"A warrior's spirit is like a steel blade—unbending, unyielding!"
"For eight hundred years, Great Qin has prioritized civil over martial arts, bending the backs of its fighting men."
"Scholars with brush in hand prattle on about 'a man's knees hold gold,' breeding arrogance in their fragile frames. Though their bodies lack the strength to subdue tigers, their minds burn with the will to conquer the world."
"Thus has Great Qin's civil path stood tall among the nations—but our martial foundations? Crumbled. A nation that kneels before every stranger cannot defend its borders or expand its frontiers."
"Six hundred years ago, when the realm teetered on collapse, it was not warriors but two thousand six hundred and thirty-one scholar-officials who turned the tide. That is why!"
"To fortify Great Qin's Great Wall, we must first shatter this culture of kneeling!"
Zhao Xunan's voice thundered through White Tiger Hall, making the rafters quake. The guard outside, stunned, felt every word strike true.
The Grand Marshal frowned, pondering for a long moment before barking: "Approach!"
Zhao Xunan's heart raced, but he steadied himself and strode to the front row. First hurdle passed, he thought.
The Grand Marshal descended from his dais, a scroll of ink-stained paper in hand, and motioned Zhao Xunan to sit beside him. He thrust the scroll forward: "Read my verse. What do you think?"
"...Not bad," Zhao Xunan said, squinting at the wild cursive. Even a three-year-old's scribble would be better, he mused.
"Too lenient!" The Grand Marshal roared, crumpling the paper and hurling it at the guard, who ducked just in time. "Your words have merit—flawed, but bold."
He turned to the door, voice booming: "Hear this: From this day, no martial candidate shall kneel. Not to me, not to anyone. Got it?"
"Y-yes, Marshal!" The guard snapped to attention, then bolted upright and marched out.
"Spineless worm," the Grand Marshal muttered, then fixed Zhao Xunan with a sharp gaze. "You're a pillar of the civil path, favored by the Emperor. Why defect to martial exams?"
Zhao Xunan's jaw tightened. "Do you know my lineage, Marshal?"
The Grand Marshal frowned. "How would I?"
"My ancestor was Zhao Huaian, the Sixth-Century Marshal of the Heavenly Strategy Mansion, holder of the Supreme National Title."
The Grand Marshal paled. The resemblance between Zhao Xunan and the portrait of Zhao Huaian in the palace archives was uncanny.
"Enough. The Western Territories are now under Prince Liu's rule—they've been part of Great Qin for centuries."
"Prince Liu collects three kingdoms' stipends, yet glares at our Western Pass with thirty thousand armored troops. Is he fit to call himself a Royal Highness of Great Qin?"
The Grand Marshal's eyes narrowed. This touches on royal family affairs, he thought. "The decision is made. I'll have you registered for martial exams. But first, you'll need to file paperwork with the Ministry of Rites—protocol cannot be bypassed."
Zhao Xunan bowed. "Understood."
At the Ministry of Rites, Minister Wu Peiyang was already in the know. "So the Emperor bent centuries of tradition for him?" he said to a colleague, grinning. "Only Zhao Xunan could pull that off."
The colleague gaped. "And now he's switching to martial exams? The Emperor's worried he'll go astray—hence the new rule: all candidates teach at imperial academies first."
"Teach?" Zhao Xunan repeated, bewildered, when the news reached him later.
The colleague nodded. "Yes. Civil and martial candidates alike must instruct at Yujing's academies. The Emperor believes: 'To lead soldiers, first lead students; to govern a nation, first govern a classroom.' The Spring Examinations are delayed to test this."
Zhao Xunan left the ministry, puzzled. Reincarnation sure has thrown curveballs, he thought.
Back at his residence, Lü Qingcai burst in, sweating. "Master—switching to martial exams? No wonder the Ministry's abuzz!"
Zhao Xunan chuckled. "Word travels fast, huh?"
Lü Qingcai groaned. "You laugh, but the Emperor changed laws for you. Why risk it? Martial arts is a dead end!"
"Dead end? Civil and martial are two pillars of a nation. Great Qin's weakness lies in neglecting one. Can't you see?"
"But—"
"Enough. Think of the opportunities. I've written a dozen martial-themed poems. Have them printed—frame it as 'the scholar's journey to martial glory.' We'll make a fortune."
Lü Qingcai's eyes lit up. "Master—you're shameless!" He scooped up the poems and dashed out, grinning.
Zhao Ping'er frowned. "Teaching at an academy as a hurdle? Anyone can do it."
"Not this 'anyone.' Adding a new exam category reeks of political maneuvering. They'll find ways to block me."
"Then drop martial exams and take civil!"
"Don't worry. I've planted the poem collection as backup. If all else fails, I'll return to civil exams—and gain a 'prodigal son' reputation into the bargain."
He ruffled her hair. "Relax. If the Emperor insists, I'll adapt. For now, observe."
The next day, street vendors peddled thin booklets with Zhao Xunan's poems.
"Ten sheets for one tael? That's robbery!" a man yelled, splattering congee.
"Robbery? The Emperor's favorite poet writes these!" the vendor retorted. "A tael's a steal!"
Zhao Xunan, sipping porridge nearby, choked. Lü Qingcai's greed knows no bounds, he thought.
Zhao Ping'er counted the silver tickets, grinning. Zhao Xunan flicked her forehead. "Money-obsessed fool!"
In the Imperial Study, the Emperor flipped through the poem collection, enthralled.
"Drunk, I polish my sword by lamplight;
Dreaming, I hear war horns in the night.
Thirty thousand feasts for my troops—
Fifty strings hum of border songs.
Autumn drill on the frontier!"
"Brilliant!" She clapped, but the Grand Academician snatched the scroll.
"'Ode to My Ancestor's Valor'—Zhao Xunan channels his forebear's spirit. Even an old man like me feels the fire!"
The Emperor pouted. "You're not going to let him switch to martial exams, are you?"
"Far from it," the Grand Academician said. "With such talent, he belongs in court, not on the battlefield. To govern a nation, to outthink enemies—that's his destiny."
He tucked the scroll under his arm and left. The Emperor stared after him, then grinned at Hongting. "See? Even he's jealous of Zhao Xunan's brilliance."
Unseen, Phoenix in the corner copied the poem, "Ode to My Ancestor's Valor," onto rice paper.
On the morning of the second day of the second lunar month, Zhao Xunan wore a black cotton jacket and rode his horse early, avoiding the crowds.
Four imperial academies dominated Yujing: Dagan, Zelin, Nanli, and Zhige. Dagan, the top academy, was his target—its reputation guaranteed higher scores.
Three li from Dagan, he dismounted, tying his horse to a tree. The path was jammed with scholars and job-seekers—nearly ten thousand people.
"Pardon me, Young Master Zhao!" A familiar voice called. He turned to see Hongting.
"Long time no see, Historian Hong. How fare you?"
"Under the Emperor's grace, all is well."
Hongting's smile faded. "The Emperor sent me. Your decision to switch to martial exams troubles her. She fears losing your talents to the battlefield."
Zhao Xunan nodded. "The Emperor values me that much?"
"More than you know. The Emperor, the Grand Academician, and the ministers—they see you as Great Qin's future Chancellor. Your Six-Nation Treatise could end eight centuries of hidden dangers. Can they risk losing you to martial arts?"
Zhao Xunan's breath hitched. The Six-Nation Treatise… so much hinges on it, he thought. But with the Kunlun Secret Realm opening in four years, all mortal power struggles would fade. Was it worth the fight?
Hongting continued: "They believe your place is in court, shaping empires—not swinging swords. That's why they added the teaching requirement. To test if you can lead not just armies, but minds."
Zhao Xunan looked toward Dagan Academy, its gates towering. Leading minds…, he thought. Perhaps that was the true path.
He mounted his horse, resolve hardening. I'll face whatever comes. For Great Qin, for my ancestors—for myself.