A foolish dog proclaiming itself king is sheer madness.

The sound of rustling filled the air as the rice paper fluttered from his hand. At the same time, Nangong Mo’s right hand unfurled in an instant, the yellow glow of his mystic power spinning in his palm, catching the drifting paper as it settled lightly onto his hand.

At this moment, Luo Xue’s clear voice rang out: “I have invited you all here today to announce that, in seven days, I will marry Zheng Fanren. I welcome you all to attend the celebration at Luo Xue Garden.”

The hall fell silent again, as if struck by a sudden tornado, leaving everyone stunned and unable to react.

From the start of the banquet, as Ye Yinghua and his companions discussed matters, everyone had told themselves rationally that winning Miss Luo Xue’s favor was nearly impossible. Yet, deep down, none had truly given up, for there is always an inexplicable voice within human nature, whispering of one’s own uniqueness.

Even Zheng Fanren knew, with utmost clarity, that such a voice always lingers in the depths of the heart.

When Zhou Zitian appeared and utterly defeated Ye Yinghua’s trio, most finally recognized reality, even waiting expectantly for him and Luo Xue to enact the romance of a talented scholar and beautiful maiden.

Soon after, the unremarkable Zheng Fanren reignited their hopes; Zhou Zitian’s couplet was not flawless, and he had yet to reveal the second half to his famous first line.

Then Zheng Fanren presented a matchless first line of his own.

At that moment, many pondered the three couplets, thinking that if they could answer even one, perhaps their longed-for opportunity might descend upon them.

Yet the characters upon the rice paper were like wind-blown blades, cutting deep into their pain, and all could only sit in silent agony.

…

Nangong Mo laid down the rice paper and led the applause. The others finally came to their senses, and the hall erupted in fierce clapping—somewhat numb, somewhat resigned.

No one paid attention to the unmoving Zhou Zitian; Mo Dao also sat quietly, motionless. Zheng Fanren disliked the current scene, but his distaste for those gifted geniuses with an air of superiority was even greater.

If Zhou Zitian had not possessed that melodramatic arrogance in his calligraphy, Zheng Fanren would hardly have bothered with him.

Calligraphy was his greatest love, in both this life and the last; he could not help but retaliate.

At this moment, he felt a pang of sorrow, remembering the furious voice of the woman from his past life: “Calligraphy is your true wife; at best, I’m just your mistress!”

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, as if to banish those memories that stretched infinitely far.

He could not fathom why Luo Xue would announce their marriage before everyone, but he knew the matter was anything but simple.

Luo Xue possessed the dominance of a strong woman and the delicacy of a gentle one; she could sense Zheng Fanren’s inner unrest, and even felt that it was not caused by the marriage itself.

She whispered, “Let’s go home.”

…

Words like “go home” are warm indeed; in truth, Zheng Fanren very much wanted to “go home.”

Luo Xue’s hand was delicate yet strong; for the first time, Zheng Fanren felt her care and his thoughts finally returned to this world.

…

The two had reached the doorway. Zheng Fanren looked back at the motionless Zhou Zitian; feelings of sympathy simply did not arise within him. That was the so-called kindness of the strong, rooted in self-righteousness—kindness he neither wished for nor ought to possess.

Regaining his calm, he declared loudly, “A foolish dog who claims to be king is mad!”

The crowd did not understand why he would still mock Zhou Zitian, why bother with such a move, making himself seem petty.

Nangong Mo laughed heartily, “Petty men bullying the mighty is called sharpness; a foolish dog who claims to be king is madness—brilliant!”

Only then did the crowd realize he was answering Zhou Zitian’s couplet. Sympathy filled their eyes as they looked at Zhou Zitian, who suddenly began clapping loudly.

The scholars burst into wild laughter, convinced his wits were addled.

As all eyes turned toward him, Zheng Fanren handed a slip of paper and a piece of silver to a maid from Swallow Rain Pavilion.

Then, amid Zhou Zitian’s applause, he left with Luo Xue.

…

In the West Garden, the two were once again seated atop the old tree.

Luo Xue’s voice was no longer as commanding as before; in fact, it carried the gentle warmth of a woman of authority.

She spoke softly, “I liked your performance today.”

Zheng Fanren retorted, “Do you truly like me?”

Luo Xue appeared a bit embarrassed—not from shyness, but from a sense of apology. She answered slowly, “I don’t know.”

Zheng Fanren forced himself not to imagine the bridal chamber’s candlelit night, and continued, “Can I refuse the marriage, then?”

Luo Xue still did not grow angry, only replied firmly, “No, you cannot.”

Then silence fell—a long, lingering silence.

Zheng Fanren suddenly found himself missing the girl who had channeled mystic power into him from behind: intelligent and strong, yet never demanding others follow her will—a rare respect, even though he had been a servant at the time.

Luo Xue, as if steeling herself, asked seriously, “Is that Qiuxiang the one you rescued from the Empire of Anxi?”

Zheng Fanren’s heart jolted—so it was indeed related to her.

He replied cautiously, “Since you already know, why bother asking?”

Luo Xue sensed his wariness and smiled, “I’m merely curious—why did they send you to rescue her?”

“If I knew you possessed a treasure, but you yourself were unaware of it, should I tell you it’s precious, or say it’s not worth much, just that I happen to like it?”

Luo Xue answered, “The clever approach would be the latter, of course.”

Zheng Fanren nodded, “The Empire of Anxi didn’t know her identity at first, so I suggested to Nangong Mo that he avoid making a fuss, and let me purchase her quietly. At that time, she was just a slave.”

“And what you received was a free identity and the qualification to take the Taixuan Academy’s exam?”

Zheng Fanren nodded again without speaking. Luo Xue sensed his gloom; she had not meant to pry, but there was a question she could not let go.

“Why did she go to the Empire of Anxi alone? Didn’t she know it was dangerous?”

Zheng Fanren was silent for a moment, then replied, “I heard it was because of a melodramatic prophecy: if she went alone to Anxi, she would meet a person with ten crows inside their body. As for why she needed to see that person, or what she was supposed to do afterward, I don’t know.”

Luo Xue exclaimed, “Ten crows inside the body?”

Zheng Fanren, startled by her cry, remembered the dream amid the reeds, then shook his head and muttered to himself, “It was only a dream.”

Luo Xue’s voice was so loud it startled a few returning birds into screeching.

Seeing his somber expression, Luo Xue suddenly felt a pang in her heart.

She vaguely understood that this youth, for the sake of a free identity and nearly impossible cultivation, had undertaken many, many trials.

“He never lets go of his pride, even when he’s just a servant.”

That was Nangong Mo’s assessment of him; at this moment, Luo Xue truly understood.

After a pause, she said softly, “I’m sorry, but the wedding must take place.”

“There’s no need to apologize. I can’t say I dislike it, either.”

She laughed joyfully, and as he listened to her laughter, Zheng Fanren thought of the slip of paper and sighed inwardly, “It’s I who owe an apology.”