The eastern examination hall was dressed in imperial red and gold, the tall screens behind the ministers painted with rivers winding through green valleys — prosperity as Qi liked to imagine it. But prosperity here smelled of old ink and cold stone.
Ziyan stood with Lianhua and Li Qiang on a side dais, forced to watch as the favored nobles performed first.
Yuan Jie stepped forward with a graceful bow, his fan folded neatly against his chest. When asked how he would pacify discontent in border cities if shortages grew too steep, his smile barely flickered.
"A matter of timing and small luxuries. Invite local elders to state banquets — offer them silk, minor tax favors. Their pride is soothed, their loyalty confirmed. Meanwhile tighten the grain stores under quiet military watch, so they never see the hand that truly binds them."
One old minister actually smiled, nodding approvingly. Brushes glided over clean parchment, recording elegant commendations.
Then came one of the merchant daughters, reciting an impromptu poem on the virtues of noble marriages binding provinces to court. Her voice was soft but clear, her syllables gilded with years of formal training.
Even Li Qiang grudgingly muttered under his breath, "She doesn't trip on a single damn verse."
The other daughter performed a ceremonial calligraphy display, writing out four lines on loyalty and harmony so precisely that one judge murmured, "Nearly temple quality." The strokes gleamed like lacquer under the lanterns.
When it was finally their turn, Ziyan's hands felt too cold. She stepped forward to answer a tangled legal question on allocating levy funds between defense and repairing irrigation after raids.
"I… would audit local landlords for hidden profits, enforce mild levies across several seasons rather than a single crushing sum—"
"Softness invites contempt," interrupted a severe minister. His brush paused, waiting for stronger words that did not come.
Ziyan's mark pulsed furiously under her sleeve, but her tongue tangled. When she finished, the silence was polite — and merciless.
Lianhua was summoned to recite a poem blending filial piety and wartime duty. But a faint hiss of laughter from the noble girls broke her rhythm. Her last couplet stumbled, the tones flattened by shame.
Li Qiang's debate with a minor general's heir fared no better. He argued bluntly that food must flow before banners — the young heir only smiled thinly.
"Such charming honesty. But Qi's rule rests on ritual. Fear maintains loyalty far longer than bread."
The judges nodded, as if that were obvious.
They stepped down feeling raw, the hall swallowing them in a hush thick with judgment.
Yuan Jie drifted by, fan tapping his lips in feigned sympathy.
"Ah, a pity. Still, not every blossom is meant to perfume the palace. Some wither prettily by the roadside."
But when they returned to their rented quarters, something subtle passed between them. A flick of Ziyan's dark eyes. The way Li Qiang's knuckles rapped twice against the low table, as if confirming a quiet promise.
Lianhua simply let out a thin breath.
"They see only what they've always seen. A brothel girl fumbling her lines, a country brute, a fallen minister's reckless daughter."
"And let them," Ziyan murmured. Her phoenix mark warmed, not painfully now, but with a dark, coiled satisfaction.
"They have no notion of the teeth that wait beneath our smiles."
That night, a minor official posted the final announcement on thin silk, pinned under lanterns that swung in the early spring wind.
"By decree of the Ministry of Rites, the **fifth and final trial shall be held at dawn tomorrow. All candidates shall present themselves for direct examination by the assembled court and high household ministers. The final results of the entire spring examination — including all ranks, honors, and disqualifications — shall be announced immediately upon its conclusion."
A ripple ran through the courtyard. Yuan Jie's small knot of nobles and merchant daughters actually laughed in relief, confident it was already over.
But Ziyan only pressed her palm tighter to her sleeve.
Tomorrow would decide everything.
And under the hush of lanterns, with even the judges' verdicts held until the end, no one could yet see whose blood would stain Qi's precious silks.