“How do you know that?” Wen Tian looked at him suspiciously, clearly skeptical.
Chu Xiangtian smirked and flashed him a devilish grin.
“Wanna know?”
Wen Tian nodded obediently. Although he doubted a mountain bandit like Chu Xiangtian would know anything about the inner workings of the government, it couldn’t hurt to listen.
To his surprise, Chu Xiangtian reached out and patted his head, eyes crinkling in a grin.
“I’ll tell you later.”
Wen Tian’s eyes widened in indignation. Seeing the gleeful grin on the bandit leader’s face, he ground his teeth and nearly lunged at him to bite him. But that would’ve been futile.
The guy was all muscle. Wen Tian’s eyes flicked to the man’s solid chest, and he shot him a deadly glare before huffily flinging his sleeves and storming off.
Zhou Chuanqing stepped out of the side room, rubbing his aching jaw at the scene.
“What’s the point of teasing him like that?”
“Don’t you think he’s adorable when he’s mad?”
Chu Xiangtian rubbed his chin, recalling the way the little noble had widened his eyes, cheeks puffed out, the corners of his eyes tilting upward with that bright, furious gaze—just missing a pair of upright bunny ears to complete the picture.
He let out a low, ambiguous tsk, his whole face brimming with a smile that really couldn’t be shown in public.
Zhou Chuanqing: “…”
Meanwhile, Wen Tian fumed all the way down the road, sleeves flying. Passing a bookstore, he halted abruptly when he spotted a stack of books outside.
With a sharp turn, he marched straight in.
The shopkeeper greeted him with a wide smile.
“Looking for anything in particular, young master?”
Books lined three walls of the store, shelves packed tight with volumes new and old. Wen Tian cast a quick glance around, eyes nearly going cross-eyed from the dizzying array.
But remembering the sour feeling in his chest, he clenched his fingers inside his sleeves and quietly asked the shopkeeper, “What books should I buy to prepare for the county-level exams?”
It was the first time the shopkeeper had been asked that so directly. The young man clearly wasn’t someone who had studied hard. He looked like a pampered young master.
So the shopkeeper tested the waters.
“Have you read through the Four Books and Five Classics?”
Wen Tian nodded uncertainly.
“The tutor taught me some.”
The Fu family had its own private school, but Wen Tian had never been fond of reading. As a child, he preferred playing around, and after a few years of being forced to attend, he flatly refused to go.
Rather than push him, Fu Youqin simply hired a tutor to come to the house. Wen Tian barely absorbed anything.
Instead, it was his sister Wen Shuyue who had soaked up the lessons and gone on to earn fame as a local prodigy.
Thinking back to those wasted years, Wen Tian felt a pang of regret. He wasn’t sure if it was too late to pick things up again.
But ever since that encounter with Wen Zeming at the Flower Festival, the idea of taking the county exams had been nagging at him—not for fame or fortune, but for the sake of his mother’s pride.
He could still vividly remember how, in his last life, Wen Zeming had passed the county exams and earned the title of xiucai.
The Wen family threw a three-day feast to celebrate. Everyone in town sang their praises, hailing Wen Zeming as a rising star.
Bai Ruihe had even sent Fu Youqin an invitation in person, smugly inviting them to the banquet.
Back then, they had been struggling just to survive. Meanwhile, Wen Zeming—who had stolen their place—climbed higher and higher, crushing them underfoot until they were ground into the dirt.
Wen Tian had never forgotten that humiliation.
Yes, he had hated the injustice of the world. But in moments of clarity, he knew: it was his own uselessness that had caused their downfall.
If he’d had any real drive, he could’ve taken his mother and sister away from all of it. Maybe not to a life of luxury, but at least a life where they could stay together, safe and sound.
Since his rebirth, things had been moving so fast that he’d pushed those thoughts aside. But seeing Wen Zeming again had brought all that shame and frustration roaring back.
If Wen Zeming could do it, then why couldn’t he?
Balling his fists tightly, Wen Tian took a deep breath, swallowed his pride, and earnestly asked the shopkeeper what books he should buy.
The shopkeeper had assumed he was just there on a whim, but seeing the young master’s genuine attitude, he took the question seriously.
After some thought, he pulled down a few books.
“These are the basics. Start with these. If you can get through them, come back and I’ll help you pick the next set.”
The books the shopkeeper had selected weren’t even that many, but stacked together, they rose high enough to block Wen Tian’s face. After paying, he struggled to carry them all the way back home.
Slipping in through the side door without alerting anyone, Wen Tian snuck the books into his courtyard.
He’d made up his mind to study hard and take the exams, but he wasn’t confident he’d succeed. If he made a big show of it and then failed, it’d be too embarrassing.
Better to keep it quiet for now, he decided. He’d tell his mother and sister once he was actually ready for the exam.
He dusted off the long-abandoned study and locked himself inside with his books. With no other responsibilities at the moment, Wen Tian devoted himself fully to reading.
When you truly focus on something, time flies. Ten days passed in the blink of an eye. Then one afternoon, while he was deep in study, Daifu came running in with urgent news—Wen Boli had returned.
Wen Tian put down the book he’d been reading and stood up.
“Let’s go. Let’s see what he’s up to.”
***
As soon as Wen Boli stepped off the carriage, he could tell something was off. The atmosphere in the household felt strange.
The servants were watching him with subtle, curious glances. None of his usual confidants were around; the two servants attending him were unfamiliar faces.
His brow creased in displeasure as he straightened up and barked, “Where are the madam and young master?”
“Madam has gone to the shop. The young master is in the East Wing,” one servant replied respectfully.
Wen Boli frowned even deeper. Fu Youqin had never involved herself in business matters. What was she doing at the shop now?
Suppressing a ripple of unease, he clasped his hands behind his back and strode toward the inner courtyard.
“Tell the young master to come to the study,” he ordered.
He had rushed back early from Hongfa Temple for a reason—one that involved Wen Tian.
Every year around this time, he would spend two weeks at a country estate with Bai Ruihe and their son, Wen Zeming. Bai Ruihe had been his childhood sweetheart.
They had promised themselves to each other long ago, but fate intervened when he met Fu Youqin. She was beautiful, well-educated, and came from a powerful family.
At the time, Wen Boli had been a penniless orphan struggling to pay his tuition. For the sake of his future, he had swallowed his heartbreak, broken things off with Bai Ruihe, and married into the Fu family.
He had thought that would be the end of it. But Bai Ruihe remained devoted to him. She never blamed him and even vowed to wait for him.
Deeply moved, he secretly arranged a place for her to live and, driven by guilt, let her bear his child first.
Years passed. He endured humiliation in the Fu household, won the trust of Fu Youqin and her parents, but inwardly grew tired of the charade.
He had come to resent Fu Youqin’s constant composure. If not for the lure of the Fu family’s wealth, he would’ve married Bai Ruihe long ago.
Bai Ruihe was gentle, thoughtful, and gave him a promising son.
Thinking of Wen Zeming’s accomplishments, then comparing them to Wen Tian’s spoiled and headstrong ways, a flicker of disgust crossed Wen Boli’s face—quickly hidden.
Now wasn’t the time to turn hostile. The prefect’s wife was a close friend of Bai Ruihe and had recently recommended him to the prefect.
If he could win favor there and land an official post, he’d no longer need to keep up this farce.
Back in the study, Wen Tian immediately sensed trouble when a servant told him Wen Boli wanted to see him. Sure enough, upon arrival, he was greeted with a sour expression.
He gave a perfunctory bow, didn’t even bother calling him “father,” and asked directly, “What do you want?”
Wen Boli’s scowl deepened at his tone.
“Is that how you greet your elders? What happened to all those lessons in etiquette?”
Slamming his hand on the table, he barked, “No wonder the moment I came back, I heard rumors of you running around town with those good-for-nothing brats causing trouble!”
Wen Tian lowered his head, his eyes darting slightly. He immediately understood—Wen Zeming must have gone back and tattled.
So now Wen Boli was here to scold him on behalf of his “good son.”