A commotion rippled through the surroundings.

A round-faced scholar quietly leaned over: “You’re being too bold! Why did you agree when he was deliberately provoking you? The academy’s ‘Excellent’ grade isn’t just ‘Outstanding’ that can be handed out casually! Each instructor and teaching assistant has a quota for excellent evaluations each year. Each person cannot exceed three per year, otherwise it goes to public review. The academy has only given out four excellent grades this year, all to the first-rank superior class!”

Tie Ci smiled: “Four? That’s quite a lot. I only need three.”

The person looked at her, sighed, shook his head, and said nothing more.

At this moment, Teacher Yao, the classics instructor, entered the room. Seeing Tie Ci sitting high up opposite him, he frowned but said nothing.

Tie Ci didn’t think this showed the teacher’s kindness. Obviously this seat was a punishment chair, definitely not set up just today. Generally, anyone who made mistakes or was isolated would be driven to sit in this position, so the teacher was used to it.

Turning a blind eye to bullying was itself an attitude.

Classical studies was a subject with no technical difficulty, mainly focused on memorizing and understanding classical texts. Leaping Carp Academy’s memorization requirements had reached another level—from the classics of Poetry, Documents, Rites, Changes, and Spring and Autumn Annals, when teachers quoted one sentence, students had to find a sentence from the other classics where the first character matched the last character of the previous sentence to continue. Their familiarity with the classics was simply outrageous.

Tie Ci was famous in the imperial study for “not liking to read books, only seeking deep understanding.” She hated rote memorization, considering it mechanical and rigid. When she memorized texts, she generally first understood the meaning—as for the original sentences, it didn’t matter whether she remembered them, since she didn’t need to take imperial examinations anyway.

But inevitably some stubborn great scholars thought this approach was heretical, especially since she had quite a few criticisms of the previous dynasty’s annotated classic “Five Classics Essential Explanations,” which really ruffled their feathers. Thus some reputation spread that the Crown Princess was unlearned and incompetent.

Hearing this memorization method now, Tie Ci frowned, but then Teacher Yao looked up and called on her.

“Ye Shiba: ‘Without supreme virtue, the supreme Way cannot be solidified.'”

Tie Ci looked up innocently and met his gaze.

The whiskers at the corners of Teacher Yao’s mouth drooped slightly, his disdain clear and distinct though unexpressed.

“Since you’re new, I’ll allow you to only provide the next sentence.”

Tie Ci thought for a while—something about a gentleman, wasn’t it?

Seeing she still couldn’t answer, Teacher Yao’s drooping whiskers perked up slightly: “Teacher He’s recommendation letter was given to someone like you? Without cultivating one’s virtue, it’s difficult to achieve the great Way. This sentence is meant for frivolous youth like you! If you can’t recite it, get out!”

He heavily wrote next to Ye Shiba’s name on the student evaluation page: “Lowest grade!”

Tie Ci dusted off her robes and stood up, laughter tittering behind her.

Someone whispered: “I thought he was somebody special, actually making bets seriously. Tsk tsk, lowest grade—the academy’s worst. Is there anyone else!”

The tittering laughter grew louder.

Tie Ci walked calmly past.

Teacher Yao’s voice chased after her: “Stand outside this door and recite. When you can recite it, then you can return to my class!”

Tie Ci said “Oh,” and as she passed his lectern, she noticed a copy of “Five Classics Essential Explanations” at hand, its edges already curled from constant reading, obviously a frequently consulted classic. She curiously asked: “Teacher, you test us like this—do you know all of it yourself?”

Teacher Yao laughed in anger: “You’re still not convinced? Then you’re allowed to test me?”

It was said in anger, but Tie Ci immediately replied: “Really? That’s allowed?”

Teacher Yao: “…”

After a long moment, he set down his book and actually smiled: “The academy allows questioning and debate. If I don’t respond to you, I’d be giving you something to bite back with. So please, go ahead!”

“I only want to ask the teacher.” Tie Ci spoke slowly: “The previous dynasty had various annotations for the Five Classics, with diverse interpretations everywhere, endless disputes, complete chaos. The Great Ling Dynasty collected classic annotations from various schools, had renowned ministers uniformly compile and promulgate them nationwide as ‘Five Classics Essential Explanations.’ From then on, classical interpretations were unified with clear guidelines. But the ‘Record of Rites Essential Explanations’ used Xiong Anshi’s and Wang Kan’s commentaries as the base text, but adopted Liu Xuan’s annotations. Wherever the two differ, which should be the standard?”

“Naturally Liu Xuan’s annotations should be the standard!”

“But why is that? Liu Xuan, Xiong Anshi, and Wang Kan were all renowned Confucian masters of their time, weren’t they? Their scholarship, status, and talent were comparable—why must Liu Xuan’s annotations be the standard?”

“Since ‘Five Classics Essential Explanations’ takes Liu Xuan’s annotations as standard, we should naturally follow the Essential Explanations. Don’t you know that commentaries don’t contradict annotations?!”

“But why do the ‘Five Classics Essential Explanations’ take Liu Xuan’s annotations as standard? In terms of literary elegance and insightful understanding, he doesn’t seem stronger than those two.”

Teacher Yao was stumped. The question Tie Ci raised was actually one of the current debates in Confucian circles. As they say, there’s no first in literature—it’s inherently difficult to distinguish superiority among different scholarly theories. The previous dynasty’s compilation of classical essential explanations selected one interpretation from various schools as the sole standard, which inherently contained subjective factors. Add to that errors that often appeared during transmission, but following the principle of respecting classics and not contradicting annotations, all subsequent theories and interpretations were not allowed to deviate from the scope of the Five Classics Essential Explanations’ annotations. This largely restricted thinking and scholarship, not to mention the phenomenon of perpetuating errors. So there was considerable criticism of this classic within Confucian circles.

Teacher Yao wasn’t unaware of this controversy, but he scorned it. When teaching, he never raised such questions for consideration, even considering them heretical. Hearing Tie Ci say this, anger rose in his heart, and he was about to scold her.

Tie Ci continued leisurely: “That’s because Liu Xuan was the great-great-uncle of Li Sheng, the Wenyang Pavilion Scholar who compiled the Essential Explanations at that time!”

“Because the compiler belonged to the Liu school of thought, he naturally chose his own school’s foundational work. So even when Liu Xuan’s annotations clearly had two errors—due to ancient texts in his possession being damaged by wind and rain, missing characters and sentences, causing his misunderstanding and annotations that completely contradicted those of the Xiong school and others—these errors were still copied, stubbornly perpetuating mistakes that continue to this day!”

“…You… you’re talking nonsense! How could you know this!”

“The Heavenly Pavilion contains ten thousand volumes, and ‘Solitary Night Collection’ gathers fragments of letters and private correspondence from great scholars throughout history, including Liu Xuan’s. He mentioned two textual errors and later sought complete versions for verification multiple times, proposing corrections in family letters. Unfortunately, the original versions had already spread, and the later corrected versions were lost again to warfare, leading to you holding an erroneous book as gospel truth while teaching students annotations you know are wrong!”

“You…”

“Or did you simply not notice those problems that even child students could see?”

“This…”

“You taught me that cultivating the Way also means cultivating virtue, and cultivating virtue serves cultivating the Way. You can’t see obvious errors and lack a questioning spirit regarding textual doubts—this shows your Way isn’t well cultivated. You actually see the obvious errors in the text, but your rigid mind dismisses them, passing these mistakes down generation after generation without even warning of the problems, ensuring they never have a chance to be reconsidered or corrected—this shows your virtue isn’t well cultivated either. I find it very strange that you’re still standing at the lectern. Shouldn’t you come down and reflect facing the wall with me?”

“…”

The entire room fell silent.

The first-rank students who had been gloating were now dumbfounded.

They’d seen people question teachers before—this was even encouraged at the academy as thoughtful behavior. But they’d never seen anyone dare question even Confucian classics, the textbooks for classical studies, the Five Classics Essentials that students nationwide revered as scripture.

Even more deadly, this person everyone thought was incompetent made very sharp criticisms. The rare books and Heavenly Pavilion materials he mentioned were high-end resources that enrolled students had only vaguely heard of but never had access to.

For a moment, everyone looked at each other, some shifting their seats to move farther from Tie Ci.

Teacher Yao stood on the platform, his face alternating between pale and red.

Going out to face the wall with Tie Ci was impossible.

Scolding her was also impossible—he truly couldn’t answer the questions Tie Ci raised. He hadn’t even heard of the “Solitary Night Collection.”

And he knew exactly which two errors she meant but didn’t dare face them.

He could only stand on the platform, enduring that quarter-hour like punishment, facing the uniform rows of heads below, waiting for his face to cycle through colors like a spinning wheel before finally managing a cough and continuing class.

Tie Ci didn’t continue arguing with him. Standing outside the lecture hall, she placed her books against the wall, crossed her arms over them, and went to sleep.

She hadn’t slept well last night—why did men all snore?

In the future, when she had three palaces and six courtyards, she wouldn’t choose based on looks or family background—snoring would be the primary criterion!

Just as she leaned down, she heard “shh—” “shh—” sounds.

Who was urinating in public?

Tie Ci turned around to see someone from the first-rank superior class across the way poking his head out of the lecture hall, making shushing sounds at her.

The distance was considerable, but she could vaguely make out it was Dan Ye.

Beside him was Huyin, his aunt, who stretched out her long leg and hooked her nephew, who was nearly falling out of his seat, back in.

But the teacher above had already noticed, calling on Dan Ye to answer a question. Dan Ye stood up, and though she couldn’t hear what he said, she saw the teacher extend his arm and gesture “get out” to him.

Tie Ci laughed silently in her heart.

Sure enough, Dan Ye soon came out carrying a book. Instead of standing outside his own lecture hall for punishment, he walked over to Tie Ci’s side, also placed his book against the wall like her, leaned on it, and looked at her face-to-face with his large eyes with curved corners.

Their breath mingled, and Tie Ci felt it was too close, scooting outward. But Dan Ye followed, and just as she was about to scoot beyond the wall, Tie Ci helplessly stopped.

Someone walked past the lecture hall, originally just passing by, but suddenly stopped when he turned to look.

Tie Ci vaguely felt eyes boring into her back and turned around.

The moment she turned, that person walked away. When Tie Ci looked back, she only saw the empty lecture hall entrance.

Tie Ci paid it no mind, simply took down her books and stood straight. Dan Ye, finding it boring, also took down his book and used it as a fan.

Tie Ci thought of something and asked him: “How did you end up here?”

This person didn’t look like someone who loved studying, nor necessarily interested in the honor of being Teacher He’s final disciple.

Dan Ye understood her meaning well enough.

“Huyin ‘invited’ me to come.”

The word “invited” was quite expressive—roughly replaceable with “forced.”

“Why did the female hezhuo want to come here?” Compared to her unreliable grand-nephew, Huyin’s attitude toward study was almost devout—sitting properly, concentrating, not glancing outside even once.

“Western Rong has been very interested in everything Han Chinese in recent years. The royal family calls this catering to preferences. If the female hezhuo and prince are well-versed in Han classics, the people will probably think life will become as stable and prosperous as the Han people’s.”

Tie Ci thought that if she also became Teacher He’s final disciple, those Western Rong warmongers would probably think they could wash away their barbarian reputation and confidently send troops to occupy and securely hold the flowery lands of the Central Plains.

It seemed there were always people who thought reading more books could wash away the bloody scent, drape themselves in culture’s gentle cloak, and manipulate the people more skillfully.

Previously, those iron-blooded Western Rong men couldn’t think of such convoluted schemes. Tie Ci had heard that the former Western Rong royal family had fled to Liaodong, and Liaodong’s Grand Minister seemed to have some connection to Western Rong, reportedly quite active recently. If this renowned former royal family member returned to seize power, it would be normal for the Western Rong royal family to feel crisis and want to curry favor with Great Qian, even take advantage of Great Qian.

These all involved state secrets that neither would discuss further.

“Why did you come over here when you were doing fine? Is being punished by the teacher fun?”

“I saw you were lonely, didn’t I?”

Tie Ci’s face was expressionless: “So young yet already knows how to care for daddy.”

Dan Ye: “…”

He suddenly remembered initially wanting Tie Ci to be his father’s concubine, but now with Tie Ci in men’s clothing, she really was daddy.

He had the feeling of hitting his own foot with a stone.

Dan Ye rolled his eyes, not wanting to talk to her. He pulled out a stone from his chest and began drawing little figures on the wall.

Tie Ci was surprised to discover this guy could actually draw quite well—not in the refined Central Plains style, with simple lines but very accurate character depiction, crude yet uniquely interesting.

Like painting murals, groups of young men practicing martial arts, fighting, rolling in yellow sand, riding horses taller than themselves across rivers, leaping from heights, burying themselves in sand dunes.

Under night skies, peaceful sand dunes, a smoothly curved crescent moon, warriors sharpening blades on the dunes, warhorses grazing by water channels.

On battlefields with dust connecting sky and earth, bright blade edges flashing through the dust, warriors charging down from heights, sand curtains rising like enormous cloaks.

Finally, red sun, great desert, grassland, swift horses, singing and dancing people, battle-worn returning warriors, their leather armor marked with sword scars.

Western Rong cavalry, from tottering first steps to bleached bones in yellow sand. A lifetime of fighting.

Very simple, very magnificent, the long river and setting sun, solitary smoke rising straight.

After watching for a while, Tie Ci said: “There are no women in your pictures.”

Dan Ye thought, then added an elderly woman to the first picture, carrying a basket, bringing goat milk and rice cakes.

In the second picture, behind the sand dunes, a young woman wept with covered face.

In the third picture, he thought and drew a Western Rong female deity blessing from the high heavens.

In the fourth picture, there were more female figures: beautiful women rushing tearfully toward warriors, graceful maidens singing and dancing to invite partners, silhouettes of women gently preparing food in tents, women handing children to returning warriors before their horses.

After finishing, Dan Ye looked smugly at Tie Ci: “How’s that?”

“Well drawn.”

“Is it… worth longing for?”

Tie Ci squinted at it for a while, then smiled.

“If they were Western Rong women, probably so.”

Dan Ye’s especially sweet smile faded somewhat: “What do you mean? Your… Great Qian women wouldn’t?”

“Great Qian women might also be moved and conquered by this masculine heroism, willingly becoming your vassals, free logistics, unpaid nannies, unreserved and unrequited devotees and givers, considering this happiness and achievement. After all, most women in this world have indeed been taught this way by the controllers of patriarchal society.”

Dan Ye turned to stare at her: “Isn’t that good? Beautiful girls, gentle women, loving mothers—aren’t these the most precious and worthy-of-protection experiences in a woman’s life? Everything else is hard work, isn’t it?”

Tie Ci smiled amiably: “I respect most people’s choice of this path, as long as they feel happy. But I also hope most people don’t consider others unhappy just because they don’t choose this.”

“Your words are so roundabout I don’t understand. Are you saying you don’t like it?”

Tie Ci looked at him in amazement: “This is your Western Rong way of life. Does it matter whether I like it or not?”

Dan Ye stared at her, his lips moving, finally snorting and casually wiping the wall, taking his book and turning to leave.

Tie Ci: “…”

You men really are inexplicable!

Just then the bell rang—first class ended. Teacher Yao came out with his book. Tie Ci smiled and bowed, while he passed by with an iron-blue face. Tie Ci smiled and shrugged.

Men could be so petty.

Someone was saying loudly: “Lowest grade!”

Tsk, mediocre stuff.

The second class instructor, Teacher Ying for policy essays, had arrived and met Teacher Yao in the hall. Teacher Yao muttered a few words to him, and Teacher Ying glanced at Tie Ci and smiled knowingly with a nod.

Tie Ci didn’t care, returning to her seat. This time no one looked up at her, and the area around her seat was a complete vacuum.

Tie Ci walked past her chair in a slow circuit, her footsteps making cracking sounds. Everyone watched as the slightly protruding ground slowly sank down, finally becoming almost level with the surroundings, and the chair settled down.

Everyone: “…”

Why didn’t you step on it before, sir?

She hadn’t stepped on it before because she wanted to observe the academy teachers’ character. Now, there was no need to continue watching.

Teacher Ying said from above: “Today we have a quiz.”

Groans arose from below. The round-faced scholar from earlier leaned over to Tie Ci: “Oh no, Teacher Ying’s quiz questions are the most tricky. Be careful—three consecutive failed quizzes means demotion!”

A crowd stared at her intensely, their eyes clamoring: Demote! Demote! Demote!