"Master, where'd you vanish to so early?"
Zhao Ping'er had already finished washing up and was tidying up to start cooking when Zhao Xunan returned home, his sword slung over his shoulder. She tilted her head, her ponytail bobbing, as she watched him set down his weapon.
"Drank too much ginseng soup last night—felt heavy, so I took a stroll to clear my head," Zhao Xunan said with a casual grin, though his eyes flickered with a hint of worry as he brushed a hand over her forehead. Her skin was cool, just as it had been since her childhood.
He sighed inwardly. Her constitution's still too fragile. The ginseng soup barely helped. I need to find a better way to nourish her… or a cultivation method that suits her.
"Ping'er, lend me some coins."
She counted out eight coppers and placed them in his palm. He shook his head.
"Too little."
She blinked, added seven more.
"…Can you be more generous? A hundred or so?"
At the sight of the golden coppers in his hand, she pouted. "Master, we're not rich. Occasional drinks are fine, but you can't spend like a prodigal son every day—we can't afford it, and your health can't take it!"
As she turned to leave, Zhao Xunan staggered dramatically, grabbing her face. "When have I ever had more than ten coppers? When did I even see a brothel? Drinking? Me?"
"Ow—master, I'm sorry!" She yelped, tears pricking her eyes.
He released her, and she stuck out her lip. "If you didn't drink, why's there a faint… sunflower scent on you? Lying to a kid!"
Zhao Xunan paused, sniffing his sleeve. Sure enough, there was a subtle, warm aroma—not perfume, but something like sunlight on dried flowers. Memory…?
Days flew by, and soon it was the 15th day of the first lunar month. The streets teemed with revelers celebrating the end of the New Year. Zhao Xunan led a reluctant Zhao Ping'er through the crowd.
"Living off savings won't last," he said, gesturing to the bustling market. "We need to earn."
"And become a ledger master?" She shook her head vigorously. "You're a scholar who studied the classics—you'll ruin your reputation!"
He grabbed her hand, his tone firm. "Since ancient times, the victor writes history. If I pass the imperial exams, running a ledger becomes a story of ambition. What's there to shame?"
"And if I don't pass?"
He sighed. "Then we need the work. No home, no land—we'd starve. Is reputation more important than survival?"
She huffed, her cheeks flushing. "It's all because of the Li clan taking our property after Uncle and Aunt left. Those bullies—they'll get what's coming!"
He stroked her hair, chuckling. "Once I pass, they'll beg to return it. Maybe even offer a fortune to apologize."
"If you don't pass?"
He looked out at the crowd, his smile fading. "Then… we'll never return to Qingliang Prefecture. With my reputation in ruins and no job, they'll tear me apart with gossip."
She softened, patting his arm. "Who cares about Qingliang? You write beautifully, and your math is brilliant. We'll thrive anywhere—why go back?"
Zhao Xunan grinned. She knows me too well.
The job came from Lin'an Pavilion, a new four-story restaurant under construction for a year. The manager, a man in a silk merchant's robe, eyed Zhao Xunan's scholar's robe with surprise.
"A scholar applying for a ledger job? Unusual."
Zhao Xunan explained his plight: temporary work to fund his exams, no long-term commitment. The manager, shrewd, agreed to test him.
The current ledger was overwhelmed—Lin'an Pavilion's profits were staggering. Three accountants were needed, but only Zhao Xunan and two others applied.
"Master, 1,229 stacks of 827 coins—what's the total?" the old accountant asked, scribbling.
Zhao Xunan answered instantly: "2,056. Am I right?"
The old man's abacus clattered as he checked. "By heaven—you calculated that in your head?!"
Next question: "18,795 minus 3,467—remainder?"
"15,328. Correct?"
The old accountant's face paled. "How?!"
Third problem: "A wall is five feet thick. Two rats dig toward each other—one digs a foot a day, the other half a foot. Each day, the first doubles, the second halves. When do they meet? How much does each dig?"
"Three days. The first digs 3 8/17 feet; the second, 1 9/17. Am I right?"
The old man scribbled for half an hour, sweat beading. "Master Zhao… you're a genius. I'm ashamed."
Impressed, the manager hired him on the spot: six taels a month for six months, double the usual rate.
At Lin'an Pavilion, Zhao Xunan worked afternoons, tallying daily earnings. The old accountant, though diligent, was slow and error-prone. The other two? A disaster—muddled ledgers, arithmetic blunders that lost thousands in a fortnight.
The manager sighed. "Thank goodness I hired you. Otherwise, when the owner checks, I'd be ruined!" He awarded Zhao Xunan 20 taels as a bonus, raising his monthly pay to eight taels. Zhao Ping'er beamed. "Master, let's quit the exams—we can buy a mansion and fields!"
He laughed. She's impossible.
By spring, their lives had improved. Yet whispers dogged Zhao Xunan: "He's a ledger now!" "He broke off with the Phoenix!" Scholars at the prefectural academy mocked him, but he'd grown bolder.
In class, he outdebated them—classics, poetry, strategy. No one could match him. The teaching director, stunned, organized a special exam. Results shocked the academy:
Four Books and Five Classics: Flawless. Eight-Legged Essays: Impeccable. Poetry and Prose: Brilliant. Arithmetic: Unrivaled.
"Even without the exams, Zhao Xunan could work in any merchant house or the Ministry of Works," the director declared. "His arithmetic is masterful."
The academy's top scholar? Zhao Xunan.
Mockery faded into admiration. Wealthy, talented, and newly confident, he befriended classmates, composing poems that left them in awe. By midsummer, "Qingliang's First Talent" was a household name.
At a gathering, a friend teased, "You've changed—no more meekness. Freedom suits you!"
"Freedom is everything," Zhao Xunan said, raising his cup. "Now, let's drink!"
Drunk, he wrote on a tavern wall:
Green shade spreads, new light dawns,
Warm winds stretch the day.
Lotus leaves kiss the pond,
Butterflies dry their powder.
Tea steams, wine mugs clink—
Drunken, my muse takes flight.
Swallows, as if mourning fallen blooms,
Carry fragrance home.
By autumn, his fame spread to the provincial capital. Old acquaintances barely recognized him.
But only Zhao Xunan knew the truth: the pure white energy (the "Bai Qi") that once eluded him now wrapped his body, accelerating his cultivation. Minor mishaps now passed like wind—he'd finally unlocked the first tier of the "Three Refinements": Literary Excellence.
He needed one more thing: imperial recognition. With the autumn exams, his Bai Qi would fully bloom.
Li Ze Yuan, watching his nephew's rise, sighed. "He's finally awake—inherited his brother's talent. He'll be a pillar of the nation."
His wife scoffed. "What's so great about being a scholar? My Phoenix is an immortal's disciple—she'll soar to heaven!"
Li Ze Yuan shook his head. "What is immortality?"
"Eternal life, transcending the world…"
"Few achieve it. And those who do—when was the last time one returned home?" He paused. "I wanted the betrothal to tie her to us… but you, the Emperor, even Qinghan herself—all rejected it. Raising her for a decade, only to lose her… is that a blessing?"
His wife paled. The truth dawned: her "divine daughter" would vanish into the heavens, never to return.