On the stage, the male group’s “Selection” round continued.

The classical interpretation and contemporary prose categories were standard, and naturally many chose them. With outstanding memory or thorough study, one could generally shine in these areas. In comparison, very few chose the policy essay category.

Policy essays were arguments addressing current national affairs, making them highly practical. This category was closest to state affairs. Those present were young students, and except for some privileged disciples who had begun receiving private tutoring, most were still ignorant about state affairs, let alone capable of proposing good policy recommendations. Thus, policy essays were the most difficult category, but if one truly excelled, it was like having one foot already in an official career.

Shen Miao looked at the chess game before her.

Back then, Pei Lang’s “Governing Laws Strategy” had been created during the third “Challenge” round. In the “Challenge” round, males could challenge females, females could challenge males, and students could even challenge teachers.

One male student had challenged Pei Lang, their teacher. Pei Lang was immensely talented—within moments on stage, he had composed a policy essay, flowing elegantly, citing classics without being pretentious, always hitting the crucial points. It was truly impressive.

That had caught the attention of several princes, but Pei Lang was a peculiar man who insisted he only wanted to be a teacher at Guangwen Hall, with no other ambitions. He was resolute, and if not for Fu Xiuyi’s repeated courteous recruitment and Shen Miao’s advice later, Pei Lang might never have entered officialdom.

The chess pieces crisscrossed the board, just like life in her previous incarnation. She lightly brushed her sleeve, disturbing the entire game.

Shen Miao placed a piece—what if she started a new game herself?

Gao Yan straightened his sleeves and adjusted his topknot, asking the servant beside him: “How do I look?”

“Young Master looks dashing, handsome, and elegant…” the servant was quick to flatter.

Gao Yan smugly turned up a corner of his mouth and was about to walk onto the stage. Seeing this, Gao Jin beside him grabbed him and asked: “What are you doing?”

“Selecting,” said Gao Yan.

Gao Jin frowned. He knew exactly what his brother was capable of. Being untalented was one thing, but his brother also loved to show off. The Jing Dianshi family was currently rising in status, and they absolutely couldn’t afford any mistakes now. Gao Jin asked: “What are you good at?”

These words didn’t sit well with Gao Yan. He and Gao Jin were full brothers from the same mother, but when people mentioned the Gao family, they always praised Gao Jin first. Gao Jin had fine features, while he was rough and dark; Gao Jin could assist their father with affairs at a young age, but whenever he tried to discuss state affairs with his father, his father would shake his head impatiently. As brothers, there hadn’t been much friction, but the external perspectives had created a rift. Gao Yan was already sensitive and insecure in his brother’s shadow, and now hearing Gao Jin’s words made him even angrier. He had been somewhat hesitant about presenting a paper that seemed too exceptional, worried about standing out too much. Now, he had no hesitation at all.

He said in an unfriendly tone: “Big Brother, although I’m not as clever as you, I’m not a complete fool either. You needn’t stop me—I won’t steal your limelight anyway.”

Gao Jin detected the subtext in Gao Yan’s words and paused. Before he could speak, Gao Yan pushed him aside and walked onto the stage with measured steps. From a distance, he announced loudly: “I choose ‘policy essay’!”

Policy essay?

There were people at Guangwen Hall who recognized Gao Yan, and they naturally looked over. Strangely enough, although Gao Yan himself wasn’t particularly capable, he had a decent reputation at Guangwen Hall. This was because his homework and papers were always ghostwritten by others. While he couldn’t be called a great talent, he was considered above average.

Therefore, when he went on stage, people weren’t greatly surprised. The “Selection” round was meant to showcase one’s best prepared work. However, since “policy essays” were inherently difficult, the previously noisy venue instantly quieted down, with everyone watching the green-robed youth on stage.

The previous few students who chose “policy essays” had already recited their strategies publicly, but none were particularly exceptional. As soon as Gao Yan went up, Gao Jin frowned.

“I didn’t expect Gao Yan would dare to select ‘policy.’ If it were Gao Jin, I’d feel more confident,” Feng Anning said curiously.

Shen Miao stopped moving her chess pieces and looked toward the stage.

Having prepared everything, Gao Yan took out his paper and slowly began to recite.

“Laws are the framework of a nation, like a pillar supporting a house, standing upright to the sky…” He recited with rhythmic cadence, and the initially curious expressions of the audience gradually turned serious, especially the officials and masters in the seats, who watched the young man on stage with solemnity.

“Gao Jin’s brother is indeed not bad,” Prince Zhou’s eyes flashed with admiration. “Such a policy essay—even court officials might not have such incisive insights.”

“Indeed impressive,” Prince Jing also nodded in praise. “Moreover, this young man is quite young. Given time, he will certainly be extraordinary.”

Fu Xiuyi quietly watched the person on stage. Though his expression showed no change, his fingers unconsciously began to rub together—a subconscious gesture he made whenever he was contemplating something.

Gao Yan’s performance had given him new ideas.

As for Pei Lang, from the moment Gao Yan recited the first sentence, his body had stiffened. For some reason, he felt this policy essay was familiar. With his typically exceptional memory, he thought carefully but still couldn’t place it—perhaps he hadn’t seen it before. Yet this overwhelming sense of familiarity made the usually calm man somewhat anxious, as if he could continue each sentence after Gao Yan recited the previous one. It felt so familiar, almost as if it were his work.

Shen Miao smiled slightly, no longer watching the young man on stage, but continuing to look at the chess pieces on the board. She casually picked one up and placed it at the edge of the board.

“What kind of chess are you playing?” Feng Anning asked. “You’re playing randomly, aren’t you? Who places a chess piece so far away?”

“Far?” Shen Miao shook her head.

Every chess piece had its special use. How far could this seemingly useless discarded piece go? Even if it now seemed miles away from the game’s center, this future general was an indispensable part of her strategy.

Could anyone see that now?

In a distant pavilion with a clear view of the stage, Su Mingfeng waved his fan and said: “This time, I don’t know where Gao Yan found this policy essay, but it’s written with exceptional flair. I’d like to meet the person who wrote it.”

“What’s the point of meeting them?” Across from him, the purple-clad youth spoke lazily. He sat by the pavilion window, leaning diagonally, with half his body almost leaning out.

“It must be someone of vast knowledge,” Su Mingfeng said, unconcerned. “If we could befriend them, it would surely be greatly beneficial.”

Xie Jingxing snorted derisively, turning his head to glance at the stage. In his hand appeared a begonia flower.

The begonia had not yet withered, seeming freshly picked, vibrant and alluring, seemingly carrying a faint fragrance, yet also exuding a certain coldness.

“That’s not necessarily true.”