A Poor Man's Son-in-Law: He Picks Up the Daughter of a Duke's Mansion at the Start

On the eighth day of the sixth lunar month, at the Hanlin Academy.

Morning light streamed through the window, casting dappled shadows on the blue brick floor. Lu Qingyan was on duty, organizing the manuscript he hadn't finished writing the day before. His pen moved across the rice paper, the ink still wet, when there was a light knock on the door.

"Enter."

Zhou Wenyuan entered through the door. He was wearing a slightly worn indigo robe, his complexion was somewhat sallow, and there were faint dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept well the night before. He paused by the door before stepping in and closing the door behind him.

The duty room was quiet for a moment, with only the faint chirping of birds coming from outside the window.

Lu Qingyan put down her pen and looked up at him: "Editor Zhou, is there something you need?"

Zhou Wenyuan's lips moved, as if he found it extremely difficult to speak. He walked to the desk, stopped, and his gaze swept over the Duan inkstone and the set of Huzhou brushes on the desk, finally landing on the mutton-fat jade pendant that was faintly visible at Lu Qingyan's waist—it was a new gift from Yun Shuwei the day before, who said it would be cool to wear in the summer.

"Editor Lu," Zhou Wenyuan finally spoke, his voice somewhat hoarse, "that matter at the Ministry of Rites a few days ago was something I hadn't considered carefully."

He spoke stiffly, as if reciting a memorized text. Lu Qingyan listened quietly without responding.

Zhou Wenyuan waited a moment, but received no response, so he continued, "My mother told me the other day about going to the opera with your wife." He paused, a hint of sarcasm in his tone, "Your wife certainly knows how to behave, how to please her elders."

These words were unpleasant to hear, but Lu Qingyan remained calm and simply said, "My wife is young, so please forgive her if she has been impolite."

"Impolite?" Zhou Wenyuan smirked. "Madam Lu is very shrewd and sophisticated; how could she be impolite? It was my mother who gave me a good scolding when she returned, saying that I didn't know my place and was ignorant of the bigger picture." He stared at Lu Qingyan, his gaze growing cold. "Editor Lu is quite shrewd; he didn't show up himself but let his wife handle things, thus turning a business matter into a personal one."

These words were a blatant sarcasm directed at Lu Qingyan for abusing his wife's family's influence. The air in the duty room was heavy, and even the birdsong outside the window fell silent.

Lu Qingyan looked at Zhou Wenyuan and saw resentment, anger, and barely suppressed anxiety in his eyes. He recalled what Yun Shuwei had said—the Zhou family had sold off their estate, leaving them in financial straits, and Zhou Wenyuan was facing difficulties both internally and externally.

"Editor Zhou, you're being too harsh," Lu Qingyan said calmly. "Colleagues should be understanding of each other. What's past is past, there's no need to bring it up again."

These words, though seemingly magnanimous, only fueled Zhou Wenyuan's anger. What he wanted wasn't Lu Qingyan's forgiveness, but rather a confrontation that would allow him to vent his resentment. Lu Qingyan's nonchalant demeanor, however, made him appear petty and narrow-minded.

"Mutual understanding?" Zhou Wenyuan sneered. "Editor Lu is now a third-ranked scholar and has gained the favor of the Duke's mansion, so naturally he can understand others. Unlike us, we have to rely on ourselves step by step."

He didn't finish his sentence, but his meaning was clear. Lu Qingyan sensed the bitterness in his words and understood. Zhou Wenyuan wasn't apologizing; he was venting—venting his dissatisfaction with his background and his resentment towards his fate.

"The Hanlin Academy has witnessed Zhou's talent and learning," Lu Qingyan said in his usual calm tone. "As for the rest, everyone has their own destiny, and we cannot force it."

These words, meant as words of comfort, sounded like boasting to Zhou Wenyuan. He recalled his mother's words from the other day: "Look at Lu Qingyan, born into a poor family, yet he gained the favor of Scholar Li and the appreciation of the Duke's mansion. What did he rely on? His composure and his sense of propriety! And you? You're always striving to be the best, which has only made you look worse!"

Why? Zhou Wenyuan felt a surge of resentment. He had studied diligently for over a decade; his father was a vice minister, and he himself was a scholar who had passed the imperial examinations twice. In what way was he inferior to this poor scholar from Yongning? Just because he married the daughter of the Duke's family?

"Editor Lu is right." Zhou Wenyuan's tone suddenly became sharp. "Everyone has their own destiny. Others can only envy Editor Lu's destiny—marrying the daughter of a Duke's family, saving him twenty years of struggle. His food, clothing, and daily necessities are taken care of, and his career path is paved for him. He is truly blessed."

The words "living off a woman" almost slipped out, but a last shred of reason held them back. The sarcasm in those words was unmistakable.

Lu Qingyan finally raised her eyes and looked at him directly. Their eyes met, and Zhou Wenyuan saw no anger or embarrassment in those eyes, only a calmness, as calm as a deep pool, which made all his little thoughts come out.

"Editor Zhou," Lu Qingyan said slowly, "if there's nothing else, I still need to finish today's documents."

This is an invitation to leave.

Zhou Wenyuan's face paled, then flushed red. He stared at Lu Qingyan, his anger churning inside, but he couldn't vent it. The other man didn't respond at all, didn't get angry, didn't argue, and with just a few light words, he shut him down.

The duty room was so quiet you could hear your own breathing. Outside the window, the footsteps and laughter of colleagues walked by, making the silence inside seem even more palpable.

After a long pause, Zhou Wenyuan finally managed to say, "Then I won't bother you any longer."

He turned around, almost hastily opened the door, and quickly walked out. The door closed behind him with a soft, not-too-loud sound.

Lu Qingyan stared at the door for a long time before picking up his pen again. The pen tip landed on the paper, but he hesitated to move it. A drop of ink spread out, staining a line of small characters.

He recalled his parents scrimping and saving to support his education at Yongning's home; he remembered the calluses on his eldest brother's hands and the scars on his second brother's hands; he remembered his own faded blue shirt.

Living off a woman?

He chuckled softly, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

The pen finally fell, starting a new line next to the stain. The handwriting was clear and vigorous, penetrating the paper.

Outside the window, Zhou Wenyuan hurried through the corridor, his hands clenched tightly in his sleeves. He remembered his mother's instructions before he left: "Go apologize and settle this matter. From now on, focus on your work and don't cause any more trouble."

An apology? What did he do wrong? He just couldn't stand seeing a poor kid climb the social ladder and then act all high and mighty.

But even this "show of power" was just his imagination. Lu Qingyan didn't utter a single boastful word or show a hint of pride from beginning to end. On the contrary, he was like a clown jumping around.

Zhou Wenyuan paused, turning back to look at the tightly closed door. Sunlight shone on the door, giving it a cold, gleaming appearance.

He suddenly remembered his father's words from the previous night: "What makes Lu Qingyan so special? It's his composure! It's his knowing when to advance and when to retreat! And you? You get impatient over the smallest things, and you complain about everything at the slightest setback. You're nothing like a descendant of the Zhou family!"

Yes, he's very composed. A self-deprecating smile appeared on Zhou Wenyuan's lips. To remain unfazed even when openly mocked—such composure was something he himself couldn't match.

So what? Zhou Wenyuan straightened his back, turned around, and continued walking forward. There was plenty of time ahead; he had a long life ahead of him at the Hanlin Academy. He wanted to see how far Lu Qingyan, who had risen to power through his wife's family, could go.

In the duty room, Lu Qingyan finished writing the last stroke, put down his pen, and rubbed his wrist. The jade pendant at his waist felt warm and smooth to the touch. He glanced down at it, recalling how Yun Shuwei had put it on him: "It's cool to wear in the summer."

He smiled and tightened his belt.