Fourth year of Qianyuan, spring, third day of the fifth month.

Guiwei year, Jiaxu month, Renzi hour.

Auspicious for: prayers, sacrifices, marriages, opening markets, trading.

Inauspicious for: taking medicine, seeking medical treatment, planting, breaking ground, moving.

At this time, the palace examinations were being held.

Stepping on clouds to the golden hall, achieving scholarly success before the emperor’s inquiry—apricot blossoms uniformly red, their fragrance filling the entire courtyard without fading.

Above the golden hall, before the imperial throne, in the glorious place of phoenix towers and dragon pavilions, the scholars who had passed the metropolitan examinations stood solemnly below the jade steps. They dipped their brushes heavily in thick ink, lightly lifted their purple writing brushes, and carefully constructed bridges of prose leading to halls of glory on the two-meter-long gold-sprinkled plain paper bearing the emperor’s seal at the top.

Only the scholar from Dezhou, Zhao Moyan, appeared mentally exhausted with enormous dark circles under his eyes. He sat at his position with a blank stare that at first glance seemed like he was contemplating brilliant passages, but upon closer inspection, he was likely having an out-of-body experience.

The Minister of Rites presiding over the examination and the various examiners all looked tremulingly at this Dezhou scholar, then glanced at His Majesty Xiao Jue on the imperial throne. Was the emperor about to fly into a rage? Why did he keep staring fixedly at this scholar? That gaze was quite strange… How should it be described?

The great scholars with bellies full of literature racked their brains for a long time but couldn’t figure out how to describe His Majesty’s peculiar gaze that shrouded this poor scholar—full of hatred yet infinitely helpless.

The Minister of Rites glared fiercely at Zhao Moyan, who seemed to have had several of his tendons extracted, wishing he could step forward and kick him in the stomach, then grab his collar and shake him to wake up this mad scholar who didn’t even take the supreme palace examination seriously.

Several examiners exchanged meaningful glances—this fellow was definitely not destined for first rank, and shouldn’t even think about second rank… Well, when grading, they’d directly assign his paper to fifth rank and let His Majesty make the imperial selection.

…

Xiao Jue’s gaze was indeed peculiar… because he was thinking, his imagination running wild.

Last night he had again snuck out of the palace, bringing a large pile of medicinal supplements for Chu Feihuan. After delivering the medicine, he didn’t want to leave, so he said the crown prince’s studies had been poor lately and he needed to hold Qin Chang Ge, the mother, accountable. Qin Chang Ge paid him no mind, just continued reading her book with eyebrows raised and eyes sparkling with delight. Curious, he moved closer to look, when suddenly Qin Chang Ge gracefully stood up, changed positions, and sat with her back to him.

Stunned for a moment, Xiao Jue persistently sat in front of her again.

Qin Chang Ge turned away again.

He sat again.

She turned away again.

From beginning to end, Xiao Jue couldn’t even see the book’s title. Now his curiosity was thoroughly aroused—he had to know no matter what. So he pretended to leave, then suddenly reached out and snatched the book away.

Qin Chang Ge seemed afraid of tearing the book and didn’t struggle with him, letting go. Since she treasured it so much, Xiao Jue found it even stranger. He had originally thought it was just a book for tomorrow’s palace examination that she was reviewing, or at worst something Rong’er had scribbled amusing nonsense in. But judging by Chang Ge’s expression, it didn’t seem like that?

First he looked at the title: “Jin Ping Mei: Xi Liang Handwritten Collector’s Edition.”

He’d never heard of it. What kind of strange novel was this?

Xiao Jue smiled smugly and leaped onto the roof beam to flip through it, nearly falling off the beam.

“…So without further ado, he carried her to Granny Wang’s bed, removing clothes and loosening belts to share pillow and joy together. Now this woman had been having an affair with Master Zhang, but that old man was soft as snot and thick as paste—when had she ever gotten satisfaction? Even married to Warrior Wu—readers can imagine—with his tiny implement, how much strength could he have? Now encountering Ximen Qing, experienced in romance with superior skills, how could she not be delighted?

Intertwined like mandarin ducks playing in water, side by side like phoenixes threading through flowers. Joyfully the conjugal branches grew, sweetly the unity bands were tied. One pressed red lips close, the other leaned powder cheek sideways. Silk stockings raised high, revealing two crescents of new moon on shoulders; golden hairpin falling askew, piling a cloud of black hair beside the pillow. Pledging mountain and sea vows, creating thousands of seductive charms; shy clouds and timid rain, caressing ten thousand kinds of allure. The perfect oriole’s voice never left their ears. Sweet saliva laughed from the tip of her tongue. Willow waist pulsing with thick spring feeling, cherry mouth slightly gasping for breath. Star-like eyes hazy, fine sweat flowing like fragrant jade beads; soft breast undulating, dewdrops trickling on the peony heart. Truly a perfect marital match, genuinely beautiful stolen passion’s taste.”

Lewd words and lustful language!!!

How bold!!!

Xiao Jue’s eyes went straight—where on earth did she get such direct and erotic novel? And it was completely hand-copied! Though this dynasty also had some romance novels whose authors used slightly flowery language, they were already criticized as worthless by contemporary great scholars. He had once passed by the Ministry of Rites and seen a vice-minister being scolded by the minister for dropping such a book from his robes. He had flipped through it then and thought it quite bold and embarrassingly arousing. He hadn’t expected there to be higher mountains beyond mountains—compared to today’s “Jin Ping Mei: Xi Liang Handwritten Collector’s Edition,” those authors wrote as plainly as water and solemnly as saints.

Holding the book felt hot in his hands. His instinct was to throw it away, yet he couldn’t bear to, stealing glances at those phrases… “shy clouds and timid rain, caressing ten thousand kinds of allure”… “soft breast undulating, dewdrops trickling”… truly seductive… somehow his heart felt restless… Turning to see Qin Chang Ge standing below the beam with hands behind her back, looking up at him indifferently.

She had just finished dinner and bathed, her hair unbound, black silk cascading like a waterfall behind her, following her gracefully curved silhouette, gently floating in the mild night breeze of May. Her face and brow still held moisture, black parts deeply beautiful, white parts crystal clear, autumn waters rippling in her gaze, elegant charm in her raised brows. From his angle, he could see her smooth neck curved like a bowstring, her slender but not exposed collarbone, and below the collarbone, a faintly visible glimpse of powder-soft curves…

Xiao Jue realized he seemed to be unconsciously swallowing saliva, and the sound was rather loud, because Qin Chang Ge below suddenly blushed and shifted her position.

Xiao Jue also blushed somewhat… It had been a long time since he’d touched a woman’s body, though he’d never lost control like this before. The palace women were so skilled at seeking favor and charm—even if he occasionally passed by their chamber doors, they would pretend to faint into his arms. When fainting, their bodices were invariably very low, their outer garments inevitably open-collared, the collars inevitably gaping wide, their breasts also powder-soft and seemingly larger than hers… But even then, he hadn’t been so lustful.

Or was it that he only had feelings for her?

Under the bright moon beside the lamplight, moonlight and lamplight intertwined, weaving patches of snow-white. Each patch was seductive, each was exquisite fragrant paper floating with ambiguous flower shadows, all inscribed with words like “shy clouds and timid rain,” “allure,” “soft breast,” “caressing”—phrases with hidden bone-deep fragrance that danced dizzily before Xiao Jue’s eyes.

Xiao Jue shrank into the darkness, somewhat embarrassedly discovering his body’s changes.

Worse still, the ever-perceptive Qin Chang Ge seemed to notice too. She coughed lightly and moved to tidy up brush and ink.

In his embarrassment, Xiao Jue suddenly found it amusing. What was this situation? Three years ago, she was still his legitimate empress, and on the phoenix couch in Changle Palace, their intimate union had occurred countless times. They had long passed the stage of blushing and embarrassment. Yet after three years, not only had their bodies changed, but their mindsets too. Now facing her, he felt the subtle nervousness of their first meeting—wanting to approach but not daring to, like bashful young lovers.

She must feel the same, otherwise why would someone usually so thick-skinned and black-hearted engage in such avoidance?

Staring at her rarely reddened cheeks, that touch of color gilded her snow-white skin like moonlight crossing flower walls, or plum blossoms falling on snow—elegantly beautiful beyond compare. Though it was the most ordinary expression, somehow that blush seemed like a silent, smiling invitation.

Xiao Jue’s head spun.

When Xiao Jue’s head spun, he flew down from the beam.

…”This subject only remembers that you are this subject’s empress…”

One embrace… and he held those evenly proportioned fragrant shoulders… The clear, cool fragrance of du ruo and mint rippled slowly through the air like water… Xiao Jue slowly bent down, wanting to taste with his lips the texture of that porcelain-smooth jade-like delicate skin, wondering if it was as soft and fragrant, vivid and sweet as the tender green water regions of Huainan?

“Smack!”

Xiao Jue froze in his bent posture behind Qin Chang Ge.

Slowly straightening from his suddenly bent position, wearing an expression as if nothing had happened, Qin Chang Ge said apologetically: “Sorry, I saw a mosquito on my leg.”

She smoothly extracted the book from the stunned Xiao Jue’s hands, smiling sweetly: “It’s late, I won’t keep Your Majesty. Your Majesty should return to the palace early and rest—tomorrow is the palace examination, you need to nurture your energy.”

Where can this subject nurture any energy now!

In this weather, where would mosquitoes come from?

You… increasingly teeth-gnashingly wicked woman!

…

His Majesty the Emperor, who tossed and turned all night like a pancake, finally at dawn, accompanied by those soft and undulating phrases in his memory, resolved his agitation in a manner completely unnecessary for an emperor, then fell asleep from exhaustion, nearly missing the palace examination.

This woman is truly too wicked—how can I not hate her?

…

Qin Chang Ge actually wasn’t much better off.

Last night after Xiao Jue left, Feihuan suddenly fell ill in the middle of the night. He was remarkably enduring, actually remaining silent throughout. If he hadn’t knocked over a cup while struggling to get water, and if Qin Chang Ge hadn’t been unable to sleep due to Xiao Jue’s harassment and thus heard it, who knows what state he would have been in by morning.

Taking Feihuan’s pulse in the quiet night, feeling that faint, chaotic pulse beat irregularly and ominously under her fingers, each barely perceptible tremor resonated in the silent air and darkened heart like tolling bells of separation. Each toll brought them closer to an unthinkable ending.

Darkness submerged like heavy water—who was struggling within it?

Qin Chang Ge’s fingers pressed the pulse, but her heart suddenly became confused and turbulent as a tide. Something rose moistly from the depths of her heart, drowning her inch by inch.

This moment’s darkness, this moment with someone who had accompanied her for years through life and death without ever leaving—his faint breathing scattered in the air while his quiet, pale face sank behind moonlight. The moonlight of that lifetime had already shattered into seventy thousand knives, all stabbed into the path of his remaining life.

After extreme exhaustion, his face was peaceful as water, as if eternally sleeping.

Qin Chang Ge reached out, slowly grasping at empty air. She grasped so forcefully, as if this could catch some ethereal hope and future.

…Feihuan, if things belonging to me could be exchanged for your health and life, I think I would be willing.

I am a selfish woman who has loved myself more than anyone else my entire life, and never thought this was wrong. If a person doesn’t know how to love themselves, how can they speak of loving others?

The tragic death in my previous life—even now in this life I dare not love. I fear repeating past mistakes, fear history repeating itself. My enemies are so numerous, so powerful and dark. If I err again, I know I’ll never have such good fortune again.

Not daring to love doesn’t mean not knowing love. Yet whether you or he, at this moment, neither can make me dare to love openly and fearlessly.

Because his love is separated by truth I still dare not determine, while you—you actually no longer plan to be with me.

Because you know your current body can no longer give me all the things a woman should receive.

Not even time.

So you want to leave me, to die silently in some remote mountain, death scattering like fireworks. In your final moment, you want to see me ascend the throne again amid floating dust, once more becoming Empress Ruiyi.

My feelings for you both are separated by truth, separated by time. Your love for me is separated by life and death, separated by fate.

Now I only wish to think of nothing, only to first break through this nightmare’s truth, to fight against this rapidly flowing time.

You both, please, trust me.

…

Sleepless all night.

Qin Chang Ge, rising at dawn, instructed Qi Fan early in the morning to carefully care for Feihuan, then groggily entered Baowen Hall, inwardly cursing the inhumane palace examination rules for setting such an early time—how could one write good essays without sufficient sleep?

Looking at the topic made her even angrier. Xiao Jue, you who dislike studying, how dare you pose such an obscure topic today?!

“Rhapsody on the Daily Emergence of Evil Words.”

Evil words: opinions without principles or stance, fragmented and unable to form personal thought, parroting others’ words. “Evil words emerge daily” means such opinions appear every day.

Qin Chang Ge blinked—it seemed Xiao Jue’s resentment hadn’t dissipated. He remained bitter about the chain of “This minister agrees” during the palace gate incident, and though he couldn’t severely punish officials due to the need for stability, venting through the examination topic was acceptable.

Qin Chang Ge thought she too was vindictive. Seeing time running out, she wrote boldly and expansively, ending by shamelessly plagiarizing Xin Qiji’s “Thousand Year Tune: When Evil Wine Faces People.”

“When evil wine faces people, harmonious spirit pours forth first. Most important is being agreeable to everything, calling all things good. Sitting humorously above, smiling at clownish sycophancy. Cold and hot, all following others, sweet as licorice root.

“Youth speaks wine, words offend ears with stubbornness. This harmonious way of reasoning, only recently understood. Learning others’ speech, haven’t mastered even one-tenth of their cleverness. Look at them all, earning people’s pity, so fortunate!”

After submitting her paper, Qin Chang Ge deliberately smiled at Xiao Jue sitting above, his gaze fixed on her with unclear meaning, then left with the others.

As she departed Baowen Hall, it was sunset. A flock of homing pigeons flew over the golden, brilliant palace like overwhelming clouds. Under the vast sky, before the cloud-like flying pigeons, the woman smiled as she raised her head. Before her stretched the endless jade steps of Baowen Hall, behind her in the deep, secluded great hall, the Son of Heaven sat high on the nine-dragon throne. Across an extremely close yet extremely distant space, he gazed at that beautiful figure, watching pigeons raised by her previous life and his present life fly gracefully and tenderly across the sky.

Three days later, the palace examination results were announced: Zhuangyuan Liu Mi, Bangyan Song Wenhuai, Tanhua Zhao Moyan.

According to private rumors in Xi Liang’s official circles, during grading that day, among the eight reading officials, four were disciples of the Minister of Rites, two belonged to no faction, and two were officials promoted from descendants of this dynasty’s new nobility. These people mostly agreed when judging others, but encountered problems only with the tanhua candidate. According to Xi Liang’s palace examination regulations, quality was divided into five grades: circles for best, triangles for second, horizontal lines for third, vertical lines for fourth, and worst was a fierce cross. However, the tanhua candidate’s paper bore extremely unusual markings: four circles plus four crosses.

Best plus worst, falling so evenly on one paper—this was truly an unprecedented occurrence since Xi Liang’s founding.

What caused such great divergence was the tanhua candidate’s poem at the end of his rhapsody. Not following rules to write a proper rhapsody was secondary; the key was this poem’s sharp satire and clear mockery, lashing out at officialdom with satisfying thoroughness. Those with guilty consciences naturally felt like thorns in their eyes, sneering: “This is the cackling of an immoral villain!” The younger faction and some fair, talented men applauded: “Speaking out with a clarity unheard for a hundred years!”

This was no longer simple grading disagreement, but a collision between old and new forces, a reappearance of friction between official factions descended from the previous Yuan dynasty and this dynasty’s new nobility factions—their silent competition for emerging influence.

Finally the matter reached the imperial presence. It was said that when the paper was presented, His Majesty’s brow immediately twitched. He examined the short rhapsody up and down for a long time, his gaze especially lingering on the final poem. At last, he suddenly threw the paper at the head of the Minister of Rites who insisted this paper should be failed or demoted to fifth grade!

“Beautifully flowing, with clear reasoning—none among all papers can match it!”

The Minister of Rites dared not touch his head, first tremblingly retrieving the paper. Just as he was about to suggest making this student zhuangyuan, he heard the emperor say again:

“The handwriting is scattered and unruly. He should be slightly demoted.”

Oh, bangyan then.

Securing the paper and preparing to withdraw, he heard His Majesty add:

“This poem is excellent, penetrating to the bone, but it’s not rhapsody form. The candidate lacks dignified bearing.”

Uh…

The Minister of Rites waited stiffly for another quarter-hour, but no more stunning pronouncements came. Wiping sweat and trembling, he left.

Finally: tanhua, third rank.

During the tanhua street parade, another problem arose.

Actually this time the problem didn’t originate with the tanhua candidate, but with an unexpected yet expected figure.

On parade day, the streets were empty as everyone vied to see the three top candidates, especially wanting to see the already legendary mad scholar tanhua Zhao Moyan before the rankings were even announced. Interest in the zhuangyuan had actually diminished. When the tanhua candidate appeared—handsome, appropriately thin, with elegant bearing and not a trace of mad scholar appearance—compared to the other two who fit rough zhuangyuan stereotypes, he stood out even more. This immediately stirred spring feelings among girls and wives throughout the street, who threw embroidered pouches, purses, sock ties, and even mandarin duck undergarments with thumping sounds.

Under everyone’s gaze, all waited to see the tanhua candidate blush. Who knew he showed no embarrassment, calmly pulling a handkerchief from his robes, wrapping up all those fragrant items, tying them to his horse, provoking another round of female shrieks.

Before the shrieks ended, they heard hoofbeats from the street’s end. Eighteen fierce riders galloped forward, forming a line to block the parade route.

The formation then parted, making way for one person and horse to advance. Clip-clop came the approaching mount.

Amid countless converging gazes, someone who most loved showing off, most alluring, most charming, who never knew how to blush but was also the most beautiful, appeared.

Smoothing her flowing crown ornaments, adjusting her sleeves, in the graceful long wind Yu Zixi’s divine bearing became even more graceful, her rippling eyes like gorgeous smoky light of early spring.

Raising her head with tender affection, she broke into a smile.

“Moyan, I’ve come to escort you home for our wedding.”