Su Mian leaned over Taibai Tower's carved white-marble windowsill, chin propped in his hand, leisurely watching that timeless historical drama unfold below: “Rich Young Bullies Torment Poor Scholar.”
The riders on their imposing horses were a concubine-born son of the Vice Minister of Rites and several wastrels who clung to the powerful.
“Well, if it isn't the capital's famous Young Master Xie!” The ringleader barred Xie Wei's way with his whip and sneered. “Last day to register for the spring examinations, and Candidate Xie can't even afford a respectable scholar's robe? Wearing those faded rags to the Ministry of Rites—are you going to beg for handouts, or hope the chief examiner takes pity and tosses you a third-class degree?”
Laughter erupted around them.
Xie Wei stood in the middle of the avenue, his spine as straight as a lone spear that would break before it bent. He raised his snow-cold eyes and swept them over the group, his voice devoid of warmth.
“The Great Qi Code states that examination candidates may present their credentials and sit the examination regardless of wealth or status. If you gentlemen have so much time to spare, I suggest you go home and memorize a few more policy essays. Otherwise, when the results are posted, you may not even come close to the bottom of the list.”
“You—an impoverished nobody who hasn't even entered official service—dare talk back to me?!” The wastrel's expression changed. He raised his riding whip to strike.
Xie Wei did not so much as blink. He only tightened his grip on the frayed Commentary on the Qi Code. An almost pathological resolve flashed in his exhausted, bloodshot eyes.
If I don't insist on being strong, who in this man-eating capital can I show my weakness to? Only by exhausting every ounce of strength in the dark can I stand like a human being at court. If taking this blow earns the Vice Minister of Rites a memorial accusing him of failing to govern his household, then I, Xie Wei, can bear it!
Just as the whip was about to fall across his cool, handsome face—
Crack!
A heavy ingot of fine silver, a full fifty taels, whistled down from Taibai Tower's top floor with extraordinary precision and struck the horse squarely on the rump.
The startled animal shrieked and threw its rider to the ground, face-first in the dirt.
“Who?! What suicidal bastard dared attack me?!” Chaos broke out on the avenue.
“I threw it. Got a problem?”
A lazy young voice drifted down from overhead, brimming with the confidence of someone outrageously rich.
Everyone looked up. Su Mian, the ducal household's pampered little tyrant, leaned halfway out of the window, waving his ostentatious gilded fan and smiling without a care in the world.
The moment they recognized him, the swearing wastrels fell silent.
Of all people, it had to be Su Mian. His mother had her eye on the purse strings of half of Great Qi. His godmother was the Grand Princess, forever ready to weep complaints before the emperor. His own aunt was the Empress Dowager in Cining Palace. Take him on? Nine generations of relatives wouldn't be enough to absorb the consequences.
“Y-Young Master Su...” Clutching his backside, the fallen rider forced a smile. “What is the meaning of this? This pauper was being insolent. We were merely teaching him a lesson on the court's behalf...”
“No idea whether he's insolent. What I do know is you're blocking my sunshine.” Su Mian yawned, picked another grape from the fruit platter, and tossed it into his mouth. “Get lost. Or I'll have my mother buy both your families' businesses and houses and turn them into privies.”
“Going! We're going!” None of them dared provoke the best-connected little devil in the capital. They scrambled away, leading their horses.
Peace instantly returned to the avenue.
Xie Wei remained where he was. Instead of thanking him, he frowned slightly and looked up. He barely concealed the wariness and distaste in his eyes. To him, an ignorant, idle aristocrat like Su Mian, squandering resources simply because he had been born lucky, was no different from the scum who had just fled.
Meeting those cold, proud eyes, Su Mian clicked his tongue.
He had encountered countless people in his previous life. One glance told him Xie Wei was a classic “compulsive, anxious personality”—the sort who would grind himself into a dead end in any era.
“Young Master Xie.” Su Mian sprawled over the sill, tapping his fan idly, his tone part teasing and part sarcasm. “Those dark circles are nearly down to your chin. Worrying about Great Qi's laws all day—anyone would think you were the Minister of Justice on an incognito inspection. Take a little advice from me. ‘Utter exhaustion is what it means to be alive. If it's comfort you want, you'll be most comfortable lying in a coffin.’ Don't tell me you repeat that to yourself every day?”
Xie Wei jolted.
For the first time, surprise flickered in his icy eyes. How could this ignorant, empty-headed ducal heir see through the obsession he used to keep himself going every night, even when staying up made his heart race?
“From your lofty position, Young Master Su, of course you cannot know what it is to struggle in the mud.” Xie Wei mastered his expression. His voice was colder than the third-month breeze. “If a commoner like me doesn't push himself, doesn't stake his life on this struggle, who in this world will cut him any slack? Excuse me.”
Clutching his wooden book box, Xie Wei turned resolutely and strode barefoot toward the Ministry of Rites.
Su Mian watched him go and shook his head helplessly.
“Won't listen to his elders. Life's like a maze of alleys: if you're willing to turn, there's an exit everywhere. But no, he has to keep battering himself bloody against the wall.” He looked away and waved to the dumbfounded steward beside him. “All right, show's over. Home. I'm making up for lost sleep with a nap. Nobody's making me get ahead.”