Chapter 60

Chapter 60: Stop Calling Random Men Dad

The old man’s eyes bulged like bronze bells, and his mouth fell open wide enough to swallow an egg.

Li Da Niu snapped his head around to look at him, his expression a chaotic mix of disbelief, surprise, joy, suspicion, and lingering dread.

“Xuan Ming, Yun Ting, Yun Yan—come, hurry up and kneel. Pay your respects to your maternal grandfather.”

Gu Nan Xi beckoned Su Xuan Ming and the others over.

Su Yun Ting’s eyes gleamed like stars. He looked ready to latch onto his maternal grandfather’s leg and never let go, his voice overflowing with admiration. “So it was you, Maternal Grandfather! All these years, you’ve been living under Zhong Nan Mountain as Yin Zheng Dao!”

As soon as he finished, Su Yun Ting clapped enthusiastically, wearing an I-knew-it-all-along expression. “So you went under Zhong Nan Mountain to destroy Yin Zhi Ping, secretly clearing away obstacles for us?”

Huh?

Yin Zhi Ping?

Obstacles?

Gu Nan Xi suddenly felt something wasn’t right.

After a long moment, the old man finally found his voice again.

He lifted a trembling finger and jabbed it at Gu Nan Xi, grief and rage tangled together. “So it’s you, Gu Nan Xi! When you were little, you were just stubborn and single-minded. I told you to fix it—I didn’t tell you to swing so far you snapped the other way!”

Then he pointed at Su Yun Ting, furious that he wouldn’t learn. “Fine! If you want to go down a crooked road, that’s on you. But why did you pass this nonsense on to your children?”

Su Yun Yan sprang to her feet and stepped in front of Gu Nan Xi, glaring at the old man. “Even if you are my maternal grandfather, you can’t talk about my mother like that! My mother is the brightest mind in Great Zhou. She’s the finest talented lady of her generation!”

Gu Nan Xi, finally sobering up, awkwardly tugged at Su Yun Yan’s skirt.

[Good girl, stop. Please stop.]

[Your mother just made a spectacular mistake.]

The old man puffed his cheeks and glared. After several deep breaths, he forced himself to steady his temper. “Did your mother pass that wooden-post brain to you, too?”

Su Yun Yan blinked, baffled, her eyes wide and sincere. “No. She just gave me a book—the Culinary God Manual.”

The old man’s mouth twisted to one side. Anger and delight mingled on his face until he looked almost absurd.

“An inherited secret manual?”

“Of course. My mother can’t cook, anyway.”

The old man swallowed, then sat up straighter without meaning to.

Maybe… this “father” wasn’t impossible to accept.

Li Da Niu watched the whole exchange. Seeing the old man change so completely, a wildly implausible guess took shape in his mind.

Just as everyone in the room traded helpless looks, not knowing what to say next, the doors of the Hundred Rivers Academy were pushed open again.

—

Before dawn, the Capital stirred. From every direction, officials arrived in the inner city—some riding in carriages, some perched on donkeys, some walking on foot. They followed Imperial Avenue toward the Imperial Palace in a steady, unbroken stream.

Even earlier than the officials were the street vendors setting up their stalls.

“Hot pork-noodle soup! One bowl and you’ll feel alive all day!”

“Baozi! Baozi from the Imperial Academy! Even His Majesty says they’re good!”

The morning market steamed and sizzled. Calls rose and fell, and the entire street filled with the warm, rich scent of food, stopping hungry officials in their tracks.

“Censor Jiang, you’re here for wontons too?” Young Lord Li found an empty seat and waved Censor Jiang over.

Censor Jiang held a scalding porcelain bowl and struggled through the crowd before sitting beside him. The two ate in big, noisy bites for a while, neither speaking.

Only after more than half the wontons were gone did Young Lord Li hesitate and ask, “Um… has your eldest son ever gone to the academy?”

In the market’s clamor, his words nearly vanished.

“No,” Censor Jiang replied. “The Marchioness said that even if there are a thousand hardships ahead, she can go alone.”

Young Lord Li lowered his head. The fragrant wontons in front of him suddenly felt impossible to swallow.

Censor Jiang took ten copper coins from his wide sleeve, set them on the wooden table, and said stiffly, “The Marchioness is considerate and broad-minded. She hasn’t taken those matters to heart. Don’t work yourself up over nothing.”

Young Lord Li still sat there, dazed. Censor Jiang sighed and urged, “His Majesty is diligent, and he hates lateness and delay. We should pick up our pace.”

Only then did Young Lord Li snap out of it. He hurried after Censor Jiang. “Thank you for the reminder.”

They reached the great hall just before the last crack of the whip.

Inside, the civil and military officials stood in two lines. The civil officials were on the east, led by Grand Tutor Tong. The military officials stood on the west—and at their head was Dragon-Martial Grand General Li Ao Tian.

The young emperor sat above them all, smiling pleasantly, as if he had the gentlest temper in the world.

After the formal salutations, palace attendants brought chairs for the highest-ranking ministers so they could survive the morning court. Those of lower rank had no such luxury—they stood, legs locked, backs straight.

“The autumn grain has been counted and stored,” an official reported, “and the autumn taxes have been collected. Because the Northern Lands suffered a drought this year, revenues fell by ten percent.”

The young emperor frowned. “The treasury is full. A ten percent drop is nothing. The tax-reduction policy for the disaster areas issued last month—have all prefectures carried it out?”

“Your Majesty, they have.”

The morning assembly was routine, nearly ceremonial. Just as everyone settled into the familiar rhythm, the Imperial Academy Director stepped forward.

“This minister has a memorial to submit.”

The young emperor narrowed his eyes slightly. “Granted.”

“In the Capital, aside from the Imperial Academy and its subordinate academies, there are thirty-six primary schools and one hundred twenty-five private schools,” the director said, voice ringing with righteous conviction. “As the saying goes, it takes ten years to grow a tree, but a hundred years to raise a person. These students are the pillars of Great Zhou’s future.”

The young emperor’s fingers tightened on his knees.

So? What are you aiming at?

“To prevent teachers from misleading children,” the director continued, “I propose that every year we assess all teachers currently in service.”

Censor Jiang immediately stepped out. “Absurd! Do you realize that besides schools and academies, many teachers are hired into private homes to tutor children? How will you even count them?”

Young Lord Li followed at once. “Exactly! Who will conduct these assessments? And by what standards? Classics, law, medicine, martial arts, mathematics, painting—each discipline is different. If you try to enforce this across the board, even the Six Ministries combined couldn’t finish this one task in a year!”

Voices rose from the ranks.

“That’s right! Even the civil service examinations only happen once every three years—how could annual teacher assessments be possible?”

“Ridiculous!”

“Completely ridiculous!”

The director flicked a glance toward Grand Tutor Tong. The old tutor lounged in his chair, eyes closed as if he were dozing. The director’s spine seemed to straighten.

“If assessing all teachers is unrealistic,” he said, “then we narrow the scope. Anyone in the Capital who wishes to run a private school must first pass a qualification certification.”

Censor Jiang opened his mouth—and found he had nothing to say.

The Imperial Academy already held authority to oversee academies throughout Great Zhou. Everyone knew who this reform was meant to target, and yet no one could oppose it outright.

Sure enough, the young emperor said, “Granted.”

The words had barely left his mouth when a palace attendant came tumbling in, half crawling, half running, voice cracking as he shouted, “Your Majesty! General Gu isn’t dead!”