Chapter 34: He Seemed to Re-evaluate His Student Today

As the hall doors opened, Yunsheng nodded toward Eunuch Chen and stepped out.

Eunuch Chen entered the hall while the other palace attendants remained outside. He bowed slightly and approached Chu Yu. “Your Highness, the Sixth Prince has sent an invitation—he surely doesn’t have good intentions. Must you really go?”

Chu Yu closed the book in his hand and rose from the daybed. His shoes clicked against the floor as he smiled faintly. “Go. Since my Sixth Brother has invited me, how could I not?”

“Prepare a gift.”

Unlike other princes who were granted titles and moved out of the palace at fifteen or sixteen, the Sixth Prince, Chu Sui, remained in the palace, a testament to the Emperor’s immense favor. Though court officials had submitted petitions arguing that it was improper for a prince of his age to reside in the Noble Consort’s palace, the autocratic monarch simply ordered a special palace to be built for him within the grounds. Named “Changqing Palace,” it mirrored the Eastern Palace, and courtiers privately whispered that if the crown prince occupied the “Eastern Palace,” the Sixth Prince occupied the “Western Palace.”

Chu Yu arrived at Changqing Palace with Eunuch Chen.

“His Royal Highness the Crown Prince arrives—”

Hearing the announcement, those inside Changqing Palace exchanged glances. Seeing the silver-white hem sweep across the threshold, they knelt in unison. “Greetings, Your Highness the Crown Prince.”

The smile that had been plastered on Chu Sui’s face as he sat in his rosewood chair flickered for a moment before he quickly rebuilt it. He set down the cage in his hands and greeted Chu Yu with feigned enthusiasm. “Imperial Brother, I have been waiting for you for a long time. I honestly thought you weren’t coming.”

Though he claimed to have been waiting a long time, the remnants of the entertainment suggested they had been at it for quite a while.

Chu Yu smiled. “With such a kind invitation, how could I not come?”

“Chen Deshun, give the gift to my Sixth Brother.” He instructed sideways.

Eunuch Chen lowered his head and presented a box to Chu Sui.

“Oh, Imperial Brother, you needn’t have brought a gift. We are brothers; there is no need for such formality.”

“But since it is your kind intention, Imperial Brother, I dare not refuse. Qing’an, accept it.”

A young eunuch named Qing’an hurried over to take the box from Eunuch Chen and retreated.

Only then did Chu Yu address the kneeling crowd. “Rise. In my Sixth Brother’s Changqing Palace, there is no need for such formalities.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

Those on the ground stood up, clutching their knees. These were the Sixth Prince’s playmates. Since Chu Yu had been educated at the Wenhua Hall to be a successor, and Chu Sui had studied at the Imperial Academy among the sons of officials, they occupied different circles. Chu Sui was surrounded by the children of flattering officials, while Chu Yu, raised in the deep palace, had only two companions—one of whom had fallen ill and been replaced—and his true friend, Yan Huai. He was not familiar with these sons of officials.

The atmosphere grew silent for a moment.

Chu Sui smiled. “Imperial Brother, let me show you the birds the Emperor recently bestowed upon me.”

He turned to reveal two long rows of cages hanging behind him. Every cage was exquisitely crafted, containing birds of every imaginable color—some resembling phoenixes, others emerald-green, their feathers magnificent and dazzling to the eye.

The prince, whose handsome face bore a resemblance to his mother, crossed his arms. Even as he tried to control it, a look of uncontainable smugness appeared. “These birds were gathered from all over the country by the Emperor’s command. Imperial Brother, take a look. If there are any you like, I will gift you two.”

Chu Yu walked past them one by one. His jade-white fingers brushed lightly against the cages as if sweeping away dust. Through the gaps, the flash of beautiful black feathers brushed past his face, casting a shadow over his immortal-like countenance. His amber pupils reflected the interplay of light and shadow, bird and cage.

“They are truly beautiful, Sixth Brother.” Turning back, Chu Yu smiled slightly.

“Is there any you like, Imperial Brother?” Chu Sui walked to his side. “Although I am very fond of them all, if you desire them, I am willing to part with them.”

Chu Yu’s gaze lingered on the birds in the cages. “A gentleman does not take what others love, especially since I am the elder brother—I should understand the virtue of humility.”

“Moreover…” He sighed softly, “These birds were hunted down from all corners of the country and locked in these gilded cages. They look magnificent, but who knows how long they can survive? If they were taken to my Eastern Palace, I would be too busy with my studies to care for them. Their deaths would only bring unnecessary sorrow. It is better that they remain here with you; I am sure you will care for them meticulously. Under such pampering, they will surely live longer.”

The Sixth Prince’s smile vanished, his expression turning cold and sullen. Their eyes met, and in Chu Sui’s, there burned a cold, angry flame.

The next morning, news came from Changqing Palace.

Every single one of the birds from across the country, which the Sixth Prince had boasted about the day before, had died overnight. The official excuse was an inability to adapt to the climate and environment of the capital.

In Changqing Palace, watching the lifeless corpses in the cages, Chu Sui clenched his fists. The servants who had cared for the birds knelt on the ground begging for mercy. The woman most favored in the entire Long Dynasty stood beside him, sighing gently, her tone filled with a soft, hypocritical pity: “What a shame. Since they are dead, have them all thrown out of Changqing Palace.”

“Mother-Consort…”

“I know you are sad, Sui’er.” Noble Consort An was thirty-three, yet she looked no older than a new palace maiden. Standing with Chu Sui, they looked less like mother and son and more like siblings. “Raising such things is too taxing on the emotions. It’s sad when they die. Better to focus your energy on your studies. You are excellent in every way, but you are never diligent in your lessons. If you were to inherit your father’s throne one day, how would you govern an empire?”

She spoke of the Crown Prince with such insolence, yet her expression remained calm, her smile never flickering. Having been pampered by the supreme ruler of the world, even the Crown Prince was not worthy of her concern.

Chu Sui’s gaze remained on the birds. Suddenly, he gritted his teeth, his resentment unspent. “It is Chu Yu. It is all his doing—” If not for Chu Yu, the birds would not have died today.

After finishing his day of lessons and returning to the Eastern Palace from Wenhua Hall, Chu Yu was playing chess with Yan Huai. Hearing the news from the palace attendants, he did not even look up.

Yan Huai frowned. “Even if they couldn’t adapt to the environment, they wouldn’t all die in a single night. Who did this?” He hesitated as he looked at Chu Yu. “Your Highness…?”

Chu Yu looked up. “If my people could perform such miracles within Changqing Palace, I wouldn’t be living here in the Eastern Palace merely seeking stability. In your heart, Yan, am I the kind of person who would vent my anger on birds?”

Yan Huai quickly knelt. “Of course not, Your Highness.”

“Rise. I do not blame you.”

Yan Huai sat back down, his mind racing. If it wasn’t the Prince, who could it be? Could the Sixth Prince have orchestrated this himself? But what purpose would that serve? He gave up, frustrated, and continued the game. After losing twice, Chu Yu saw he was dispirited and ordered Eunuch Chen to clear the board.

“I heard the Marquis of Zhongnan wants you to take the provincial exam this August?”

At the mention of this, the once-calculating Yan Huai looked pained. “I’m just not cut out for it. My father insists I try, saying how will I know I can’t do it if I don’t try? But if I really go, won’t I be humiliating myself?” He had been obsessed with martial arts since childhood; the sight of those classical texts gave him a headache. “I’m not like Second Young Master Shen. I heard he’s taking the exams this year. If he enters, the top prize will surely go to him.”

“August, provincial exam.”

“Two months later, metropolitan exam.”

“April, palace exam.”

Chu Yu turned to look at the blood-red sunset outside the window, murmuring to himself: “It will be a time for new blood to flow into the Long Dynasty’s bureaucracy once again.”

The blood-red light fell into his eyes, as if the beginning of a prophecy.

Outside the window, a green bird chirped. Ji Linxi yawned as he got up to fetch water. On the way, he silently recited the books and poems he had memorized the night before. Although it was the third lunar month, the morning wind still carried a chill.

There was a well outside his small room. In the winter, it had been frozen, but now the ice had melted. He turned the windlass, lowered the bucket, and wound it back up, carrying the water back to his room.

After washing his face and combing his hair, his sleepiness finally vanished. He pushed the remaining water under his bed and headed to the classroom with his books.

Since he had passed the county exam, the students in the academy looked at him differently. Previously, they had dismissed him; now, their gazes held curiosity and caution. They were amazed that someone who had only earned “Grade C” marks at the start of the term had managed to pass the February county exam—a feat that eliminated eighty percent of candidates.

In the academy, the tutors who had once looked down on him now envied Huai Xiuyong. They realized they had missed a chance to mentor a talent. Regretful, they now paid more attention to Ji Linxi’s progress. If Ji Linxi could truly become a Juren through the provincial exam, their academy would gain great fame.

Days passed, and the silver in Ji Linxi’s pocket grew thinner. By May, he had only three hundred taels of silver left, and his brows knit together. Reading was an expensive hobby; in just over half a year, he had spent hundreds of taels on stationery. He certainly didn’t think he had bought too much paper—the others bought far less. He used some for calligraphy, some for notes, some for counting, some for private records, and the rest he used to write his “lewd stories” about the beautiful noble. The pages of his “lewd stories” combined were as tall as his piles of test papers.

He had also spent money on buying food and gifts while staying at Huai Xiuyong’s home.

Ji Linxi pounded the pillar in frustration, thinking that he hadn’t saved much at all. If this continued, he would be broke before the provincial exam, not to mention the tuition fees for the next term and the taxes—even scholars had to pay taxes!

He took a deep breath and began brainstorming ways to make money. He couldn’t go back to his old ways of swindling; he was a scholar now, and if caught, he would be disqualified from the exams.

He heard other students complaining about the heavy workload, and an idea clicked. They don’t want to write their assignments? They can pay me, and I’ll do it for them.

Ji Linxi had a skin as thick as a city wall. He approached a student who had been complaining, tapped his shoulder, and said with a grin: “Brother, I heard you don’t want to do your assignments. How about this? I’ll do them for you, and you pay me. How’s that?”

The student was shocked, then pulled Ji Linxi into a secluded spot. “F-for real?”

“Of course. Give me a sample of your previous work and the ink. I can mimic your handwriting—at least sixty percent similarity. If the tutor asks, just say your wrist is sore.”

They reached an agreement. The next day, the student checked the work, delighted that the handwriting was nearly identical. After the payment was made, Ji Linxi grabbed his hand, putting on a pitiful expression: “It’s just that my mother is gravely ill and my father has a crippled leg. I have no other choice but to earn some money this way. If anyone else is in need, please introduce them to me. You don’t have to do anything, we’ll split it 80/20. How’s that?”

The student hesitated but eventually agreed. Ji Linxi thanked him profusely, acting as if the man had saved his life. Once he left, he brushed off his sleeves and his expression cooled. Earn what I can, he thought. And I get free stationery to write my own work to boot.

Time flew, and the “field break” approached. Ji Linxi had taken several more tests at the county school and remained at the top of the academy rankings. Through his “ghostwriting” business, he had stopped hemorrhaging money and even saved a small stack of paper.

However, ghostwriting was a business that attracted competition. By the end of the term, there were several other students doing it on the sly. Ji Linxi, realizing the risk, decided to bail. If he were caught, it would mean public punishment and the potential loss of his tuition. Plus, if Huai Xiuyong found out, he would be berated into the ground.

He told his contacts that his mother had died, his father had passed away from grief, and that he had no more burdens and was now committed solely to his studies. He even kindly advised them to stop.

As expected, before the final exams, the tutors noticed that too many students had wildly different handwriting on their assignments. A massive investigation ensued, and those involved were publicly scolded and forced to perform menial labor for two months.

Huai Xiuyong was pleased to find Ji Linxi uninvolved and privately praised him: “Very good. Two-thirds of the academy were involved in this ghostwriting scandal, yet you were not tempted by laziness or greed. You are truly my student.”

Ji Linxi, the ultimate mastermind behind the entire scandal, hung his head in a display of utter humility: “I remember your teachings, Teacher—to never be seduced by fame or profit.”

With Huai Xiuyong satisfied, Ji Linxi raised his head and carefully worded his next request: “Teacher, the August provincial exam is coming, and I don’t have enough money. I need to spend some time earning more, so I won’t have as much time to study during the day.”

Huai Xiuyong’s expression changed. He pointed at Ji Linxi, furious: “Foolish! You are putting the cart before the horse! The provincial exam is nearly here, and instead of thinking about how to study harder, you are thinking about making money! Are you really that short of cash?”

It does seem like I’m a bit short, Ji Linxi thought.

Huai Xiuyong softened, his voice muffled: “How much do you need? Your Shiniang and I have a little. If it’s not enough, we can borrow some.”

Huai Xiuyong knew how expensive the path of examinations could be. Ordinary families struggled to support one scholar; Ji Linxi had to rely on himself. He didn’t blame him for thinking of ways to earn money.

But Ji Linxi had no intention of taking their money. If he took it, their kindness would become an inescapable debt—the “debt of parents.” And in this world, there is nothing harder to repay than the debt of parents. The debt of a teacher could be repaid, but the debt of parents lasted forever. Furthermore, he was destined to tread the path of a treacherous minister; it would be inappropriate to involve Huai Xiuyong’s family too deeply. If he succeeded and became a high-ranking official, he could repay them with ten thousand pieces of gold, but if he were too entangled in their favor, the upright Huai Xiuyong would only serve as a hindrance in the future.

Besides, what if the beautiful noble found out he was such a manipulative scoundrel?

Ji Linxi, who had already clearly planned his future, lied to his teacher: “Teacher, don’t worry. I have already found a good job. It only takes me an hour or two a day to earn a substantial income, so I still have plenty of time for my studies.”

Huai Xiuyong didn’t believe him and sneered: “What kind of job? I’ll go take a look myself.”

Ji Linxi choked.

“You don’t have one, do you?” Huai Xiuyong’s eyes darkened.

He seemed to re-evaluate his student today. Having passed the metropolitan exams in his youth and having suffered through a year in the treacherous bureaucracy, Huai Xiuyong was no fool. He had sensed something was off. He wasn’t entirely certain, as it meant suspecting his own student of malicious intent.

It was Ji Linxi’s youth that betrayed him. If he had been more calculating, he wouldn’t have exposed his true colors, but Huai Xiuyong had seen his previous “sincere” facade, and now, the pretense was all too obvious to him.

Now, he waited to see how Ji Linxi would explain himself.