The second round began under a thin sun, its pale light catching on polished roof tiles and making the courtyard seem bright and cruel at once. Dozens of candidates gathered in small anxious knots, whispering old proverbs for luck. The air smelled of sandalwood, ink, and fear.
This phase of the exam was not simply a repetition of written essays or polite recitals. It sprawled across the entire academy — each hall set with new trials. Proctors moved like silent ghosts, their narrow eyes ever watchful. Even the attendants seemed sharper today, hands tight around trays of scrolls or tea. Here, missteps were not easily smoothed away.
Ziyan's challenge came first: a formal public dispute in the main hall, where silk banners painted with dragons watched from high pillars. Her opponent was Yin Meng himself, who stood with practiced calm, his scholar robe a soft cream embroidered with flying cranes.
The proctor read the scenario in a clear, cold voice. "Qi faces drought in three western counties. The treasury is strained by the war. A new levy will secure grain shipments, but risk riots. The court seeks guidance: where lies wisdom? In firm law or gentle mercy?"
Yin Meng dipped his head, lips curved in a faint, confident smile. "The Emperor's mandate rests on order. Better to levy now, arm escorts for the granaries, and punish any disorder swiftly. Mercy is not weakness, but delay invites chaos — and chaos invites bandits who prey on the very peasants we would feed."
Scattered nods among the minor proctors. Ziyan felt a slow heat in her chest, the mark beneath her sleeve tightening as if testing her courage.
When she rose, her first words nearly tangled on her tongue. A faint sound — the deliberate flick of a folding fan — drew her eye. Off to the side, Yuan Jie watched, fan hiding his smirk. Behind him stood two young women, their elaborate hairpins gleaming, eyes bright with ugly delight. They whispered together, delighting in her hesitation.
Ziyan exhaled slowly. Then her voice steadied. "A ruler who taxes brittle branches will find no harvest next season. Grain may fill the granary this year, but whose fields will rise if the farmers starve to plant again? Better to summon community levies to watch the roads, grant modest relief now, and collect fair tax from full fields later — than pay soldiers thrice to chase thieves who rise from hunger."
Silence followed, deeper than she expected. Then one older proctor's mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but close.
Yin Meng's expression darkened a fraction. The young women behind Yuan Jie seemed to deflate, their malicious whispers stilled for the moment.
Elsewhere, Lianhua's test lay under a shaded pavilion open to soft breezes. Her task was no simple song. The judges laid out a delicate court scenario: an imperial concubine rumored to have slighted an older princess, risking the dignity of two powerful houses. How would Lianhua's performance mend tempers without showing overt favor?
She adjusted her grip on the pipa, but a whisper near her ear stalled her hand — a pair of merchant daughters seated to watch, one covering her mouth as she breathed, "A brothel girl knows many tricks to please. Perhaps she'll show them all to the princess."
Heat flooded Lianhua's face, her breath snatching short. Her first chord wavered — a bright note that cracked in its final echo. One judge raised an eyebrow.
Her pulse thundered. No, she thought fiercely. Not here, not for them.
She exhaled slow. Then she let her fingers find the strings again, softer this time. The melody rose not as a plea, but a gentle admonition: a story of spring branches bending together under shared blossoms, neither overshadowing the other. By the time she ended, the judge who had watched with the sharpest disdain merely closed his eyes, nodding once in silent concession.
Li Qiang's ordeal came last. It was no ordinary spar. He was led to a long hall with painted screens showing mountains and tigers, where two proctors waited beside a rack of blunted weapons. Across from him stood a young noble from the Yuan family, his robes crisp, lips curled in a thin sneer.
"This trial," announced the elder proctor, "requires you to defend a civilian — represented by my assistant — while your opponent attempts to seize him. You must balance aggression with defense. Strike too cruelly, we will mark you barbaric. Too gently, and you fail to protect."
The noble smiled. "My apologies, country warrior. I've seen farm dogs guard goats more gracefully."
Li Qiang ignored him. But as the test began, something sharp slipped underfoot — a smear of oil, scattered by a small attendant who ducked away too quickly. His first pivot nearly sent him crashing. Laughter burst from where Yin Meng's group lingered in the shadows.
But Li Qiang twisted, let the slip turn into a roll that brought him low under the noble's sweeping strike. He came up inside the young man's guard, blunt sword pressed to the boy's ribs before he could blink. The "civilian" stood untouched.
When Li Qiang stepped back, breath harsh in his throat, the elder proctor's lips tightened — but not with disapproval.
By dusk, they reconvened in a side courtyard beneath a lattice of painted wood. The rankings from the day's tests were pinned to a thin silk screen, fluttering in the evening breeze.
Ziyan's name stood firm in the upper lines, alongside Lianhua's careful script and Li Qiang's heavy, almost crude strokes. Further down were the neat seals of Yin Meng, Yuan Jie, and the merchant daughters who had mocked Lianhua so eagerly.
They stood nearby, faces pulled into brittle composure. But their eyes were not defeated — only plotting.
"This was merely courtesy rounds," one of the young women drawled as they passed. "When alliances are forced, you'll learn precisely who values your… talents."
Yuan Jie's mouth twisted. "Perhaps they'll let the street dog fetch wine for the real contenders."
Li Qiang turned half a step, but Ziyan caught his sleeve. Her grip was light, but her voice low and certain. "They fear us now. Let them waste breath on insults — it's fewer lies left for strategy."
That night, back in the small rooms they had claimed as theirs, the lanternlight seemed strangely gentle. Lianhua sat cross-legged by the low table, plucking idle notes from her pipa that tangled through the air like drifting silk. Li Qiang leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, face unreadable but watchful.
Ziyan spread a fresh scroll before her, though she did not write. Her phoenix mark pulsed quietly, as if mulling its own dark thoughts.
"Tomorrow begins the group challenges," she said at last. "They will force us to stand beside strangers, even among those who laugh behind fans at our scars. If they cannot break us alone, they'll try to break us from within."
Li Qiang's mouth twitched in something like a smile. "Then we'll show them we bend no easier than iron."
Lianhua plucked a bright, mocking chord. "And we'll make sure every judge remembers precisely which flowers still bloom after winter."
Outside, the wind stirred the courtyard trees, whispering of conspiracies yet to bloom. The Empire waited, unaware how closely ruin already circled its polished doors.