Chapter 40: Hidden Hand

On stage, the male group’s “Selection” round continued.

Classical interpretation and contemporary prose were the standard choices, and many students naturally selected them. With strong memory or diligent study, one could shine in those categories. In contrast, very few dared to choose the policy essay.

Policy essays addressed current national affairs, making them highly practical and closest to state governance. Yet most of the young students present were still ignorant of such matters. Except for a few privileged disciples with private tutoring, few could propose meaningful recommendations. Thus, policy essays were the most difficult category—but excelling in them was like placing one foot into an official career.

Shen Miao’s gaze rested on the chessboard before her.

She recalled Pei Lang’s Governing Laws Strategy, created during the third “Challenge” round. In that round, males could challenge females, females could challenge males, and even students could challenge teachers.

One student had challenged Pei Lang. Within moments, he composed a policy essay—elegant, incisive, citing classics without pretension, striking at the heart of issues. It had impressed everyone, even several princes. Yet Pei Lang was peculiar, insisting he wished only to remain a teacher at Guangwen Hall. If not for Fu Xiuyi’s repeated recruitment and Shen Miao’s later advice, he might never have entered officialdom.

The chess pieces crisscrossed the board like the paths of her past life. With a brush of her sleeve, she disturbed the game.

She placed a piece—what if she began a new game herself?

Meanwhile, Gao Yan straightened his sleeves and adjusted his topknot.
“How do I look?” he asked his servant.

“Young Master looks dashing, handsome, and elegant…” the servant flattered quickly.

Smug, Gao Yan turned up the corner of his mouth and prepared to walk onto the stage. Gao Jin stopped him.
“What are you doing?”

“Selecting,” Gao Yan replied.

Gao Jin frowned. He knew his brother’s limits. Untalented was one thing, but Gao Yan loved to show off. With the Jing Dianshi family rising in status, mistakes were dangerous.
“What are you good at?” he pressed.

The words stung. Gao Yan and Gao Jin were full brothers, yet praise always went to Gao Jin. Gao Jin was fine-featured, capable of assisting their father. Gao Yan was rough, dark, dismissed when he tried to discuss state affairs. Though friction between them was minimal, the world’s comparisons had carved a rift. Sensitive and insecure, Gao Yan now bristled.

He had hesitated about presenting a paper too exceptional, worried about standing out. But now, anger erased hesitation.

“Big Brother, although I’m not as clever as you, I’m not a complete fool either. You needn’t stop me—I won’t steal your limelight anyway.”

Gao Jin caught the subtext, but before he could reply, Gao Yan pushed him aside and strode onto the stage. From a distance, he declared loudly:
“I choose ‘policy essay’!”

The hall stirred.

At Guangwen Hall, many recognized Gao Yan. Though not truly capable, he had a decent reputation—his homework and papers were ghostwritten. He was considered above average, if not a great talent.

Thus, his choice did not shock them. The “Selection” round was meant to showcase one’s best prepared work. Yet policy essays were difficult, and the noisy venue fell silent, all eyes on the green-robed youth.

The few students before him had recited strategies, none exceptional. Gao Jin frowned deeply.

“I didn’t expect Gao Yan would dare to select ‘policy.’ If it were Gao Jin, I’d feel more confident,” Feng Anning murmured curiously.

Shen Miao paused her chess game, eyes shifting to the stage.

Prepared, Gao Yan drew out his paper and began to recite.
“Laws are the framework of a nation, like a pillar supporting a house, standing upright to the sky…”

His cadence was rhythmic. The audience’s curiosity turned to solemn attention. Officials and masters leaned forward, listening intently.

“Gao Jin’s brother is indeed not bad,” Prince Zhou’s eyes flashed with admiration. “Such a policy essay—even court officials might not have such incisive insights.”

“Indeed impressive,” Prince Jing nodded. “Moreover, this young man is quite young. Given time, he will certainly be extraordinary.”

Fu Xiuyi watched quietly. His expression remained unchanged, but his fingers rubbed together unconsciously—a gesture he made when deep in thought. Gao Yan’s performance had sparked new ideas.

Pei Lang, however, stiffened from the first sentence. The essay felt familiar. His memory was exceptional, yet he could not place it. Still, the sense of recognition was overwhelming. He felt he could recite each line before Gao Yan spoke it. It was as if the work were his own.

Shen Miao smiled faintly, no longer watching Gao Yan. Her eyes returned to the chessboard. She picked up a piece and placed it at the edge.

“What kind of chess are you playing?” Feng Anning asked. “You’re playing randomly, aren’t you? Who places a chess piece so far away?”

“Far?” Shen Miao shook her head.

Every piece had its use. Even one placed far from the center could become indispensable. Could anyone see that now?

In a distant pavilion overlooking the stage, Su Mingfeng waved his fan.
“This time, I don’t know where Gao Yan found this policy essay, but it’s written with exceptional flair. I’d like to meet the person who wrote it.”

“What’s the point of meeting them?” drawled the purple-clad youth, leaning lazily against the window, half his body hanging out.

“It must be someone of vast knowledge,” Su Mingfeng said. “If we could befriend them, it would surely be beneficial.”

Xie Jingxing snorted, glancing at the stage. In his hand appeared a begonia flower.

It had not yet withered, vibrant and alluring, carrying faint fragrance yet exuding coldness.

“That’s not necessarily true.”

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