My wife, Wei Gui, was 1.9 meters tall and fought against the Tang dynasty for the throne.

Speeding repeat offender, I suggest adding this to your bookshelf. Hold on tight, everyone, on your way! o＞_＜o

Note: This is a harem fantasy novel; please do not treat it as historical fact. Logic may be lacking, and it cannot cover every aspect. Use your brain appropriately and just enjoy the story! ε(´｡•᎑•`)っ♡

The seventh year of the Daye era, the third day of the third month, the Shangsi Festival.

Outside Luoyang city, along both banks of the Luo River, carriages and horses moved like dragons.

This is the most important day of the year for scions of prominent families. It is called a purification ritual, but in reality, it is a matchmaking event.

Young men and women of marriageable age would take advantage of the spring outing to meet across the water, exchange poems, and if they found someone they liked, it would be the beginning of marriage negotiations between the two families.

Li Ju stood on the shore, watching his father's painted boat slowly leave the shore.

On the painted boat were his elder brothers and younger brothers, dressed in fine clothes and jade belts, full of vigor and high spirits.

Their destination was the largest multi-story ships in the middle of the river, where the legitimate sons and daughters of prominent families such as Li, Cui, Fan, Zheng, and Wang gathered—the true matchmaking venue for the top aristocratic families.

He, however, was left on the shore.

"Huai Run, what are you daydreaming about?" Someone patted his shoulder. It was his cousin Li Heng, who was also a son of a concubine. He lowered his voice and said, "Come on, let's go over there. I heard that there are a few legitimate daughters in a collateral branch of the Wang family in Taiyuan. They're quite pretty."

Li Ju withdrew his gaze and followed him toward the mat tent on the shore.

He knew the fate of a son born out of wedlock from his previous life. In this life, he was born into the Li family of Longxi, which sounds good, but the label of being born out of wedlock weighs heavily on him, making him inferior to others in every way.

His father was already being kind by allowing him to come to Luoshui—his only purpose was to arrange a marriage between him and a second-rate family in the clan, to exchange for a dowry, and to secure a useful connection.

Like a piece of cargo.

A considerable number of people had already gathered inside the tent. The women were on the other side, their elegant attire and graceful figures barely visible through the curtains. On the men's side, groups of three or five sat or stood, some reciting their newly composed poems aloud, others whispering and laughing, all striving to present their best selves.

Li Ju found an inconspicuous corner and sat down.

He didn't want to be chosen.

It's not arrogance, it's clear-headedness.

In his previous life, he struggled in modern society and witnessed too many opportunities and pitfalls.

In this life, he transmigrated to the end of the Sui Dynasty and knew what would happen next—the first campaign against Goguryeo the following year would result in the deaths of 300,000 soldiers in Liaodong; the second campaign the year after would see Yang Xuangan rebel in Liyang; and after that, the world would descend into chaos, with heroes rising up everywhere, and even Yang Guang himself would not be able to save his own life.

Marrying the legitimate daughter of a second-rate family now and binding yourself to a local powerful figure will only be a burden when chaos strikes.

What he needs is to accumulate strength, to wield the sword, and to wait for the wind to rise so that he can stand at the forefront.

As for women—once he reaches that point, he can have any kind of woman he wants.

"Huai Run, why don't you write one?" Li Heng leaned closer, holding a roll of paper covered with poems. "This year is even more lively than last year. There's a branch of the Wei family over there who writes really good poems."

Li Ju shook his head: "You guys come, I'll just take a look."

Even so, he knew he couldn't escape it.

The father sent a servant to keep an eye on him and report back on his "performance" that day.

If I don't write it, I'll definitely get a beating when I get back; if I do write it, I'm afraid I'll attract the attention of some second-rate noblewoman.

You have to write it, but you have to write it in a way that people don't like.

The people in front took turns reciting, all following the style of praising the emperor in times of peace.

Phrases like "the holy dynasty has no shortcomings" and "the whole country is at peace" are just a jumble of flowery language, full of grand pronouncements about a prosperous era.

Li Ju found it amusing.

Unbeknownst to them, Yang Guang was preparing for a campaign against Liaodong. Hebei and Shandong were already conscripting laborers to repair ships, build carts, and transport grain, resulting in countless families being destroyed and people dying.

The so-called golden age is nothing more than the last bit of sultry heat before the storm.

When it was his turn, he stood up and slowly walked to the table.

I picked up the pen, dipped it in ink, and began to write.

He did not write about peace.

He wrote a poem about the past. It only describes the desolate city and ruins, the cold smoke and white bones, and the once majestic pass with its high walls, which are now teetering on the brink of collapse when the wind and rain come.

Not a single word in the poem touches upon current events, let alone the current court; the entire poem is filled with traces of the rise and fall of dynasties, and a desolate scene.

After finishing writing, he put down his pen and retreated to the corner.

There was a moment of silence, then people started whispering among themselves.

"This tune... isn't it too somber?"

"It's inappropriate to write this on the Shangsi Festival."

"He's a son of a concubine after all; he has no manners."

The women behind the curtains fell silent. Li Ju glanced over and vaguely saw several figures move away, as if afraid of being tainted by some bad luck.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

It became.

At this moment, a servant squeezed through the crowd, walked up to him, and whispered, "Sixth Brother, your master wants you to pass."

Li Ju's heart sank.

He followed the servant to the willow tree on the bank, where his father, Li Xiaochang, stood with a livid face.

Li Xiaochang, the head of the Luoyang branch of the Longxi Li clan, was in his early forties and well-maintained, but at this moment he was so angry that his hands were trembling. He clutched the manuscript of poetry in his hand and hurled it at Li Ju.

"You did this?"

"Yes."

"On the Shangsi Festival, at the Luo River gathering, so many noble families are watching, and you write such a disheartening poem?" Li Xiaochang's voice was low, but every word was like a whip. "Do you think you haven't embarrassed your father enough?"

Li Ju lowered his head and remained silent.

Li Xiaochang crumpled the poem into a ball and threw it into the Luo River.

"Go back home! Stop embarrassing yourself here!"

Li Ju bowed slightly, turned around, and walked away without looking back.

He didn't turn around.

So he didn't see that the crumpled manuscript hadn't sunk. It floated on the water, pushed by the spring breeze, slowly drifting downstream.

A painted boat was moored downstream.

It was smaller than the multi-story ships in the middle of the river, but it was exquisitely painted and decorated. A blue curtain hung at the bow, making it clear that it was a ship used by the ladies of a top-tier family.

A woman sat by the window of the painted boat.

She was tall and slender, standing gracefully by the window. Her lotus-colored dress accentuated her fair and smooth skin, which appeared as smooth as jade. Her long hair was styled in a high bun, adorned only with a single white jade hairpin, without any other ornaments. Her features were bright yet understated, beautiful without being vulgar, and elegant without being seductive. There was an air of dignified tranquility about her.

That's the poise only a daughter of a top-tier noble family possesses—not a deliberately pretentious reserve, but a natural composure cultivated from childhood immersed in poetry, literature, and etiquette.

She held a book in her hand, idly flipping through it, occasionally glancing up at the poems, flowers, and tokens of love that the scions of noble families had deliberately placed in the water, hoping that their beloved would retrieve them.

"My lady, look." The maid suddenly pointed to the water.

A crumpled piece of paper floated over.

It wasn't the kind of carefully folded letter paper tied with colorful threads, but rather a crumpled piece of paper, its edges already soaked and about to sink.

"Fire it up," the woman said.

The maid hesitated for a moment, then leaned out and used a bamboo pole to push the paper ball closer and scoop it up.

The woman took it, slowly unfolded the damp manuscript, and carefully read it over and over again by the window.

The first few lines describe events from the previous dynasty, using the past to satirize the present, which is not difficult to understand. However, she read the middle couplet repeatedly, and the more she read it, the more she felt something was wrong.

"A fortified city may be impregnable, but ants can easily burrow inside."

On the surface, the city wall is described as sturdy, but inside it is hollowed out by ants. The words are ordinary, but the overall desolate atmosphere subtly conveys a chilling sense of impending collapse.

Her fingertips tightened slightly, her brows furrowed gently, and she didn't think about it any further.

She looked at the signature at the end of the poem—Li Huairun.

"Sister, what are you looking at?" A clear voice came from behind.

The woman turned around, and a girl appeared behind her, with her hair in two buns and her eyes round and bright, peeking into her hands while standing on tiptoe.

"A poem." The woman folded the manuscript. "Go find someone for me."