Feng Jiu’er had no idea what Zhan Qingcheng was doing.

The incense stick was nearly burned through, and he still showed no sign of picking up his brush.

Just staring at her like this—what did it mean?

Could it be that this Ninth Prince only knew how to lead troops into battle, and couldn’t read or write?

But with that immortal-like bearing and air about him, surely it would be far too inconsistent with his presence for him to be illiterate?

Besides, if he couldn’t read, how could he possibly have passed the earlier rounds to reach the hall today?

No—a man with looks like an immortal couldn’t possibly be illiterate. He simply chose not to answer.

But why?

Jiu’er truly couldn’t make sense of it.

She glanced sideways at the incense stick in the distance—it really was nearly burned out.

Below, Zhan Qingcheng remained calm, unhurried, quietly at ease.

By now, even Jian Yi couldn’t help growing anxious on his behalf.

After all, he didn’t really know the Ninth Prince well, nor how much this military man actually understood about governing a state.

In truth, everyone said he possessed extraordinary talent and bold strategy, but it was always applied on the battlefield.

As for statecraft, no one had ever spoken of any particular skill there.

He was simply the War God Prince—his accomplishments and reputation all belonged to the battlefield.

Governing the realm wasn’t really his arena.

So how would Zhan Qingcheng answer? Could it be he simply didn’t know how?

Not only Jian Yi and Feng Jiu’er, but even Feng Qiongcang, seated upon his jade throne, couldn’t help narrowing his eyes.

What exactly did this Ninth Prince of Bei Mu mean by this?

The incense stick was finally nearing its very end.

It was at this moment that the figure in plain white below finally stirred.

The instant Zhan Qingcheng picked up his brush, everyone watching him let out a breath of relief.

But no sooner had that breath escaped than their hearts leapt right back into their throats.

There was no time left—how could he possibly answer now?

Even if he wrote as swiftly as a sword dance, it surely wouldn’t be enough time.

Zhan Qingcheng’s brush moved swiftly and decisively—in the blink of an eye, he set it down again.

The very moment he put down his brush, the last bit of ash fell from the incense stick.

Time was up!

Feng Qiongcang beckoned, and An’bao leaned in close as he asked quietly, “Your Majesty?”

Feng Qiongcang murmured something in his ear; An’bao nodded and had the young eunuchs begin collecting everyone’s answer sheets.

After that, Feng Qiongcang rose to his feet.

An’bao called out shrilly at once, “His Majesty departs!”

Feng Jiu’er, however, remained sitting in a daze, still staring at the white-robed man below.

“Jiu’er?” Feng Qiongcang said.

Feng Jiu’er snapped back to herself and quickly stood, following behind him.

The examination was complete; it wouldn’t do for her to linger here.

After all, as the princess, she ought to walk ahead of everyone else.

Still, she felt a little reluctant to leave…

At last, both the Emperor and the Princess departed.

But the men who had come for the selection remained before the hall, awaiting the results.

Of course, those results would not come out anytime soon.

Among these men, some might one day become consorts—or perhaps even the Sovereign Consort.

So An’bao had the maids and eunuchs attend to everyone well, sparing no courtesy.

As for Feng Qiongcang, once he returned, he immediately had everyone’s written answers brought to him.

Jiu’er was anxious—or rather, deeply curious.

Yet Feng Qiongcang, as though entirely unable to read her thoughts, went through the papers one by one at his own unhurried pace.

“Look at this—this man’s writing flows like flowing water, brilliant and accomplished. Just for this alone, it’s quite impressive.”

Feng Qiongcang picked up one man’s essay and showed it to Feng Jiu’er. “Jiu’er, this man is called Murong Nan. Did you take any notice of him?”

Feng Jiu’er shook her head. Who on earth was Murong Nan?

In truth, among everyone who’d come today, she had only paid attention to one person: Zhan Qingcheng.

In fact, when the candidates had entered, they’d all been seated according to assigned positions.

Both Feng Qiongcang and Jiu’er held a seating chart in hand.

Every position on the chart came with an introduction of who sat there.

So if Feng Jiu’er had taken a liking to anyone, she only needed to match the position on the chart to learn the man’s name and background.

For Zhan Qingcheng’s entry, there was no background description listed at all. No one knew how he’d managed to pass the earlier rounds and make it to the hall.

For the examiners to give high marks to a man of completely unknown origin was no small thing.

“Then this one, Qin Biming…”

“Didn’t notice him.”

“He sat to the Princess’s lower left, second seat down.”

An’bao said brightly at once, “This is General Qin’s eldest son, his legitimate heir—bound to become a formidable warrior on the battlefield himself one day.”

“Then he’s bound to be coarse and unbearably ugly—no thanks!” Jiu’er said immediately.

“This… young Master Qin is actually quite handsome, not coarse at all,” An’bao said hurriedly.

“And he’ll be off on campaigns all the time—I’d barely see him a few times a year. What good is that?”

At this, An’bao found himself at a loss for words.

But then again, even in the late Emperor’s time, some of his own consorts had been generals!

“Princess, this…”

“He’s just so ugly, no thanks!” Jiu’er waved a hand, clearly out of patience.

An’bao glanced at Feng Qiongcang, who waved the matter off.

An’bao lowered his head and said nothing more.

Feng Qiongcang set down the paper in his hand and looked at Jiu’er. “Then why don’t you tell me—exactly whose son have you taken a liking to?”

Jiu’er pursed her lips but said nothing.

She seemed just a touch uneasy—was that… bashfulness?

Feng Qiongcang smiled faintly and drew out, from among the many essays, the one bearing the three characters: Zhan Qingcheng.

But the moment he saw what was written on it, his brow furrowed sharply.

“Zhan Qingcheng…”

“Hm?” Jiu’er startled, leaping to her feet at once, moving to look.

Feng Qiongcang looked at her, and only then did Jiu’er realize how unseemly her reaction had been—she ought to sit back down properly. And yet, unwilling to let it go, she still wanted to see for herself.

In the end, she simply gave in.

“Father, I’m curious about this man—what exactly did he write?”

“Since you’re so curious, why not come see for yourself?” Feng Qiongcang set the answer sheet down on the table.

Feng Jiu’er could no longer hold back and walked quickly over.

One glance, and even she was struck speechless.

“The inner palace… shall not meddle in government affairs?”

This… how could this possibly be Zhan Qingcheng’s answer?

He was a prince of the highest standing, said to be a prince who made enemies tremble in fear on the battlefield!

Jian Yi had even said he held half the military strength of the Bei Mu nation in his hands!

A man so lofty, so coldly proud and peerless, and so devastatingly handsome that he could topple kingdoms—and he had written… that the inner palace should not meddle in government affairs?

How strange, how bizarre, how… well, why did it feel like being doused in cold water?

This cold joke wasn’t even remotely funny.

What on earth was he thinking?

Feng Qiongcang’s brow knit tight, and like Feng Jiu’er, he too pondered exactly what Zhan Qingcheng’s words might mean.

It seemed, on the surface at least, to mean exactly what it said.

But could such words really have come from the mouth of a War God Prince?