Chapter 27

Dusk hung heavy over Prince Wu’s Mansion, the candles in the council hall flickering and casting shifting light and shadow across the deep furrows on the prince’s face.

He had grown old.

Old enough that he couldn’t stomach dying without ever sitting upon the dragon throne. Old enough that after a lifetime of scheming and calculating, of treading so carefully step by step, he still hesitated to bare his dagger at the last.

Old enough that when he looked upon his only son, wariness and jealousy stirred unbidden in his heart.

Everything he had amassed, everything he had plotted and seized—it would all pass to this exceptional son of his, who had never once disappointed.

Zheng Min stood respectfully at the foot of the hall, his head slightly bowed. The moon-white brocade robe he wore only accentuated his youthful elegance.

“This failure to intercept the silver shipment is this son’s fault, Father. I beg your forgiveness and the chance to make amends through meritorious service.”

Prince Wu’s fingertips drummed on the desk, sending the stack of secret letters atop it trembling lightly.

In truth, he hadn’t placed much weight on the failure of this operation.

The sum of silver that the Zhenguo Marquis Mansion had sent up as tribute was substantial enough, but hardly overwhelming. What had caught Prince Wu’s eye was that this tribute had been cleverly wrested from Pei Du’s grasp by the marquis’s schemes.

Thus, Prince Wu knew Pei Du wouldn’t simply let his people make off with that caravan.

He had handed the matter to Zheng Min precisely to let Pei Du temper the young heir’s edge a bit.

What dissatisfied Prince Wu was that Zheng Min had blown the affair out of all proportion—and still failed.

“The first batch who died were just hired blades for coin. That could be overlooked.”

“But after one strike missed, you didn’t withdraw. Instead, you abandoned the caravan to press the attack… and lost over a hundred elite guardsmen in a mere hour.”

These were not peaceful times. Beyond the capital, bandits and refugees roamed unchecked. Every noble house and wealthy merchant kept retainers and private troops for just such contingencies.

Elite guardsmen, in particular, were loyal weapons forged at great expense.

The candlelight gleamed in Prince Wu’s eyes, illuminating the cold ruthlessness churning there, while veiling the satisfaction he felt at the outcome.

The loss of those guardsmen was regrettable, but using it to rein in this increasingly brazen heir made it worthwhile.

Zheng Min offered no excuses, his voice remaining mild and deferential. “This son was rash. I accept Father’s punishment.”

“But the culprit was indeed Sui Ziming. Uncle Feng lost his left eye to that raptor he keeps. This son will ensure Sui Ziming pays the price.”

He deliberately slowed his words, playing the part of an overeager youth who had rushed headlong into his first real assignment.

As expected, Prince Wu’s lips curved in a mocking smile. “Sui Ziming? You mean to say a man who could snatch a caravan from the encirclement of hundreds from my Prince Wu’s Mansion stood unscathed in the Capital Suburbs Drill Ground the very next day, taking on ten at once?”

His tone had softened considerably.

“But Uncle Feng and I saw it with our own eyes—”

Prince Wu snorted coldly. “Feng Gu is just a rat unfit for the light of day. Do you intend to step forward yourself? Zheng Min, use your brain. You might be able to, but Prince Wu’s Mansion can’t afford the humiliation.”

If Prince Wu’s Mansion had come out unscathed, it would have been one thing. But to suffer a loss and then make a fuss? That would mean losing both silver and face.

“Besides, Sui Ziming may be a mere brute, but behind him stands Pei Du—Pei Fuguang. Do you think crushing him is as simple as squashing an ant?”

“Enough. The matter ends here.”

Zheng Min’s lips pressed together almost imperceptibly before relaxing once more into that picture of filial piety. “Father is right. This son failed to consider the matter fully.”

“I will make good the losses from deploying those guardsmen elsewhere, through service to atone.”

“Mm.” Prince Wu nodded faintly. “That Sui Ziming is likely just gathering funds for the Canlang Army’s pay. All to the good—it keeps the troops from stirring trouble at a time like this.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping over his heir’s straight back. “I never imagined the son I placed such hopes in would bungle things so badly.”

Zheng Min’s shoulders stiffened for the briefest instant. “This son is dull-witted.”

“And the poison arrow?” Prince Wu changed tack, his fingertips lightly twisting his mustache.

“Uncle Feng has recovered it.” Zheng Min replied with certainty. “This son inspected it personally. The ‘qianji’ on the arrowhead is intact—no traces of it being wiped by cloth or garments.”

“You’ve learned to weigh matters properly.” Prince Wu’s gaze lingered on Zheng Min. “The ‘qianji’ poison implicates many. I know you share a close friendship with Feng Gu’s daughter, but in this world, it’s the silent who are true allies. Do you understand?”

Feng Gu had tested Prince Wu’s limits time and again with the “qianji” poison, seeking profit thereby. He had long touched the prince’s reverse scale.

“…Yes, this son understands.”

“Go.”

The moment Zheng Min stepped out of the council hall, the deference vanished from his face, leaving only fathomless arrogance and malice in his eyes.

He had been born to imperial nobility, sole legitimate son to a father whose power shook the heavens. Everything had come easily, all the cultivation and expectations heaped upon him alone. Yet on his very first assignment—even such a minor one—he had stumbled badly.

His father had only tasked him with seizing the caravan. But the moment Zheng Min discovered another group with the same aim, led by none other than the Sui Family’s Sui Ziming, his own goals had shifted.

Killing Sui Ziming there, no matter the cost, would have been worth it.

Under the dual blows of Sui Ziming’s death and the shortfall in army funds, mutiny was certain to erupt in the Canlang Army camp.

If he then volunteered to step in, to deliver grain to the borderlands at the critical moment, and persuaded his father to return the now-useless Sui Family battle flag to soothe the troops, his name would ring throughout the realm.

No matter how wary or suspicious the Canlang Army’s commanders might be, for the sake of their soldiers, they would accept him as supervising general.

From there, buying hearts or planting spies would be child’s play.

Even if his father grew wary then, his reputation would be made, his wings sprouting—he would no longer be a mere pawn in his father’s hands.

This was to have been Zheng Zhaolin’s grand debut onto the political stage.

But now, all his plans lay in ruins, and he would have to cover the cost of those guardsmen out of pocket.

Sui Ziming. Pei Fuguang.

These two names, Zheng Zhaolin committed to memory.

But…

Zheng Min’s eyes flickered as he recalled Prince Wu from moments before.

Father had grown old, his suspicions deepening. Hiding his edge for now might not be such a bad thing.

Uncle Feng, though… he could not be allowed to remain.

~~~

Meanwhile, at the Pei Mansion.

“Chirp chirp chirp chirp.”

Fuguang Chang Le.

Pei Du was reading Shen Jiujiu’s policy essay, while Shen Jiujiu pored over Pei Du’s.

Little Bird lowered his head to examine the personal seal stamped on the policy essay, reading its inscription aloud.

This essay had been written by Pei Du in his youth, so the seal was naturally his own.

Fuguang… was that Benefactor’s courtesy name?

Fuguang emerges from the East Sea, illuminating these mountains and rivers.

It sounded lovely.

Seeing Shen Jiujiu lean in close to the vermilion seal, peering at it from every angle as if the entire bird might flatten himself against it in study, Pei Du simply retrieved the seal itself and set it down before him.

It was a small white jade seal, its surface glowing with a soft luster. Shen Jiujiu gently prodded the carved auspicious beast crowning its top with his beak, his tiny eyes brimming with admiration.

From such a modest piece of jade sprang a creature so lifelike, its details rendered with exquisite vitality—a testament to the carver’s masterful skill.

The more Shen Jiujiu examined it, the more he adored it. He sensed that the seal held no harsh rigidity in its substance; rather, it emanated a gentle warmth that soothed Little Bird to his core.

“My mother loved crafting little things—wooden carvings, bamboo sculptures, jade work… When I was a boy, she filled an entire room with such trinkets.”

Pei Du’s fingers idly kneaded the little bird dumpling nestled atop the white jade seal, his voice mild and even, carrying that perpetual calm regardless of the topic.

Shen Jiujiu gained sudden clarity. No wonder Benefactor, a scholar of such high standing, proved so deft at woodworking—whittling a Little Bird Brush and the like with ease.

“My courtesy name was bestowed upon me long ago by my maternal grandfather,” Pei Du continued, “so Mother carved this seal for me.”

From Pei Du’s words, Shen Jiujiu gleaned the crucial detail. After pondering it through, he froze in realization.

That meant Benefactor’s mother had passed before he reached manhood, leaving this seal as a cherished keepsake?

Come to think of it, Benefactor’s maternal grandfather’s house—didn’t it have ties to the Sui Family?

Yet no one in the residence had ever breathed a word of it, nor was there any sign of contact.

“Very well, Xinian. Once you’ve finished with the policy essay, let’s discuss your own.”

Pei Du gestured for the little bird, sprawled belly-up, to rise.

Shen Jiujiu dragged himself upright, his gaze darting aimlessly across the desk, long tail feathers swishing behind him like a textbook case of a distracted bird.

Pei Du had reviewed the records of this year’s imperial examinations. The proctors did harbor biases, and factions among the scholarly elites pulled strings aplenty, but the rankings deviated only modestly from true merit.

After scrutinizing Shen Xinian’s policy essay, Pei Du pinpointed the flaw.

“Your entry point is fresh and original, the prose flows seamlessly, the rhetoric dazzles, and the allusions are spot-on. It’s a splendid piece of writing, to be sure—but it misses the single most vital quality of a true policy essay.”

“Xinian, your policy essay is far too pretty.”

Shen Jiujiu harbored ambitions of becoming a proper salted fish bird, but Pei Du’s assessment still drew his eyes after him. His little bird eyelids drooped, betraying a flicker of unhappiness.

“In a policy essay, literary polish is mere ornamentation. What counts is substance.”

Pei Du noted the bird’s unease and softened his phrasing, tapping the essay lightly with a finger.

“This year’s examiners prize practicality above all. They favor solid arguments over ornate flourishes.”

It was the unvarnished truth.

Had the chief examiner been one for stylistic showmanship, Shen Xinian would have soared to the top.

Yet the imperial examinations turned on fortune as much as talent.

Besides, though Pei Du steered clear of exam affairs to avoid any whiff of impropriety, he personally esteemed officials who delivered results. The court brimmed with courtiers adept at pretty words alone, after all.

Thus, this cohort of examiners leaned toward real-world acumen.

“Here, for instance, on fostering academies: you write, ‘We must erect schools far and wide, with carved beams and painted rafters, to exalt the glory of learning.'”

“No fault in that. But whence the funds? Shall we levy heavier taxes, grinding the common folk into misery? Or siphon from the strained coffers for irrigation and famine relief?”

“And once the academies stand, how to procure teachers? Scrounge up rote-learning fossils to pad the rolls, or devise real plans to scout and groom worthy instructors?”

“These are the practical insights the questioners crave. Your essay skims past without engaging them.”

“Xinian, a policy essay judges your grasp of the realm’s ills and your blueprint for remedies—not your way with words.”

Shen Jiujiu fell silent for a long stretch, then emitted a glum chirp.

He conceded Pei Du’s points rang true, but…

Spotting the little bird splay his talons and slump beside the essay, Pei Du soothed him. “It’s nothing insurmountable. You simply lack the seasoning of experience—we’ll build it gradually.”

“Xinian, what do you consider your strengths?”

At Pei Du’s probing query, Shen Jiujiu’s wingtips twitched, a bashful awkwardness stealing over him.

But one might as well face the blade head-on. Better to lay it bare and dissuade Pei Du from his outlandish scheme of molding a little bird into a pillar of the state.

Shen Jiujiu unfurled his wings, beckoning Pei Du to affix the Little Bird Brush.

Prepared at last, he spread his wings wide and inscribed his reply with meticulous strokes upon the paper:

【I’ve pored over every imperial exam paper and model policy essay from the Great Zhou Dynasty】

【I excel at predicting exam topics】

【This policy essay fell squarely within my forecasts】

【My true forte is last-minute cramming】

Finished, Shen Jiujiu propped his wings akimbo, brush jutting skyward, neck craned in brazen defiance—a little bird unapologetically no genius.

Beside his fluffball form, “last-minute cramming” loomed in bold, oversized script, radiating the unshakeable swagger of a battle-hardened test-taker.

Little Bird aced exams like nobody’s business!