Chapter 3

Three: This High-Stakes Game

Ouyang Rong lay on his back with eyes closed, recalling that study-group whose name sounded absurdly proper.

Originally, the group had truly been formed for exam prep, but as everyone knew, Kaoyanqun eventually talked about everything except the exam.

At first, someone mentioned a game during a study break—no one realized the severity of it then—and naturally, they began coordinating gaming sessions… then it became a gaming group, though that was only the beginning.

One day, a new member joined, his avatar a comical smiling face wearing a feather fan and silk headband—sure enough, another bold, know-it-all type—and soon, the group descended into political rant mode;

Later, the group’s version evolved further: the admins stopped posting any exam materials, instead flooding members with mysterious codes, audio clips, and images that drained their physical and mental energy, leaving them malnourished… until one dark, windy night, they quietly added a note to the group name, which eventually became “ Moumou University Righteous Scholars Study Group (No Girls Allowed).”

“Now I’m truly a righteous scholar,” Ouyang Rong sighed bitterly.

The day before, after crawling out of the underground crypt, he collapsed outside the Beitian Courtyard and was carried back to the Sanhui Courtyard by the young monk with long hair and others to recuperate; he alternated between consciousness and unconsciousness, lying in bed intermittently for two days.

He’d finally digested most of the memories “fighting” in his mind.

Regarding the original body, there was one good news and one bad news.

The good news: the original body was a righteous scholar.

The bad news: the original body was a righteous scholar!

It might sound confusing.

The original body also bore the compound surname Ouyang, given name Rong, but he had a courtesy name: Lianghan.

Orphaned at four, frail and often ill, his mother Zhao Shi remained widowed and raised him with great care, hoping he would become a dragon; Ouyang Lianghan indeed proved worthy—gentle, filial, renowned in his hometown, diligent in study, and admitted to the Bai Lu Dong Academy after ranking first in the county examination.

In the first year of Jiushi under the Wei Zhou, he passed the imperial examination at only eighteen, his name spreading across the Jiangnan Circuit; he was the youngest southern Metropolitan Graduate since the founding of Li Qian, and perhaps ever.

Why mention “Wei Zhou” and then “Li Qian”?

Because the current world was originally conquered eighty years ago by Emperor Taizong of the Li clan, who established the state as Qian; but after the third emperor of Great Qian died, Empress Dowager Wei seized power, deposed two of her sons, ascended the throne herself, abolished the Qian dynasty, changed the state name to Zhou, moved the capital from Chang’an to Luoyang—calling it “Shendu”—and founded Wei Zhou, now eight years old.

Currently, the Wei Zhou court seethed with hidden currents; many former Li Qian officials still clung to the old dynasty, and the Empress Dowager was aging, with the succession struggle between the Li and Wei clans nearing its final phase… Ouyang Rong now understood why the long-haired monk had switched his allegiance to the previous dynasty the day before.

Yet as he processed these memories, he found them strangely familiar… but after careful scrutiny, he realized this dynasty differed significantly from his own past’s Tang and Wu Zhou—not only were key figures mismatched, but most notably, this world harbored a small group called “Qi Refiners,” who had persisted since the Warring States period and had been involved throughout nearly a millennium of history.

The current Wei Zhou court and military were rumored to include Qi Refiners, apparently organized into two systems tied to the Yin-Yang School and the Military School… and the most influential, deeply embedded Qi Refiner faction, which left Ouyang Rong speechless, was none other than the Three Teachings—Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism—collectively known as the Three Manifest Sects. Rumors spoke of hidden sects beyond the seas and in sacred mountains, but they rarely engaged with the world; tales of rogue Qi Refiners causing chaos were uncommon…

Back to the original body.

As the youngest among the Metropolitan Graduates of Jiushi’s first year and possessing striking good looks, he was directly chosen as the “Third Place Laureate” at the Xingyuan Banquet in Shendu, one of the most prominent figures among his cohort, second only to the Top Scorer—truly riding high on a swift horse, seeing all of Shendu’s blossoms in a single day.

Countless wealthy families sought to marry their daughters to him upon his success, but the original body was a righteous scholar—he never once visited a brothel during his examination period in Luoyang, earning him the nickname among the capital’s literati: “Uninterested in Women.”

Had he merely been that, Ouyang Lianghan would have been merely a new ornament in Shendu’s scholarly elite; what truly made him famous across the land was… he actually acted when things happened.

At the Xingyuan Banquet, our newly crowned “Third Place Laureate,” after a few cups of wine, dared to flush red-faced and submit a memorial directly to the court, urging Empress Dowager Wei to avoid border wars and let the people rest.

Whether by luck or due to a powerful patron speaking for him, the Empress Dowager, upon hearing his name, did not anger—she smiled and recited, “Zhou bang xian xi, rong you liang han.”

This was a line from the “Da Ya,” the very source of the courtesy name Lianghan given to him by his teacher at Bai Lu Dong Academy, meaning: “The people of Zhou rejoice; the state finds peace in its pillar.”

No one expected the Xingyuan Banquet to turn into a rescue. Empress Dowager Wei accepted his advice, praised him as “a hidden gem of the southeast,” and appointed him Zhengzi of the Lintai Bureau; the last to receive such honor was Chancellor Di Fuzi, once lauded by the Empress as “the one man south of the stars.”

Yet after being appointed at the Xingyuan Banquet, before Ouyang Lianghan could even assume office, a letter arrived from home: his mother had died. Without hesitation, he resigned and returned home to observe mourning; during this time, he grieved with utmost sincerity, and public opinion declared him the most rigorous in mourning among all court officials since the founding of Qian eighty years prior.

Thus, Ouyang Lianghan’s name for purity and filial piety exploded; tales of his mother’s kindness and his devotion spread widely, becoming comparable to the Twenty-Four Filial Exemplars of the age; even the court posthumously honored his mother as an Imperially Bestowed Lady and erected a memorial arch to praise her…

With such fortune, logic dictated that upon returning to the capital, he would glide effortlessly upward; but the title of “Righteous Scholar,” certified by the entire realm, was not so easily earned.

After completing his mourning, upon returning to the capital and assuming office, he once again dared to speak out directly.

This time, he targeted the immensely powerful and extravagantly favored Princess Changle, accusing her of monopolizing land and competing with the people for profit, and of hosting lavish gatherings to build a faction.

Princess Changle was the Empress Dowager’s youngest daughter; while the Li Qian princes had been slaughtered by their iron-fisted mother, leaving few survivors, she still danced merrily through life—naturally, she was deeply favored by Empress Dowager Wei.

The Empress Dowager, mildly angered, dismissed Ouyang Lianghan from office on the spot, ordered fifty strokes of the cane; had it not been for the intervention of elderly court officials from the Bai Lu Dong Academy, he might have been imprisoned and condemned.

Soon after, perhaps due to rising public opinion in Shendu’s scholarly circles, the original body was suddenly reinstated and promoted—but it was a promotion in name, demotion in reality: he was banished from Shendu and sent to Jiangzhou in the Jiangnan Circuit, one of the empire’s ten circuits, to serve as the remote County Magistrate of Longcheng.

How could this seventh-rank County Magistrate of distant Longcheng, far from the splendor of Luoyang, compare to the prestigious ninth-rank Zhengzi of the Lintai Bureau, whose days were spent with spring wine and chess?

Yet after this incident, the name “Ouyang Lianghan” became synonymous with “Righteous Scholar,” acclaimed by scholars north and south, hailed as “Lianghan, the True Gentleman.”

Yet after digesting these fragmented memories, Ouyang Rong sighed.

Lying on the bed with eyes closed, he pointed at his own nose and muttered bitterly:

“Good lad, you’re the textbook example of a brain-dead fool—you lost everything but your reputation, and even that’s hollow; no, you still have this officially certified handsome Third Place Laureate face… but you didn’t even realize you were being used as a blade, a blade discarded after use, one the shadowy master feared to touch.”

“That Wei woman seized power illegitimately; this Wei Zhou looks like a blooming garden, but it’s oil on fire. The hearts of the Li Qian imperial clan haven’t been lost—even if they’re now cowering, with few remaining royals, the people’s will remains.”

“There are surely many sympathizers and nostalgics inside and outside court; the Guanlong aristocrats who helped establish the dynasty remain deeply rooted, especially the conservative scholar-officials; the Li Qian nurtured scholars for seventy years—how could such ties be severed so easily? Your own teacher and the bigwigs from Bai Lu Dong Academy are likely quietly backing the Li loyalists, hoping the Empress will restore power to the Li clan… and ride another dragon… yet you? You went and—”

“Hey, Princess Changle, no matter how arrogant and domineering, still bears the Li surname; perhaps all these years, the few remaining Li heirs have been hiding under her protection, biding their time. In the grand scheme, she stands with the Li loyalists—why did you pick a fight with her? You were directly turned into a sharp knife by the Wei clan—and did they protect you afterward? Only your reputation and academy background, yet even the officials who once paved your way now probably look at you like a fool…”

“The scholars below are merely fame-seekers and spectators enjoying the show; their hollow praise is worthless. And do you believe that sending you to Longcheng to manage flood control might be a trap? They counted on you being a pretty face—if you fail to control the floods, even this last scrap of reputation vanishes…”

“Forget it. None of these people are decent.”

Ouyang Rong opened his eyes, staring at the bed curtain and murmured: “Even I, a silent keyboard warrior, understand this—yet you, an imperial graduate, have zero instinct? All you know is reading and taking exams, right?”

“...What? You say you actually suspected some of this, but still submitted your memorial the next morning? The court officials said nothing, yet you saw it and couldn’t stay silent—did you have your old servant prepare a coffin before entering the palace?”

Silence filled the bedchamber.

“Alright, no wonder you were more accomplished than me—just a bit too reckless with your life.”

Ouyang Rong sighed, rose from bed, and pulled on his robe before walking to the washbasin beside the bed.

He glanced out the small window at the distant mountains: “This high-stakes game.”

Then he looked down at his gaunt face in the basin; to be fair, he did resemble Hu Ge—especially from the first “Chinese Paladin”—though he didn’t know if the wound on his forehead would leave a scar…

Whatever. Giving others a little leeway is itself a kind of merit.

A daily small trick to accumulate merit: Ouyang Rong smiled; his mood seemed less grim. Perhaps one day, when he’d gathered enough merit, the Buddha would send him home. Wouldn’t that be nice?

“The original body and I are nearly identical—am I his parallel-world past life? If so, it seems I still have real potential in studying—just as long as I don’t have to memorize those damn English words…”

Suddenly, Ouyang Rong yanked his hand out of the water, didn’t bother drying it, and darted back under the covers like a startled rabbit, lying still and feigning rhythmic breathing.

A clattering of footsteps approached from afar.

The past two days, various people had come to visit—Longcheng’s Assistant Magistrate, Garrison Commander, Registrar, and local gentry—but he’d feigned unconsciousness and refused to see them.

Some matters, Ouyang Rong hadn’t fully decided yet; he didn’t want to meet these foxes pretending to care.

Before they arrived, Ouyang Rong heard two voices arguing in the corridor—one familiar, the other unfamiliar.

“Don’t block me, brat! What have you done to the Magistrate? Why won’t you let me see him? Are you again doing that ‘slow drip’ trick to keep the patient barely alive?!”

“Little Yan, don’t joke like that—you’re from Longcheng yourself; how could our Donglin Temple ever do such roadside-physician nonsense!” the long-haired monk seemed startled.

“Hmph, best not be. I’m telling you, the Magistrate is an imperial appointee, a Metropolitan Graduate—if anything happens to him in your temple… you’ll all be building pagodas for the rest of your lives.”

“Ah, Captain Yan, you’re joking. The Magistrate clearly radiates righteous qi; he’ll surely be enshrined beside the Sage in the Confucian Temple—blessed by fortune, how could anything happen?” the monk sighed, “...Pagodas? We can’t build any more—several have collapsed for no reason.”

“I knew your temple was wicked.” The man called Little Yan was furious. “Then why won’t you let me see the Magistrate?”

“Our abbot says the Magistrate is mentally exhausted and needs quiet rest.”

“Rest? He’s been unconscious for nearly three days! You told me he’d wake in two at most—I believed you, you liars!”

“This… I don’t know either. Strange—why hasn’t he woken yet? He always wakes for meals.”

“Get out of my way!”

“Ow! Stop! Captain, don’t kick! Our Longcheng saying: don’t hit monks, don’t hit the thin and sick—I’m both! Don’t hit! Don’t hit a man of the Dharma—it’ll cost you merit!”

“I’ll hit your Dharma!”

“….” The long-haired monk.

Creak—

Ouyang Rong heard the door being pushed open from outside.

“Magistrate!”

With eyes closed, Ouyang Rong felt a gust of wind rush past him—he was already beside the bed.

This man was Yan Wuxu, son of the Longcheng Garrison Commander, who, like Ouyang Rong, had recently taken over his father’s post as head of the constabulary.

Though he seemed loud and brash, he was diligent and responsible; the day Ouyang Rong fell into the water, it was he and several cooks who jumped in to save him. Also, “Magistrate” was a respectful term for a county magistrate…

Ouyang Rong recalled fragments of memory, felt his arm being shaken a few times; he kept his eyes shut, feigning sleep, relaxing his breath.

The figure beside the bed stared for a long moment—then suddenly, “Cheng!”—he drew his blade and leapt up.

Fuck! I’m dead… Ouyang Rong’s breath froze; only one thought filled his mind:

Is it Princess Changle? Or a Wei clan assassin sent to finish me? Is this really necessary?