Trouble had broken out at Lai County dock, and the common people, having nothing better to do, naturally gathered in circles upon circles to watch the excitement.

Guan Si’er sent the two constables to fetch their superior—not to find fault with anyone, but like how the Ministry of Revenue wouldn’t interfere when the Ministry of War made a mistake. Different departments—even if your rank was higher, if you weren’t someone’s direct superior, pointing fingers would violate a major taboo of officialdom.

There was no need to do such a thing!

He called these two constables over specifically because Guan Si’er was now a proper sixth-rank secretary in the Ministry of War, and Lai County was a mid-sized county, its presiding magistrate holding equal rank to him. Whatever he had to say could only be addressed to an equal—after all, since this involved people he had apprehended, it wasn’t that he couldn’t handle it himself, but rules were rules.

Rules naturally had to be followed, but he was also displeased with Lai County’s magistrate for his negligence, and planned to go home and say a few bad words to his teacher about it. Tomorrow, when His Majesty had free time before his morning session and chatted idly with them as usual, he’d slip in a complaint, saying this gateway county of Great Liang’s Yanjing had a magistrate who was utterly useless, ruining the fruits of his teacher’s hard work for nothing.

Today’s dock-duty officers had, as it happened, been shirking their duties and hadn’t returned yet. The two remaining ones, muddling through their shift, had probably been off somewhere sheltering from the river wind, getting cozy together.

When these two approached, Guan Si’er caught a whiff of cheap rouge powder, which made him even more irritated.

These two constables were naturally uneasy, fearing they’d be held responsible by the magistrate, and resented these reckless scoundrels for causing trouble. As they tied up the hooligans, they also gave them a good beating in the process.

Guan Si’er, unable to bear watching this, said disdainfully: “That’s enough. You’ll beat them to death at this rate.”

Guan Si’er’s waist token bore the pattern of the Emperor’s personal guard, the leader of the imperial bodyguards. Having been told to go fetch their superior for a discussion, these two naturally didn’t dare delay, let alone beg for leniency.

Hearing Guan Si’er forbid further beating, the two constables withdrew their hands and apologized—one stayed to watch, the other turned and ran toward Lai County.

The remaining constable was a clever one. Seeing his companion leave, and this young dignitary still sitting on the sack, he felt this wasn’t quite proper.

Having spent years mingling around the docks, he naturally knew everyone in the area well. In no time at all, within a few breaths, he had set up a cloth canopy, a small table, and even brought over tea for Guan Si’er.

Seeing how sensible he was, Guan Si’er smiled and got down from the sack, walking straight into the small canopy. He tossed his cloak aside, sat down at his leisure, and without minding the crude tea set, poured himself a cup and drank a few sips. Setting down the cup, he smiled at the group of dumbstruck scholars: “Am I perhaps so ugly-faced that I’ve frightened you young scholars into this state?”

The young scholars all shook their heads at once, looking quite comical.

Guan Si’er didn’t realize that these scholars were, first, stunned by his heroic bearing—descending like a crane from the heavens, dealing with villains cleanly and efficiently, his every gesture displaying the grace of a great family—and second, he seemed close to their own age, perhaps even younger than some of the older ones among them.

Yet he was already a proper court official, and it seemed his position wasn’t low at all.

It was an indescribable kind of admiration and reverence, and being by the riverbank only intensified the surging feelings of admiration in everyone’s hearts—they couldn’t get enough of him.

Seeing them still not speaking, Guan Si’er shook his head with a laugh. Then, seeing the constable bring over two plates of dried river delicacies, he waved a hand in refusal: “Send those back.”

The constable bent over, saying carefully: “My lord, I didn’t take these for free from them…”

But before he could finish, Guan Si’er said flatly, without waiting: “Don’t do unnecessary things. Send them back.”

His tone carried no fluctuation at all, not a trace of worldly warmth, yet it sounded terribly authoritative.

The constable had no choice but to carry the plates away, looking sheepish.

Around them came another collective intake of breath, and Guan Si’er felt these young scholars were somewhat… hard to describe.

Because of his origins, he had always looked askance at academy students, even scholars in general—only before he would have openly mocked them, now he simply concealed it.

In the silence, the lecturing teacher finally recovered his senses. He composed himself, even brushed the dust off his robes, and walked to the small canopy, raising his hands to give thanks first: “Thank you, great, young lord, for coming to our rescue.”

Guan Si’er stood and returned the courtesy, gesturing for him to sit: “You’re too kind, it was nothing. Though this isn’t within my jurisdiction, as a court official, seeing such a thing happen, of course I had to intervene…?”

Before Guan Si’er finished speaking, he noticed the teacher’s expression toward him seemed rather odd—no wait, this whole group seemed off somehow?

He touched his own face and asked the constable: “Is there something on my face?”

The constable shook his head repeatedly.

Guan Si’er laughed and asked the teacher: “Sir, I’m a straightforward person. Why does everyone look at me like this? Have I done something improper that’s offended you all?”

That would be quite rude of him.

Hearing this, the teacher finally recovered his composure and hastily apologized: “Ah, ah, yes, yes, truly rude of us, I hope my lord will forgive us. This old man is Gong Zhiyi of Fengwu Academy in Ningjiang. Because, great…” He stared intently at Guan Si’er’s face again, examining it. “This, this is difficult to explain. To be honest, it truly startled this old man—my lord, great, young lord, you look exactly like my second son…”

Guan Si’er, puzzled, leaned back on his small stool in surprise: “Oh? Is that so?”

The teacher stared intently at Guan Si’er, examining every detail this time without missing anything, and finally nodded with certainty: “Yes, it’s exactly so. My son is thirty-two this year, but my lord’s appearance, great, young lord’s appearance, is identical to how he looked at seventeen or eighteen.”

Guan Si’er didn’t believe this claim and could only smile and say: “Ah, is that so? What a coincidence then.”

This teacher had mentioned Ningjiang—hmm, Ningjiang, he did know of that place.

Ningjiang had two great academies, one called Hezhao, the other Fengwu. Of the two headmasters of these academies, aside from the one surnamed Zhao who was his enemy, he had also heard of the other’s great reputation. His Majesty had mentioned it, his teacher had brought it up, and the elder officials at court occasionally discussed it too—many court officials had come from Fengwu Academy, counting themselves as this man’s students.

Gong Zhiyi, courtesy name Rui’an, art name Fengchi Jushi, a great scholar of this age.

But how could he possibly look exactly like this man’s second son? Was this some kind of joke?

Privately skeptical, but not wishing to be rude to a renowned scholar of this era, Guan Si’er naturally maintained his courtesy.

Seeing that Guan Si’er clearly didn’t believe him, the honest Master Rui’an raised his voice: “If the young lord doesn’t believe me, tomorrow I’ll personally paint a portrait of my second son, and you’ll see for yourself!”

Lord was fine, but “young lord”?

Guan Si’er had no choice but to politely invite him to sit: “Please, sir, do sit. This junior naturally believes you, and sir, this junior already knew of your name—the one whose recommendation letters flew into the nine-tiered palace, Ningjiang’s foremost talent, Fengchi Jushi himself. Please, take the seat of honor.”

This line of poetry referred to events of the previous dynasty. Gong Rui’an had achieved fame young—according to the custom of official recommendation, starting at age thirteen, local officials, gentry, and village elders had repeatedly written letters of recommendation to the throne on his behalf, urging that Gong Fengchi be brought into court service, and the emperor of that time had also issued multiple edicts inviting him to serve at court.

But this Gong Rui’an wasn’t one obsessed with officialdom. His temperament, in His Majesty’s own words, was that of a rare, genuinely sincere and simple scholar who knew his own worth—an unpretentious scholar naturally pleased emperors.

Gong Rui’an understood he wasn’t suited to being an official, but was suited to teaching. He turned decisively and never entered court service.

At twenty, he became a teacher at Fengwu Academy, and after thirty years of teaching, he was now a renowned scholar with students scattered throughout the realm.

Seeing Guan Si’er, wearing such a face, praise him like this, Gong Rui’an felt something strangely stirring—inexplicably, he felt an ache in his chest, both sour and painful.

Twenty-two years ago he had inexplicably developed a heart ailment, but it hadn’t flared up in the past two years?

Gong Rui’an clutched his chest, thinking this flare-up felt strange, uncomfortable, yet somehow hearing this young lord admire him also brought an inexplicable joy.

He revealed a hint of embarrassment: “So, so you actually knew of me? How embarrassing, how embarrassing. This old man rarely comes down from the mountain, and as soon as I set foot on shore I’ve made a fool of myself, unable even to protect my own students. Truly, as the common saying goes, scholars are useless for anything—if not for my lord’s, young lord’s, intervention, today would have frightened my students terribly.”

He turned to look at his students, then earnestly explained to Guan Si’er: “Them being frightened is no matter, but what’s truly regrettable is that because of this incident, these young, spirited minds might now harbor prejudice against Lai County, against Yanjing, even against minor officials. Since they all aspire to careers in officialdom, this would be a real misfortune.”

This was indeed a good teacher.

Guan Si’er smiled genuinely this time and cupped his hands: “Sir speaks truly! This junior is Guan Si’er, serving as Imperial Guard of the Long Blade Corps and concurrently as sixth-rank secretary of the Ministry of War. Sir, please just call me by name—as for embarrassment, there’s no need to mention it. You are a scholar; wielding whips and blades on the battlefield is my duty, and the two shouldn’t be judged by the same standard.”

The two of them sat down, and Master Gong simply stared at Guan Si’er’s face.

Guan Si’er found this rather amusing and asked good-naturedly: “Really that similar?”

The students, who had long been eager to speak, all rushed forward, chattering:

“Really so similar!”

“Yes! Except for no beard, it’s just like him.”

“Your skin is fairer, more handsome than our second senior brother.”

“Similar in every way…”

The students were young too, and seeing this miraculous scene, naturally rushed to bear witness eagerly.

Guan Si’er also found it strange, but the world was vast and full of wonders—it wasn’t so strange that someone thousands of li away could look exactly like him.

So he laughed good-naturedly: “What’s so rare about that? I heard Little Sixth Lord in the palace tell old tales, saying the Classic of Mountains and Seas recorded over thirty strange lands, each with its own strange peoples—some with three eyes, some with human faces and fish bodies, some who could live even with a great hole in their chest. Now that the wars have ended, but scholars throughout the realm have grown sparse, the court thirsts for talent. You students, though young now, are at a good age for learning. Having met a renowned teacher who takes you traveling far and wide, once you’ve seen more of the world, seeing someone like me won’t seem strange at all—perhaps once you leave Yanjing, you’ll see a third, even a fourth person who looks just like your second senior brother.”

He was a proper court official, and even these students before him, should they later leap through the dragon gate to success and hold positions higher than his own, would still be his juniors when it came to seniority in his presence—and even their future examiners would surely be Guan Si’er’s colleagues.

This wasn’t like his days serving as a captain in the Tan family’s army—he had long since left that circle behind, and was now truly a sixth-rank secretary of a ministry. These students, not yet part of the official class, had to address themselves as students before him; if they hadn’t yet passed the county examination to become a licensed scholar, they weren’t even qualified to call themselves students.

Not to mention, Guan Si’er also held a nominal marquisate title.

Scholars always valued propriety and etiquette, and hearing the guiding, instructive tone in Guan Si’er’s words, they hurriedly stood properly, straightened their robes like their teacher, and bowed respectfully to Guan Si’er in unison: “We thank my lord for your guidance.”

Guan Si’er smiled and nodded, but didn’t stand, only gesturing with an open hand: “It’s not really guidance. I’m a rough man, but regarding today’s incident, I’ll say this much: it’s currently right after the autumn harvest, the busiest season of the year for county officials everywhere. A county office only has so many constables, and with Great Liang newly founded, the treasury still empty, the court is currently placing great emphasis on this autumn’s tax collection…”

Gong Rui’an sat to the side, watching this young lord who looked exactly like his own son speak eloquently, and somehow found himself inexplicably fond of him, his heart aching with affection.

He reached out, touching his sleeve where he kept a packet of preserved fruit he usually used to reward students. He wanted very much to say to this young lord, would you like some preserved fruit? It’s very sweet.

But after much deliberation, he ultimately felt too embarrassed to do so. He sat for a while, then, unable to hold back, carefully apologized before asking: “May I ask, where is the young lord’s hometown?”

Guan Si’er laughed and said quite casually: “Sir asks in vain on this one. All of Yanjing knows that we brothers of the Long Blade Corps were all born as bonded servants. I have no memory of my parents from as far back as I can remember, nor do I remember where my hometown is. That I’ve achieved anything today is merely thanks to some rough skills, risking my life in service to the court—that’s how I’ve arrived where I am now.”

Hearing this, Master Rui’an clutched his chest and apologized: “Then this was my indiscretion in speaking. I hope the young lord won’t hold it against me.”

How could Guan Si’er hold it against him? Shaking his head with a smile to show he wasn’t offended, as if compelled by fate he asked one more question: “Sir, since you’re from Ningjiang, might you know Zhao Changxi of Hezhao Academy?”

He shouldn’t have asked—the moment he did, the atmosphere around them turned strange.

After a long pause, Master Rui’an finally, hesitantly, carefully asked: “So… young lord, do you know Dongjin?”

Dongjin was Zhao Changxi’s courtesy name.

Guan Si’er immediately shook his head, his tone quite certain: “Of course I don’t know him! It’s just that since both gentlemen are renowned scholars of Ningjiang, this junior couldn’t help but ask.”

Hearing this, everyone around let out a collective sigh of relief.

In fact, there was a piece of unmentionable history between Ningjiang’s two great academies and their two headmasters. Master Rui’an actually came from a merchant family background. Naturally intelligent with an excellent memory and the ability to draw inferences, he was born to be a scholar.

Later, his father, afraid of holding him back, paid a great price to send him to study at the prestigious Zhao family’s school, and from there began a rivalry over who ranked first or second that would last for what felt like a million years.

That Zhao Dongjin was also a good student, but could never surpass Master Rui’an, forever ranked second by a hundred-year margin.

Later, these two fellow disciples both entered the old Fengwu Academy of the previous dynasty together, studying under the same old headmaster… Later, Master Rui’an refused an official position, and after passing the imperial examination to become a provincial graduate, returned to the academy to succeed as headmaster… his fellow disciple became headmaster of the rival Hezhao Academy on the opposite mountain.

From that time on, Headmaster Zhao of the opposite mountain carried a lifetime of resentment, insisting on competing for first place with Fengwu in everything. The students of Ningjiang’s two academies found this a constant headache—truly an unwarranted misfortune.

Of course, this rivalry was one-sided, waged only by Zhao Dongjin. Master Rui’an, by nature genuinely sincere and rather slow to notice such things, cared only about reading and scholarship. When people asked him, “How did you upset Dongjin again recently?” he would respond with a puzzled expression, “Huh? Did that happen? How come I don’t know about it?”

This only made the headmaster on the opposite mountain angrier.

Guan Si’er found this strange but had no intention of inquiring further.

He wasn’t one for excessive chatter, so he maintained a polite smile until the Lai County magistrate arrived, sweating profusely. Only then did he formally hand over the matter to the man—since he had apprehended these people, he needed to complete the proper procedures with the local authority.

The Lai County magistrate was having a terrible day—his administrative oversight had led to this failure, with law and order in his jurisdiction in complete disarray. First his subordinates had been derelict in duty, then scoundrels had robbed a renowned scholar—one who would soon be lecturing the Emperor and princes at the Imperial Academy no less—and now he’d been caught red-handed by a colleague.

Worst of all, this meddling colleague was practically one step away from the Emperor, seeing him daily. Even if the colleague said nothing more, how far was this place from Yanjing anyway? What was the Censorate even for?

Furious inside, the magistrate took the hooligans back with him and gave them another thorough beating. From then on, Lai County dock miraculously settled down and remained peaceful.

Guan Si’er didn’t care what the local magistrate thought. Having finished handling matters, he mounted his horse to leave, but Gong Rui’an came running over and stood in front of the horse.

A man in his sixties, yet acting without any regard for his age, he blocked the horse’s path, gazing at Guan Si’er infatuated, and finally said with complete sincerity: “Thank you, young lord, for your rescue today. In a few days, this old man will be lecturing at the Imperial Academy—if you have free time, I’ll, I’ll… no! This old man shall come to your door to express my thanks properly! I must come to thank you in person!”

Guan Si’er laughed, cupped his hands and nodded at him, then without another word, whipped his horse and rode away.

He didn’t see that not long after he left, Master Rui’an clutched his chest, feeling as if his heart were being cut with a knife.

Starting from when the teacher began feeling unwell, Guan Si’er, inexplicably, also began clutching his chest in discomfort while on horseback.

Not until Guan Si’er had disappeared from sight did Master Rui’an’s old steward come to support him, saying: “My lord, your heart ailment hasn’t flared up in two years. This must be due to today’s shock.”

Master Rui’an, supported by his hand, gazed into the distance for a long while before murmuring: “I don’t know why, but ever since I saw that young lord, my heart has ached as if broken into eight pieces—no, into countless pieces…”

After saying this, tears suddenly streamed down his face, and he slowly crouched to the ground, inexplicably beginning to weep.

Guan Si’er returned to Yanjing, clutching his chest as he entered the princely residence.

He had no wife, and didn’t return to the guard quarters either—if he wasn’t going to the office, he would simply, as a matter of course, stay at his elder brother’s house. After all, his brother’s household was large enough, and he’d simply claim a courtyard for himself, announcing he’d be living there from now on. As the youngest, not a single person in the family dared object.

Once home, he had just changed clothes when someone came to invite him to dine at Pengyue Pavilion. So Guan Si’er, still clutching his chest, made his way to Pengyue Pavilion.

Pengyue Pavilion was the most elegantly scenic courtyard in the princely residence, with rippling water and moon-catching, breeze-embracing views.

Oh right, now that their family was wealthy, they no longer said “eating a meal”—they called it “dining.”

Seeing Guan Si’er enter clutching his chest for the meal, Master She teased with a smile: “Little Seven is missing his wife so much already? She’s barely left and you’re already heartsick like this?”

Guan Si’er sat down, and it took him a good while to realize what the teacher was joking about. He immediately flushed red, took a breath to try to explain, but his heart only ached more.

His breathing grew increasingly tight, and then he found himself unable to catch his breath from the pain.

Qiqian’er, who had been making shoes off to the side, saw Little Seven’s complexion turn wrong, and immediately dropped what she was doing and cried out: “Someone, quick, something’s wrong with Little Seven!”

The whole household immediately sprang into chaotic action.

Everyone hurriedly helped Guan Si’er onto a couch, while the teacher sent someone to fetch an imperial physician from the palace.

By the time the physician arrived at the princely residence, sweating profusely, he entered the courtyard just in time to hear that little troublemaker saying to a group of old blade-brothers: “Well, would you look at that, we never noticed before—our Little Seven’s quite the romantic, isn’t he?”

Everyone nodded in unison, and from inside the room came a vigorous voice shouting: “Brother! I already told you it’s not that!”

The physician wiped the sweat from his brow, thinking, this doesn’t sound like a heart ailment at all.

But when he entered the room, he saw that legendary Young Lord Seven, his face deathly pale, half-reclining on the couch clutching his chest, with beads of sweat the size of peas rolling down his forehead.

The physician didn’t dare waste words and hurried forward to check his pulse, only to find the pulse beating strong and steady, with heart, liver, spleen, lungs, and kidneys all in perfect condition.

So he carefully asked: “Young, Young Lord Seven, could you tell this humble physician what kind of pain this heart pain is?”

Guan Si’er was equally baffled himself—he didn’t feel weak in body, yet everything felt so inexplicable.

He sat there clutching his chest and said: “It’s, it’s hard to describe. It just feels like my heart is being cut with a knife…”

Before he could finish, from outside the room came Chen Dasheng’s teasing voice: “Well, that settles it then, no cure for this one—lovesickness, this must be lovesickness! Might have to send him off to recuperate somewhere remote to recover…”

Hearing this, Guan Si’er found himself inexplicably wanting to laugh, yet this ache in his heart truly did feel like being cut with a knife—not a physical pain, but some inexplicable sensation he had never experienced before, so stifling he wanted to bury his face in someone’s embrace and weep, yet had no one to lean on, an aggrieved pain beyond measure.

Inexplicably, he reached up to wipe his face, and startled himself, saying: “Brother—come look, why am I crying?”

But he didn’t know that at the post station in Lai County, Master Rui’an had also spent the whole night aching in his heart, sending for three physicians from the county at once, only managing to fall asleep after taking two bowls of sleep-inducing medicine.

Nor did he know that this same night, a thousand li away on Fengwu Mountain, a woman woke from her sleep, ran barefoot into the courtyard, searching all around. When her young daughter came to comfort her, she grabbed her hand, tears covering her face, and said: “A’Mao, I dreamed of your little brother in King Yama’s realm, holding a grand official position, riding a tall horse, and he looked exactly like your second brother…”