Zhang Zhixu generally had an average appetite at the best of times, and with a serious injury, he should by rights have had even less. But perhaps it was because the food Zhang Yuanchu had made was genuinely delicious — he actually ate a full bowl of rice, and afterward even got out of bed to take a walk in the garden with him.

“I want a swing.” Fengqing pointed at the large tree in the courtyard. “Hung right there, on that branch.”

What need was there for a swing — that was a child’s plaything.

Zhang Yuanchu grumbled inwardly, but his face remained thoroughly warm and kind. He even instructed his attendants to fetch wooden planks and rope, and with his own hands set about making one and hanging it up.

The swing had to be sturdy, and it had to look nice. Zhang Yuanchu put in considerable effort — polishing the seat board alone took him a full hour.

“Done.” He surveyed his handiwork with satisfaction.

Fengqing stood beside him watching as well, gave a quiet sound of acknowledgement — but did not sit on it.

“I have a detailed brushwork class this afternoon, with a small examination.” He said. “If Father is not too busy, he could come and collect me.”

Busy — of course Zhang Yuanchu was busy; the fire was practically at his eyebrows. He had absolutely no time to go and collect him after class.

But Chen Baoxiang was staring at the back of his head with an ominous look.

Zhang Yuanchu drew a deep breath and nodded with a smile: “Of course.”

By now, Zhang Zhixu actually had no more need to attend small examinations. Detailed brushwork painting and such things had always been merely embellishments on top of existing achievements; besides, he had long since completed his training. But he went nonetheless — not only participated in the small examination, but took first place.

When he emerged from the painting studio, amid the crowd of people waiting to collect their students, he looked around — and this time, at last, he found his father.

Zhang Yuanchu was somewhat impatient, but the moment he caught sight of him, his face still broke into that warm and kindly smile: “Fengqing, come, let us go home.”

He walked slowly to his father’s side and handed him the scroll he had painted himself.

“There is no need to come again.” Zhang Zhixu said quietly. “I will explain things to the Marquis Chen. The things Father never gave me in the past — today, they have been settled.”

Zhang Yuanchu had actually been feeling rather irritable. He had no need for Chen Baoxiang to instruct him on how to love his own son — he had raised Fengqing for twenty years, and no one had the right to find fault with his painstaking efforts.

But when he heard Fengqing say these words, he was struck motionless all the same.

So this child had known everything all along.

He said to himself — he had known something was off with his own behavior today; how could Fengqing possibly have accepted it so readily? A father and son ought to interact in the way that a father and son should — what did a woman know about these things —

He opened the scroll in his hands, and saw what Zhang Fengqing had painted.

A vast and heavy mountain, soaring to blot out the sky, majestic and imposing.

Zhang Fengqing had already walked far away. Zhang Yuanchu stared at the scroll for a long while, then asked the attendant beside him: “This painting is titled ‘Father’s Love’ — isn’t that the expression ‘a father’s love is like a mountain’?”

The attendant looked more closely at what lay beneath the mountain.

A large pangolin was holding up this mountain, about to deliver it as a gift to a small, frail little pangolin.

“It… it would seem so.” The attendant said. “What else could ‘Father’s Love’ be?”

Zhang Zhixu had not waited to hear the exchange that followed. He boarded his carriage and was back at the marquis estate in no time.

Chen Baoxiang was planting vegetables in the back courtyard when she was suddenly caught up around the waist and lifted.

“Hey — your back injury.” She widened her eyes.

Zhang Zhixu paid that no mind. He carried her to the covered walkway by the side, pressed her against the wall in the corner, and without a word tilted his head and kissed her.

Chen Baoxiang’s eyes opened slightly, then — as if realizing something — she closed them and reached up to embrace him in return.

After quite some time, Zhang Zhixu finally released her, and asked a single question: “How did you convince him?”

“Convincing people — that’s what you scholars do.” She said, with great pride. “I just threatened him directly!”

“…Thank you.”

“But I had arranged everything so seamlessly — how did you figure it out?”

“A slip of paper that had been soaked with soup fell onto my bed.”

Chen Baoxiang: “…”

Truly — Zhang Yuanchu held Zhang Zhixu to such exacting standards at all times, yet when he himself had to get things done, how was he always making blunders like this?

She silently cursed him up and down without making a sound, then smiled: “If you feel this time wasn’t good enough, I’ll have Han Xiao revise the lines.”

“No need.” Zhang Zhixu said. “Keeping little contact with him is better — for you, for me, and for him.”

The Zhang family now was like a barren mountain — no one would want to plant trees on it again. But some of the fine timber still remaining on the mountain was something His Majesty wished to make use of. So long as the mountain showed no signs of coming back to life, His Majesty would naturally have no reason to level it entirely.

And so he — someone who could whisper words of influence into the Marquis Chen’s ear — ought to remain settled and proper. He could not allow the Zhang family to use him as a lever to repeatedly extract favors from Chen Baoxiang, nor could he allow his existence as a channel to cause other members of the family to pile all their hopes onto Zhang Yuanchu.

After all — who would enjoy hauling a mountain around for no reason?

·

The new Emperor was benevolent — she had punished only the corrupt court officials, without implicating any of the scholars. Even those who had been caught cheating in the examination hall were only detained for two days before being released, and would still be eligible to sit for the examinations the following year.

Some veteran ministers said this approach was improper — anyone caught cheating should be barred from the examinations permanently.

But Li Bingsheng sat high on the dragon throne and looked out at those below her, and what she said was: “The world being as it is — what fault is it of the scholars? So long as those above who oversee education are clean, those below who devote themselves to learning will naturally follow suit and become clean.”

“Going forward, should any such incident occur again, We shall hold only the officials accountable — not the students.”

Chen Baoxiang listened, her eyes shining with light.

To encounter an Emperor like His Majesty — her luck was truly extraordinary.

Admittedly, Li Bingsheng was not a perfect person. She had done things that were not right, and there was darkness behind her light. But it was unreasonable to hold an emperor to the standards of a sage, and Chen Baoxiang was truly glad that in the end, the person seated above was her.

Li Bingsheng was at that moment scanning the assembled ministers below with a look of stern gravity, trying to use the weight of her authority to keep the little schemes turning in their hearts in check.

But when she glanced to one side, she caught sight of Chen Baoxiang’s clear and brilliant eyes.

This person was looking at her with utter admiration, and though she said nothing, it was as if Li Bingsheng could hear a whole string of her praises — rapid and fluid, bright as jade beads rolling across a plate.

Li Bingsheng rubbed her forehead with a touch of amusement.

Just yesterday she had seen Zhang Zhixu and laughed at him for always falling for Chen Baoxiang’s flattery — yet now that it was her own turn, she found she apparently couldn’t escape it either.

“Chen Baoxiang.”

“This subject is here.”

“The spring examination results are about to be posted. Take some people with you to keep watch.” She said. “See that no disturbances arise.”

“This subject obeys.”

In previous years, the posting of spring examination results had always brought some kind of trouble — either scholars refusing to accept the results and denouncing classmates for cheating on the spot, or names on the golden list being replaced by others, sparking outrage and clamor from ordinary scholars.

But this year seemed rather different.

Once the golden list was posted, scholars crowded around to look, some dejected and regretful, others shouting with wild joy.

But Chen Baoxiang kept watch nearby for a full hour and saw no one making any trouble.

In the distance, someone seemed to have found their own name on the list — a group of young women gathered around her and let out a cry.

Chen Baoxiang’s attention was drawn by the sound, and she had barely turned her head when she saw a pale blue skirt sweep upward — and Lin Manyue came charging out of the crowd, flinging herself into her arms in a full embrace.

“Teacher!” She held on tightly, so overcome with excitement she could barely form words.

Chen Baoxiang’s eyes widened slightly.

On the golden list across from them, the name Lin Manyue stood high — seventh place in the second tier.

She let out a sound of genuine astonishment, released her sword belt and caught her with a pat: “That is remarkable.”

“Thank you — truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.” The person in her arms sobbed and wept, tears and everything else flowing freely. “I thought I would never have a chance in this lifetime.”

The corners of Chen Baoxiang’s eyes curved upward in a smile. She patted her and offered words of comfort: “Starting from you, those who come after will have more and more opportunities.”