Late spring of the fourth year of the Xiangfu era.
The rain was as gentle as silk.
In the lakeside pavilion of the Grand Scholar’s residence, beneath the intricately carved eaves, two young men stood side by side. One was the youthful imperial uncle Yan Chiji, and the other was Kong Zhenrong, who served in the Ministry of War. Once reckless companions, they remained the closest of friends.
Kong Zhenrong spoke gravely, “The Ministry of War just received word. The Northern Wilderness army suffered heavy losses outside Jubei City, but reinforcements of supplies and troops from Longyao Province never ceased. The battle at Jubei was brutal, but Huaiguan Pass was even worse. This war between Liang and Mang will drag on for at least another two or three months.”
Yan Chiji leaned against the windowsill and chuckled, “The capital is barely keeping itself together these days. I doubt anyone but you cares about such news.”
Kong Zhenrong crossed his arms and grinned. “Li Hanlin is truly something else—the more he fights, the fiercer he becomes. After surviving as the last White Horse Captain beyond the Northern Liang borders, especially after last year’s battle at Laoyu Mountain, he, along with Yu Luandao, Cao Wei, and Wang Jingchong’s cavalry, coordinated with Kou Jianghuai and Xie Xichui, the generals of Liuzhou. They crushed the Southern Dynasty forces, including those from Gusai Province, making them howl in despair. Rumor has it they moved like ghosts, completely tying down the last two remaining field armies of the Northern Wilderness. Three times, they boldly skirted the Southern Dynasty’s Western Capital, as if leading dogs on a leash. As a result, the entire Southern Dynasty of the Northern Wilderness, except for the northern line of Longyao Province, was left riddled with holes like a sieve.”
Yan Chiji absentmindedly rubbed the stubble on his chin, which seemed to grow pricklier by the day. He recalled how, among the four of them, Kong Wuchi had always looked the most mature, the first to grow a beard. Li Hanlin used to tease Yan Chiji for being a pretty boy—just an ugly one, nowhere near as handsome as Brother Nian, so even selling himself wouldn’t fetch much coin.
Yan Chiji asked, “What do you think would’ve happened if we’d stayed in Northern Liang?”
Kong Zhenrong had clearly pondered this before and answered without hesitation, “For you? Hard to say. Maybe you’d be a scribe under Song Dongming in Qingliang Mountain, or a white-robed strategist in Jubei City. But me? At the very least, I’d be a White Horse Captain like Li Hanlin!”
Yan Chiji laughed and cursed, “Oh, you! Only when they’re not around do you dare act so cocky. Back in the day, whenever they were present, you’d clam up like a mute!”
Kong Zhenrong rolled his eyes dramatically.
In Northern Liang, Kong Zhenrong was not only known as “Wuchi” (Martial Fanatic) but also had another infamous nickname in the brothels—”Kong the Great Philanthropist!” Every time the four of them went drinking, this big oaf would stand out by refusing to call for the most beautiful courtesans. Instead, he’d bluntly tell the madam, “Bring out the girl who hasn’t had a customer in the longest time.” Not only did he insist on the least conventionally attractive women, but he also tipped generously. Though he never laid a hand on them—likely because he couldn’t bring himself to—he never made them feel neglected. His reputation as a living bodhisattva in the pleasure quarters of Northern Liang rivaled even the lavish spending of the Young Master. His father once panicked, fearing his only son would bring home a bride so frightful she could ward off evil spirits, becoming the laughingstock of the entire Northern Liang officialdom.
Among the fathers of the “Four Scourges of Northern Liang,” their attitudes varied. Old Prince Xu Xiao was carefree and indifferent. The stern scholar Yan Jiexi fretted over his son’s reputation. The miser Li Gongde agonized over wasted silver. But Kong Zhenrong’s father suffered the most, dreading a daughter-in-law so terrifying she’d scare people to death.
Yan Chiji sighed. “Li Hanlin’s sister… she never married, did she?”
Kong Zhenrong scoffed. “Li Fuzhen? That woman’s eyes have always been on the top of her head. Never had a kind word for anyone. I’ve always disliked her. Remember how she loved calling me a brute and dared call Brother Nian a lecher? Li Hanlin, being her brother, got off lightly, and you, being the most scholarly among us, were spared most of her scolding. As for your sister… well, she’s slightly better than Li Fuzhen.”
Yan Chiji could only sigh helplessly.
Xu Fengnian, Li Hanlin, Yan Chiji, Kong Zhenrong. Li Fuzhen, Yan Dongwu.
The six of them back then.
Three in Northern Liang, three in Tai’an.
Three who stayed, three who left.
The spring rain drizzled, rippling across the lake.
Kong Zhenrong recalled something and said slowly, “I heard that scholar from Youzhou’s Yanzhi County, the one who should’ve topped the spring exams, was deliberately suppressed by some high-ranking official on a flimsy pretext. Not only was he denied the top rank, but he almost missed the palace exams altogether. And now, after the emperor named him the Tanhua (Third Rank Scholar), old grievances resurfaced, stirring up the capital. Some say it was Jin Lanting, one of the examiners, while others blame Sima Puhua, the chief examiner, for favoring Qin Guanhai, who won the top rank in the preliminary exams but ended up last in the palace exams. Even my father is indignant, saying Liu Huai—had he not been sabotaged—might’ve claimed the top honor. Combined with his first-place finish in the provincial exams, he could’ve achieved the unprecedented ‘Triple Crown’ in imperial examinations! My father, usually so mild-mannered, has been ranting about it nonstop these days, nearly drinking the house dry.”
In the Liyang examination system, the autumn exams were provincial, while the spring exams were metropolitan—hence the saying, “Small autumn, great spring—the carp leaps through the dragon’s gate.” Liu Huai, the impoverished scholar from Northern Liang, gained fame even before the spring exams. While copying inscriptions outside the Imperial Academy, he caught the attention of the contemporary Sage of the Zhang family, who even helped him transcribe texts. Thousands of students flocked to witness it, yet Liu Huai was the last to learn the scholar’s exalted identity—a sensation that shook the capital! Despite his poverty, Liu Huai refused offers of wealth for his writings, declined invitations to move to better lodgings, and turned down marriage proposals from noble families. Many dismissed him as a fame-seeker, but after he secured the Tanhua rank and his exam essays circulated, such whispers faded.
As Liu Huai entered the court’s spotlight, Tai’an’s gossipers learned that five Northern Liang scholars had qualified for the exams, but four withdrew, pooling their funds for Liu Huai before returning home.
Kong Zhenrong’s father, Kong Dashan, had left Northern Liang after being “recruited” by the Liyang court, partly because his merchant brother’s two daughters married into powerful Jiangnan families. Though the Kong men were rough-looking, the women were all beauties. With those Jiangnan connections and his disagreements with the cavalry commander Zhong Hongwu, Kong Dashan moved to Tai’an, securing a mid-level post in the Ministry of War—only a fourth-rank position, recently promoted. He’d likely be overtaken by his son soon. Despite facing scorn in the capital, Kong Dashan, a true Northern Liang military man, remained broad-minded. Had he leveraged his son’s ties to the Young Master, he’d never have left Northern Liang. Though a rough man himself, Kong Dashan openly admired scholars—rare among Northern Liang’s warriors. He’d once disdained even Li Hanlin and been cool toward the irreverent Young Master Xu Fengnian, but he warmed up to the scholarly Yan Chiji.
Thus, Kong Dashan’s outrage at Liu Huai’s treatment was no surprise.
Yan Chiji, who had been lazily leaning on the railing, stood up and said solemnly, “There were indeed irregularities in the spring exams. Sima Puhua, as chief examiner, did favor his fellow townsman Qin Guanhai, but he didn’t suppress Liu Huai. Jin Lanting, Liu Huai’s examiner, praised his essays lavishly, filling his evaluation with accolades.”
Kong Zhenrong frowned in confusion. “If the chief and deputy examiners didn’t oppose him, who could’ve interfered?”
Suddenly, his eyes widened in disbelief.
Yan Chiji nodded. “It was Vice-Minister Chen, who initially declined to be chief examiner. He shook his head at Liu Huai’s essays, offering faint praise but more criticism.”
Kong Zhenrong shook his head vehemently. “I don’t believe it! I’ve never met Chen Shaobao, but I trust his character! He’d never stoop to such pettiness. There’s no need!”
Chen Shaobao’s reputation in court was beyond reproach, as Kong Zhenrong’s reaction showed.
Yan Chiji smiled bitterly. “I didn’t believe it either, but the emperor himself said so—with Chen Shaobao present.”
Kong Zhenrong stood dumbfounded, slapping his forehead. “No wonder Brother Nian always said scholars’ affairs are impossible to untangle!”
Yan Chiji murmured, “In the end, the emperor naming Liu Huai Tanhua—but not the top scholar—was perhaps a ‘compromise.'”
Kong Zhenrong sighed. “If you can’t figure it out, don’t dwell on it. If the road’s blocked, take a detour. That’s what Brother Nian taught me, and it makes sense.”
Yan Chiji grinned. “He also said, if you can’t beat the grandpa, play the grandson first. One day, the grandson will teach the grandpa a lesson.”
Kong Zhenrong burst into laughter, unable to stop.
After a long silence, as Kong Zhenrong finally quieted, Yan Chiji leaned on the railing again and whispered, “You and Li Hanlin always thought I was the most scholarly, that Brother Nian was just naturally smarter at arguing. But that’s not true. It took me years to realize—he knew my family was leaving Northern Liang long before it happened. That’s why, during our last gathering, he drunkenly told me alone: ‘They say all feasts must end. But don’t worry—they also say life will bring us together again. One table cleared, another will be set.'”
Kong Zhenrong had no reply.
Words failed him.
There was no wine to drink.
Yan Chiji turned, tears streaming down his face, and looked at Kong Wuchi. “I know—the four of us, plus my sister and Li Fuzhen… the six of us will never sit together again in this life.”
Kong Zhenrong nodded.
Yan Chiji sobbed like a guilty child. “Brother Nian lied to me!”
Kong Zhenrong remained silent, only raising his hand to rest on the young man’s head, gently ruffling his hair.
Just as Xu Fengnian had once done to Yan Chiji.
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