The Minglun Hall had descended into chaos.
Gu Hanzhou’s face was ashen, his fingers trembling violently as he clutched the copied manuscript in his hands.
“Gu!” the chief examiner bellowed. “What exactly is going on here?!”
“I—I…” Gu Hanzhou’s lips quivered, his mind a complete blank.
He wanted to defend himself, to claim the young man had slandered him, but how could he refute those questions?
The hall buzzed with murmurs as the scholars’ gazes shifted from admiration to contempt.
“No wonder the data was so detailed—it was copied!”
“Copying is one thing, but he didn’t even bother to verify it! That’s just too…”
“The Gu family of Jiangnan? Never heard of them. Probably from a humble background, desperate for a shortcut.”
The whispers stabbed into Gu Hanzhou’s ears like needles.
His vision darkened, and he could barely stand.
Yang Wanli rose from the examiners’ row and walked to the front of the hall. He first picked up Gu Hanzhou’s fallen manuscript, then took the draft left by the young man, comparing them carefully.
Gu Hanzhou’s handwriting was neat and proper.
The young man’s handwriting was elegant and free-flowing, with a touch of casualness.
But the content was identical, word for word.
“Gu Hanzhou,” Yang Wanli’s voice was calm yet carried an undeniable authority, “do you know that if you were to submit this essay in the spring examinations, it would constitute fraud? Do you know what penalty that carries?”
“This student has been wronged!” Gu Hanzhou dropped to his knees with a thud. “This essay—this essay truly was written by this student!”
“Oh?” Yang Wanli raised an eyebrow. “Then recopy it from memory right now.”
Gu Hanzhou froze.
Yang Wanli pushed the brush and paper in front of him. “Since you wrote it, copying it again shouldn’t be difficult, should it?”
Gu Hanzhou took the brush with trembling hands. The tip hovered over the paper for a long moment before he managed to write nothing more than his own name.
Yang Wanli picked up the paper, a cold smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “Gu Hanzhou, you can’t even recite it? At least you’re confident enough to admit defeat.”
The sarcasm was sharp, and Gu Hanzhou’s face flushed and paled in turn.
“Your Excellency, please see clearly!” He prostrated himself, knocking his head on the floor. “This student—this student was merely momentarily confused…”
“Confused?” The chief examiner slammed the table and rose. “This is the final evaluation of the assembly! A sacred ground where scholars from across the realm come to debate and learn! And you dare to peddle a plagiarized essay here—and call it confusion?!”
“Yang Wanli, what do you think should be done?”
Yang Wanli pondered for a moment: “By law, those who commit fraud in the examinations are stripped of their titles and permanently barred. Though Gu Hanzhou has not yet entered the examination hall, his actions at this assembly are no different in nature. In my opinion, we should notify the Jiangnan educational authorities and revoke his xiucai title.”
“No! Please, no!” Gu Hanzhou looked up in terror. “This student knows his mistake! Please show mercy! Please show mercy!” He kowtowed frantically, and soon blood seeped from his forehead.
But no one in the hall sympathized with him.
Scholars valued integrity above all—plagiarism was the gravest stain.
If Gu Hanzhou dared to plagiarize at the evaluation assembly today, he would dare to do it in the examination hall tomorrow.
Such a trend could not be allowed.
“Take him away,” the chief examiner waved his hand.
Two attendants stepped forward, hoisted the limp Gu Hanzhou up on either side, and dragged him out of the Minglun Hall.
Yang Wanli stood at the front of the hall, still holding the original manuscript.
He flipped to the back of the last page—and his eyes twitched.
On the reverse side, faintly traced with water, was a small drawing of a watermelon.
He looked at the elegant, flowing handwriting on the paper and the playful little watermelon beside it, then turned and asked, “Your Excellency, what was that young man’s name just now?”
The chief examiner checked the roster: “Lin Wuying—just an ordinary student.”
“Lin Wuying…” Yang Wanli repeated the name, committing it to memory.
Surnamed Lin.
Young.
Knowledgeable about agriculture, grain transport, and with the leisure to doodle watermelons on his essay…
— —
At Little Lin Manor, the atmosphere was completely different.
Wei Fuyu was dancing around the yard, reenacting the scene at the Imperial Academy: “Shuying, you should have seen it—his face turned green! Like a frosted eggplant!”
Lin Shuying had already changed back into her women’s clothes and sat under the corridor sipping tea. She laughed at the sight: “You were watching pretty closely.”
“Of course! My eyes were wide open—I didn’t want to miss a single detail!” Wei Fuyu came over, took the cold tea, and drank most of it in one gulp. “But Shuying, how did you know he’d copy your weird symbols too?”
“I guessed.” Lin Shuying took a sip of her tea. “He was copying in such a hurry, how could he tell what was the main text and what was just scribbles? If he saw it, he copied it—perfectly normal.”
Though to be fair, Gu Hanzhou wasn’t that stupid—he hadn’t copied the English words. But his fragile mental state and that subconscious movement of his hand were evidence enough.
A-Gua came running in from outside, his face alight with excitement: “Miss! I found out! Young Master Gu has been stripped of his xiucai title, and the Jiangnan educational authorities have been notified! He’ll never be able to take the imperial exams in his lifetime!”
Lin Shuying nodded, her expression unchanged.
She didn’t want to destroy anyone completely, but Gu Hanzhou had chosen this path himself.
Plagiarism, and then refusing to admit it—he had no one to blame but himself.
“And the Gu family?” she asked.
“The Gu family sent people and have already taken Young Master Gu away,” A-Gua said, his eyes full of scorn. “I heard his father slapped him twice on the spot, calling him an unworthy descendant. The Gu family also sent an apology gift, saying they failed in their discipline and begged for your forgiveness.”
“The master would like you to return to the residence—the madam is furious too. But the Eldest Young Master deflected it, saying he wouldn’t let you go back to hear all that unpleasantness.”
Lin Shuying waved her hand—her eldest brother and sister-in-law sometimes understood her better than her parents did. She set down her teacup and instructed: “Return the apology gift. Send word back to the residence that this matter ends here—I won’t pursue it further. Also, select some fruits and vegetables to send along with the message, and tell Father and Mother not to worry about me. Say I’ll come back to stay for a few days in a couple of days.”
A-Gua nodded and withdrew.
“Miss is merciful,” A Li said, massaging her shoulders, exchanging smiling glances with Wei Fuyu.
“It’s not mercy,” Lin Shuying said flatly. “I just don’t want to get tangled up in it. If a dog bites you, you can’t bite it back. Just keep your distance.”
The group chatted and laughed for a while longer before each retired to their rooms for a short rest.
Dinner was lavish.
Auntie Liu had pulled out all the stops—eight dishes and a soup, filling the entire table.
Halfway through the meal, a commotion suddenly arose from outside.
A-Gua put down his bowl and ran out, then came back quickly with a strange look on his face: “Miss, outside—there are a lot of people outside…”
Lin Shuying frowned: “What kind of people?”
“They’re all dressed as scholars—they say they want to see ‘Young Master Lin Wuying.’”
Everyone at the table froze.
Lin Shuying and Wei Fuyu exchanged glances, both reading the helplessness in each other’s eyes.
News traveled fast.
“A Li, go see what’s going on.” Lin Shuying put down her chopsticks and followed.
At the estate gate, sure enough, over a dozen scholars were gathered.
They were all young, wearing Confucian robes, their faces alight with excitement and curiosity.
When they saw A Li come out, they were taken aback for a moment—why was a young lady coming out?
“Who are you looking for?” A Li asked calmly.
“Excuse me…” one scholar clasped his hands, “is Young Master Lin Wuying here?”
“There is no Young Master Lin Wuying here. You’ve come to the wrong place.”
“That can’t be,” another scholar said. “We asked around—the Young Master Lin Wuying who shone so brilliantly at the Imperial Academy today came from this very place.”
A Li, having been trained as a senior maid in the Consort’s palace, was flawlessly diplomatic: “There is no Young Master Lin Wuying at Little Lin Manor. However, there is a young book-bearer surnamed Wu, given name Ying. I wonder if that might be the one you’re looking for. And what business do you gentlemen have with this young master?”
“We want to seek his guidance!”
“Yes! His remarks at the evaluation assembly today were absolutely eye-opening! We want to study under him—to learn about agricultural governance and practical matters!”
Behind the door, Lin Shuying was utterly speechless.
She had anticipated that today’s events would stir up some ripples in Jinling.
But she hadn’t expected this.
She had thought these people were here to gawk—or that Gu Hanzhou’s friends had come to demand an explanation.
Instead… they wanted to become her disciples?
“Then—then when will he be back?”
“Hard to say,” A Li said with a perfectly straight face. “Maybe three to five days, maybe three to five months. Please, gentlemen, take your leave.”
After much persuasion, they finally managed to send the group away.
Lin Shuying returned to the dining hall and let out a long breath.
“Looks like your ‘Young Master Lin Wuying’ is about to become famous,” Xiao Shengrui remarked with a smile.
“Troublesome,” Lin Shuying said with a headache. “I just want to quietly farm—why is it so hard?”
“The more capable, the more responsibilities,” Wei Fuyu found it amusing. “Shuying, why don’t you actually take on a few disciples? You know so much—you could teach them.”
“I don’t have the time.” Lin Shuying shook her head. “There’s already too much work on the estate.”
“Oh, by the way,” Xiao Shengrui remembered something, “the Listening Wind Pavilion has picked up more news—there’s a kind of ‘Golden Honey Melon’ in the south, about as rare as your rainbow watermelons. I’ve already sent someone to find seeds—they’ll be delivered in a few days.”
Lin Shuying’s eyes lit up: “Thank you, Your Highness.”
“Don’t mention it.” Xiao Shengrui waved his hand and boarded his carriage.
The carriage rolled away, fading into the dusk.
“Miss,” A Li walked over softly, “the wind is picking up. Let’s go inside.”
Lin Shuying nodded and turned back toward the courtyard.
She stopped at the study door, then pushed it open and stepped inside.
Ah, forget it.
If she couldn’t keep a low profile, then she’d go big.
After all, she had real skills—she wasn’t afraid of scrutiny.
She spread out fresh paper, picked up her brush, and dipped it in ink.
Since someone had already read her essay, she’d write another one.
Deeper, more detailed, and more practical.
She already had the title: “On the Improvement and Yield Increase of Jiangnan Paddy Fields.”
In her past life, she had spent over a decade in Jiangnan and knew the paddy fields there like the back of her hand.
Current yields in Great Liang were too low—with proper improvements, they could easily double.
Outside the window, moonlight poured like water.
Inside the study, the candle flame flickered.
This night was still long.
— —
The Imperial Palace, Imperial Study.
The Emperor sat behind the dragon desk, holding the “Memorial on Grain Reserves and Transport Improvements” and reading it with great interest.
“This little girl,” he chuckled, “her handwriting is decent, and her insights are original—but what are these symbols she drew? Looks like ghost-writing to me.”
Xiao Shengrui stood below and bowed: “Father, the Second Miss Lin is still young. It’s already remarkable that she could write such an essay.”
“Indeed,” the Emperor set down the manuscript. “At the time, I thought she was just a child being whimsical—I never expected… she actually has some real skill.” He paused and looked at the Seventh Prince: “Where do you think she got all this knowledge?”
“This subject does not know,” Xiao Shengrui answered honestly. “But from the style of her writing—clear structure, solid data—it’s not something one could produce by shutting oneself in. Perhaps… perhaps the Lin family’s library is extensive, and with her natural intelligence, she taught herself.”
The Emperor nodded and didn’t press further.
The Lin family was wealthier than the state itself—what books wouldn’t be in their library? A young girl reading them, remembering them, and combining them with her own reflections to produce an essay—that was plausible enough.
“Too bad she’s a woman,” the Emperor sighed. “If she were a man, I would certainly give her a post.”
Xiao Shengrui hesitated for a moment, then spoke up: “Father, this subject believes… talent and learning do not distinguish by gender. Since the Second Miss Lin has such ability, why not give her a chance? For example… let her participate in the agricultural improvements at the Directorate of Agriculture?”
The Emperor raised an eyebrow: “Let a woman into the Directorate of Agriculture?”
“This subject means, let her serve as an advisor and offer suggestions. She’s already growing melons, isn’t she? If she truly succeeds and proves her methods viable, then spreading them would be a boon to the nation and its people.”
The Emperor was silent for a long while. Finally, he suddenly laughed: “You seem rather invested in her, my son.”
Xiao Shengrui’s cheeks flushed—after all, he was still a youth not yet fully grown: “This subject—this subject…”
“It’s late—go rest. I’ll consider the matter you’ve raised.”
“Yes, this subject takes his leave.”
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