Chapter 16

Chapter 16: Nephew and Uncle

The next day, Li Xue Dong showed up at the Academy Temple gate on time, dressed in the deep-indigo long robe his third uncle had bought secondhand, the blue-and-white trim still stiff from careful washing. Around his waist was a belt Li Jin Zhu had stitched through the night—neat seams, tight knots, the kind of work that said she’d been afraid to blink.

He took his place beside a line of other young men in matching indigo robes and tried to look like he belonged there.

In the crowd, Little Nan clung to Li Jin Zhu’s arm. The two of them spoke in low voices as they watched Li Xue Dong stand too straight, too still, like someone afraid the ground might bite.

Li Wen Hua, on the other hand, was practically floating. Hands tucked in his sleeves, he rose onto his toes, craned his neck, and beamed at his family’s xiu cai scholar as if he’d personally written the exams for him. Every so often he nudged whoever stood closest and announced, loud enough to be heard a street away, “That one! That’s my eldest nephew! See him? That one—my eldest nephew! Only seventeen!”

The Academy Temple gates opened. Two lines of pages filed out and bowed, making a corridor for the newly minted licentiates. The group split to pass around the screen wall, then flowed into the ceremonial gate. Before anything else, they were led to the small shrine beside the Pan Pond to pay respects.

At the doorway to the exam cells, Gu Yan stood in a silver-white robe with a jade belt, lazily rocking a folding fan. His gaze kept drifting toward Little Nan, who chatted bright-eyed in the crowd, half hidden behind Li Jin Zhu.

The girl was thin and dark, dressed in rough cloth. From a distance she could almost be mistaken for a boy, but there was no mistaking that quick spark—clean and lively, like a bead of dew rolling across a lotus leaf.

Compared to her, Lu Xiu had always been too careful, too tight in the shoulders.

“Sir,” Shi Gun murmured, edging closer, “your uncle has sent someone again. He’s urging you.”

Shi Gun tried to sound calm, but his nerves were already fraying. The heir apparent had been standing here for more than half an hour, watching who-knew-what like it was the most important thing in the world.

Everyone said the heir apparent had grown more sensible after his serious illness. Shi Gun wanted to believe it. He really did. But ever since that sickness, the heir apparent had been… odd. Quiet in a way that felt sharp. Thoughtful in a way that felt haunted.

And worst of all—he’d changed Shi Gun’s name.

The old name had been beautiful. Han Yue. Poetic, refined, the kind of name you could hang on a verse.

The heir apparent had chosen it himself.

Now it was Shi Gun.

Shi Gun didn’t know what crime he’d committed to deserve sounding like a stone rolled down a hill.

“Let’s go,” Gu Yan said, snapping his fan shut.

He crossed the exam cells and entered the Academy Temple.

Li Xue Dong moved with the crowd—step, stop, kneel, kowtow, rise—trying to copy everyone else exactly. When they reached the stone bridge, he couldn’t help himself. He stole a few careful glances down at the half-round pool beneath it. The water held a whole bed of flowers he couldn’t name, sweet-scented and bright.

The Pan Pond was sacred.

Yesterday he’d heard more rules and legends about it than he could count. Even now, staring at it, his chest felt tight with awe.

A Nan should be the one crossing this bridge…

“Silence!” someone barked.

Li Xue Dong jolted, gathered his wandering thoughts, and hurried to match the group again, placing each foot as if the stones were counting.

The new licentiates lined up and climbed the steps to the Hall of Great Achievement. One by one, they received two new books from Education Commissioner Wei. Then Education Commissioner Wei pinned a sprig of red fluff to each man’s cap.

Gu Yan stood beside Education Commissioner Wei, fanning himself, his attention half present as he sized up the new licentiates.

When it was Li Xue Dong’s turn, sweat already slicked his forehead. He accepted the books with both hands and bowed—too deep, too fast.

Education Commissioner Wei had just lifted the red fluff. Li Xue Dong’s sudden plunge made him miss entirely, pinning nothing but air.

A soft laugh escaped Education Commissioner Wei. “Li Xue Dong, don’t be nervous. Lift your head.”

Li Xue Dong shot upright—only for the problem to become obvious.

He didn’t have a cap.

Education Commissioner Wei paused, then neatly tucked the red fluff into Li Xue Dong’s topknot instead.

Gu Yan studied Li Xue Dong more closely.

The resemblance was real—five or six parts, at least. The same brows, the same eyes, the same bones in the face. His sister had been sweet and alive, her expressions changing like sunlight on water.

This boy looked like a friendly ox who’d wandered into a temple and was desperately trying not to offend the statues.

It was almost impressive.

By late morning, the ceremony broke up. As Li Xue Dong rounded the screen wall with the other new licentiates, Li Wen Hua spotted him and started waving both arms like a man trying to flag down a ship. “Da Lang! Here! Over here!”

Li Xue Dong hugged the new books to his chest and jogged over.

—

Education Commissioner Wei walked through the exam cells and stopped beside Gu Yan, following the direction of his nephew’s gaze.

“What are you looking at?” he asked.

“Local customs,” Gu Yan said, drawing his eyes back from Little Nan. He tapped his fan toward a few women nearby, each with a child still in her arms. “Look at them. The babies can barely hold up their heads, and their mothers are already teaching them: study hard. Pass the exams. Become a licentiate in glory.”

He smiled faintly. “Jiang Nan truly deserves its reputation.”

Education Commissioner Wei’s expression softened with satisfaction. “To observe people this closely—this is rare.”

“I plan to leave tomorrow,” Gu Yan said, smoothly changing the subject. “I’ll go to Ping Jiang Prefecture and have a look around.”

Education Commissioner Wei blinked. “Your aunt said you’ll be staying in Ping Jiang City this year?”

Gu Yan gave a short hum.

“Why Ping Jiang City?” Education Commissioner Wei frowned. “What’s wrong with Hang Zhou?”

“Hang Zhou is fine,” Gu Yan said easily. “I’m going to Ping Jiang City because you’re in Hang Zhou, Uncle.”

Education Commissioner Wei laughed, half amused, half suspicious. “If your uncle is in Hang Zhou, shouldn’t you stay in Hang Zhou? What is this—are you afraid I’ll watch you study? Afraid I’ll make you write? So you’re hiding from your uncle now?”

“I never hid from you when I was little,” Gu Yan replied. His gaze followed Little Nan as she and Li Jin Zhu drifted away into the crowd, until they disappeared around a corner. Only then did he turn back. “But you have a duty to observe local customs. I have the same duty on this trip. If we’re both in Hang Zhou doing the same work, that’s a mess. You can’t easily move from Hang Zhou—so I’ll go to Ping Jiang Prefecture.”

Education Commissioner Wei snorted. “That’s what you call logic?”

“If Mother heard you say that,” Gu Yan said, tapping his uncle’s arm with the closed fan, “she’d scold you for being lazy.”

Education Commissioner Wei tilted his head. “Oh? Now you’re teaching your uncle how to do his job?”

Gu Yan’s smile widened. “Riding through on horseback and glancing around is just sightseeing. If you want real local customs, you live among the people. You check the price of vegetables and grain, cloth and oil, salt and vinegar. You sit in teahouses and taverns. You listen. You watch. That’s how you see what’s true.”

“That,” Education Commissioner Wei said flatly, “is still an excuse.”

Gu Yan didn’t argue.

Education Commissioner Wei tried another angle. “Your aunt won’t be at ease with you living alone in Ping Jiang City. She said if you insist, she’ll bring your sister and go with you—to look after you. And I’ll be left here in Hang Zhou all by myself.”

“Aunt is worried,” Gu Yan admitted, “but she never planned to move.”

“Even if she didn’t plan to, I’ll make her,” Education Commissioner Wei said, brows drawn tight. “Otherwise how can I sleep?”

Gu Yan’s expression turned almost innocent. “Uncle, I followed my Wen Family uncle to the north and fought for five or six years. For a year or two I didn’t even have a page at my side.”

He leaned in, voice light. “And you? When you took your post in Wei Nan County, Aunt arrived two months late. I heard you hugged her and cried so hard you could barely speak—said if she’d come a few days later, she wouldn’t have seen you alive.”

Education Commissioner Wei’s ears went red. “You—what nonsense are you talking? Your mother—why would she tell you such things? I was young then!”

Gu Yan only smiled, the picture of respectful obedience.

Education Commissioner Wei coughed and forced the topic elsewhere. “Forget it. Even if you must live in Ping Jiang City, you don’t need to leave so quickly. Military Commissioner Gao and Transport Commissioner Jiang keep sending people to ask when you’re free. They want to host a welcome banquet—”

“That’s exactly why I’m leaving,” Gu Yan said, cutting in smoothly. He clasped his hands in a quick salute. “Tomorrow I won’t come to say goodbye. Uncle, you’re busy. I’ll be going.”

Before Education Commissioner Wei could grab him by the sleeve—or by the ear—Gu Yan was already walking away.