With the tight finances eased, Meng Xizhao cheerfully headed out to the wine house to eat. Since that day, every noon he visited this inn, and the waitstaff were used to it—guiding him upstairs, then quickly returning to the kitchen to take orders.
As for the National Academy he was supposed to report to…
Meng Xizhao didn’t even know which way the gates faced.
But that didn’t matter. The emperor had already said it was just a nominal registration. Without the emperor’s words, he wouldn’t have been able to enter the National Academy this year at all. Even if his father tried to push him in, graduating smoothly would have been impossible, with who knew how many complications along the way.
That’s why Meng Xizhao tried every possible method to bypass the Academy and go straight to the emperor. In a feudal society, the emperor was heaven itself, a god. Rules were meant to be followed to the letter—but in extraordinary times, extraordinary measures were justified. First, preserve life; the rest could wait.
Sitting by the window, Meng Xizhao propped his chin on his hand, watching the comings and goings outside while pondering what post the emperor might assign him. Normally, Academy graduates could secure a seventh-rank post or higher; with family connections, it could be a sixth-rank post in Yingtian Prefecture or a full sixth-rank post elsewhere.
Meng Xizhao didn’t want an outside assignment. He hoped the emperor would be wise enough to keep him in Yingtian Prefecture.
Lost in thought, he didn’t notice someone passing below. The passerby looked up, froze for a moment, then hesitated.
Zhan Hui, noticing her brother had stopped moving, lifted her veil slightly and peered upward. She asked quietly to Zhan Buxiu, “Brother, should we go greet him?”
Zhan Buxiu pressed his lips into a line. “No need. Let’s go.”
Meng Xizhao had no idea he had just brushed past the male protagonist. The waiter brought in the dishes, and Meng Xizhao snapped out of it and began eating.
Days passed quickly, and soon the Academy’s graduation arrived. The spring imperial exams were also about to begin.
As a nominal registrant, Meng Xizhao didn’t even attend the final exam—he simply awaited the graduation ceremony the next day, when he would officially receive his diploma. With that in hand, he could go to the palace to claim his post.
This should have been a reason to celebrate, but the Censorate was quiet. No one dared speak loudly because Meng Xizhao’s older brother, Meng Xian, had been moody lately—sometimes frustratedly pulling at his hair, sometimes scolding the ink-preparing servant.
Even Meng Jiaojiao noticed something was off. She blurted out, “It’s just the imperial exams. Brother, what’s there to be afraid of? If you don’t pass, Father and Mother won’t blame you, and I surely won’t despise you.”
Meng Xizhao shook his head.
Jiaojiao had it too easy—so she didn’t even know how to properly comfort someone. Her words weren’t comforting at all. Meng Xian was so nervous he couldn’t even accept this kind of advice; the more she tried, the more he felt she was lying.
Without Deng Qin informing him of the exam questions in advance, Meng Xian had to rely entirely on his own abilities. But in this state, he had no chance to succeed—even if he did have talent, he wouldn’t be able to perform.
Meng Xizhao frowned.
It’s already today, and still no sign… Though I have a Plan B, I’d much prefer Plan A…
Just then, Jinzhu ran in and subtly nodded to him.
Meng Xizhao’s eyes lit up. He immediately stood, grabbed Meng Xian, and urged him out: “Brother, come eat with me. At this point, reading more won’t help. Let’s get some fresh air. Come, I’ll tell you, the food at that inn is incredible…”
Meng Xian initially resisted, but Meng Xizhao’s persistence won out, and he reluctantly climbed into the carriage.
At the inn, the waiter was surprised to see Meng Xizhao with an extra guest, then quickly smiled and said, “Young Masters, your private room is ready. Please, this way.”
They settled in, lowered the window curtains, and ordered several dishes Meng Xian liked. Meng Xizhao signaled to Jinzhu, “Bring that bottle of Huichun Wine. Brother, try this—Bu Xuntian’s current best-seller. You won’t find it anywhere else.”
Hearing “Bu Xuntian,” Meng Xian was puzzled. “Why come here? Isn’t it more convenient to go to your Bu Xuntian?”
Pouring the wine, Meng Xizhao explained, “The threshold at Bu Xuntian is too high. I’ve only just learned to read, and you don’t want to write essays. If we went in there, it wouldn’t look proper or justified.”
Meng Xian: “…………”
Another sharp pang hit his heart.
Feeling dejected, he gulped down the wine, sighed, and admitted, “Second Brother, am I being troublesome lately?”
Meng Xizhao smiled. “No, everyone understands.”
Meng Xian forced a bitter smile. No, they don’t understand.
How could they understand the feeling of watching talent slip away? Ever since he resolved to focus on the exams, he hadn’t been idle. But his essays lacked inspiration. When he showed them to the great scholars, they looked at him suspiciously, thinking he had copied someone else. After seeing that expression so many times, he lost the desire to write altogether.
He had hidden it for so long, but the truth could not be concealed forever. Once the cover was blown, the entire Censorate would be shamed—and the county lord too…
Meng Xian grabbed the wine jug, filled a full cup, and downed it in one gulp.
Meng Xizhao: “……”
He hurriedly snatched the jug back, glancing anxiously at Jinzhu. She was also stunned. One cup was usually enough to floor a person. The eldest son had drunk two—would he really be fine?
Meng Xian protested, “I was drinking just fine! Why take it away? Give it back—”
At the word “back,” two Meng Xizhaos suddenly seemed to appear before him. His eyes glazed over, and with a thud, his head struck the table.
The last person to have this experience had been Deng Qin.
＊
Meng Xizhao and Jinzhu stared at the unconscious Meng Xian, neither speaking for a long moment.
Meng Xizhao: “……He should be okay, right?”
Jinzhu: “Sh-should be. The shady inns outside use this kind of powdered drug. Those who survived never showed lasting effects.”
As they hesitated, the voice of Yinliu came from outside: “Leave them be. My lord is talking with the eldest young master—they don’t like to be disturbed by outsiders.”
The waiter’s voice was low; Meng Xizhao didn’t catch what he said. After a few words, he left, and Yinliu came in carrying a tray.
She closed the door, set the dishes on the table, and Meng Xizhao asked, “Which one was poisoned?”
Yinliu pointed at a plate of roasted lamb. “This one.”
It was the dish Meng Xizhao usually ate the most. Stroking his chin, he asked, “Do you know what kind of poison it was?”
Yinliu nodded. “Yesterday I had someone search the new kitchen hand. Nothing else was unusual, but there was a suspicious packet of powder. I asked the physician at the clinic—he said if someone eats it, they become mute.”
Meng Xizhao was a bit surprised—it wasn’t deadly. After all, the Third Prince always acted with lethal intent.
But it made sense: whenever he wanted someone dead, he first had to ruin their reputation, so killing them would feel satisfying. This time, with little time and in a rush, a simple method would do. Killing the person outright wouldn’t serve much purpose; it would create a scandal, eliciting sympathy for the victim. It was better to render their mouth useless, leaving them unable to speak cleverly. That way, they couldn’t hold office and would suffer greatly—far worse than death.
Nodding, Meng Xizhao turned to Jinzhu. “What about the medicine you were to get?”
Jinzhu hesitated, then produced a small porcelain bottle from her bosom.
“According to your instructions, sir, this can make the symptoms severe, but won’t leave any lasting harm.”
Meng Xizhao took it, opened the stopper, and sniffed. “What is this?”
“It’s medicine women take during menorrhagia when the pain is unbearable.”
Meng Xizhao: “……”
Menstrual pain pills!
His expression was a little embarrassed. “This is medicine… but does it really work?”
Jinzhu nodded. “The physician said men and women are different. What helps women can cause severe abdominal pain in men, taking two or three days to subside.”
Perfect. So the menstrual pain is effectively transferred to a man. Clever. No long-term side effects for women, and he’d suffer a bit.
Satisfied, Meng Xizhao poured two pills. Thinking it might not be enough, he added two more.
Then he hesitated—his brother was tall and strong. If the effect wore off too soon, it wouldn’t be ideal. Shaking the bottle, he poured all the remaining pills into his hand.
Jinzhu: “…………”
That’s way too much!
Meng Xizhao, more ruthless than her, raised the pills and sneered at Jinzhu and Yinliu, “What are you waiting for? Go on, open my brother’s mouth.”
They had no choice but to comply. With a sinister chuckle, Meng Xizhao poured all the pills into Meng Xian’s mouth.
Then the three waited.
Gradually, Meng Xian showed signs of regaining consciousness. They held their breath, watching him furrow his brows and instinctively place a hand on his abdomen.
Meng Xizhao’s face lit up—effect was taking hold. He lunged, kicked the chair aside, and half-lifted Meng Xian into his arms.
“Brother!” he wailed.
Meng Xian blinked groggily.
Meng Xizhao continued, “Brother, what happened? Don’t scare me! Help! Someone! The dish is poisoned!”
Meng Xian’s lips moved, but no one could hear him clearly—only Meng Xizhao understood.
He said: Take me to the latrine…
Meng Xizhao froze, then wiped his face in frustration. “Don’t worry, brother. Whoever did this, I will find them! It must be the inn. Just wait—I’ll have everyone there arrested!”
Saying this, he dashed out, and Meng Xian’s head hit the floor, almost seeing stars.
The inn descended into chaos, and news of the incident quickly reached the palace.
Even the emperor had to pay attention. While asking Qin Feimang for details, he was told Meng Jiuyu and Meng Xizhao were requesting an audience.
The emperor groaned—he didn’t want to see them, but had no choice. He nodded for them to enter.
Soon, Meng Jiuyu stepped in, tense, preparing to explain the day’s events. Suddenly, a shadow shot past him.
Meng Xizhao, who had promised not to speak out, stumbled to the emperor and, as if unable to support himself any longer, knelt.
He trembled, raising his tear-streaked face, full of grievance and trust. It was as if seeing the emperor meant seeing the pillar of support, the first glimmer of light.
Sobbing, he whispered pitifully, “Your Majesty… Your Majesty…”
Each word more heartbroken than the last. He said nothing, yet seemed to say everything—anyone unaware would think Meng Xian had already died.
Qin Feimang was stunned. “You… your acting is really that good?”
Another observer was even more shocked.
Meng Jiuyu: “??? That’s my son?”