The gaze of the entire hall surged toward one man like a rising tide.
Xie Shaoling, the Top Scholar of the current examinations, sat upright in his place. Clad in the vermillion robes of his station, his face was as fair as carved jade, his features as elegant and clear as a painting.
Radiating the vibrant energy of youth and at the peak of his brilliance, he was the future pillar upon whom the Pure Stream faction pinned their highest hopes. He was Grand Preceptor Dong’s most favored protégé and the paragon of all scholars under heaven.
But at this moment, he rose slowly and stepped out from his seat.
One step, then two.
Xie Shaoling’s pace was neither hurried nor slow, yet it felt as though he were treading upon an invisible bridge leading straight to the front of the hall.
The guests gradually snapped out of their daze. Some wondered if he was going to offer formal thanks to the throne, or perhaps compose another poem. They did not expect what happened next.
Thud—!
Xie Shaoling dropped straight to his knees, his forehead striking the golden bricks of the palace floor with a heavy resonance!
The sound echoed through the entire Qionglin Banquet.
“Scholar Xie, what are you doing!”
Someone from the Pure Stream seats cried out in shock, their voice cracking with agitation.
Grand Preceptor Dong stood up abruptly, his sleeves fluttering like angry waves as he slammed his hand against the table. He barked out a stern reprimand, “Shaoling, have you lost your mind!”
By kneeling like this, Xie Shaoling was effectively confirming that the subject of his Ode to the Plum was none other than Gu Huaiyu.
The man who held absolute power at the heart of the empire, who loomed over the imperial court, and who was known to every member of the Pure Stream as the “foremost of all treacherous villains.”
He was also the “Master Plum” whom Xie Shaoling had once petitioned the Emperor for a marriage decree.
Now, the Top Scholar had composed a poem that would be recited by thousands, and every single line was a hymn of praise. If this poem truly honored Gu Huaiyu, it was a public declaration of love, an unveiling of his heart before the entire court.
And his kneeling was not to beg forgiveness for “praising a traitor,” but for that single, ridiculous request—to ask the Son of Heaven for a marriage decree.
If Gu Huaiyu was indeed Master Plum, then to publicly seek marriage with the Lord Chancellor… was it covetousness? Was it a stain on his honor? Or was it a desecration?
This was no longer a mere romantic anecdote; it was a grave disrespect, a violation of the natural order, and an act of high treason! By the letter of the law, he should be beheaded in public and his entire clan exterminated!
Within the hall, no one dared to voice the truth out loud, yet it was an open secret shared by all. No matter how much they wished to deny it, this poem and this kneel were the clearest proclamations possible:
In this world, there was only one person worthy of the lines: “The crowns of the capital all bow their heads; a single sickly frame outweighs the weight of history.”
Pei Jingyi suddenly sat upright, crossing his arms with great interest and letting out a soft “Tsk.”
The formerly tedious Qionglin Banquet had finally become interesting.
High upon the dais, heavy silken curtains hung like gathered clouds, and the dragon-patterned candles flickered in the draft.
The young Emperor sat upon his Dragon Throne, his expression as cold as frost. His fingers gripped the armrest so tightly that his knuckles had turned a pale, sickly white from the sheer force.
Eunuch Xu stood by, silent as a winter cicada, his inner garments soaked with cold sweat. The attendants serving the Emperor lowered their heads, even making sure to soften the rustle of their clothes for fear of drawing attention.
They knew better than anyone what kind of existence the Lord Chancellor was in the Emperor’s heart.
“Minister Xie.”
Yuan Zhuo finally spoke. His voice was incredibly soft, yet it carried the strained weight of someone speaking through gritted teeth. “This poem…”
He stared at the kneeling Xie Shaoling, then suddenly released his tension with a smile. “It sounds as if you are writing about Our Lord Chancellor?”
Xie Shaoling slowly looked up. His face was as white as paper, but his dark eyes burned with a searing brightness.
A thousand gazes pricked his back like needles, and his posture of kneeling in confession was humiliating in the extreme.
All it would take was a single denial for him to escape unscathed. This was a clear path of retreat offered by the Emperor himself.
He knew this better than anyone.
As long as he shook his head now and said, “I was using a person to symbolize a flower,” or “Your Majesty has misunderstood,” he would remain the favored Top Scholar. He would remain the pillar of the Pure Stream meticulously cultivated by Grand Preceptor Dong, and the “Jade of the Imperial Halls” praised by scholars everywhere.
The Emperor would let it slide, and the Pure Stream would protect him with all their might.
His career would remain smooth, and his future would stay brilliant.
Yet, he heard his own voice slice through the dead silence of the hall. “Replying to Your Majesty: the subject of this minister’s poem is indeed Chancellor Gu.”
