ITIEQ C5

Chapter 5 – Secretly in Love with Me?

A heavy, ancient atmosphere rushed forward, wrapped in the thick, enduring scent of oil and ink. Towering shelves rose row upon row, crammed so tightly with books they resembled the cells of a honeycomb.

The boys who followed were all lovers of books, yet even the collections of their families combined did not amount to a fraction of what lay here.

If a single young master could produce such vast seas of texts, then how unfathomable must be the libraries of the Five Surnames and Seven Great Clans¹?

At this thought, one or two faces paled.

They had once prided themselves on their grasp of knowledge, but when compared, what they knew was as little as water scooped from a creek, while the sons of noble houses drew from mountains and oceans. Could it indeed be, as the Pure Learning² scholars claimed, that “the gulf between scholar and commoner, noble and base, is one decreed by Heaven itself”?

Only You Luo was full of excitement. After exclaiming loudly, he began wandering about with bright curiosity, reaching here and there, until he happened to pull free a volume—its cover read Compendium of Materia Medica³.

“What is this?” He flipped through it carelessly. “A book on herbs? How boring.” He prepared to place it back. Yet Gao Rong’s hand shot out, taking the tome. Turning several pages, a sudden light leapt into his eyes.

He pressed his pale lips together, and in a voice full of hidden fervor spoke: “Among all the medical and pharmacological works I have seen, none surpass this.”

Meanwhile, Shan Bowen too had clasped a book in his hands, his eyes now blazing.

“Sir Shen treats us with astonishing generosity!”

…

Shen Qinghe, meanwhile, was already on his way home, yawning so wide it was as though his very lungs might spill out.

This frail body, ruined from ceaseless banquets and wine, could barely withstand even a single all-nighter. His constitution was appallingly weak.

He had barely reached the rear courtyard when his path was barred.

Blinking through tears of exhaustion, Shen Qinghe peered at his obstacle. “And you are… who?”

Lüsong whispered in his ear: “The Third Young Master.”

Shen Qinghe rifled back through the mental catalogue of characters he had compiled the night before. In this household, “Third Young Master” could only refer to Shen Qingchun, the legitimate son of the main wife Madam Qin, aged fifteen this year—thus his half-brother. According to the compiled profiles, he was innately pure, quick to study, and the favorite cherished jewel of both father Shen Zhao and Madam Qin.

The boy wore a vermilion crown of fine gauze, its pendant ornaments chiming merrily. His body was soft and plump, his cheeks still round with baby-fat—plain signs of pampered raising.

With one shoulder angled, the boy studied him. “I had not known that elder brother would be out drinking and reveling even by daylight. Should father learn of this, he will not be pleased.”

Shen Qinghe narrowed his eyes. So this was “pure and innocent,” was it?

Too weary to bicker with a brat, and eager to return to rest, he made to bypass him.

But Shen Qingchun caught his sleeve.

Shen Qinghe arched a brow. “What is it, are you secretly in love with me?”

“You! Shameless and base!”

His fair cheeks flushed crimson, Shen Qingchun burst out furiously: “If His Majesty truly valued you, why then was your official post stripped away!”

Ah, so this was what he had lain in wait for.

“You want an office? You’re welcome to it. I won’t stop you,” said Shen Qinghe nonchalantly.

“His Majesty and Father both praise me. You alone demand exception. Tell me—do you mean to defy the Emperor, or to flout filial duty toward Father?”

Two great hats of accusation, pressed down at once. Shen Qingchun dared not fully claim them, but nearly ground his teeth into splinters. “It was only on account of Grandfather’s service following the Dragon⁴, and of the Shen family’s loyal service, that you were pardoned! Yet you live in arrogance and indulgence, disgracing the ancestral name!”

Shen Qinghe turned, the glassy black of his eyes reflecting his younger brother’s figure like crystal spheres. The sudden gravity of his expression shocked Shen Qingchun so deeply that he instinctively loosed his grip.

“Dear brother,” Shen Qinghe said softly, “have you not heard the phrase ‘achieve all in a single endeavor’? On the path of dissipation, though hardly master of the peak, I am at least somewhat accomplished. Yes, I am arrogant and indulgent, disgracing your Shen family’s ‘honor.’ But at least I am candid and forthright, showing my face as I am. You, on the other hand, are timid and wavering: unwilling to stand boldly as a gentleman, unable to bow frankly as a petty man. Instead you content yourself with troubling your poor, pitiable elder brother—so what are you, save a hypocrite?”

Raised always in pampered pride, Shen Qingchun had never in his life been struck with such scathing words.

Shen Qinghe merely stood, arms folded, until the would-be aggressor himself looked on the verge of tears.

“You! You dare speak so to me!”

“Today your elder brother excuses you—but outside, words like mine would earn you a beating.” Shen Qinghe reached out and patted him indulgently upon the head, smiling with false gentleness. “Enough now. Run along to Mother and have your cry.”

“Shen Qinghe.” A deep voice sounded from behind.

Shen Qingfeng approached with deliberate calm. His brow was furrowed with disapproval. “It is unseemly to speak recklessly, much less to bully a younger sibling.”

He really was about to collapse from fatigue, and now these two had chosen to put on a duet for him.

His expression cooled, lips once curved sunk flat, as he shot an indifferent glance. “Eldest brother—have you truly not seen who bullies whom?”

“A fop, a hypocrite, and one who eavesdrops at walls. What a fine house indeed, raising a whole clutch of rotten shoots.”

System: Such… such terrifying aggression!

Shen Qinghe: “Nothing but pent-up grievance. Whoever delays my holiday must die.”

At long last in his own chambers, Shen Qinghe toppled straight to the bed, asleep without another word. Not until past mid-morning the next day did he stir awake, content and refreshed.

“How wonderful is transmigration,” he sighed. “In my old life, up at five to the lab, alone managing all procurement and reimbursements, back at noon to the dorm, falling asleep over ten papers a night, doing side-projects for my advisor during breaks to scrape money—such trauma is finally healing.”

System: “If you are so idle, would it not be apt to advance the main quest?”

Shen Qinghe: “System, I see you really never regard yourself as an outsider. You dare ask anything! I at least coax students with grand promises. You, though—cry that the horse must gallop, yet forbid it grass.”

System, silent, murmured at last: “That was… my error.”

“…Wait. There’s really a quest?” Shen Qinghe’s spirits stirred. “I always imagined you as my skin-flaying advisor—no funding, no connections, only demands.”

System: “You sound as though you hated him.”

“No, no. I admire him greatly. My wish is to become him—hands full of large grants, assistants all willingly running errands.” Shen Qinghe’s eyes gleamed with yearning.

“…”

The system laid open its control panel. A blue glow flared, and Shen Qinghe’s anticipation faded swiftly to numb resignation.

“…Tell me why this page looks exactly like CNKI⁵?”

“Because you seemed intimately familiar with that format. I thought the theme would please you!” The system was even rather proud of its clever design.

It flicked through and opened what resembled a shopping-mall banner. A hundred points granted at start, another hundred awarded for the first quest; thus two hundred were at his disposal. Several small goods were available to exchange, though most icons below remained locked in gray.

System: “Currently redeemable items are: Wangzai Little Buns, Happy Fat House Cola⁶, Oreo biscuits, a deluxe sofa… and that’s all.”

Shen Qinghe: “…So it’s just a grocery shop?”

System (sheepishly): “Er… we’re forbidden to grant rewards exceeding the technical level of this world. A bright future must be forged with your own two hands!”

“…And what’s this?” Shen Qinghe pointed to a lone differing icon: a chibi figure hugging its knees.

System perked up cheerfully. “That’s me! For ten points a day you may redeem my offline companionship service—I’ll assume human form and appear at your side!”

Shen Qinghe: “I’ve always wondered. Don’t systems have rankings, competition? With your dazzling ability, you must surely rank bottom when performance bonuses are given out… perhaps earning nothing at all?”

System: “…Do not… say more. I, I refuse to answer!”

In truth, the system had envisioned Shen Qinghe’s journey differently: stripped of office, exiled, forced to fight back step by step with the knowledge the system provided, to carve a heroic path until ennobled as marquis and minister.

It had all been planned perfectly. But the host it had proudly selected, though truly clever, proved the most consummate salted fish—lying about at home for an entire month! At this pace, there would be no glory for this mission, only failure!

At the chamber door, Lüsong and Nan Hong, hearing noises, entered with basin and towel.

“Master did not dine last night,” said Lüsong gently. “He must be famished now.”

Head dunked inside the basin, Shen Qinghe mumbled: “Didn’t I promise? Today we go to the Zhuangyuan Tavern, eat pork knuckles.”

The two beamed with delight. In all the capital, the Zhuangyuan Tavern was famed and grand. Only by serving their master could they ever hope to visit.

Before the bronze mirror, Nan Hong arranged his master’s hair. “How formidable, young master—these past days, like you are an entirely different person.” With a faint smile, he coiled the long black hair into a half-loose knot, pinned with two simple jade hairpins. The Great Yong fashion prized natural ease, and this was now the most stylish form. His hands deft and careful, the result was flawless.

Though he too could not know whether the academy would succeed, still—compared to the old days of frivolity and vice, spending coin to found a school seemed the straight road.

“Yes indeed. Master once refused to dress properly, aping the free airs of noble scholars—yet looking more like a beggar at the roadside.” Nan Hong slanted him a soft, teasing glance.

Quickly Lüsong interrupted: “But our young master is so fine in figure; once dressed and combed, none could rival his beauty. Even those powdered nobles cannot compare a whit!”

“Where’d you learn such flatteries,” Shen Qinghe laughed, scolding lightly. He looked again to the mirror. Skin luminous, eyes star-bright, posture poised—a handsome youth of extraordinary grace, radiating the vigor of one untouched by the grind of endless overtime.

Ah, youth was splendid.

—

The Zhuangyuan Tavern had once been but a small eatery. Yet with the rise of the examination system, the fact that two consecutive champions of the imperial exams had lodged and dined there gifted it glory, and its name soared accordingly. Ever since, during every examination season, scholars filled every seat, coming to bask in that lingering aura of success.

By now the tavern was no mere restaurant—it was, in Shen Qinghe’s phrase, “a full entertainment clubhouse, food, drink, and revelry all provided in one place.”

At this hour, luxurious carriages lined the street outside. Within, feasts and poetry banquets abounded. The entire avenue throbbed with liveliness around the Tavern’s towering presence.

As a regular patron, Shen Qinghe immediately found a fine secluded booth, separated only by curtains of bamboo and gauze. From outside, one could see only fleeting shadows, lending an air of refinement.

He at once ordered the signature dish of Scholar’s Pork Knuckles, then tossed the menu to Lüsong and Nan Hong to pick what they wished.

Suddenly the hall below rang with uproar. Drums beat, laughter rose. Shen Qinghe drew the curtain to see—a circle of young nobles were playing “pitch-pot”⁷.

Pitch-pot meant tossing arrows into a narrow-mouthed pot. Success and trick variants determined the scores. Shen Qinghe had only glimpsed it in television dramas of his past life.

At first it piqued his leisure, but soon unease grew. For the “pot” was held aloft by a maiden in silk skirts. Half the arrows fell upon her instead of into the vessel—whether by accident or by cruel intent.

She stood struggling to steady the vessel. Sleeves slipped down her arms, thin switches of wood repeatedly scraping her pale wrists and leaving welts of red, near bleeding.

“Four misses! Brother Chen, you must drink as forfeit!”

“All the fault of this wench for moving! You! Making me lose—see if you don’t regret it!”

The girl trembled violently, yet still clung tight.

Another arrow missed.

The Chen fellow roared. “You can’t even hold a pot? What good are you at all!”

“…Family, anyone understand this?” Shen Qinghe muttered.

Nan Hong and Lüsong, heads buried choosing dishes, glanced up in confusion.

Shen Qinghe slammed his emptied teacup down.

“Seriously? Speechless. Bottom-tier men.”

Footnotes

1. Five Surnames and Seven Clans (五姓七望): The most powerful aristocratic lineages of China, their prestige lasting generations.

2. Pure Learning (清學): A school of intellectual thought modeled after Wei-Jin Qingtan metaphysics, emphasizing abstraction and lofty discourse.

3. Compendium of Materia Medica (本草纲目): A famous Ming dynasty medical encyclopedia by Li Shizhen, detailing herbs, minerals, and animals used in medicine.

4. Following the Dragon (从龙): Refers to meritorious service gained by supporting the Emperor before he ascended the throne.

5. CNKI (知网): The China National Knowledge Infrastructure, the dominant academic database in modern China. Its interface is a nightmare for Chinese scholars; a running joke.

6. “Fat House Cola” (肥宅快乐水): A modern internet slang in China for Coca-Cola, humorously described as “the joy-water of sedentary shut-ins.”

7. Pitch-pot (投壶): A traditional Chinese game where players throw arrows into a pot to display elegance and composure.