In the third month of spring, scholars from all regions gathered in Chang’an for the annual imperial examination. Some examinees stayed at inns, while others chose to lodge in the pleasure quarter of Pingkang Ward. Some visited the Temple of the God of Literature to pray for success, while others paid homage to Confucius’s statue, hoping for the sage’s blessing. Throughout Chang’an, shops selling “Top Scholar Cakes” would sell out as soon as a fresh batch came out. Some candidates even carried their poetry collections, visiting influential officials one by one, seeking an opportunity to change their fate.

Cui Xun went nowhere. He spent his days studying at the inn, which wasn’t far from his residence in his previous life, though he never visited it. His uncle, Cui Songqing, had retired from his official position due to old age and remained in Chang’an, using his remaining years to support impoverished scholars and discover talents for the Great Zhou. Madam Yan’s grandson, Hu Nu, had grown up and passed the imperial examination under his tutelage and was now serving as an official in another region. It was said that Hu Nu was upright and incorruptible, truly benefiting the local people, making Cui Xun’s earlier recommendation worthwhile.

Under Cui Songqing’s care, Cui Xun’s former residence remained unchanged. One wondered if Cui Songqing ever felt regret when he visited—if he had believed in Cui Xun earlier, the most outstanding scion of the Cui clan from Boling wouldn’t have fallen so tragically.

Cui Xun’s friends did take him out once. When they passed by the Cui residence, they saw He Shisan, Ah’man, and other Tianwei Army family members arriving. Ah’man had matured considerably. Her shop was doing well and was highly respected in Chang’an. He Shisan had become a general. He had returned to the capital with his troops to report on his duties. A group of soldiers wearing golden Ming-style armor were cleaning the courtyard, while Ah’man carefully wiped away every speck of dust on the vermilion main gate.

From a distance, Cui Xun heard He Shisan asking Ah’man: “Sister Sheng, do you think our elder brother is doing well now?”

Ah’man bit her lip and nodded firmly: “He saved the people of six prefectures. The Ten Kings of Hell wouldn’t treat him harshly. I’m sure he’s doing very well now.”

He Shisan crouched down and picked up a pebble from the ground. A shadow passed through his eyes as his fingers silently gripped the stone. He murmured: “As long as I guard the border and prevent barbarian invasions, elder brother will surely fare well.”

He recalled the scene of the young man’s death—emaciated to the bone, yet still exhausting his last strength, clinging to his final breath to orally instruct him on border defense matters, before finally clutching his lotus pouch and passing away suddenly. He had lived up to his golden armor. At that moment, He Shisan had vowed that he would continue the glory that belonged to his elder brother and the Tianwei Army—and he had kept that promise.

He Shisan gripped the pebble and lowered his gaze: “Elder brother, please forgive me for what happened before. In the future, I won’t disappoint you.”

Cui Xun gazed from afar, then left the Cui residence. The life that belonged to Cui Wangshu had ended. Seeing these old acquaintances still missing him yet continuing with their own lives was enough to fulfill his remaining wishes.

After returning to the inn, he closed the door and continued studying. Although he had confidence in his decades of diligent study, there were always others more talented, and a top scholar title wouldn’t simply fall from the sky.

On the day of the palace examination, the presiding examiner was Prince Li Zheng of Jingcheng. Speaking of Li Zheng, his status was quite awkward, as he was the posthumous son of the Emperor Longxing.

During the period when the Emperor Longxing was losing power, to please the Empress Dowager, he had to send away Ashina Wuduo and favor the Empress and other consorts again. It was during this time that the Empress became pregnant. After the Emperor Longxing was forced to commit suicide and was stripped of his imperial title, the Empress Dowager allowed these consorts to return to their families and remarry. But perhaps because of their special status, none of them went home.

The Empress Dowager then arranged for them to live in Tangquan Palace, with all expenses maintained as before. At that time, she was just a grieving mother, but she still tried her best to ensure these pitiful women’s livelihoods.

At Tangquan Palace, the Empress gave birth to the Emperor Longxing’s posthumous son. However, probably out of fear of the Empress Dowager, she and the other consorts kept this a secret, silently raising the child together. When the child was two years old, the now-enthroned Empress finally learned of his existence.

That day, the white-haired Empress, leaning on her cane and with a face full of anger, ordered the imperial guards to kill the child. But the Empress Consort held onto him tightly, refusing to let go. The other consorts also used their bodies to shield the child from the imperial guards.

The Empress Consort, with tears streaming down her face, cried out hoarsely: “Your Majesty spared Shen Que’s child’s life, why won’t you spare your grandson?”

The other consorts also knelt on the ground, desperately kowtowing. The Empress angrily said, “Do you know what this child’s father did? He was the mastermind! He doesn’t deserve to have children!”

The Empress seemed to be venting her extreme disappointment with the Emperor Longxing on this two-year-old child. But after hearing this, these pitiful women didn’t argue. They just cried, all of them using their bodies to protect the child.

The Empress Consort sobbed: “My husband did wrong, but my child is innocent… If my child cannot live, I… I cannot go on living either…”

Not only would she not survive, but neither would the other consorts. If not for this child, they might not have lived on after the Emperor Longxing was forced to commit suicide.

The Empress looked at these crying, pitiful women. She sighed inwardly. When selecting consorts for the Emperor Longxing, she had only chosen gentle, rule-abiding women, thinking this would prevent disputes in the imperial harem. Indeed, there were no disputes, but it had also harmed these women who lived by the principle of following their husband’s lead.

She stared at the two-year-old child tightly embraced by the Empress Consort. The child still didn’t understand what was happening. He looked with curious eyes as his mother and aunts cried together. His appearance resembled the Emperor Longxing, but also somewhat resembled Li Ying.

One thought can lead to demonhood; one thought can also lead to Buddhahood.

The Empress gritted her teeth and finally left with the imperial guards, her sleeves sweeping behind her. Only the palace maids in Shenlong Hall knew that that night, the aging Empress couldn’t sleep, her pillow wet with tears.

Thus, the Emperor Longxing’s posthumous son lived on in constant fear. Although he was the Empress’s only living blood relative, she paid no attention to him. His mother named him Li Zheng—”Zheng” meaning clarity—hoping he would distinguish right from wrong and not, like his father, extinguish his conscience for power, ultimately committing irredeemable mistakes.

The Empress didn’t provide teachers for Li Zheng, so the consorts in Tangquan Palace taught him themselves. Although Li Zheng’s father had been stripped of his imperial title, he was still the grandson of two emperors—the Taichang Emperor and the Empress. Yet he didn’t even have a princely title. When Li Zheng was ten years old, a court official skilled at inferring Imperial intentions submitted a confidential memorial, requesting the Empress to establish Li Zheng as the Imperial grandson heir.

The memorial argued: The current court was in a heated debate over succession. Both the Li imperial clan and the Jiang imperial clan were eyeing the throne covetously. But neither side was of the Empress’s blood. For the Jiang imperial clan, the Empress was an aunt, and there was no precedent for building temples to worship one’s aunt. Moreover, the Great Zhou had been established for a hundred years, and the Li imperial clan had deep roots. Passing the throne to the Jiang clan might lead to chaos if the royal clan refused to accept it.

Furthermore, for the Li imperial clan, the Empress was a thorn in their side who had seized their empire. Once the Empress passed away, they would likely seek immediate revenge. At that time, not only would national policies be abolished, but the Jiang clan would also face extinction. To avoid this fate, the Jiang clan might raise a banner of rebellion, again leading to chaos.

Therefore, from a practical standpoint, establishing Li Zheng, who shared blood with both the Jiang and Li clans, would be the best choice.

But when the Empress saw the memorial, she flew into a rage, throwing it to the ground and denouncing the official for seeking popularity. She banished him from the capital. From then on, no one dared to mention establishing Li Zheng again.

Nevertheless, though no one dared to speak of it, some still saw Li Zheng as a thorn in their flesh. Before long, Tangquan Palace mysteriously caught fire. If not for the Empress Consort’s desperate rescue, Li Zheng would have perished in the flames.

Even so, the fire was so intense that it blackened the Wangwou Pavilion, which had been personally named by Li Ying and inscribed by the Taichang Emperor. The Empress, who had rushed over, stroked the pavilion’s pillars. After a moment of silence, she beckoned to Li Zheng, who was timidly hiding behind the Empress Consort: “Come here.”

Li Zheng had grown to the Empress’s shoulder height. Trembling with fear, he walked before the Empress, looking up at this person who was his closest blood relative, and softly called: “Your… Your Majesty.” He didn’t even dare to call her grandmother.

The Empress looked at him silently. She reached out her hand, and the Empress Consort and other consorts who had just escaped death fell to their knees, pleading: “Your Majesty!”

The Empress ignored them and simply reached out to wipe away the soot on Li Zheng’s face from the fire. Through Li Zheng’s timid eyes, she seemed to see shadows of many people—her husband, her son, and her daughter.

After a long silence, she said: “Child, from today on, you are the Prince of Jingcheng of the Great Zhou.”

From that day forward, Li Zheng had a title. As if to warn those scheming behind the scenes, the Empress appointed Prime Minister Lu Huai as his teacher and began involving Li Zheng in state affairs. Li Zheng’s abilities gradually became apparent. Unlike his father, who would stop at nothing for power, he was more like his aunt—pure-hearted, kind, benevolent, and filial. He treated scholars with respect and responded to mockery with neither servility nor arrogance. Lu Huai privately told the Empress that Li Zheng had the demeanor of a benevolent ruler.

But the Empress pretended not to hear. Her current favorite was Princess Qi’an, a member of the Jiang clan. At eighteen years old, Princess Qi’an resembled Li Ying in appearance, and the Empress doted on her immensely. People throughout the empire said she might establish Princess Qi’an as her heir.

Princess Qi’an had a domineering temperament. In comparison, Li Zheng was much gentler. In conflicts between the two, it was always Li Zheng who gave way. Bearing the original sin of his father and lacking the Empress’s favor, even though he was the only grandson of the Taichang Emperor and the Empress and the most legitimate heir, far fewer people supported him compared to Princess Qi’an.

It was under these difficult circumstances that Li Zheng was ordered to preside over this imperial examination. The Empress was over eighty years old and in poor health, so she did not attend any part of the palace examination, leaving everything for Li Zheng to handle. Li Zheng did not disappoint, fulfilling his duties conscientiously, fairly, and impartially. In the Purple Extreme Hall, he assembled a group of great scholars to test the candidates in poetry, classics, history, and current affairs. Finally, he named the top scholar: the Seventeenth Young Master Pei from Yangzhou, Pei Heng.

In the spring, riding on a horse of success, one sees all of Chang’an’s flowers in a day.

The newly conferred scholars, dressed in crimson robes with decorated belts, wearing flowers and brocade, rode their horses in front of Zhuque Street. The citizens of Chang’an flocked to the main street to witness the splendor of the new scholars. The young ladies first looked at the third-ranked scholar—only the handsome ones received this rank—and found that indeed, he was dignified in appearance, worthy of his title. Then they looked at the top scholar. They saw a young man with eyebrows like ink paintings, eyelashes like crow’s feathers, and crimson robes bright as fire. His peach blossom eyes rippled like water, and just one glance made one feel as if they would fall into them. Such appearance, even compared to the legendary Lotus Gentleman from a decade ago, was no less striking.

The young ladies’ eyes were filled with admiration as they threw their chrysanthemums, crabapples, and peonies toward the young man. In an instant, fallen flowers carpeted the ground beneath the scholars’ horses.

Amid the clamor, the top scholar suddenly heard a familiar, crisp call: “Hey!”

He was startled and looked up, following the sound. He saw a young girl leaning from a wooden window on the second floor of a teahouse, smiling as she called to him.

It was Li Ying. She had come to Chang’an?

Li Ying held a fully bloomed red rose in her hand. She waved it and threw it toward Cui Xun. Cui Xun caught it—this rose was very similar to the one he had given Li Ying in his previous life.

He held the rose, gently smelling it, then raised his eyebrows and smiled slightly at the girl in the teahouse. That smile was so dazzling that it outshone even the brilliant rose in his hand.

A well-dressed young lady watching from a nearby teahouse was mesmerized by that smile. She gazed at the radiant young top scholar and called her maid over, whispering a few words in her ear.