Chapter 40: On Conduct and Law

Men's **show** continued on the stage.
Classics and rhapsody were safer—many chose them. Memory and thorough reading could shine. **Policy** had almost no takers.
Policy meant argument on today's court—practical, closest to real office. Most students were young; only closed-door heirs had begun statecraft. Hard to propose good law. Hardest lane—but if you blazed, half a foot was already in career.
She looked at the board.
Pei Lang's *On Conduct and Law* had come in round three—**challenge**. Boys could challenge girls, girls boys, students even masters.
One boy had challenged Scholar Pei. Talent on display—in a few steps a full essay, citations tight, no puff, every stroke on the joint. Princes noticed.
Pei was odd then—said he only wanted to teach reckoning at Guangwen Hall. Firm refusal. Only later Fu Xiuyi's courtesy, and Shen Miao's counsel in last life, pulled him into service.
Lines crossed on the board like her old life. Sleeve brush—whole game scattered.
She set one stone. New game—begin from her?
Yan smoothed sleeves, fixed topknot, asked his boy, "How do I look?"
"Young master dashing, handsome—" praise rolled automatic.
Yan's mouth smirked proud. He rose. Jin grabbed his arm. "What are you doing?"
"**Show**," Yan said.
Jin frowned. He knew his brother's weight. No skill, loves spotlight. The house was rising—no stumble now. "What can you do?"
Sour in Yan's ear. Same mother—yet the world praised Jin first. Jin pretty; Yan black and thick. Jin ran errands for father young; Yan's court talk met shakes of impatience. No feud at birth—outsiders built the wall. Sensitive under Jin's light, today's words lit anger. He had hesitated—the draft too good, too bright. Now hesitation died.
"Brother, I'm not a total fool. Don't block me. I won't steal your shine."
Jin heard the barb, paused—Yan already pushed past, strolling up, voice big: "I choose **policy**!"
**Policy?**
Guangwen Hall knew Yan. Strange—Yan was weak, yet grades stayed decent. Homework and essays bought elsewhere—not genius, passable.
So the stage did not shock. **Show** was your best prepared. Policy was hard—the hall went quiet, eyes on green robes.
Earlier policy **show** students had read theirs—nothing strong. Jin's brow knit.
"Didn't expect Yan to pick policy," Feng Anning whispered. "Jin—maybe."
Shen Miao stopped the board. Watched the stage.
Ready, Yan drew out pages and began to read.
"Law is the nation's frame, as beams to wood, upright to sky…"
Cadence swelled. Jokes died. Officials sat stern.
"Jin's brother—not bad," Prince Zhou flashed surprise. "Such insight—many ministers couldn't write this."
"Indeed," Prince Jing nodded. "Young. Given time—not a pool fish."
Fu Xiuyi watched, face still—but fingers rubbed together without thinking. When he calculated, he always did.
Yan had planted a new plan.
Pei stiffened at the first line. Why familiar? Memory excellent—yet no source found. Anxiety anyway—each line he could almost finish, as if the text were his own.
Shen Miao smiled faintly. Eyes left the boy; back to stones. She placed one far on the rim.
"What game is that?" Feng Anning asked. "Random—who puts a stone so far?"
"Far?" Shen Miao shook her head.
Every piece has use. This looks waste—how far will it run? Ten thousand li from center now—future checkmate, indispensable.
Can you see it yet?
In a distant pavilion the whole stage lay open. Su Mingfeng fanned himself. "Wonder where Yan got that essay—fine hand. I'd like to meet the author."
"Meet him for what?" Purple lounged in the window, half body out over the rail.
"Some elder of vast learning," Mingfeng said. "Friendship would profit."
Xie Jingxing scoffed, glanced at the stage, turned a crabapple in his fingers—fresh as just picked, sweet scent, killing edge underneath.
"Not necessarily."