During the evening meal, the entire family sat together. Fu Han seemed to have already learned the military exam results in advance; he did not ask about them, only urging Fu Yunqi to continue working hard.
Mi Dinglan took a few bites and asked, “Master, will you attend the Literary Gathering this year?” Fu Han shook his head. “No need. You need not prepare.”
Fu Xinghe immediately sensed the subtle drop in the table’s atmosphere. After the meal, she quietly asked Ming Xu what the Literary Gathering was.
Ming Xu explained, “Miss disliked reading before, so you never paid attention. The Literary Gathering is a grand event in the capital, gathering the most talented scholars in the land to recite poetry, compose couplets, and discuss literature at length.”
Many of the attendees were seeking official positions and could use the event to gauge their own abilities.
The Literary Gathering was held every two years. Fu Han, long serving as the top civil official and a chief examiner, had been a role model for scholars nationwide. In past years, he had been invited to attend and would leave calligraphy to encourage scholars to serve the court.
This time, he avoided participation to prevent suspicion. For the next civil exam, the Emperor would likely not appoint Fu Han as chief examiner. Fu Han, being aware of the situation, refrained from associating with students of the Emperor to avoid accusations of favoritism.
One interesting feature of the Literary Gathering was a thousand-meter-long screen corridor. Visitors chose a side to enter, divided into two groups. The screen completely blocked the view of the opposite side, leaving only a small gap for passing letters.
Participants randomly stood in place, unable to see each other. They communicated purely through written correspondence. If they found a kindred spirit, they could leave an address for future meetings, preventing judgments based on looks or social connections.
“Meeting through literature, how interesting,” Fu Xinghe thought, her eyes brightening. Ancient women faced many restrictions in making friends, so the Literary Gathering seemed perfect. “Father won’t go, I shall see it for myself.”
Ming Xu widened her eyes. “But that’s a place for scholars, and Madam instructed you to stay in the inner chambers.”
Fu Xinghe replied, “Father asked me to study. Why can’t I attend the Literary Gathering?”
Ming Xu hesitated. “In the past, a noble lady once sent secret letters to a poor scholar at the Literary Gathering and ran away together. The incident caused a scandal, so even Miss Sheng Bailu didn’t attend afterward, fearing her reputation.”
Ming Xu specifically mentioned Sheng Bailu, Miss Fu Xinghe’s rival. Only the two openly admired the Emperor in the capital. The original Fu Xinghe constantly compared herself to Sheng Bailu, not academically but in trivial matters. Since Sheng Bailu did not go, the original heroine would not attend either.
Fu Xinghe replied, “I won’t run away with any poor scholar. Why shouldn’t I go? Besides, Mother probably hopes I will find a scholar soon.”
She noticed an amusing phenomenon. When the original heroine was around, the family worried endlessly about discouraging her palace ambitions, never daring to marry her off to anyone else. With Fu Xinghe here, obedient in many ways, her mother now insisted on arranging her marriage.
Clearly, people need just the right amount of provocation. Manage it properly, don’t hurt your family, yet enjoy yourself.
The next day, Fu Xinghe pretended to read in her room, closed the door tightly, and dressed as a man. She secretly had Ming Feng escort her, leaving him at the Fu residence to keep watch.
The Literary Gathering was bustling. All attendees were dressed as scholars, robes flowing. Since correspondence was written, the hall was quiet. Occasional conversations were soft and polite.
Fu Xinghe chose an entrance, queued behind a screen, and when the organizer sounded the gong, everyone stood in place, dipped their brushes in ink, and expressed their thoughts.
She did not know who stood across from her. According to the rules, no one could speak. Excited, she dipped her brush in ink but then realized a problem. She could write with a brush but struggled with traditional characters.
A scholar in a blue robe glanced at her curiously. Fu Xinghe smiled at him, yet felt deeply embarrassed. As the only “illiterate” present, she felt guilty. Surely the other wanted a literary exchange.
Fortunately, she could withdraw; more participants would follow. Just as she contemplated this, a piece of paper slid through the screen gap.
High-ranking families cement alliances through marriage to consolidate power. How can this be broken? The Literary Gathering could discuss literature or politics. If one could not answer or lacked interest, the paper could simply be returned.
Fu Xinghe raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in her eyes, and began to write. On the other side, Meng Dongting raised his eyebrow, shooting a cold glance at Li Xiaozheng.
This was the so-called “gathering of hidden talent and extraordinary scholars”?
Meng Dongting’s eyesight was sharp. He noticed that among ten people nearby, five were writing couplet tops, three were discussing romantic stories, and two were showing off by praising the city’s scenery, completely unproductive in his eyes.
His expression slightly darkened. He had trusted Li Xiaozheng’s foolish suggestion: select talented individuals from the Literary Gathering to recommend loyal officials and challenge Fu Han.
Li Xiaozheng scratched the back of his head, wondering why these scholars spent their days this way. He prayed for someone capable, gesturing to the Emperor as if to say, “A reply has arrived.”
At first glance at the letter, Meng Dongting confirmed his suspicion. The paper was full of errors; not a single correct character and yet, the person dared to attend. He nearly left in frustration.
Li Xiaozheng, equally annoyed, felt his suggestion looked even worse. Meng Dongting folded the returned letter with two fingers, ready to leave. Suddenly, he paused. Among the broken handwriting, he discerned the meaning.
The writer introduced a novel term, “Malthusian population trap,” noting that the Daxi dynasty had ruled for five generations, with strong national power and local control, but warned of decline. With a booming population, drought or flood could devastate millions, and the court could not pacify them. The previous dynasty fell because northern droughts forced 700,000 refugees into revolt.
The writer suggested that officials or those aspiring to office should have no more than one child, preventing alliances through marriage, while the court guarantees these officials’ retirement.
Finally, Fu Xinghe added that this measure was impractical, not recommended, and advised invoking the previous dynasty’s collapse to intimidate high-ranking families. If they violated the rule, claim divine instruction to set an example.
Li Xiaozheng watched the Emperor’s sinister smile and glanced at the letter. Preemptive strike—bold and justified, perfectly suited for an Emperor who disliked many heirs. Li Xiaozheng had no doubt that Meng Dongting would lead by example if enacted.
The opponent’s strategy struck Meng Dongting’s heart; he found the approach novel.
Traditionally, having many children was seen as a blessing. He imagined that the rigid Grand Preceptor would see this letter and rage. Using this person against Fu Han is quite clever.
Meng Dongting thought the same. He might not implement it but admired the ingenuity.
Fu Xinghe clapped her hands, expecting curses at the outrageous suggestions, writing purely for fun.
The other side remained silent. If not for seeing the shadow, she would have thought the person left. After a long pause, she heard a familiar voice say, “Meet him.”
Damn! It was Meng Dongting! Meet him? Meet whom?
Though only three words, Fu Xinghe would not mistake the voice. She calmly ducked with Ming Xu into the crowd as shadows shifted.
Li Xiaozheng leapt from one side of the screen to the other, clashing with the polite exchanges around him, causing a stir. He saw the empty side of the screen and froze.
Meng Dongting’s expression darkened. He felt like he was back in that dilapidated fishing hut, his admiration instantly turning to anger.
Meng Dongting glanced at the distinctive handwriting and crumpled the paper into dust. “Next time at the exam, recognize this person. Drag him out, give eighty lashes, then let him answer.”
Li Xiaozheng’s expression shifted. “Yes, Sir.”
Frankly, such handwriting would never pass the civil exams. But the Emperor never forgave whatever he thought, he treated it seriously.
Fu Xinghe strolled through Chang’an streets. Government workers repaired the bluestone roads, replacing raised, uneven slabs with new stones.
The construction caused traffic jams. Impatient nobles spurred their horses, splashing muddy water. “Splash.” Fu Xinghe’s skirt caught a streak of yellow mud.
She looked at the youth on horseback, smiling all the same. Ming Xu observed carefully, noticing her mistress did not curse, but smiled brightly. She scratched her head, puzzled.
Why was Miss Xinghe laughing so much recently? Not a knife hidden in her smile, but a Buddha-like tolerance.
Young ladies usually smiled modestly, shyly. Miss Xinghe’s open, radiant smile was almost improper but Ming Xu liked it. She was unlike other women beautiful, and could smile freely.
“They say the Empress Dowager will return from prayers soon. The Emperor, devoted and filial, ordered the roads repaired to spare her the rough journey.” “He’s decisive yet not wasteful. The roads are smooth, benefiting all.”
Fu Xinghe heard the people discussing the Tyrant Emperor and thought, quite filial indeed.
Another citizen added, “Moreover, the Emperor focuses on state affairs. The harem is empty. In six days, he will select a palace maiden. Apparently, the Empress Dowager was furious, so the Emperor acted. Truly a filial son.”
Fu Xinghe mused that perhaps he had not married because he could not. After an hour, she quietly climbed back over the garden wall, crouching at the dog hole to observe.
Ming Xu fretted nearby. Previously, when Miss Xinghe ordered around, Ming Xu obeyed unquestioningly. Now, with her mistress hands-on, Ming Xu constantly felt guilty.
Fu Xinghe narrowed her eyes, holding her breath. There was indeed someone in the garden.
Her eldest brother trained with a wooden post, practicing arm and leg strength. Fu Yunqi was drenched in sweat, his fists bleeding, yet continued fiercely.
Fu Xinghe noticed his expression casual, as calm as the last time she saw him. The more casual it seemed, the more it concealed his inner storm.
Failing or being barred from service would be one thing. But being targeted by the Emperor, having military aspirations frustrated, how could Fu Yunqi endure?
Sitting by the dog hole, Fu Xinghe could not smile. She was used to being carefree; angering the Emperor was the original heroine’s fault, for which she felt no guilt. But seeing Fu Yunqi like this, her heart felt heavy.
The original heroine and how could they truly be separated? What could she do for Fu Yunqi?