Once they reached the cabin, he whispered to Xie Yan, “If you can’t bear to ruin his future outright, don’t push too hard now. We both know how difficult it is for a farmer’s child to pass the provincial exam—either you crush him completely or leave him a way out. Otherwise, if he fights back, none of you will come out ahead.”
Xie Yan nodded seriously, set down his luggage, and went to remind Ji Mingzhu to keep calm.
Ji Mingzhu replied, “I’m just sending him off the ship. I won’t do anything more.”
Reassured, Xie Yan walked away.
He had brought two letters from his master: one to open on the journey to the capital, the other upon arrival. Xie Yan, ever disobedient, opened both at once.
The first letter was filled with two to three pages of advice, all about the emperor’s style of governance and the preferred literary style of several scholars in the Hanlin Academy.
At first glance, it seemed like casual chatter, but Xie Yan understood the purpose. The metropolitan exam had a standard answer format with two approaches: either selecting outstanding answers from candidates, or using the chief examiner’s own writing as the benchmark. In recent years, the latter was standard, naturally reflecting the examiner’s stylistic preferences. Knowing what the examiner liked was crucial.
The emperor’s approach indicated the tone of policy essays—soft or firm, a mix of both, direct or advisory. Several scholars existed, but only one was the chief examiner. Upon reaching the capital, Xie Yan would have to investigate their whereabouts to deduce who the examiner was.
Xie Yan stared, realizing he had never considered any of this, yet his master had written it all out.
The second letter opened with a scolding: he knew Xie Yan would disobey and open the letters early, calling him an unscrupulous little monkey.
Xie Yan, offended at any association with monkeys, muttered, “…Nonsense.”
The second letter supplemented the first, mocking him further after the scolding.
“Those letters are for your amusement. At the exam, no one can predict what will happen. Keep a normal mindset—if you pass, you pass; if not, continue studying. You’ll remain my least accomplished student. A mere minor scholar. In the capital, you won’t even get into your senior brothers’ doors.”
Xie Yan fell silent.
High-status families, he realized—he had initially thought he was too busy to visit them, yet now he felt compelled to go. With accomplished senior brothers, their private libraries must hold many valuable books. He could borrow a few, perhaps take a few, and leave some for them. Lu Yang would be pleased.
Xie Yan held the letter, turned it this way and that, noticing no address. Inside the envelope was a small line:
“You’re still too inexperienced.”
Xie Yan muttered, “…My master has this attitude and can still live a hundred years.”
This journey gave him plenty to ponder. The literary styles of scholars and the emperor’s approach could wait; for now, he focused on finding his senior brothers.
He already knew the full name of Second Brother Cui and his connection with their master—perhaps he should first visit Cui’s home, as they had agreed to meet in the capital.
The capital—he had arrived!
After the Lantern Festival, the household began preparations for the wedding.
Chen Guizhi personally guided Lu Liu through every detail: shopping, decorating, arranging the banquet, and writing invitations. With the family business flourishing, hosting a banquet was no longer purely a private celebration—they needed to invite more people, fostering connections for future business.
After discussing with Li Feng, Lu Liu decided their own celebration would be modest: three tables at home, no outside guests. Their stay in the prefectural city was too short for the usual visiting customs, which could wait for later.
In the city, unlike the mountain stronghold where a single call could summon dozens to help, everyone now had work. Tasks that could be outsourced were delegated.
They arranged the banquet themselves, hiring three helpers to wash and prepare vegetables beforehand, then clean the kitchen and wash dishes afterward.
Zhao Peilan handled the decorative “double happiness” window cuttings. She was skilled and produced enough to fill the house.
Red clothing, rarely worn by the family, was made from creased red paper instead of fabric flowers—practical and convenient. Wedding attire was half-bought, half-made. Shun Ge’er had learned from Lu Yang how to wear it: a simple red inner garment made from cloth, plus a purchased red outer robe. When tried on at the tailor, it resembled everyday clothes, but amid the double-happiness decorations, it looked like proper wedding attire.
Shun Ge’er was delighted and could even wear it later casually.
Lu Liu teased, “Wow, Shun Ge’er, you’re learning to manage the household! But when you wear red normally, how will Hai Youtian react? Will he…?”
He performed starry and heart-shaped eyes, feigning shyness, causing Shun Ge’er to scuttle away embarrassed.
Lu Liu had begun to understand the fun in teasing Yao Fulang. Once Shun Ge’er married, such mischief would be less frequent. Over the past few days, he had teased him, making Shun Ge’er wary and avoiding him from afar.
The banquet menu was settled; each family helped cook a few dishes, delivered to the house, finalizing the wedding feast.
Since it was a rented house, they avoided over-decorating. Li Feng checked and added a screen for Shun Ge’er—suitable for winter and summer, covering the kang for modesty, as newlyweds were shy.
The wedding bracelets were prepared. They planned to invite an elder to ceremonially style Shun Ge’er’s hair, but he insisted his mother do it.
With everything ready, only the question of whether Shun Ge’er would go to the Hai family to fetch the bride remained.
He was reluctant. Traditionally, men went to fetch brides, but the bride’s household waited at home. If strictly formal, he could ask his elder brother to assist. He preferred waiting at home.
Li Feng agreed, considering the journey and the crowded city streets.
The day before the wedding, the two little ones were sent to bed early under Li Fei’s care. The household stayed busy late into the night.
Chen Guizhi prepped Shun Ge’er’s hair so it would be easy to style in the morning. Lu Liu and Shun Ge’er were amazed at the neatness.
Li Feng readied the red garments, cleaned the horse, and inspected the alley, filling gaps with soil.
Lu Liu waited until his mother finished Shun Ge’er’s hair, then sat with him, quietly explaining what happened in the bridal chamber. He even brought picture books.
In the mountain stronghold, the household had picture books but never allowed Shun Ge’er to view them. He was curious but never peeked. Tonight, with Lu Liu pointing and explaining, Shun Ge’er’s face flushed crimson, speechless.
Lu Liu taught carefully, repeating for clarity.
“I learned from the Chen household. My aunt thought my brother knew everything, so teaching me was vague—none of these details. You must pay attention; it helps when preparing for a child.”
Shun Ge’er quietly flipped through the picture book, silent.
Lu Liu muttered, “…Teaching him culinary arts is pointless.”
Thinking that he and Li Feng would not share the bridal chamber that night, Lu Liu said, “Look through this first. When you’re ready, come to me with questions.”
Shun Ge’er, a first-time groom, did not grasp the implied meaning. He worried that visiting the elder sister-in-law before the bridal chamber would reveal everything to the family!
He tugged Lu Liu to continue talking; they chattered until late, only dispersing when called to rest.
Tomorrow required an early start; today, no more fuss.
Late at night, they went to bed, waking before dawn.
The household lit lamps, boiled water for tea, and prepared for dressing.
The two brothers followed the same morning routine—Shun Ge’er attended by his mother, Li Feng by Lu Liu.
