Lu Jinlan had always assumed that this world’s exams on bagu wen—the classical “eight-legged essay”—meant picking a sentence from a book and forcing the examinee to write an essay in strict eight-legged format.
She was clever but scatterbrained by nature, and hated rigid rules above all. Of all literary forms, bagu wen annoyed her the most.
But to handle this exam, she had been racking her brains for the past two days, even dreaming about the structure and style of eight-legged essays.
Yet when she opened the exam paper, it asked for cewen (policy essays) and poetry instead.
A subtle wave of relief and excitement swept through her. Though her preparation seemed useless, she finally had the chance to shine.
The cewen questions were very practical. One asked how to prevent officials from embezzling funds; the other asked how to manage conflicts at the border with neighboring countries.
Lu Jinlan glanced at them and thought: isn’t this just like modern government exams’ policy questions? Perfectly suited to her talents.
Modern scholars had the advantage of knowing history and contemporary affairs. These two questions were age-old problems with countless solutions across dynasties, each with pros and cons. She could select the best approaches, organize her words, and convert them into classical Chinese.
After a brief pause to think, she picked up her brush and began writing.
On the paper, she discussed earmarked funds, high salaries for officials, oversight of assets, and so on.
A moment later, she paused, frowning slightly, pondering: how should I write “lock power into the cage of law”?
Her brush hovered, then she calmly wrote:
“以制为笼，囚权于其中”
(“Let law be the cage, confining power within.”)
After finishing her essay on restraining authority with law, she spent a long while on the border management question.
Lu Jinlan’s modern experience was in grassroots civil administration—she knew nothing about border defense. She relied entirely on her literary skill and historical knowledge, striking decisively to avoid endless debate, leaning toward a strong defense in her answer.
When the two cewen essays were done, her wrist ached from writing.
A gong sounded outside. The proctor reminded everyone: “Fifteen minutes remaining.”
Fifteen minutes? She hadn’t even looked at the poetry prompt!
Lu Jinlan muttered in dismay, hurriedly flipping to the third sheet. The instruction: “No topic or rhyme constraints.”
Ordinary students couldn’t write poetry, but she, as a Chinese major, was slightly abnormal and had some exposure.
She could write, but time was tight, and she had no idea what level her classmates were at. Any rash attempt to compete could be risky.
To secure a high ranking, it was safest to take a famous classical poem from memory.
But… using someone else’s work—was that really proper?
She immediately dismissed the thought.
Bah! If men can borrow the ancients, why can’t I? Ancient poets, forgive me—I’ll borrow a poem for an emergency.
After a brief internal struggle, she picked up her brush and wrote: “Spring River in Flower Moonlight”—a poem by Zhang Ruoxu.
“The spring river rises level with the sea, the bright moon rises over the waves…”
This poem, highly regarded in modern times as unmatched in the Tang dynasty, would surely impress. She didn’t believe her classmates, on average, were all poetry geniuses.
Lu Jinlan wrote furiously and completed the last character just before the papers were collected. Exam done, she felt an enormous weight lifted.
Back at the Lu residence, she began to enjoy life as the eldest young lady of the family.
With a mother who was the wealthiest woman in the region, the household’s wealth was practically limitless. Food, clothing, and daily necessities were the best in Xizhou City.
There were nearly a hundred servants, obedient and attentive, so well-trained that it took her several days to adapt.
But even after the exam, she didn’t idle. She earned “life points” whenever she could. She observed all the men in the household, and regularly wandered the streets.
The Xizhou market was crowded, life points flowed in rapidly—within moments she earned two hundred points.
With funds in hand, she exchanged a few basic martial arts manuals in the system’s shop.
She expected martial arts practice to be exhausting, but surprisingly, the system’s “broken” golden finger was quite generous. Practicing was effortless—she simply selected a manual before sleep, and her combat stats increased while she dreamed.
Every morning she awoke refreshed, her body lighter and stronger.
Thus, her days were spent eating, drinking, playing, teasing cats and dogs, while nights were dedicated to martial arts training.
Lu Jinlan’s parents, Lu Jinchao and Yan, felt she had been overworking herself for the exams and insisted she rest and relax. The household, aside from her parents, obeyed her entirely. Out in public, with silver in her hand, she could have anything she wanted. Life was blissful, almost unreal.
Lu Jinlan occasionally reflected on her past life. She had been a left-behind child in a mountain village, and a single meat meal was like a festival. Her parents eventually split and remarried, leaving her with nobody to care for her.
Had her grades not been exceptional, she might have spent her entire life in that half-mountain village, miserable.
Of course, leaving the village didn’t guarantee fame and fortune. Ordinary students in small towns, without patrons, even if entering government service, were just cogs—doing the hardest grassroots work, earning meager wages, renting their own houses. Day after day, life repeated, and one gradually realized many things were predetermined from birth.
But now, everything had changed. One body swap, and life had been rewritten.
She was young, wealthy, born in a female-dominated era, and the house belonged to her.
Lu Jinlan observed this gender-swapped, male-oriented world coldly, noting that officials, generals, and even the emperor were all women. She realized she had a chance to gain fame and office. Truly, the world was vast and full of opportunities.
Her mind buzzed with excitement. She planned to discuss with Lu Jinchao delaying the family business handover, wanting to explore other ambitions. And she still had questions about her own birth—was she really Lu Jinchao’s daughter? Perhaps a note held the answer.
Lu Jinchao had to travel out of town. She planned to sneak into her mother’s study during his absence, find that note, and discreetly ask Yan about her origins—so she could rest easy as the Lu family’s rightful eldest young lady.
A couple of days after the exam, Yan’s two sons, Lu Xian (twelve) and Lu Hui (ten), returned from the boys’ academy and started summer break, just like Lu Jinlan.
The two boys were handsome and well-mannered, treating her with the utmost respect, which pleased her greatly.
Yan raised them strictly, keeping them busy at home embroidering, sewing clothes, and making shoes—so they wouldn’t be useless when married off.
Meanwhile, Lu Jinchao’s secondary wife, Song, had a daughter, Lu Jinqi, just turned three, and she was a mischievous little handful—Song didn’t discipline her at all.
Lu Jinlan, bored at home, noticed her two younger brothers watching her longingly whenever she went out. Feeling sorry for them, she often took them along. She also sent Qing’er to bring Lu Jinqi from Song’s courtyard so the three could play together in town.
Within a few days, these three little ones became devoted followers of Lu Jinlan, treating her as the supreme elder sister, always trailing behind her.
One morning, Lu Jinlan was holding Lu Jinqi in line to buy fried cakes. Lu Xian and Lu Hui had just purchased a set of wooden dolls and were eagerly running to show her when suddenly she heard shouts behind her:
“Young Lady Lu! Young Lady Lu!”
Lu Jinlan turned around, and a figure lunged toward her, grabbing her sleeve.
“Young Lady Lu, you really made me hard to find!”
Lu Jinlan studied the face, feeling vaguely familiar. Suddenly she remembered—this was Wu Siqun, the girl who had made that bet with her at the academy gate. It had been seven or eight days since she last saw her, and she almost didn’t recognize her.
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh? Young Lady Wu is out shopping too? What brings you to look for me?”
Wu Siqun clicked her tongue. “Don’t play dumb. The academy just posted the results today, and we still have a bet. Come on, let’s go check the scores!”
Wu Siqun held her tightly, as if afraid she might run off.
Hearing that the results were out, Lu Jinlan could no longer sit still. She immediately handed the three children over to the accompanying servants, instructed Qing’er to take them back to the mansion, and climbed into Wu Siqun’s carriage to head to the academy.
By now, everyone else knew the results were out, and the other students had already arrived.
Wu Siqun had gone out of her way to find Lu Jinlan at the Lu residence, then followed the family’s directions to the market and finally reached the academy.
The two of them arrived late. Stepping down from the carriage, they saw over two hundred students packed at the academy gate—a dense, buzzing crowd.
It was impossible to tell what was going on. Voices overlapped in excited chatter, buzzing like a swarm of hornets. Even standing at a distance made her head ache.
Lu Jinlan hesitated, unsure whether to push forward, when Young Lady Yin and Young Lady Sun suddenly rushed out from the crowd, tumbling toward her.
Seeing the joy on their faces, Lu Jinlan quickly asked, “So… how did you two do?”
Young Lady Yin laughed. “I’m dead last, and she’s second to last.”
“Ah…” Lu Jinlan’s expression froze in awkwardness. Are these two really this happy about such results?
She thought it, but Wu Siqun didn’t hold back, speaking with a mocking tone: “I really envy your optimism—taking last place and still celebrating.”
“Tch!” Young Lady Sun gave her a disdainful glance. “We’re happy because someone has to stand at the academy gate and declare themselves ‘as stupid as a pig.’ That person isn’t us, and it isn’t Young Lady Lu—guess who it is?”
Wu Siqun furrowed her brow and immediately pushed into the crowd.
Lu Jinlan hurriedly asked, “What’s my ranking?”
Young Lady Yin bumped her shoulder playfully and said mysteriously, “Go see for yourself. I’ll clear the way for you!”
Then she shouted to the crowd: “Everyone, make way! Lu Jinlan is coming through!”
All at once, the noisy crowd turned silent. Everyone instinctively parted to create a narrow path leading straight to the ranking board.
Lu Jinlan had no idea what was happening, but seeing the path, she could only hurry forward. She reached the board and glanced at the bottom—her name wasn’t there. Heart pounding, she started scanning from the middle, around the 150th–160th position, still nothing.
Her chest thumped wildly, her heartbeat almost leaping into her throat. Gritting her teeth, she looked up sharply toward the very top of the list.
Author’s note:
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If men can be copycats, women can be copycats too.