wen shuddered, thinking he’d said something wrong. But when he looked at her again, her expression was quite normal. Was he too nervous?
“Official Zheng.” Mo Zi took a long breath.
“Yes.” Zheng Wen tensed.
“If you want to be promoted, stand firmly with your chosen faction.” Having said this, Mo Zi instructed them not to follow anymore and walked up the steps alone.
Qi Xiu glanced sidelong at the dumbfounded Zheng Wen. “This woman isn’t stupid.”
Zheng Wen’s face fell. “But I haven’t dared to do anything.” He was timid, and Mo Zi was someone the Emperor had sent. Though she was a female official, she was still a higher-ranking official than him. The Director had him secretly monitor Mo Zi, but he hesitated back and forth—for now he was just giving perfunctory responses.
“When you think too much about bad things, someday you’ll do them.” Qi Xiu patted his head. “Learn from me. Since you have no prospects, just do what’s within your duties and pay less attention to other matters.”
On stage, two long tables faced each other. Below the table legs were wood and various auxiliary materials, with tools and paper placed on the tables—everything necessary was available.
Artisan Number One had already selected his table. Seeing Mo Zi come up, he sneered at her repeatedly.
The young eunuchs were about to pull the curtains when Artisan Number One said, “No need. I think Female Official Song won’t steal from me, nor could I possibly steal from her.”
Mo Zi found it amusing. “You don’t need them, but I do. The Song family’s ancestral techniques are not taught to outsiders. It’s not that I don’t trust you—just that family rules are difficult to violate.”
Hearing this, Artisan Number One thought: since ancient times, special skills were passed to males not females, to sons not daughters-in-law. She was an unmarried young lady—what ancestral techniques could her elders have taught her? It must be mystifying pretense. Naturally he didn’t take it seriously and let her have people divide the stage in two, covering it densely.
The time limit was again two hours.
Hearing the saw scraping back and forth from the other side of the cloth curtain, Mo Zi was drawing diagrams instead. But she drew very quickly. In moments she had precisely drawn out each part she’d mentally calculated, then spent another moment carefully checking it over. Confirming the data was correct, only then did she begin working with tools.
Artisan Number One first heard not a sound from next door. When he had finished sawing out the wooden block for the bird, only then did he hear Mo Zi sawing wood. He couldn’t help feeling proud.
He thought to himself: even if she has some skills, so what? Preparing exam questions, she could have time and manpower, but right now she had to show her true ability within two hours—she must be panicking and losing focus.
When the wooden block in his hands took bird form, the scraping friction sounds continued from the other side. When he began carving feathers, the sounds were still frequent. Even if they stopped for a while, they quickly resumed. When he had finished carving all the fine details and was finally adding color, he could hear the sounds of things being picked up and put down.
What on earth was this person doing? Though curious, he didn’t let himself get distracted. Artisan Number One applied colors stroke by stroke, very steadily.
Finally hearing her quiet down for a while, he placed his completed work on a stand to dry slowly. The brilliantly colored long tail feathers were something he could be proud of—his most outstanding part. Woodworking, carving, painting—saying it reached the pinnacle wouldn’t be excessive. Just like the real thing, he thought while fanning it. He looked from far away, looked from up close, confirming again and again it could pass for real.
A eunuch outside reported the time—half an hour remaining.
He sat down again, very satisfied, feeling victory was in sight.
The cloth curtain suddenly bulged out and then collapsed. He was startled, then heard an “ouch” from the other side.
Could she have ruined it? The more he thought about it, the more possible it seemed, and he began laughing sinisterly. What had he said—women weren’t qualified to set questions for him.
He just listened like this to the commotion or silence from next door, even forgetting to continue admiring his masterpiece, until the eunuch called out that time was up. He jumped up with a start, staring as the cloth curtain was rolled up.