Outside, the selection of consorts was creating quite a stir, but within the palace, the real excitement only began today.

Early in the morning, Steward An’bao had people making preparations before the hall.

Today was the literary examination.

Aside from the Emperor and Steward An’bao, no one was said to know the examination topic.

Not even Feng Jiu’er knew.

“This literary test—why is it run just like the imperial civil examinations?”

Feng Jiu’er had no idea where she’d even heard the term “imperial civil examinations.”

Her head was simply full of all sorts of strange knowledge whose source she couldn’t trace.

Feng Jiang had been by her side since early morning, watching the rows of tables and chairs before the hall, his face expressionless.

Jian Yi had been somewhat restless these past two days.

He’d already been in the palace for several days now, and more than once had wanted to break out.

He wanted to go back and check on Mu Mu and the Ninth Prince and the others, not knowing how they were faring.

But each time, Jiu’er had talked him out of it.

Now wasn’t the best time to leave—better to give everyone a little more time to recover.

The Ninth Prince had suffered the worst injuries. Without help from a peerless master, he might need a very long time before he could fight again.

As for the others, like Sister Xue and Qiao Mu, they only needed proper care and rest to recover quickly.

Those trained in martial arts naturally had far sturdier constitutions than ordinary people.

What they needed now was simply time to recuperate in peace.

Jian Yi had no choice but to listen to her and remain in the palace.

As the sun rose, the candidates who had come for the literary examination filed in one by one, led by the guards.

“Jiu’er, see if there’s any man among them you fancy. If so, you may break the rules and keep him by your side.”

Feng Qiongcang sat upon his high jade throne, looking down at the men below, smiling.

Feng Jiu’er looked down at the crowd—so many people, so many figures, and at such a distance, what could she possibly make out?

Besides, they were all strangers she didn’t know. At most, she could only judge by appearance.

Could she really be so shallow as to like someone just from looking at their face?

No—she refused that notion!

She, Feng Jiu’er, was a woman of depth, of ideals, of ambition, of…

“Him!”

Suddenly, Jiu’er stood up, her eyes fixed unwaveringly on a tall, slender figure below.

He wore a robe of pure white, his ink-black hair stirring gently in the wind.

His features were cold and deep, the lines of his face sharply, distinctly drawn.

His tall, broad frame stood firm against the breeze, his sleeves fluttering—in one instant he seemed a figure of unmatched, radiant grace; in the next, an iron-willed, unbending presence.

Looking at this man, one simply couldn’t tell which type he belonged to.

Was he an otherworldly, transcendent being untouched by earthly cares? Or someone who could stand tall and rival the sun and moon themselves?

Jiu’er couldn’t see through him—but there was one thing she saw with perfect, total clarity.

That he was incredibly handsome! Stunning! Beautiful! Captivating!

That day, when she’d seen him lying unconscious, she had already known this man possessed looks capable of overturning a city.

Today, awake, his deep eyes carrying an enigmatic gleam—this was no longer merely city-overturning. It was nation-overturning! World-overturning!

So good-looking it left her utterly without composure!

Feng Jiu’er stood beside Feng Qiongcang, gazing at the stunning white-robed man below, completely lost in the sight.

Not far off, Jian Yi let out a huff, genuinely a little embarrassed to have come out here on instinct, following her.

Who was it that had said, on the way out the door, that choosing consorts was just about humoring Father Emperor, putting on a show for appearances?

Now, seeing the Ninth Prince, this girl had clearly lost her soul along with her composure.

This girl was doomed to fall, irrecoverably, for Zhan Qingcheng—no hope of turning back now.

Still, as for the Ninth Prince himself…

Even Jian Yi had to admit he’d never seen a man so good-looking.

Even being a man himself, he couldn’t help but glance a second time.

So if even he felt that way, how could this shallow little fool Feng Jiu’er not be utterly entranced?

While Feng Jiu’er stared at the man below, most of the men below who’d come for the selection were also looking up at her.

Though the distance was considerable, those with sharp eyesight could see her clearly enough.

Red lips, white teeth, a slender figure—her features were even finer than most had imagined.

It was true, then, that the Feng imperial family produced nothing but handsome men and beautiful women.

This little imperial princess truly was as lovely as a celestial being!

The candidates settled into their seats—over a hundred of them, all sitting properly and respectfully.

Even knowing the examination topic lay right there beneath their writing boards, none dared touch it before the Emperor gave the word.

Steward An’bao leaned close to Feng Qiongcang and said quietly, “Your Majesty, it’s nearly time.”

Feng Qiongcang, however, was only watching Feng Jiu’er, seeing how entranced she was as she stared below, lost in thought.

After a moment, Feng Qiongcang waved his hand.

An’bao immediately called out loudly toward the candidates, “The examination begins! You have the time it takes for one stick of incense to burn!”

The men before the hall immediately reached beneath their writing boards and drew out the papers bearing the examination topic.

Zhan Qingcheng, too, drew out his paper without any haste.

The topic was deceptively simple: If the Princess were to govern the realm, how should her Sovereign Consort assist her?

The Sovereign Consort was the foremost among all consorts—equivalent to an empress of a nation.

After reading the topic, some candidates paused briefly to think, while others set to writing at once.

The shallower answers simply described how they would assist the princess in governing the realm.

Those who thought a bit deeper made sure to flatter the Emperor as well, suggesting the princess should heed the Retired Emperor’s counsel and govern alongside him.

Zhan Qingcheng did not set pen to paper, yet he didn’t appear to be thinking either.

His indifferent gaze swept past everyone else and settled on Feng Jiu’er.

Jiu’er felt her face grow hot. Despite the distance between them, under his gaze she felt as though there were nowhere to hide.

The moment their eyes met, she clenched her fists and quickly lowered her head.

She didn’t quite dare to meet his gaze directly.

Goodness—she always felt, in his presence, an inborn sense of submissiveness. What was going on with that?

Honestly, wasn’t she supposed to be the lofty princess here?

She wanted to lift her chin and show some pride.

But the moment she raised her head, she found him still gazing at her from afar.

That was it—even the courage to lift her head deserted her.

“Jiu’er.” Beside her, Feng Qiongcang could hardly stand to watch any longer. This girl couldn’t even look at a man directly.

Her foolish expression genuinely embarrassed him a little, as her father.

But as for Zhan Qingcheng…

Though no one had introduced this man’s identity to Feng Qiongcang, he had already decided that this man must be the War God, the Ninth Prince of the Bei Mu nation.

Today the man carried no trace of a martial artist’s aura about him, and yet that noble, dignified bearing was something no disguise could hide.

A dragon among men—composed, yet impossible to overlook.

Even the palace maids all stared with wide, fixed eyes; it was no wonder his own Jiu’er didn’t even dare breathe too loudly.

Yet no one could guess how this Ninth Prince would answer today’s examination question.

More than half the incense stick had already burned away, and the Ninth Prince still simply gazed calmly at the princess, not a single character written.

Wasn’t he worried about running out of time before he finished?