As the two groups passed each other, a gust of wind swept up a few petals from the ground. One pink crabapple blossom landed on Song Yanshu's shoulder. Seeing it, Cui Mingzhu inexplicably thought of snow at the border, falling on the armor of soldiers.
“Miss, it's time to go,” her maid reminded her softly.
Only then did Cui Mingzhu come back to herself. She nudged her horse forward to catch up with her father's party. After riding a dozen or so steps, she turned back on an impulse and saw that the new top scholar had turned around to look as well. Through the fluttering petals and bustling crowd, their gazes met once more, then quickly turned away.
“Which family's young master is that?” Cui Mingzhu asked in a low voice.
“I hear he's this year's third-place scholar, a young master of the Song family of Jiangnan. His name is Song Yanshu.” The maid had evidently already asked around. “He passed the imperial examination at just twenty. Quite remarkable!”
Cui Mingzhu gave a soft “Mm” and said nothing more. But that gentle, jade-like face left a clear impression in her heart.
Meanwhile, the procession continued down the street. The second-place scholar beside Song Yanshu teased him with a smile. “Brother Song, you were staring so hard just now. Could it be you've taken a fancy to Miss Cui?”
Li Longji could no longer hold himself up. His dragon-patterned black boots struck the brick floor with a thud. This son, the one who most resembled him in his youth, had not yet turned sixteen when he died.
The candles in the hall suddenly flared. In the blaze, scenes from that year appeared: Wu Huifei weeping in Changsheng Hall, Yang Guozhong presenting forged testimony, and his own hand writing the vermilion decree, “Commoners Ying, Yao, and Ju... are to take their own lives this very day.”
