You truly think far ahead.

But she couldn’t understand what this female warrior was trying to do.

However, she now realized that Jian Xi was a masochist.

After being scolded like this, she immediately found courage, puffed out her chest, and said loudly: “Those who take shortcuts cannot reach the end. Tomorrow and the day after, I will seek guidance from all the senior students. If I lose then, you can scold me as much as you want!”

Some applauded, while others spat and walked away.

But someone picked up the conversation, laughing: “Well said. We brothers respectfully request Junior Sister Jian’s guidance.”

It was the elder of the twins, Chu Xingbai, who spoke. Bai Xingchu smiled and bowed to everyone: “Thank you all for speaking up for us. But honestly, Junior Sister Jian didn’t pick easy questions to answer. She supplemented answers for all the questions that weren’t answered on stage—the difficulty was no less than what we faced on stage.”

The twins had clear expressions and pure eyes. Their words neither hurt their classmates’ enthusiasm nor spoke up for Jian Xi, while also displaying their own pride. Their graceful bearing was deeply admirable.

The teachers walking down from the stage nodded in approval.

Watching this display of human nature, Tie Ci turned and quietly said a few words to Murong Yi.

Murong Yi was stunned and looked Tie Ci up and down: “What do you mean?”

He added: “Did water from Liuxiang Lake get into your brain when you washed your hair?”

He received a 360-degree rotating pinch from Tie Ci.

Under torture, Murong Yi remained unyielding: “No way, this is a trap, and I absolutely won’t voluntarily step into it…”

Tie Ci leaned close to his ear and whispered something. Murong Yi’s expression grew increasingly strange, but his eyes gradually brightened.

“Can I really…?”

Tie Ci pushed him: “Just say whether you’re going or not?”

“I can go… but let’s be clear, you’re the one asking me to go. I don’t have the slightest bit of that intention myself…”

“Of course, of course…”

The next day was the talent display session. Fang Huai’an came first in policy essays, Chu Xingbai’s poem was praised by everyone, and Bai Xingchu’s ability to compose a magnificent fu in the time it takes for an incense stick to burn amazed many great scholars. Qi You’s economic treatise was refreshingly novel, and Li Yuncheng’s “Southern Travel Notes” was widely circulated and read.

Whether by coincidence or not, Jian Xi’s name didn’t appear on any of the top lists for each subject. But even the most biased examiners couldn’t reject her works completely, so she eventually made it into the thirty-person list, ranked in a mediocre position.

That evening, Murong Yi didn’t appear—no one knew where he had gone. When eating dinner, Tie Ci dined alone. She seemed preoccupied, constantly appearing to contemplate something. Chixue, contrary to her usual quiet nature, hesitated several times while serving rice and soup, as if wanting to speak.

After dinner, Tie Ci walked with her two maids along the acacia forest by Liuxiang Lake. In the shadows of the lovers’ forest, figures moved about. During these days when the academy was open, visiting male and female students who had taken a liking to each other secretly hid in the tree shadows to whisper sweet words. Occasionally, one could hear expressions of admiration and longing for the Crown Princess. By Liuxiang Lake, some people still persistently tried to catch the swans.

Danshuang was careless and didn’t notice anything unusual. Her gaze suddenly caught sight of a figure deep in the forest that seemed somewhat familiar. She was startled and instinctively wanted to call out, but the figure disappeared in a flash.

Danshuang was about to tell Tie Ci something when Tie Ci suddenly pointed to a stone crevice ahead: “Where’s that hammock that was stuffed here before? Is it still there?”

Danshuang instinctively said: “That hammock was cut by a sword and soaked in water. Even if it’s still there, it can’t be used anymore.”

Tie Ci smiled at her: “How did it get cut by a sword and soaked in water?”

Danshuang was immediately speechless.

She remembered the foolish thing she had done—fearing that the Crown Princess falling in love with Murong Yi would ruin important matters, she had falsely transmitted the Crown Princess’s will to try to drive Murong Yi away, only to be forced out of the acacia forest by Murong Yi’s sword. Afterward, Murong Yi vented his anger by throwing the hammock into the lake.

Danshuang had been anxious about this incident for a long time afterward, but seeing that Tie Ci never mentioned it, she assumed Murong Yi hadn’t told Tie Ci about it and felt somewhat relieved. Who would have thought that revisiting the old place, Tie Ci would suddenly bring it up, leaving her immediately overwhelmed by enormous guilt.

At the same time, she understood something, seeing the warning look in Chixue’s eyes across from her.

As subordinates, they shouldn’t do what they shouldn’t do, and shouldn’t say what they shouldn’t say.

Now neither she nor Chixue wanted to say anything at all.

Halfway through their walk in the acacia forest, Rong Pu’s servant came to deliver a message to Tie Ci. Rong Pu invited Tie Ci to meet in the library. Tie Ci went accordingly. The library didn’t allow people to enter in the evening. The tall building was half-hidden in moonlight, dividing the blue sky in two—half with moonlight illuminating the bright tiles, half with starlight hanging from the eaves.

Chixue and Danshuang stood together at the bottom of the building, looking at the lights lit upstairs and the two people under the lights, heads together discussing future plans, enveloped in warm yellow light, their surroundings seeming to be shrouded in flowing clouds and deep mist. Both had refined features—a pair of beautiful people.

It looked like a very harmonious and beautiful scene.

Yet Chixue always felt uneasy, with faint worries arising in her heart.

The third day was the draw for combat matches.

When the drawing results came out, everyone was in an uproar.

The twins had drawn each other.

This meant one of the two would be eliminated.

This competition system seemed somewhat unfair. After all, there was quite a difference between first and thirtieth among the top thirty. If a lower-ranked person drew a higher-ranked one, wouldn’t they definitely lose? If first and second collided, the second would very likely be eliminated.

Quite a few people raised this question, but Dean Rong insisted on his position. In his words, luck was also a kind of strength.

The twins had been inseparable since birth, like peas in a pod, never apart. Everyone had long assumed both would definitely be selected, but unexpectedly the draw resulted in them facing each other.

This was too coincidental.

So much so that everyone looked at the drawing box with suspicion.

Tie Ci also frowned slightly and glanced at Rong Pu.

Obviously, Rong Pu was also surprised. He had the highest hopes for the twin brothers and hadn’t expected this situation.

Moreover, as far as he knew, the twins never separated. If one couldn’t go, the other definitely wouldn’t go either.

Who had manipulated things to make this pair of brothers lose their opportunity?

He signaled his attendant to investigate.

But at the very least, the competition had to continue for now.

The twins remained calm. When their turn came to go on stage, neither had any intention of going easy on the other. The two faced each other and bowed. The elder, Chu Xingbai, smiled: “Right now it’s like looking in a mirror.”

Bai Xingchu said: “I’m defeating myself.”

Everyone laughed, all greatly appreciating their good attitude.

Moreover, both had pretty baby faces that could easily evoke maternal instincts, and the women in the audience all showed loving expressions.

But once the competition began, it was quite fierce. The elder asked the younger to improvise a timely acrostic poem on the spot. The younger asked the elder to write a fu about the Battle of Yongping Five-Color Plains.

Everyone knew from the previous round that the elder was good at poetry and the younger at fu. Switching roles hit exactly at their weak spots. Of course, this was only relatively speaking.

Not to mention that whether it was an impromptu acrostic poem or a military fu involving warfare, the difficulty was much higher than usual.

They really showed no mercy at all.

An incense stick was lit on stage—when it burned out, they had to start writing. Quick wit was indeed within the scope of ability testing.

The twins were excellent after all and completed their tasks within the specified time.

The examiners took their manuscripts and deliberated for a long while, seeming quite troubled, but finally judged the elder Chu Xingbai as the winner.

Those listening intently let out sighs, though they didn’t know what they were sighing about.

When the manuscripts were posted, people saw that the poem was ingenious and the fu had magnificent spirit—both were excellent works, still difficult to distinguish between. The poem even seemed more flawless.

No one knew how the examiners had made their choice.

Immediately someone questioned this.

Rong Pu sat high in his seat, elegant in his white shirt, calmly commenting: “Actually, you two have equivalent talent and equivalent learning. Whether the acrostic poem or the marching fu, both are evenly matched. The reason I judged Chu the elder as winner has two parts. First, in our Great Qian, those good at poetry can usually write fu, but those who can write fu are not necessarily good at poetry. So Bai the younger, by giving your brother the topic of writing fu, you already lost a point in your choice.”

“Second, although the acrostic poem was written very ingeniously and was quite fitting, and from the perspective of allusions and meter, it was more perfect than the hastily written fu. But Chu the elder’s marching fu was not the common flowery praise of battle victories, but instead took a very special angle, writing about the hardships of military service, the hatred of border raids, the sorrow of common people, and the strength of powerful enemies. In his fu one can see the hearts of soldiers, people, and generals. One can see that Chu the elder understands very well the advantages and disadvantages of our border military system, holds loving compassion for ordinary soldiers and common people, and possesses clear, rational judgment about war itself. Compared to those so-called poets who only tout the glory of victors and don’t see the white bones by the Wuding River or the autumn grass on desolate border lands, he is a hundred times superior.”

In the silent room, Rong Pu finally made his conclusion: “Therefore, I believe that if Chu the elder could enter the court, he should be someone who understands worldly affairs, knows military law, is skilled in literature and history, understands practical matters, yet doesn’t stand aloof above others. He can lower his eyes to see the masses and empathize with human suffering. With such people in court, soldiers will have warm clothes, people will have adequate food and clothing, generals won’t receive chaotic orders, and the world can achieve peace,” his gaze passed over the crowd to the back and he smiled slightly, “just like our Highness.”

Everyone thought he was expressing distant loyalty and smiled. The twins bowed deeply to receive instruction.

Only Tie Ci knew he was taking another opportunity to flatter her.

She smiled slightly, thinking that although Rong Chacha was a bit scheming, his talent and character were indeed outstanding choices. Crucially, he had talent but wasn’t pedantic—his mind and vision were equally clear and broad. No wonder the academy had undergone major style changes yet stable transitions in just over a year under his leadership.

Murong Yi beside her placed his hand on her shoulder and smiled at Rong Pu on stage.

Someone like her belongs to me.

Tie Ci smiled ambiguously and brushed his paw away.

Rong Pu on stage also smiled and looked away.

His decision was final—Chu the elder won. Bai the younger had no complaints, smiled and congratulated his brother, then walked off stage.

The winner automatically advanced to the top fifteen.

The subsequent drawings were normal, with everyone using all their skills to stump their opponents. What was somewhat unexpected was that Jian Xi drew Fang Huai’an.

This was obviously not good news for Jian Xi. Previously, although everyone had criticized her, the people from Celu Academy were happy to have one more person from their academy advance and wouldn’t say anything. But now that she was facing Fang Huai’an, one of them had to lose, and everyone’s expressions turned ugly.

When Jian Xi went on stage, the teachers from Celu Academy looked at her coldly.

Jian Xi lowered her eyes and looked back at the silver-haired female warrior below who was making an encouraging fist gesture.

This time she didn’t choose to withdraw.

Fang Huai’an waited for her on stage, saying straightforwardly: “Junior Sister, don’t mind what others think. I will give my all, and I hope you can respect me in the same way.”

Jian Xi bowed back: “Yes.”

“Junior Sister, please pose your question.”

“I ask about governance and people’s livelihood—strategies for managing the Ding and Huai Rivers.”

Water management had always been a major topic and one of the common subjects in current affairs policy tests. The Ding River and Huai River were two major waterways within Great Qian territory, running east to west. Especially the Ding River, with its higher water level and tendency to accumulate sediment, flooded and burst its banks almost every year, causing endless water disasters.

Even during the Crown Princess’s training period, she had encountered levee breaches twice. Fang Huai’an had solid coursework and was very concerned about such current affairs. He immediately spoke eloquently, from building high dikes and repairing flood diversion channels, to combining dredging and damming to redirect the Ding River, to narrowing the riverbed to accelerate water flow and wash away sediment. He spoke for nearly half an hour before stopping.

His speech had the examiners nodding frequently, and Tie Ci also nodded. Fang Huai’an truly lived up to being Celu’s famous talent—his reputation was well-deserved. When it came to current affairs policy, saying a few sentences wasn’t unusual, but being able to randomly select one topic from the vast sea of subjects and answer so comprehensively and thoroughly showed his extremely broad knowledge base and very solid scholarly attitude. This was his truly admirable quality.

Besides the great scholars from various academies, the examiners also included education officials, supervisors, and inspectors from Haiyou. These people from official circles better understood what kind of talent the court needed and nodded frequently.

People from Celu Academy watched and breathed sighs of relief, understanding in their hearts that no matter how excellently Jian Xi answered later, it would be impossible for her to surpass Fang Huai’an.

But after Fang Huai’an finished answering, he looked at Jian Xi with some surprise.

When it was his turn to pose a question, he thought for a moment, pointed to the highest peak of distant Qingyang Mountain, where snow had fallen a few days ago and still hadn’t melted, making the green mountain appear white-capped from afar, and said: “Please compose a twelve-line five-character regulated verse with six rhymes about this scene.”

Everyone was surprised.

Such a topic had enormous scope—anyone could write a few lines, equivalent to going easy on her.

Now everyone looked at Jian Xi with even worse expressions.

Had she privately begged the senior student to show her mercy?

Someone directly shouted angrily: “Shameless!”

Fang Huai’an was somewhat bewildered and hurried to explain: “Everyone, please don’t misunderstand. This topic is actually quite broad. Although it’s easy to write, it’s not easy to write excellently. Moreover, regulated verse has many restrictions and rarely produces famous pieces.”

This reasoning made some sense, and everyone’s expressions improved somewhat. Yet they felt even more that Fang Huai’an was magnanimous and honorable. All the examiners stroked their beards and nodded, secretly deciding in their hearts that no matter how brilliantly this woman wrote, they definitely wouldn’t let her surpass Fang Huai’an.

Jian Xi walked forward with lowered head, faced the snow on Qingyang Mountain’s peak, raised her brush in contemplation. On the desk before her, incense smoke curled upward.

She lowered her eyelashes, her expression calm.

This girl usually seemed reserved to the point of timidity, but once she took up brush and scroll to discuss literature, her entire demeanor and temperament changed, becoming particularly composed and natural.

Seeing the incense stick nearly burned out while she still hadn’t put brush to paper, everyone grew impatient, and whispers gradually arose below.

The tip of the incense stick suddenly broke, dropping a section of pale gray ash.

Time was up.

Everyone looked toward Jian Xi, disappointed to see that she had started writing after all.

But hastily putting brush to paper, what excellent composition could she write?

Everyone had written poetry and knew that unless one had natural poetic talent, like the Poet Saint of the previous dynasty who could “startle wind and rain with falling brush, move ghosts and gods with each stroke,” the vast majority of people’s daily masterpieces came from long periods of polishing. Very few could write well with on-the-spot composition—those who could were geniuses.

Seeing that Jian Xi thought extremely slowly but wrote hastily, writing only a few dozen characters before setting down her brush.

Tie Ci raised an eyebrow.

Some observant people exclaimed in surprise.