I'll steal Gao Qiu's life and lead the Song Dynasty to prosperity.

In the afternoon, the back garden was so quiet that only the cicadas chirped.

Li Jiong sat in a small pavilion by the water, holding a scroll of "Strategies of the Warring States" in his hand, but didn't turn a single page for a long time.

His uncle's words from that morning were still echoing in his mind—"Don't follow the crowd," "Never lose your true self."

What he said was true, but it always felt like a thorn in my ear, making me uncomfortable.

Lost in thought, I suddenly heard light footsteps accompanied by a clear voice.

"Brother, you seem to be enjoying yourself, hiding here reading a book?"

Li Jiong looked up and saw Li Qingzhao walking along the winding corridor.

She changed into a light blue shirt with delicate lotus scroll patterns embroidered on the hem, and carried a red lacquered tray with two celadon bowls on it.

Sunlight filtered through the bamboo leaves along the corridor, casting dappled shadows on her, making her look as if she had stepped out of a painting.

"My sister is here." Li Jiong hurriedly got up.

"Sit down, sit down." Li Qingzhao entered the pavilion and placed the tray on the stone table.

"It's hot, so the kitchen staff made some mung bean and licorice soup, chilled, which is perfect for cooling down. I'll bring you a bowl while I'm at it."

As she spoke, she pushed a bowl in front of him; the bowl was covered with fine water droplets and felt cool to the touch.

Li Jiong thanked him, picked up the bowl, and took a sip.

The chilled mung bean soup slid down my throat, and the restlessness in my heart seemed to calm down a bit.

Li Qingzhao slowly stirred her porcelain spoon in her bowl, but didn't rush to drink, looking at him with her eyes curved in a smile.

"Brother, why did you frown so deeply while reading? Could it be that one of the strategists in the *Strategies of the Warring States* stumped you?"

Li Jiong knew that his cousin had noticed his bad mood and had come to comfort him.

"It's nothing," Li Jiong put down his bowl and forced a smile. "It's just a little... boring."

"Feeling down?" Li Qingzhao blinked. "Is it because of what Father said at noon?"

Li Jiong remained silent.

Li Qingzhao sighed softly, and gently tapped the porcelain spoon against the rim of the bowl.

"My brother knows my father's temperament. He values ​​'righteousness' above all else, and he'll always say a few words if he sees something or someone that doesn't suit his taste." She paused, her voice softening.

"But even though he said it, he really cares about you. You see, when you said you got into the second tier of the college entrance exam, your father's eyes were shining, but he still had to put on a stern face and scold you with a few words like 'You must not compromise on important principles'—it's because he was afraid that you were too young and might go astray."

Li Jiong felt comforted.

"I understand what my uncle means, but..."

"But you think that young master Zhao is not as Father described, is that right?" Li Qingzhao replied naturally.

Li Jiong looked up at her.

Li Qingzhao's face showed no mockery or curiosity, but rather a quiet, attentive expression.

Li Jiong planned to talk to his cousin about Zhao Mingcheng.

"Sister," he sat up straighter, "do you know that there are people in this world who do the most outrageous things, yet make everyone feel it's perfectly normal?"

Li Qingzhao rested her chin on her hand, her eyes sparkling.

"Is Brother referring to that Zhao Mingcheng?"

Li Jiong nodded and pushed the bowl of mung bean soup away a little.

"Indeed, I first met Brother Mingcheng because of a broken inkstone."

He started by talking about Zhao Mingcheng.

"The old object was badly worn, and I couldn't decipher the characters even after searching through countless books. Brother Mingcheng only glanced at it and figured out the beginning. Later, I checked it and found that it was indeed not much different from what he said."

Li Qingzhao listened intently.

"Is that person really that powerful?"

"That's not all." Li Jiong became more and more enthusiastic as he spoke. "At the Duan Prince's gathering, guess what? He was able to discuss calligraphy with His Highness Duan, saying that His Highness's characters had a 'metallic and stone-like quality,' and that he could understand the essence of calligraphy from the knife work. His Highness was so pleased that he presented a painting to him on the spot."

"What's even stranger is the Cuju (ancient Chinese football). The field was full of princes and nobles, accompanied by professional Cuju players, but this student from the Imperial Academy played the ball with such fluid grace, yet he always flattered Prince Duan, only showing off his own skills after the prince scored. That ball could curve and fly, it was called something like 'Willow Dance in the Wind'..."

As he got excited, he vividly recounted how Zhao Mingcheng assisted, shot, and celebrated.

Li Qingzhao listened intently, sometimes widening her eyes, sometimes covering her mouth and chuckling softly. When she heard something particularly delightful, her fingers unconsciously tapped lightly on the stone table.

Li Jiong got carried away with his conversation.

"It's not over yet. A few days before the private test, everyone was studying hard, but he was going to the football field every day."

"I asked Brother Mingcheng why he didn't study, and he said, 'A string stretched too tight will break.' And what was the result? He came out on top! I read his essay; it was flawless, powerful, and I heard even the officials praised it highly."

Li Qingzhao's eyes grew brighter as she listened.

She was intelligent from a young age, well-read, knowledgeable, and quick-witted, yet she still found such a person fascinating.

Based solely on her brother's description, Li Qingzhao learned that Zhao Mingcheng, though seemingly illogical, was always right; seemingly capricious, he was actually meticulously planning every step.

This was completely different from the rigid or frivolous scholars she usually encountered.

Li Qingzhao's curiosity intensified.

"Brother, is there anything else? Tell me more!"

"There's something even stranger," Li Jiong said in a low voice.

"He recently went to Prince Duan's residence and was impeached by officials for 'associating with princes and neglecting his studies.' Guess what happened?"

"I heard that after the Emperor personally intervened, not only was he not punished, but he was also granted the privilege of going to Prince Duan's residence for two days every ten days, supposedly to 'assist in organizing the lost paintings and calligraphy.' This... this is not something an ordinary person could do!"

Li Qingzhao finally couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"This young master Zhao sounds like a character from a play, always turning misfortune into good fortune and every step he takes from danger to safety."

"Isn't that right?" Li Jiong smiled, but his smile was tinged with emotion.

"Sometimes I think, if I had even half of Mingcheng's carefree spirit and insightful understanding, things wouldn't have come to this..."

That way, he wouldn't be so awkward in front of his uncle.

He didn't say it aloud, but Li Qingzhao understood.

She stopped laughing and said seriously.

"Why should you belittle yourself, elder brother? You are you, and he is he. Your adherence to your duty is the way of a gentleman; his flexibility and adaptability are the actions of a wise man. Each has his own path, and you cannot force it."

Li Qingzhao smiled slyly again.

"However, hearing you say that makes me really curious. Someone of your stature must be an excellent poet and writer, right? Have you read any, cousin?"

"Poetry?" Li Jiong was taken aback, then remembered...

"Hmm... there is one, written at the Duan Prince's gathering, titled 'On the Spot at Yichun Garden'."

"Read it aloud quickly."

Li Qingzhao had always loved poetry, and after hearing her cousin talk about this "extraordinary person" named Zhao Mingcheng, she couldn't help but become interested in his poetry as well.

Li Jiong cleared his throat, recalled the poem, and slowly recited it.

"A winding stream encircles the pavilions, and blooming flowers reflect the sunlight."

A breeze carries fragrance to my sleeves, birds fly by and their shadows linger.

A scholar composes a new verse, while a prince holds up a jade cup.

"This place is truly delightful; why bother asking about Penglai?"

After he finished reciting the poem, the pavilion fell silent for a moment.

Only the cicadas chirped and the lotus leaves swayed gently in the breeze.

Li Qingzhao remained silent.

She tilted her head slightly, her fingers unconsciously twirling the embroidery on her skirt, lost in thought.

"Sister, you have always been proficient in poetry. What do you think of Brother Mingcheng's poems?" Li Jiong asked.

Li Qingzhao raised her eyes, her gaze somewhat strange.

"The poem is extremely well-crafted. The parallelism is solid, and the introduction, development, transition, and conclusion are all appropriate. The couplet 'The wind brings fragrance to my sleeves, the bird flies by and my shadow lingers' captures the scenery skillfully; the final couplet 'Why ask about Penglai?' also has a touch of magnanimity."

Li Jiong nodded, thinking his cousin was about to praise him.

"But—" Li Qingzhao drawled, her brows furrowing slightly, "It's too good, too perfect... too orderly."

"Isn't neatness good enough?"

"It's not that it's bad." Li Qingzhao carefully considered her words.

"I only heard my brother say that this young master Zhao is skilled in calligraphy, painting, and seal carving; he is as agile as the wind on the football field; his essays are powerful and insightful; and he is free-spirited and discerning in his dealings with others... Such a person should be a man of great vision and unconventional thinking. But this poem—"

She paused, her fingertips tracing lines on the stone table, as if sketching the skeleton of a poem.

"Look, the four couplets, eight lines in total, are all perfectly matched, and every word is perfectly crafted. 'Winding stream' matches 'abundant flowers,' 'around the pavilion' matches 'blooming in the sun'; 'literati' matches 'noble prince,' 'writing a new verse' matches 'holding a jade cup.' Even that last bit of magnanimity is achieved by matching 'pleasure here' with 'asking about Penglai,' so perfectly aligned it's as if it were measured with a ruler."

Li Jiong was stunned.

Although he was not as skilled in poetry as his sister, he still sensed something different after she pointed it out to him.

As the saying goes, poetry is the voice of the heart.

Li Qingzhao continued, her voice soft yet clear.

"Even at social gatherings, one's true nature will inevitably be revealed. When Su Shi composed poems at such gatherings, he displayed the elegance of 'When Will the Moon Be Clear and Bright?' and the grandeur of 'The Great River Flows Eastward'; and so did I..."

Li Qingzhao changed her words at this point.

"He's just an ordinary person; when he's happy, his words flow freely, and when he's melancholy, his writing becomes hesitant and clumsy, always leaving some trace. But his poetry—"

Li Qingzhao shook her head, her eyes filled with even deeper confusion, as she spoke.

"It's too perfect, as perfect as a meticulously carved piece of jade, with every line just right, but it lacks the warm and vibrant quality that jade should have. It doesn't quite resemble the person my brother described."

In Li Qingzhao's eyes, the character Zhao Mingcheng should be portrayed in an unconventional way, but she never expected that his writing would be so different from the real Zhao Mingcheng.

Li Jiong opened his mouth, wanting to say, "Perhaps it was just a perfunctory work, and I didn't put my full effort into it," but he swallowed the words back.

Because what my sister said seemed to make sense.

Zhao Mingcheng's everyday speech is sharp and insightful, sometimes witty and humorous, with unique perspectives and a free and easy personality.

But this poem is indeed too steady, almost to the point of being stiff.

"It should be..." Li Jiong hesitated, "It should be due to the occasion? After all, Prince Duan was present, along with so many members of the imperial clan..."

"Perhaps." Li Qingzhao didn't delve any deeper, but the curiosity in her eyes only intensified.

She picked up the bowl of lukewarm mung bean soup and sipped it slowly, gazing at the water lilies in the pond outside the pavilion. After a while, she suddenly asked softly.

"Brother, does that mean that Zhao Mingcheng is so outstanding in epigraphy, calligraphy, football, and policy essays, but his poetry talent is... mediocre?"

Li Jiong couldn't answer.

Seeing that he couldn't say anything for the time being, Li Qingzhao put the empty bowl back on the tray, got up and straightened her skirt.

"I've finished my soup and heard the story, now it's time for me to go home."

She took two steps, then turned back, her eyes shining.

"Brother, if you ever get any more of his articles or poems next time, whether they are policy essays or playful pieces, you must lend them to me to read. I want to see just how many faces this man hides in his writing."

Having said that, he didn't wait for Li Jiong to reply.

Li Qingzhao then carried the tray and walked away with light steps, her green skirt brushing against the bamboo grove like butterfly wings.

Li Jiong sat alone in the pavilion, gazing at the pond of water lilies, lost in thought for a long time.

My sister's words make sense.

Li Jiong suddenly realized that he had never truly understood this classmate.

At the end of the winding corridor, Li Qingzhao turned through the moon gate, her smile still lingering.

She walked briskly, unconsciously humming the poem written by Zhao Mingcheng.

"A winding stream meanders around pavilions, and blooming flowers reflect the sunlight... Why bother asking about Penglai..."

He stopped humming halfway through.

She tilted her head and muttered to herself:

"It's neat and tidy, but I always feel like... something's missing."

What was missing? She couldn't quite put her finger on it.

Perhaps it's a spark of inspiration, a touch of personality, or a vibrant energy that stirs the reader's heart.

But this only made her more interested.

A person who excels in so many things, yet reveals an almost clumsy "perfection" in poetry, the very thing that should reveal his true character.

interesting.

Li Qingzhao smiled and her steps became lighter.