Chapter Twenty-Four: Jealousy

Master Chen and Wang Zhaolin’s display left everyone present deeply moved. Each person coveted the work in Wang Zhaolin’s hands, hoping it was their own, but they all knew their capabilities. Only a few stood tall and proud, as if others were unaware of their ambitions.

“Do you have confidence in yourself, my friend? Well, even if you fail, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Go home, practice diligently for another year, and come back next year. Perhaps then you’ll have a chance to shine.” At this moment, Qin Menghui appeared, his words laced with ‘kindness’ yet ill-timed.

Yi An glanced at him, replying calmly, “I have some confidence, though not as inflated as yours.”

The other was insignificant—a man without even that much composure, unlikely to accomplish anything grand. His petty, spiteful nature was unworthy of Yi An’s attention. Truly formidable opponents were those who appeared gentle as spring breeze yet acted ruthlessly in secret, leaving no trace of their deeds.

Qin Menghui’s face fell, his pride wounded. He was, after all, the champion of the literary gathering two years ago; his arrogance had its foundation. Yet Yi An was a mere unknown, favored only by that rough fellow Li Zhihe—what else did he have?

After some inquiry, Qin Menghui concluded that Yi An truly was, as he claimed, an obscure nobody. If he possessed real talent, why would he remain nameless?

He was about to retort, but a sidelong glance caught Li Zhihe’s cold stare. Swallowing his words, Qin Menghui left, disgruntled.

“A petty man. If I weren’t concerned about how it might reflect on you, I’d have dealt with scum like him long ago—one slap for each,” Li Zhihe remarked, voicing his longstanding prejudice against such people. Only after following Wei Liang did he temper his ways.

In his earlier days as a martial hero, Li Zhihe had little respect for civil officials, having encountered only corrupt and oppressive ones. This colored his view of all scholars with suspicion.

“Don’t let it anger you. It’s not worth it. The best way to deal with such people is to strike them down in the very thing they’re most proud of—it’s the truest proof,” Yi An said.

“So, Brother Yi, you are confident, then.” Li Zhihe caught the meaning in Yi An’s words and felt anticipation rise within him, picturing those self-proclaimed literary talents being crushed without mercy.

Though he didn’t know the extent of Yi An’s abilities, if Yi An said he could, then he surely could.

Although they hadn’t known each other long, Li Zhihe trusted his own judgment of character.

…

The other judges, seeing the exaggerated expressions of Master Chen and Wang Zhaolin, stood and gathered behind Wang Zhaolin to look at the work. Upon reading it, they were all visibly moved.

“After the flowers have faded, West Lake is lovely, scattered crimson petals, drifting willow fluff, the breeze blowing all day through the railing. The music and laughter disperse, the visitors are gone, and only then does spring feel empty. The curtains are lowered, and in the fine rain, the swallows return.”

“What a carefree atmosphere.”

“This poem deserves first place.”

“Although the handwriting leaves something to be desired, flaws cannot mar its brilliance.”

Master Chen nodded in agreement. The last entry, though respectable, paled in comparison.

Their lively conversation and repeated praise left those below watching in silence, hearts pounding in their chests. After a while, Master Chen seemed to notice the longing gazes below and handed the top three entries to He Ting.

He Ting first checked the names of the top three. When he saw the name of the first, he paused—it was a completely unfamiliar name. The second and third he recognized.

Still, he trusted the judges’ fairness. He announced loudly, “Talented scholars, the results of the contest are in. I’m sure you’re eager to hear the outcome. Let me reveal the answer: First place goes to…”

He paused deliberately, prompting a wave of impatience from the crowd, then continued, “First place goes to Yi An, the grand scholar!”

Then he announced second and third: Huang Zongping from Jingyuan Academy, and last year’s champion, Song Zhengming.

But as He Ting spoke the name of the first-place winner, the crowd erupted in disbelief, all eyes fixed on He Ting, especially since the name was entirely unfamiliar. The second and third place winners were completely overshadowed by Yi An’s name.

Nearly everyone scanned the hall, searching for the mysterious Yi An.

Qin Menghui, his face blank, muttered, “Impossible. How could he be first? There must be something behind this, some trickery involved.”

He could not restrain his voice, and immediately countless eyes turned toward him, including those of the judges. Realizing his blunder, Qin Menghui felt as if he were sitting on needles.

His words were tantamount to accusing the judges of corruption.

Master Chen, his face dark, said, “Are you questioning our fairness?”

“I misspoke, elders, please forgive me. I meant no disrespect, just felt something was odd and spoke rashly,” Qin Menghui apologized to Master Chen and the judges, then quickly voiced his doubt.

He said, “Yi An is an unknown—how could he suddenly be famous? Moreover, I know that Yi An is friendly with Young Master Li from Master Yinshan’s household, so could it be…”

His implication was clear: the poem attributed to Yi An was likely written by Master Yinshan.

“Shameless! Watch me tear you apart!” Li Zhihe, just elated at Yi An’s victory, was disgusted by Qin Menghui’s malicious slander. Hot-tempered, he could not tolerate such calumny.

As the accusation involved Master Yinshan, Li Zhihe’s patience snapped. He seized Qin Menghui at once.

Qin Menghui, unused to such confrontations, turned pale with fear and tried to beg for mercy, but Li Zhihe gave him no chance. His fists, as big as sandbags, pummeled Qin Menghui’s face, eliciting screams.

Qin Menghui, clutching his face, wailed like a slaughtered pig. Spoiled all his life, he had never suffered such humiliation.

Yet Li Zhihe held back, inflicting only superficial injuries—had he unleashed his full strength, he could have smashed Qin Menghui’s skull outright.