What Zhao Yan wanted with Su Jin need not be stated explicitly.

He glanced at the two who were lingering in his duty chamber refusing to leave, and said to Su Jin, “Censor Su, may we speak privately for a moment?”

Qian San’er’s eyes rippled with smiles, full of schemes inside and out: “Is there something Lord Zhao cannot say here? When did our Censorate become so distant with each other?”

Zhao Yan looked back at him silently and squeezed two words through his teeth: “Private matter.”

When Su Jin heard the words “private matter,” his heart jumped with alarm.

Though he had been staying at the Censorate these past days, he wasn’t completely oblivious to matters outside his window. The position of censor, at its root, was about supervision and impeachment. Supervision had its scale—ranging from state and world affairs down to trivial matters. Thus, which household had gone to Qian San’er’s residence to propose marriage—Su Jin didn’t need to investigate himself; several censors under him would naturally inform him.

Su Jin felt deeply apologetic toward Qian San’er, but he was also helpless.

These past days, he had managed to squeeze out time to list excuses for not marrying from one-two-three all the way to ninety-nine times eighty-one. The best excuse among them had already been used by Qian San’er. If he also claimed to be devoted to Buddhism, people would think he was making false excuses.

The remaining excuses were all inferior. Su Jin thought, he surely couldn’t claim to have a hidden illness—Lord Su still wanted to keep his dignity.

Su Jin knew why Zhao Yan was looking for him and momentarily didn’t know what to do.

At this moment, Qian San’er spoke again: “It is indeed a private matter.”

With eyes full of smiles, he rummaged through the mountain of scrolls piled on the desk and pulled out two rolls marked “Censorate Zhao Family,” directly handing them to Su Jin: “Lord Zhao, aren’t you rushing to arrange a marriage for Censor Su? What can he discern from just looking at birth dates and times? Why not have him look at portraits?”

Then his smile deepened further, and he added very amiably to Su Jin: “I’ll get in line.”

The meaning of these words was that if Censor Su was not satisfied with the two young ladies of the Zhao family, he still had over ten beauties in his hands.

Zhao Yan hadn’t expected Qian San’er would dare to state this meaning so explicitly. He couldn’t help but adopt a serious tone and rebuke: “Presumptuous! These portraits of officials’ daughters—how can we look at them casually?”

But seeing that the portraits had already reached Su Jin’s hands, hope arose in his heart. He truly hoped she could pick one from the two portraits. Su Jin was young with a limitless future, modest in character and not impetuous. If he could obtain such a worthy son-in-law, wouldn’t that be wonderful?

When Su Jin heard the four words “officials’ daughters,” he suddenly realized something. Looking at the Court of Imperial Clan stamp on the scrolls, he couldn’t help saying, “May I ask Lord Zhao and Lord Qian, these are… the portraits various officials sent to the Thirteenth Prince for selecting an Imperial Consort?” He paused. “How did they end up at the Censorate?”

Zhao Yan and Qian San’er vaguely caught a trace of displeasure in Su Jin’s expression, thinking this look meant he was dissatisfied that they were offering him the Thirteenth Prince’s leftovers. So they explained, “Didn’t that old cat in the palace die? The various palaces are burning mugwort. The Court of Imperial Clan was afraid of setting the portraits on fire, so they brought them to the Censorate to store for a day.”

Su Jin was skeptical.

Zhao Yan had been upright and incorruptible for decades. This time, having both engaged in favoritism and told a lie, seeing Su Jin’s doubtful expression, he couldn’t help saying, “Forget it, forget it. Let’s just pretend I never mentioned this matter.”

Who knew that Su Jin’s gaze swept across the duty chamber once more, taking in the scrolls piled across the entire desk. After pondering briefly, he actually replied, “Then… let’s look at them all.”

At these words, Liu Chaoming, who had been sitting in the room early on, seemed to freeze for a moment. He turned his face to look at Su Jin, and after a moment, buried his head again to drink his tea.

Zhao Yan silently closed the door. Turning back, he couldn’t help asking again, “Hey, isn’t this… somewhat inappropriate for us to do?”

Neither Su Jin nor Liu Chaoming answered.

Qian San’er said, “After the New Year, occasionally breaking a rule or two—what’s the problem? Who doesn’t have moments of going beyond bounds?”

Zhao Yan thought this made sense. The three directors of the Censorate each performed their duties and sought their positions in official business, but in handling private matters, they weren’t so particular.

About to unfold the portraits, he looked at Liu Chaoming and Qian San’er respectively and couldn’t help saying again, “No, wait—right now I’m arranging a marriage for Censor Su. What’s the deal with you two watching as well?”

Qian San’er said, “You’re arranging a marriage—don’t you need someone to act as matchmaker?” He indicated himself. “Don’t you need an elder brother to help assess things?” He indicated Liu Chaoming.

Zhao Yan used his eyes to ask Liu Chaoming: Is that what you mean?

Lord Liu finally put down his precious teacup and spoke concisely: “Look then.”

Two scrolls were unrolled, showing respectively the Zhao family’s eldest daughter Zhao Wan and second daughter Zhao Wan.

Su Jin’s gaze lingered a half-moment longer on Zhao Wan’s portrait. He saw that her eyes were like spring apricots, her eyebrows like a new moon, her water-green dress and skirt touched with the vitality of approaching spring.

Zhao Yan actually hoped Su Jin would take a liking to Zhao Wan. Seeing her expression like this, he couldn’t help saying, “Wanwan is prettier, but she’s somewhat timid, and she’s a concubine-born daughter. Her temperament is good though.”

But Su Jin didn’t express an opinion, only saying, “Having two such daughters is Lord Zhao’s blessing.”

After viewing Zhao Yan’s offerings, Qian San’er handed Su Jin the pile of birth dates and times in his hands, picking out portraits from the desk to unfold one by one. Entrusted by others, faithful to their affairs, yet unlike Zhao Yan arranging marriage for his own daughters, he soon showed Su Jin about seventy or eighty percent of them.

Having looked through them all, Su Jin felt there were daughters of distinguished families as well as gentle beauties from modest households, those with outstanding appearances as well as renowned talented women.

Only the last two scrolls remained. Seeing that Su Jin neither said they were good nor that they weren’t, Qian San’er said, “Of these remaining two scrolls, one of them”—he picked up a scroll and handed it to Su Jin—”is of the highest birth.”

Su Jin slowly unrolled it. In a cluster of brocade flowers stood a woman, a plum blossom dotting her forehead, wearing a golden hairpin, dressed in palace finery. Though still young in years, her phoenix eyes faintly revealed an air of supreme arrogance.

Su Jin’s gaze fell on the four characters beside the scroll—Princess Hele of the Commandery.

He knew of this person.

Princess Hele of the Commandery was named Zhu Hele. Her father was the cousin of the late Empress and was the late Empress’s only living relative. Though he had neither distinguished military achievements nor notable political accomplishments, because of this clan relationship, Emperor Jingyuan had bestowed upon his family the imperial surname “Zhu.”

Though Zhu Hele was a commandery princess, because there were no legitimate princesses in the palace, and she had been fostered under the late Empress’s care for two years in her childhood, she had always been somewhat self-important.

Especially back when she was fostered in the Eastern Palace, she used to chase after Zhu Nanxian calling him “elder cousin” on the left and “elder cousin” on the right. It was Zhu Minda who couldn’t bear to hear it. After all, one was a legitimate prince and the other a commandery princess—not knowing the distinction between superior and inferior. After he sternly reprimanded her, she restrained herself somewhat.

But it wasn’t Zhu Nanxian that Zhu Hele liked.

Qian San’er kindly reminded from the side, “I’m showing you this portrait specifically—considering you and I are both censors of the Censorate, I’m bending the rules a bit to give you friendly advice. Though her birth is high, she’s absolutely not a good match. Moreover, she likes Lord Shen. That would be one thing, but she likes him with a bit of relentless desperation.”

Su Jin said, “If that’s the case, why was her birth date and time matched to me?”

Qian San’er said matter-of-factly, “Oh, this is nothing unusual. You know Lord Shen’s temperament and appearance—few women who see him don’t become infatuated.”

Liu Chaoming picked up his teacup again, glanced at Su Jin, saw no unusual expression on his face, and lowered his eyelids to drink his tea.

Qian San’er continued, “Back when Lord Shen was still Young Master Shen of the Minister’s residence, whenever he walked by the Qinhuai River, dozens of handkerchiefs would be thrown at him. Before he reached the age of twenty, more than half the court families with unmarried daughters had approached Minister Shen to arrange marriages. Unfortunately, in those years, Young Master Shen was young and romantic, with no intention of taking a wife, frequenting pleasure quarters.”

Su Jin raised his eyebrows in surprise, never having imagined Shen Xi had been so dissolute, but thinking of his temperament, it seemed reasonable.

Wasn’t there a doggerel verse in the inner quarters—”Among civil officials there are Shen and Liu, among military generals there are Qi and Wei”? Actually, this verse had an audaciously bold continuation: “The seventh views the moon, the thirteenth the stars, but none compare to seeking plum blossoms in the winter month.”

However, when Song Jue recited this verse to Su Jin yesterday, he offered some guidance, saying that the romantic entanglements of the several others combined couldn’t compare to this number one Young Master Shen.

Qian San’er said, “I’m getting off track.” From the selected scrolls, he picked up the last one and handed it to Su Jin. “I think you’ll like this one.”

On the scroll were four characters: Hanlin Scholar Shu.

For a moment, Su Jin’s mind didn’t make the connection, thinking that Lord Shu Huan at court was a Secretariat Drafter.

Though the official rank of Secretariat Drafter was low, Shu Huan was Emperor Jingyuan’s personal writer. Whenever there was something difficult to decide, even the imperious Zhu Jingyuan was willing to listen to his one or two words.

Liu Chaoming glanced at that scroll, paused, and couldn’t help frowning slightly: “Shu Wenlan?” He asked again, “What, his health improved?”

Hearing the three characters “Shu Wenlan,” Su Jin immediately remembered.

Shu Wenlan, son of Secretariat Drafter Shu Huan, was the foremost genius of the current dynasty. He was versed in all classics, histories, philosophers, and literary collections, knew astronomy above and geography below, was proficient in over ten languages including Hu, Mongol, and Western languages, and was knowledgeable about family, state, and world affairs without exception.

Unfortunately, fate played tricks. With talents spanning heaven and earth, he was born a sickly person. From childhood, he also contracted asthma—whenever he overexerted himself, the illness would strike. A herbal pouch perpetually hung at his waist. This wasn’t all—whenever the weather turned cold or warm, he would fall ill for a spell, his illness lingering endlessly. Thus, out of twelve months in a year, Shu Wenlan spent seven months lying half-dead in bed.

He could only read books and pursue learning.

Zhao Yan said, “I heard that before winter began, Shu Huan found a divine physician to examine Shu Wenlan. In these two winter months, he hasn’t had any major illnesses, just an asthma condition that passes after smelling his herbal pouch.”

Naturally, the woman in the scroll was not Shu Wenlan, but Shu Wenlan’s younger sister.

Su Jin unrolled the scroll. The woman in the picture had eyebrows like distant mountains, eyes holding dusk’s cold mist. Though not a beauty who could topple cities and nations, in her serene laziness there was a trace of liveliness.

To the side were written four characters: Shu Family’s Rongxin.

Su Jin was momentarily stunned. Compared to the previous dozen or so beauty portraits, this one was more pleasing to the eye.

Qian San’er said, “Shu Huan is quite indifferent about his children’s marriages. I specifically selected this one not only because Shu Wenlan personally came to my residence to request her birth date and time—you probably don’t know this, but on the day you returned to the capital at the beginning of winter, this Shu Rongxin actually saw you.” Qian San’er paused. “According to Shu Wenlan, she is indeed interested in you.”

Liu Chaoming once again put down his precious teacup.