Prime Minister Wang Yang had lost his uncle and a key subordinate in one fell swoop, and his mood was abysmal.

If his uncle deserved to die, Prefect Song’s death had been a necessity. Had the Dali Temple unearthed the records of Song’s money-and-power schemes with the Prime Minister, the repercussions would have led directly to Wang Yang himself. Although he was the one who ordered the hit on his uncle’s family in prison, he had been forced into a corner—only with the dead silent in their cells could the trail of evidence end. As for the real culprit behind his uncle’s downfall, it was the Crown Prince and those three men who had burst into the farewell banquet to lodge their complaints.

He could not strike back at the Prince; in fact, he had to send gifts to the Eastern Palace to apologize, all while swallowing the humiliation of his son being mocked. But as for those three men who had denounced his uncle, if he let them go, he might as well resign as Prime Minister. So, Wang Yang sent men to investigate, and once he had their portraits, he summoned a group of assassins.

He threw the portraits on the ground and said coldly: “I want you to bring me their heads. One hundred gold taels for each, but if they live, you won’t keep your own heads.”

The assassins had barely left the city with the portraits when they were intercepted by Yan Huai and Yunsheng working together. Just as Wang Yang had finished setting his mood to spend the evening with his newly acquired concubine, he heard his steward frantically pounding on the door: “Prime Minister! Prime Minister! Open up, Prime Minister!”

He had just removed his robes and had to put them back on impatiently. The concubine opened the door, and the steward scrambled in, tumbling on the floor: “Prime Minister… outside… outside…” He gasped for air, unable to finish his sentence.

Wang Yang tightened his belt, his expression grim: “What is going on?”

“Those assassins… the assassins…”

“What about them?” Weren’t they already sent out?

When Wang Yang’s patience wore thin, the steward finally managed to stammer, “The assassins… they’ve been brought back!”

“What?” Wang Yang’s pupils dilated. Brought back? By whom?!

As he prepared to step outside, several figures bound in rope were kicked into the room. One, then two, then three—his eyes widened in horror to see that these bound figures were exactly the assassins he had just sent to Yongcheng County. They all lay on the floor, groaning in pain.

Then, two men appeared at the doorway and stopped.

Wang Yang, fully dressed, looked up and recognized them instantly. He understood everything in a flash. A flash of lethal rage crossed his eyes, but he suppressed it, speaking calmly: “What is the meaning of this, Duke Yan, Guard Yunsheng?”

Yan Huai kept a cold face, afraid that if he spoke, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from cursing the old villain. Yunsheng, however, spoke with a smile: “Nothing special. The Duke and I were out strolling when we stumbled upon a group of suspicious men trying to sneak away from the Prime Minister’s residence. Thinking it strange, we intercepted them. After some questioning, we learned they were thieves who had stolen property from your estate, so we’ve kindly returned them to you.”

This was merely a thin veil of polite discourse; both parties knew exactly what had happened. Wang Yang gritted his teeth. Having weathered many storms, he quickly adjusted his state and put on a smile: “Is that so? I thank the Duke and the Guard for their trouble.”

“Not at all, not at all,” Yunsheng continued, still smiling. “Protecting the peace of our Long Dynasty is our duty.” He glanced at the assassins on the floor. “The Prime Minister should really strengthen the security of his manor. A dignified residence like this being robbed by a few thieves—if word gets out, it will be a laughingstock. If this happens again, we won’t be returning them to your manor; we’ll be sending them to the Capital Prefecture.”

Wang Yang nodded: “That is sound logic. I shall see to it that the guards are strengthened.”

“In that case, the Duke and I shall take our leave. The Prince is waiting for our report.”

Wang Yang watched his steward—who was still trembling with fear—escort the two out. Once their backs disappeared, his expression could no longer be contained; it contorted into something truly vicious.

“Good! Very good indeed!”

In a fit of rage, he swept the tea set off the table, his hands trembling as he gripped the wood, his eyes nearly bursting from their sockets. The beautiful new concubine huddled in a corner, her shoulders shaking in terror. “Pri… Prime Minister…”

The two men who had left the Prime Minister’s residence were headed toward the palace.

Yan Huai finally let out a breath: “I didn’t expect the Prince to predict this. The Prime Minister really did target innocent civilians. If you hadn’t spoken up just now, I surely would have cursed that old villain to his face.”

Yunsheng chuckled: “The Duke is a man who cannot tolerate injustice. The Prince knew that with you there, the Prime Minister wouldn’t dare act recklessly, which is why he asked you to accompany me.”

When word arrived that the Wang family and Prefect Song had committed suicide, the Prince had immediately provided Yunsheng with a squad of Eastern Palace guards, ordering him to monitor the Prime Minister’s residence and detain anyone acting suspiciously—because they were likely assassins sent by Wang Yang. Reality proved him right. This had to be handled quietly and away from public eyes; after this warning, the Prime Minister would not dare send assassins to Yongcheng County again, lest he hand the Prince more leverage.

Candlelight flickered; the New Year had arrived. After Ji Linxi finished the New Year’s Eve dinner with the History master’s family, Madam Qi invited him to join them in watching the lion dance, setting off fireworks, flying sky lanterns, and strolling through the market.

Ji Linxi wanted to go, but he knew the outing would consume time and physical strength, leading him to wake up late the next day. The academy was reopening soon, and the county exams were looming. If he failed those, the imperial examinations would be out of reach. So, he gritted his teeth and declined, saying he would stay behind to study and practice calligraphy.

Madam Qi was filled with admiration for his tenacity. She could already foresee that this man would surely achieve great things. Huai Xiuyong was clearly satisfied, nodding: “Then stay here and study. Remember to practice your handwriting; that script of yours is really…” He paused, struggling to find words: “If you sprinkled grain on the floor, a chicken pecking at it would write better than you.”

Ji Linxi bowed: “Student understands. I will practice with all my heart.”

Once the master and his family were gone, Ji Linxi returned to his room, lit a candle, threw on a cloak, and set his copybooks on the table, burying himself in his work, tracing the characters over and over.

Calligraphy was harder than reading. In the biting wind, he had to keep his hand steady—if it shook, the character was ruined. He gritted his teeth, supporting his writing wrist with his other hand, drawing each stroke carefully. Outside, the moon hung high. He needed the cold air to keep his mind sharp, but eventually, he fell into such a state of hypothermia he didn’t even notice. At some point, he looked up and realized the scene had changed.

Outside was no longer a snowy courtyard, but a luxurious mansion with rockeries and pavilions. The corridors were filled with wind chimes swaying in the breeze. He was no longer in a cramped room but a grand estate. Looking down, he saw himself wearing the crimson robes of a top scholar (Zhuangyuan), wearing the scholar’s cap. How magnificent.

“Xi-lang…” A soft, gentle call came from behind him.

Ji Linxi turned. His beloved Beautiful Young Master stood nearby, with black hair, fair skin, and eyes filled with a soul-stirring, unspoken affection. The Young Master had no annoying people around him—no old slaves, no Duke Yan. His amber pupils reflected only Ji Linxi.

“I have waited for you a long time.”

“I have always been waiting for you.”

“You finally passed as the top scholar and came to me.”

“I… I have arrived!” He stumbled toward his beloved, his pace quickening until he was almost running, pulling the man into his arms. “I won the top rank… I came to find you!”

“I knew you would come, Xi-lang.”

“Of course I would.” He said with immense excitement. Reaching out, he didn’t realize that in this hallucination, his hands had become smooth and soft. He caressed the Young Master’s face, his gaze falling on those soft, peach-petal lips, and kissed him with a foolish, doting smile.

I came here for you, after all.

Thud. A heavy body hit the ground.

In the early morning, a ray of sunlight spilled in through the window.

Ji Linxi opened his eyes to a sense of warmth, feeling his body strangely numb. A concerned, tense voice came from nearby: “Linxi, you’re awake! How are you feeling?”

It took Ji Linxi a long time to regain his senses. He muttered: “Seems… seems okay.”

“Okay your ass!” A roar erupted above his head.

The History master, Huai Xiuyong, was furious: “I told you to practice calligraphy, not to kill yourself! ‘Seems okay’! If we had come home any later last night, we’d be collecting your corpse today!”

From the enraged master, Ji Linxi learned that he had passed out from the cold. Fortunately, the family had returned early, seen the candle burning, and the window ajar, and decided to check on him, only to find him lying flat on the floor with a very intoxicated look on his face.

He had almost kicked the bucket, ready to go to the capital as a ghost to find his Beautiful Young Master.

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[Author’s Note]

Wife in the illusion (softly): Xi-lang.

Wife in reality: You idiot!