Chapter 11
Chapter 11: Delivered to the Door
While Little Nan sat in her hive-like cell, wringing rhymes out of her brain, Prince Rui’s heir apparent, Gu Yan, arrived in Hang Zhou.
His fleet docked at the private pier of Prince Rui’s estate outside the city.
Prince Rui’s household had two ancestral estates: one outside Hang Zhou, and one outside Ping Jiang City. The Hang Zhou pier connected to the sea and ran deep and wide enough to moor warships.
The Hang Zhou estate also held a cemetery that looked, at first glance, no different from any ordinary family’s graves.
Each year, when the court held rites for the meritorious officials of Ling Yan Pavilion, eunuchs were dispatched here to conduct a grand memorial.
Prince Rui’s household held even more rites of its own. Every prince who inherited the title had to come here to offer sacrifices and pay respects before the succession was considered complete.
In the past, Gu Yan had found those rules tedious and dusty.
Now, he felt only awe—and a strange, fierce gratitude—toward those graves and these estates.
The anchor splashed down. Chains clattered. Boatmen hurried to lay a gangplank.
Gu Yan stepped onto the pier in a gold crown and a black ceremonial robe embroidered with python patterns, tall and solemn. He followed the old steward who guarded the estate, walking on foot into the cemetery.
He knelt and bowed before more than a hundred graves, burning two eulogies—one penned by the emperor, one by his father. By the time he finished, the afternoon was already waning.
He ate quickly, then ordered the stewards to prepare. The moment he returned, they would depart for Ping Jiang Prefecture.
Instead of resting, Gu Yan mounted his horse and rode straight for the Hang Zhou examination compound.
This trip through Jiang Nan came with duties. As an inspector envoy, he was to observe local governance and public conditions, submitting a memorial every ten days.
The academy exam for Liang Zhe Circuit was no small event. He had to show his face—if only for a glance. Besides, the chief examiner, Wei Xue Ban, was his maternal uncle.
The previous education commissioner of Liang Zhe Circuit had died of illness last twelfth month, not even halfway through his term. Gu Yan’s Sixth Uncle, Wei Yu Ming, had been appointed in his place and had rushed south before the New Year to preside over the annual examinations.
Sixth Uncle had been Gu Yan’s first teacher. His learning and character were beyond question. If anyone had a complaint, it was only this: his exams were viciously hard.
But this was Jiang Nan. Talent was thick as reeds on a riverbank. Harder questions were nothing to fear.
Thinking of his uncle, a faint warmth softened Gu Yan’s otherwise cold expression.
Late afternoon, he reached the compound. The main gate was packed with people, all craning their necks and waiting for their own examinees to emerge.
Attendants led Gu Yan around the crowd toward the side gate.
At the narrow alley leading there, Gu Yan stepped down from his horse—and his gaze caught on a figure moving near the ceremonial gate steps.
Little Nan, rushing toward Li Jin Zhu.
Gu Yan froze as if struck by lightning, eyes widening, body gone rigid.
“My lord?” The eunuch chief attendant, Shi Gun, hurried forward with both arms half raised, ready to catch him if he toppled over.
Ever since Gu Yan’s serious illness last twelfth month, he sometimes had these strange moments—standing there like he’d seen a ghost.
Shi Gun’s voice snapped him back. Gu Yan lowered his lashes, burying whatever flickered in his eyes, and said coldly, “Let’s go.”
An attendant presented Gu Yan’s imperial commissioner credentials. The side gate opened.
Education Commissioner Wei Yu Ming stood on the hall steps with hands clasped behind his back. When he saw Gu Yan, his face broke into a broad smile.
“I had a feeling you’d arrive today. How was the road? Smooth?”
“It was fine,” Gu Yan replied. He flicked open a folding fan with practiced ease. “I missed Yang Zhou’s qionghua blossoms, but at least I didn’t miss Hang Zhou’s golden osmanthus. This round seems small.”
“After the Classics assignment, I eliminated thirty percent,” Education Commissioner Wei said with a satisfied huff. “Nearly twenty percent didn’t even come to collect the topic. They’ve grown far too lax.”
“Any prefecture where you eliminated them all?” Gu Yan asked, amused.
“Today is Ping Jiang Prefecture.” Education Commissioner Wei lifted his chin. “If I eliminated them all, it would only mean they were useless. I’m impartial as iron.”
Gu Yan walked to the long table piled with rosters and papers. He picked up one paper, then another, skimming with the casual patience of someone who’d read too much and forgotten how to be impressed. He reached the rosters, flipped through the top volume, then the next.
There it was: Li Xue Dong. Noted as from Kun Shan County.
A faint glint crossed Gu Yan’s eyes. His hands didn’t pause. He read on, finished one volume, finished another, and returned to stand beside Education Commissioner Wei as if nothing had happened.
Outside, dusk had settled. Only a dozen exam cells still held anyone.
“You’ll post the list tomorrow and hold the oral review right away?” Gu Yan asked lightly. “With this many papers, can you read them all?”
“Not that many,” Education Commissioner Wei said. “Tomorrow mid-morning we post the list, then we begin the oral review immediately.”
His gaze swept Gu Yan from head to toe. “Your mother said you’ve been insisting on coming south since last twelfth month. She doesn’t even know what you planned. What are you really here for?”
“You were appointed here as education commissioner,” Gu Yan said, expression earnest. “I came to learn from you.”
“Still feeding me nonsense.” Education Commissioner Wei snorted.
“Tonight I’ll stay with you and review the papers,” Gu Yan continued smoothly. “Tomorrow morning I’ll come again and keep learning at your side.”
Education Commissioner Wei raised his brows, studying him. “Your mother said you changed after that illness—that you became sensible. Is it true you’ve finally grown up?”
Gu Yan shot him a sideways glance and said nothing.
Education Commissioner Wei stroked his beard, eyes full of obvious affection. His nephew—his only nephew—was flawless. Someday, some Miss would be the lucky one.
—
Whether the academy exam would be followed by an oral review had no fixed rule at court. It was entirely up to the education commissioner.
The previous two commissioners had picked a few dozen at random, asked one or two questions from the classics or statutes, and dismissed them.
What this year’s Education Commissioner Wei would do, no one could guess.
Little Nan didn’t dare relax. She arrived at the compound gate with Eldest Sister Li Jin Zhu before mid-morning and tucked herself into a corner, waiting for the provisional list.
Clerks struck small bronze gongs and pasted a huge sheet of paper onto the screen wall outside the main gate. The waiting crowd surged forward.
Little Nan pressed close to Li Jin Zhu, listening to the shouted announcements.
“Thirty-seventh place, Shang Desk—”
It was her desk number.
She tugged hard at Li Jin Zhu’s sleeve. Li Jin Zhu looked down, and Little Nan tilted her face up, a smile spilling out until she looked like a flower in bloom.
A few steps away, Li Wen Hua stood with arms folded, listening with a blank expression.
“Tell him after we’re done,” Little Nan murmured, glancing his way.
Li Jin Zhu nodded. They both agreed on that.
Keeping one wary eye on Li Wen Hua, the two women slipped behind the screen wall and waited for the oral review to begin.
Two clerks emerged from the ceremonial gate, shook out a thick roster, and began to call desk numbers.
The line was enormous—nearly two hundred people. They filed in through the Gate of Great Achievement.
Inside, rows of desks had been set out, labeled with phrases from the Three Character Classic.
Little Nan found Shang Desk and sat down.
A clear bronze chime rang.
Education Commissioner Wei’s voice carried across the hall. “The topics are on your desks. Choose one. One stick of incense is the limit. All right—open them.”
Little Nan broke the lacquer seal. Three slips: classics essay, history essay, poetry.
She chose the classics essay without hesitation and began outlining at once.
A clerk walked past and collected the other two slips.
From the moment Little Nan entered, Gu Yan watched her with narrowed eyes.
Rough black-and-gray clothes. A thin neck. Thin arms. Head lowered, cautious—yet not truly shrinking.
Bold girl.
Bold enough to take another person’s place in an exam.
When Education Commissioner Wei announced the start, Gu Yan stepped down from the dais and began to walk among the desks, slow and watchful, drifting—one deliberate step at a time—toward Little Nan.