ITIEQ C76

Chapter 76 – Revisiting Old Ground

Shen Qinghe had lingered at the Longzhang Terrace for nearly two hours; time spent with Xiao Yuanzheng was hardly hard to endure. Knowing palace days were dull, he sliced their years of separation into vignettes and chose the interesting ones to share with the supreme emperor of Great Yong; by the end, good humor had already filled the sovereign’s brows and eyes.

Shen understood that seeing him had already delayed Xiao Yuanzheng’s schedule; the emperor still had to go out to deal with those waiting outside Hanchang Hall. It would not do to press for more. He declined the invitation to dine together and was carried by the same small sedan out toward the palace gates.

Passing Hanchang Hall again, it was already dusk; a flock of cold crows cut past the golden eaves, crying as they flew.

The ministers were still kneeling there, holding their breath in a show of resolve, refusing to disperse without an audience with the Zhaohuan Emperor. As he passed, eunuchs filed by with trays—bowls and rice, set one by one before the kneeling officials.

Distributing meals?

When had court ministers ever taken food sitting on the ground—how was this any different from street beggars!

An utter humiliation!

The palace attendants set the trays down and left. The faction leaders, all at the age of fierce pride, though their bellies thundered, refused to eat the food tossed at them with a “take it or leave it.”

Shen Zhao was among them; swiftly, he hid a rice cake in his sleeve—apparently one who preferred food to “backbone.”

Shen Qinghe laughed, tapping the sedan handle: His Majesty knew how to toy with people. These clan‑bred gentlemen of delicate upbringing—how much “steel” could they truly have? They’d soon need a step to retreat with grace.

Doubtless, when this day passed, another method of soft‑hard pressure would follow.

The black‑haired youth turned this over in his mind, considering how to ease matters for Xiao Yuanzheng.

When the sedan reached the near outer bluestone path, he waved for the bearers to set him down. “Here is fine; return and report.”

They looked at one another, but none defied him, hoisting the poles and heading back into the deep palace.

Shen Qinghe stretched and smoothed his robe, walking toward the Wuzhi Gate. The commander at the gate, seeing who he was, did not hinder him. He passed smoothly outside and was just mounting the carriage when a distant shout came; Shen paused mid‑step.

“Hey, Teacher Shen!”

He looked up. A youth in pine‑green stood leaning against the city wall, waving hard when spotted, like a reed afloat.

His features were familiar; Shen rummaged through memory, dredging up a face from among hundreds and thousands. “Liu Lin?”

“It’s me!” Liu Lin hadn’t expected to be remembered and came up, delighted. “I saw you just now before Hanchang Hall and thought I was mistaken—but it really is you!”

Liu Lin was a Qingbei Academy alumnus—lucky enough to pass the examinations and enter office straightaway; they had shared several years of teacher‑student ties.

“My graduation thesis was poor; several teachers flayed me alive—and it was you who intervened on my behalf.”

Though Teacher Shen was not much older than he, Liu Lin’s respect was sincere, his address always honorific.

One look at Shen’s searching expression, and he knew the memory hadn’t fallen into place. Liu Lin waved it off cheerfully. “I studied agriculture at the academy, hoping to be an agricultural officer someday—to make Great Yong rich in goods and fat with bumper harvests.” He rubbed his head, embarrassed. “Only, my talent was ordinary; my test plots always scored worst.”

At that, the image sharpened for Shen. Poor marks in agronomy—but quite good in politics. He remembered one student whose stack of examination mock papers rose to his calves—who graduated and immediately entered the imperial exams, hitting the mark in one go. Surely this was he.

“Sixth rank?” Shen judged by the embroideries on his robe. Sixth‑rank and above could attend court. Though his family background was not poor, compared to the great clans he was average. That ascent was swift indeed.

“Junior sixth.” Modest in reply: “A bit of luck. I studied all the academy taught with care, and with His Majesty’s favor—here I am.”

Shen nodded. “You said you were at Hanchang just now?”

“Yes.” When Liu Lin smiled, a deep dimple appeared at his cheek, making him look harmless—easy to overlook the fox‑bright eyes. “I befriended some lords and slipped into the fold—so I heard of today’s petition in advance. If you enter the tiger’s den, you may take the tiger’s cub—so I came along. But seeing you, I got excited—and slipped out.”

Undercover, then.

So now it was clear how he rose so quickly: leaning on the court’s two greatest powers at once. If he hadn’t climbed, that would have been strange. Still—it was his own skill; few could even reach the threshold of such calibration and balance.

“I’ve read the Three Kingdoms—and the tale of the heart that remained with Han in the camp of Cao. For the grace I have received, I will never forget.” Liu Lin looked at Shen, speaking what he had long held in his heart. “My heart is with the academy—and with you. Once, you walked alone. Now… may I not also join the board?”

Everything in Qingbei was miraculous. Liu Lin had stayed just over two years; only upon returning outside had he realized that had been a true Peach‑Blossom Spring. Now that omnipotent Teacher Shen had come to the capital, it must be to accomplish great works. Liu Lin pledged himself gladly.

Not only he—no Qingbei scholar balked at the prospect.

“This is dangerous,” Shen told him plainly. “You are but sixth rank.”

In provinces he held in hand, one could sometimes be bold. But the capital’s waters were deep; even he had to bide in the shadows. Looking at these youths, he saw himself in years past; himself, free of ties, could spend his strength as he pleased. His students could not.

The fox‑eyed youth bent in a deep bow. “Teacher, those of us who have come to the capital already decided to tread silk threads. Though our ranks are low, our resolve is to go through fire and water. Even those Qingbei sons and daughters who did not choose the exams know their mission.”

“What mission did I teach you?” Shen asked dryly.

“Even unspoken—students can understand.”

“…”

Somehow, his students had privately formed a consensus without him.

“I know Teacher would emulate Minister Kong, raising a hut to retire!” The more Liu Lin spoke, the more his face flushed with fervor. “But now the time ripens. Thirty years east of the river, thirty years west—this is the hour for Qingbei to win renown across all realms, and trample other miscellaneous studies underfoot!”

The teacher had hidden his light and sheathed his blade. Liu Lin, steeped in his influence, had learned to hide as well. But times change—and now the wheel must turn!

“Xiao Liu,” Shen said after a beat, “you… love reading very much, don’t you.”

Liu Lin tucked away his ardor and smiled shyly. “At the academy, I was ‘Borrower of the Month’ at the library without fail; the certificates still hang at home.”

Other students read for credits; only he—read for love!

Hooking an arm through Shen’s sleeve, Liu Lin said warmly, “To celebrate your arrival in the capital—I’ve prepared a banquet. I called quite a few from the academy; they all wish to wash the dust from you.”

He’d barely left Longzhang Terrace, and Liu Lin had already gathered the guests and set the tables. That sort of execution—once, he had been a top “grinder.”

The once‑“dead” System was already shouting banquet! banquet!

A teachers’ feast would do. Shen also wished to see those who had landed in officialdom.

…

“I hear Brother Qingfeng has been transferred to the Ceremonial Bureau?”

Shen Qingfeng dipped his head slightly.

At the Zhuangyuan Tower, arrows were tossed into pots, drums were beaten, bamboo blinds rustled—a lively din, mirroring the ease and spring in Shen Qingfeng’s brows.

Among old classmates, his family was only middling; only by smoothly entering office and gaining a seat at court could he speak and laugh at table without strain.

Warm courtesies circled:

“With your honored father leading the way—fortunes will flow, and all affairs prosper.”

“Back at the academy, Brother Qingfeng’s talent often drew the teachers’ praise. Spreading great plans was only a matter of time.”

“Indeed, indeed.”

“My elder brother is formidable,” Shen Qingchun added, striking a timely note of mock complaint. “Father calls for me daily to study like Brother Qingfeng—my ears have grown calluses.”

After laughter, someone consoled him: “The official path is hard now. Without great merit—how to catch the Emperor’s eye for promotion? And too much showing off is no good either—many will see you as a thorn in the eye; the higher you climb, the harder you fall…” With intent, he added: “For one of his age to don a sixth‑rank crane‑embroidered robe—your brother is already a phoenix among men.”

With the exams in full force, studies grew heavier by the day. Securing a small post in the provinces was not too hard; but being a capital official—inferior gentry could no longer rely on old paths. That road was entirely “closed.”

They dared not blame the One Above; in private they sighed at poor timing.

Shen Qingchun’s mouth was modest, but his tail was halfway to the sky. He had been ordered confined to home, but a small academy banquet was a time for meeting peers—many of notable houses—and Shen Zhao had let him come with Shen Qingfeng.

In the capital, the brothers rarely enjoyed such attention at table. Shen Qingchun was delighted, basking in praise, downing two cups more than usual. Feeling stifled inside, he stepped out to the veranda.

Shen Qingfeng followed. Not in vain had he burnt night oil and applied himself at work—at last misfortune had turned to fair winds. From above, gazing at the crowd, he felt, for the first time, the reality of standing above others—past restraints and crafted humility seemingly cast off.

Both were tipsy. Shen Qingchun’s thoughts drifted; he felt certain of success in the next exam. Next time, he would be the one ringed round by crowds.

Such a scene—Shen Qinghe should see it. The morning’s grievance—he’d reclaim it all.

As the thought brought a smile to his lips—what he thought, he saw. Glancing down, he caught a familiar figure—and blurted, as if seeing a ghost:

“Shen Qinghe?!”

Shen had just rounded the front corridor. He seemed to hear someone call his name—an ill omen crept up his spine. Truth be told, since Xiao Liu had said to come to the Zhuangyuan Tower with its gilt, high‑hung plaque—this feeling had never left him.

Alas, Liu Lin had not caught his hesitation—only assuming the teacher worried for his purse, and even joked, “No graft nor bribe—stipend suffices.”

He looked up. Sure enough—Shen Qingfeng and Shen Qingchun stood together at the railing, expressions most exquisite.

This place truly was unchanged—the spawn point for side quests and the refresh spot for cannon‑fodder NPCs.

“It’s him, isn’t it? What’s he doing here?”

For a moment, Shen Qingchun panicked—then sought confirmation from the man beside him. Last night, Shen Qingfeng had weighed pros and cons—if Shen Qinghe disobeyed secretly and returned, the whole family would be implicated—which had stayed his hand from tossing the man out of the house at midnight.

Hadn’t he left the city? How dared he strut in the capital!

Disinterested, Shen Qinghe felt no spark of ire.

In stark contrast, Shen Qingchun’s reaction was violent. A hundred guesses surged up: Shen Qingfeng’s new posting, his own looming exam—perhaps Shen Qinghe had learned of this classmates’ banquet and come to pick a fight… Just as Father said—he wanted a death‑match with the Shen family!

A man driven from home in disgrace—turning up at the Zhuangyuan Tower as if nothing were wrong—surely not for leisure? He’d always had some money—but with a spendthrift’s habits, it couldn’t be much. He must be here—for them!

The more he thought, the more convincing it was. He never stinted on the worst interpretation. His loathing for the man was so thick that a half‑glimpsed profile at a distance would lock his attention.

“You—”

His words cut off.

A roar in his skull—and only then did his eyes pick up that flash of crimson.

Vermilion and purple—garb not worn by commoners.

“Fifth rank…”

Shen Qingfeng’s gaze hardened. He leaned forward slightly, veins standing out on the hand gripping the rail.

“How is that possible!”

Shen Qingchun’s exclamation drew the diners’ eyes at once.

At the academy, he had always worn the face of a dutiful student; seldom had anyone seen such loss of composure. People put down their cups, crowding the rail to see what had provoked him.

“Shen Qinghe?”

All were Donglai Academy’s current or former students—well acquainted with one another. They identified the man below quickly.

In terms of renown, he outshone the other two Shen brothers by far.

“Yo—isn’t that what’s‑his‑name.” Someone, face flushed from drink, squinted at the red‑robed figure and spoke without thinking. “Long time no see—call him up for a cup!”

A quieter voice rebuked him: “Call him? He was expelled long ago—no longer one of us.”

Faces varied. Shen Qinghe had loved play—truly a wastrel. When he passed the exam and entered court, many had been shocked; the sour grumbling behind his back had been plenty. Later, the Zheng Hall incident had spread wide—tea‑time gossip for days.

But now they all saw the youth’s robe.

Vermilion. Jade belt. Deadly conspicuous.

The red‑robed youth glanced their way only once, then turned toward the two brothers and unfurled a meaningful smile. Without a word, he drifted away.

Music and pipes continued within; only this private room fell utterly silent.

Naturally, their “old classmates” were beneath his notice; many felt a prickle of discomfort.

“Qingfeng—what is the meaning of this? When did your brother return to the capital? Not a whiff of rumor reached us.” They began, ever so casually, to turn the topic to Shen Qinghe.

Everyone knew how hard he had fallen. And now… With a fair wind, who didn’t want a ladder to the clouds?

“I don’t know his affairs,” Shen Qingfeng said at last, expression growing murky and hard to read.

Shen Qingchun forgot himself entirely—his features twisted. One moment he felt fried in oil; the next, plunged into ice.

He shook all over.

Shen Qinghe—always Shen Qinghe!

Hated to the bone; enemies crossing at every turn. Without knowing it—his fixation on the man only showed how much space he had ceded him. In the end, he did not know when he himself had become a snarling shadow beneath the other’s feet—pinned fast, unable to rise.