Dou Zhao’s brazen decision to enlist Song Yan as a scribe left Ji Yong and He Yu dumbfounded.

“What’s the problem?” Dou Zhao asked nonchalantly, ignoring their reactions. “It’s all ghostwriting anyway, so what difference does it make who does it? Besides, Song Yan’s handwriting is much better than mine.”

Thrilled at the opportunity to assist the brilliant young scholar Ji Jianming in writing Spring Festival couplets, Song Yan’s face flushed with excitement. Upon hearing Dou Zhao’s words, he cast her a grateful glance and eagerly exclaimed, “Mr. Ji, while my calligraphy may not be as good as Fourth Miss claims, I assure you I’ll write with utmost diligence…”

Unexpectedly, Ji Yong retorted bluntly, “If your writing isn’t as good as Fourth Miss says, what qualifies you to write couplets for me?”

Song Yan froze, utterly mortified.

Dou Zhao’s face paled with anger. She sneered, “He was just being modest and polite. You didn’t have to take it so literally.” Turning to Song Yan, she said, “Since Mr. Ji doesn’t need assistance here, let’s head back!”

He Yu stood by, smiling with narrowed eyes.

Ji Yong’s face immediately turned ashen. He called out to Song Yan, “Wait! Write a couple of characters for me to see!”

Song Yan glanced hesitantly between Dou Zhao and Ji Yong, clearly conflicted.

Dou Zhao inwardly sighed.

A scholar meeting a successful candidate was like a son meeting his father, let alone Song Yan who held no academic title. She had brought him here; she couldn’t just abandon him now.

Smiling at Song Yan, Dou Zhao encouraged, “Go ahead and write a few characters for Mr. Ji to see.” Then, feigning competitiveness, she added, “Don’t let Mr. Ji look down on us!” Her words deftly diffused the earlier awkwardness.

He Yu’s eyes brightened with interest.

Song Yan repeatedly agreed, approaching the writing desk with trepidation.

Ji Yong watched, his expression softening slightly as he followed.

As soon as Song Yan picked up the brush, he transformed. A look of determination crossed his face as he began writing with steady, powerful strokes. His formal Yan-style script was dignified and correct, demonstrating considerable skill. Even Ji Yong let out a surprised “Oh!”, setting aside his earlier disdain to observe more seriously.

He Yu glanced at Dou Zhao before moving closer to watch as well.

Dou Zhao shot Ji Yong a mocking look.

Setting down the brush, Song Yan respectfully stepped aside, inviting Ji Yong’s critique.

Standing in place with his hands behind his back, Ji Yong cast a casual glance at the desk and asked, “Can you compose matching couplets?”

His demeanor was solemn, his tone aloof, exuding the superiority of a distinguished scholar. For the first time, Dou Zhao saw glimpses of the proud young man who had earned the title of Juren.

“Please instruct me, sir!” Song Yan replied anxiously, bracing himself.

Ji Yong proclaimed loudly, “Cold winter, plum bones proud.”

Everyone in the courtyard widened their eyes.

Such a… trite couplet?

He Yu let out a soft chuckle. “How about matching it with ‘Snow gone, horse hooves light’?” A hint of mockery flashed in his eyes.

Ji Yong shot He Yu a cold glance.

He Yu raised an eyebrow, unfazed.

Song Yan, however, lowered his head in deep contemplation.

Dou Zhao also found herself pondering intently.

What was Ji Yong’s true intention?

He shouldn’t have posed such a simple couplet.

What response would satisfy him?

“Warm breeze, grass heart fragrant?”

That seemed too simplistic.

As Dou Zhao speculated, Song Yan nervously offered his response: “Warm spring, all things revive.”

“That’ll do!” Ji Yong declared. “You can use this desk. Once you’ve written two hundred pairs of couplets, you’re finished.”

Song Yan exhaled deeply, his face beaming with joy as he responded, “Yes, sir!” He hurried to the desk to begin cutting paper, as if fearing any delay might cost him this opportunity.

Dou Zhao smiled wryly.

He Yu, however, asked in bewilderment, “Isn’t that couplet a bit too plain?”

Ji Yong retorted sharply, “This isn’t a poetry competition at the imperial court. If I used phrases like ‘Confucius, Mencius, Laozi,’ would these people understand? For the streets and alleys during the New Year, auspicious and festive sentiments suffice.”

He Yu’s face reddened slightly.

Song Yan nodded repeatedly, clearly elated at having correctly guessed Ji Yong’s intentions.

Ji Yong seized the moment to lecture, “Why do many who write flowery essays often fail in examinations? It’s because they don’t understand what the chief examiner is truly testing. Asked to write 800 characters, they insist on writing 8,000. Even if every word is a pearl, what’s the use? That’s why composing eight-legged essays is the easiest thing in the world. Follow the formula, and you can’t go wrong.” His tone was exceedingly arrogant.

He Yu looked embarrassed.

Song Yan, on the other hand, was utterly amazed, his eyes shining with undisguised admiration for Ji Yong.

Seeing her presence was no longer needed, Dou Zhao bid farewell to Ji Yong and He Yu, intending to visit Mrs. Ji. After a few steps, she noticed the window of the east study slightly ajar, with Dou Dechang beckoning to her from behind it.

Maintaining her composure, she entered the study.

Dou Dechang, sprawled in his chair, said, “Fourth Sister, you’re usually so astute. How did Ji Jianming trick you into coming here too? If you hadn’t brought Song Yan to help, I would’ve had to go out there and write couplets for him myself.”

“What has Mr. Ji done now?” Dou Zhao teased. “Why does everyone seem so eager to avoid him?”

“It’s nothing much,” Dou Dechang replied dejectedly. “We were writing couplets, and Qiguang jokingly composed one: ‘Boyu, Zisi, Zishang above; Kaiyuan, Tianshun, Zhanghe prosper.’ Ji Jianming scoffed at it, saying it was no better than ‘Father, Son, Grandson’… Qiguang stormed off in anger… None of us could argue with him…”

Boyu, Zisi, and Zishang were respectively the son, grandson, and great-grandson of Confucius. Kaiyuan, Tianshun, and Zhanghe were the reign titles of the founding emperor Taizu, the second emperor Taizong, and the third emperor Renzong.

Dou Qiguang’s couplet was merely intended to flatter the imperial family with wishes for eternal prosperity. Ji Yong’s merciless mockery naturally upset him. No wonder Ji Yong had mentioned “Confucius, Mencius, Laozi” earlier – there was a backstory to it.

“This Ji Jianming, his words are too caustic,” Dou Zhao remarked. “Just now, when he tested Song Yan with a couplet, he also mocked Young Master He. Fortunately, Young Master He didn’t take offense, or they might have started arguing on the spot.” She added, “I initially thought He Yu was just another pampered young noble in his fine clothes, but he seems quite level-headed.”

“Don’t think he’s anything special!” Dou Dechang said irritably. “Do you know how he found me?”

Dou Zhao was surprised. “Wasn’t it said that you met on the road?”

“As if!” Dou Dechang leaned back weakly against his large pillow. “That’s just what we told the elders. He’s the one who was singing opera at Dafang Temple in the middle of the night, and later lost five hundred taels of silver to me in a cockfight. Just for those five hundred taels, he spread the word through both official and underground channels. If I hadn’t been at home studying for those few months, he would have caught up with me long ago. That’s why I was tailed as soon as I left home, otherwise, he wouldn’t have set out with us.”

Recalling her first encounter with He Yu, Dou Zhao wasn’t particularly surprised.

However, this situation didn’t align with her previous assumptions. She had thought that Fifth Uncle wanted to curry favor with the He family, which was why He Yu had traveled with Dou Dechang and the others.

She couldn’t help but ask, “Why is he looking for you? Surely not just for those five hundred taels of silver? He doesn’t seem that petty.”

“He doesn’t care about the five hundred taels, but he can’t stand losing face!” Dou Dechang said angrily. “He feels humiliated by his defeat and wants to win back his pride. But I’ve given up cockfighting… I want to take the provincial examinations next year! At first, he didn’t believe me, but eventually, he reluctantly accepted it. Now he insists that I sell him the Iron General, the rooster I used to fight with. I’ve already given it away, so how can I sell it to him? He won’t leave me alone, demanding that I help him raise a rooster as formidable as the Iron General… And the worst part is, I can’t let Father and Mother know about this – if they found out I was gambling on cockfights, they’d make me kneel in the ancestral hall of the North Tower for sure!”

“That’s true,” Dou Zhao agreed. “So what do you plan to do?”

Dou Dechang sighed, “If only Wu Shan were here. I could pin this on him, and Father and Mother wouldn’t blame me at all!”

Wu Shan…

They had always been close friends.

Wu Shan probably wouldn’t mind taking the blame for Dou Dechang.

I wonder how he’s doing now?

It had only been a few months since they last met, yet he seemed like a distant memory.

Dou Zhao silently sipped her tea.

Dou Dechang awkwardly said, “I… I didn’t mean to bring him up…”

“It’s fine,” Dou Zhao reassured him. “Just because a marriage didn’t work out doesn’t mean we have to become enemies. Wu Shan is a good person, and he’s always been good to you…” In her previous life, he had even helped you find a wife, taking responsibility for all sorts of misdeeds. She couldn’t help but advise, “Twelfth Brother shouldn’t distance himself from Fourth Brother Wu over these matters.”

“No wonder Wu Shan values you so much,” Dou Dechang said, moved. “Fourth Sister, you have a magnanimous heart, truly a woman with the courage of a man.”

Dou Zhao laughed heartily. “I love hearing compliments, whether Twelfth Brother means them or not. I’ll gladly accept them all.” Her frankness was refreshing.

Dou Dechang’s mood improved considerably. He stood up, saying, “Come on, let’s go help them write Spring Festival couplets. We can’t leave Song Yan alone to face Ji Jianming; he’s still quite frail.”

Though Song Yan probably saw it as a privilege rather than a hardship.

Dou Zhao smiled and stood up as well. “I’ll go talk to Sixth Aunt then. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her.”

Dou Dechang shook his head. “You girls… Didn’t you just send Mother a few pots of winter plum blossoms yesterday? Have you forgotten?”

“But I didn’t come in person!” Dou Zhao cherished every opportunity to be close to Mrs. Ji.

The two left the room, chatting and laughing.

That evening, Dou Zhao discussed the matter with Chen Qushui: “…We may have misjudged. Perhaps He Wendao doesn’t want to get involved in the power struggles between the Grand Secretaries too early at this point.”

“That’s possible,” Chen Qushui took this information seriously. “Although He Wendao was recommended to the cabinet by Zeng Yifen, the He family has always maintained their independence, not involving themselves in others’ affairs. That’s why they’ve remained unshaken for so many years.”

Dou Zhao nodded and said, “We should look into the He family’s affairs as well – He Yu is the youngest son, so why would He Wendao send him back home for ancestor worship?”

“I understand,” Chen Qushui responded, going to arrange for people to investigate the He family’s situation.

After the Laba Festival, news arrived from the capital: “He Wendao passed the imperial examinations at a young age and married his mentor’s daughter. He greatly respects his wife, and together they have six sons and three daughters, with no children born out of wedlock. He Yu was a late child, twenty-two years younger than the He family’s eldest son. Both He Wendao and his wife cherish He Yu like the apple of their eye. This ancestral worship trip was originally planned for the He family’s eldest son, but because He Yu insisted on going, the plan was changed at the last minute to accommodate him.”