The low-key prince summons trainees from the Imperial Household Department at the start of the game.

On the other side, Wang Anshi, in the office of the Censorate, was hunched over his desk, flipping through a thick stack of old case files that could be used as a pillow.

Someone was sweeping snow outside the window, the sound of the bamboo broom scraping against the bluestone slabs was rustling, and he was completely unaware that the fire in the charcoal brazier was almost out.

Since being transferred to the Censorate as an official in the Censorate, he has never had a moment of peace.

Pei Du was the Left Censor-in-Chief, second only to Kong Yan among the upright civil officials.

He was in charge of the Censorate, a powerful hub.

All impeachment memorials from across the land were drafted by him; the transfer and evaluation of censors and officials were entirely under his jurisdiction; he rivaled the Grand Secretariat and exchanged confidential information with the Six Ministries.

The Bureau of Experiences is the information throat of the Censorate.

All impeachment memorials had to be registered, verified, and categorized here before being submitted to Pei Du for review.

Wang Anshi's desk was always piled high with case files awaiting verification, each one representing a lawsuit or dispute, large or small.

Some involved local powerful figures, while others involved high-ranking officials in the imperial court; countless entanglements of interests were hidden between the lines.

Pei Du made it clear when he assigned him this task.

Let him see all the ills of the world first. If he wants to carry out reforms, it's useless to just sit in the Hanlin Academy reading the classics. He needs to get down to earth.

Wang Anshi was indeed grounded in reality.

He checks accounts until late at night every day, personally verifying every single piece of data.

He annotated every single case file word by word. His colleagues said he was too meticulous and that he would never finish working like that.

Without looking up, he replied, "Why bother being an imperial censor if you don't take things seriously?"

That evening, snow began to fall again outside the duty room.

Wang Anshi was frowning as he looked at the land tax dispute case file in Jiangnan Province when a series of light footsteps suddenly came from the doorway.

He looked up and saw a woman wearing a plain cotton robe and a silver-gray cloak standing by the door, carrying a food box in her hand.

The woman had a cool and aloof face, yet her eyes and brows exuded a scholarly air; she was Pei Du's only daughter, Pei Youqing.

She had no maidservants behind her, carrying the food box herself. Snowflakes fell on her hair, but she didn't brush them off, only tilting her head slightly to look at Wang Anshi.

Wang Anshi hurriedly stood up, bowed, and asked, "Miss Pei, what brings you here?"

Pei Youqing carried the food box into the duty room and placed it on his desk, her movements as casual as if she were entering her own study.

She said she came to deliver soup to her father and brought him a portion as well.

As she spoke, she opened the food box, which contained a bowl of lotus seed and white fungus soup and a plate of osmanthus cake, both still steaming hot.

Pei Youqing pushed the bowl of soup towards him, then sat down in the chair opposite him and looked at his desk.

She casually picked up a case file, flipped through it, and raised an eyebrow slightly.

The case file was covered with his annotations.

The exchange rate between tax grain and silver is unreasonable and should be reassessed.

If the county magistrate has business dealings with local gentry, an imperial censor must be dispatched to investigate.

The data from the land survey are contradictory, raising suspicions that some land has been concealed and not reported.

She put down the case file, looked up at him, and suddenly said, "Wang, if those who were criticized saw these annotations of yours, they would probably hate you to the bone."

Wang Anshi said that his position as an imperial censor was precisely what made him hated.

Pei Youqing shook her head and said no.

"The duty of an imperial censor is to impeach, but what happens after the impeachment?"

"Is it over once you pull someone down?"

"And your annotations not only included impeachment, but also suggestions, telling those people how to make changes."

"So you're not engaging in partisan strife, you're doing real work."

Wang Anshi was stunned for a moment.

Since being transferred to the Censorate, his colleagues have had mixed opinions about him.

Some people praised him for his diligence, while others thought he was rigid.

Some people were jealous that he had gained Pei Du's favor, while others said behind his back that he was using Pei Du's influence to pave his own way.

No one else could see what he was doing and why he was doing it through those dense annotations like Pei Youqing.

He lowered his head and remained silent for a moment, then suddenly said out of the blue, "Miss, I am not very good at speaking, but I have remembered what you just said."

Pei Youqing stood up and walked to him, took out a thin booklet from her sleeve and placed it on his desk, saying it was for him.

Wang Anshi looked down and saw that it was a copy of "Discourses on Salt and Iron of the Great Zhou Dynasty" that she had handwritten.

Written by Wang You'an, a renowned minister of the previous dynasty's Daqian era, this work discusses the advantages and disadvantages of the salt and iron monopoly system.

When he was in the Hanlin Academy, he asked someone to find a copy of this book, but he never found one.

Unexpectedly, Pei Youqing had a copy of it, which she had handwritten herself.

He looked up into her eyes, his Adam's apple bobbing, but he said nothing.

Pei Youqing didn't say anything more, only that the soup was getting cold and should be drunk while it was still hot.

Then, carrying the empty food box, he turned and left, glancing back at him as he reached the door.

She was told there was no need to rush to return the book, and she copied it several times at home when she had nothing else to do.

Wang Anshi watched her figure disappear into the wind and snow outside the duty room.

Then he slowly sat back down in his chair, picked up the bowl of lotus seed and white fungus soup, and drank it sip by sip.

The soup wasn't so hot anymore, but he felt a warmth spreading from his throat all the way to his chest.

It was a warmth he had never experienced in his past or present life.

Inside the Sutra Repository of the Great Bao'en Temple, Yao Guangxiao sat cross-legged on a prayer mat, twirling a string of faded sandalwood prayer beads in his hand.

Snow began to fall again outside the window. There was no charcoal brazier in the library, and it was so cold that you could breathe out white vapor, but he was completely unaware of it.

He has now returned to secular life and entered officialdom, holding the position of Director of the Ministry of Rites, a sixth-rank official. To outsiders, he is a young man who has achieved early success and has a bright future.

But there was always one thing he couldn't let go of.

In his previous life, he became a monk with the Dharma name Daoyan and never married.

He assisted Zhu Di in establishing his imperial dynasty while serving as a monk.

Everyone says that the Black-Robed Prime Minister wielded immense power, but few know why he became a monk.

And why did he never get close to women throughout his life?

He became a monk not because of faith, but because he had seen through the illusions of life.

In my youth, I witnessed the hardships and power struggles of humanity.

They felt that everything in the world was illusory, and only Buddhism could save people.

But later he entered the Prince of Yan's mansion and personally planned the Jingnan Campaign.

Zhu Di's path to becoming emperor was paved with the blood of countless people.

He also felt that even Buddhism couldn't save people.

Therefore, he spent his life wavering between Buddhism and the secular world.

He was neither a true monk nor a true layman.

He was given a second chance at life, and he thought he could finally let go of those entanglements.

But the scale in my heart is always there.

On one side is the tranquility of Buddhism, and on the other is the power struggles of the imperial court.

He didn't know which side he should stand on.

I don't know whether I want to get married, have children, and live an ordinary life.

Even today, the old lady of the Marquis of Dingyuan's mansion comes to the temple to offer incense.

The old lady was the mother of Marquis Han Chong of Dingyuan. She was nearly seventy years old and her hair was as white as silver.

She stood at the entrance of the Sutra Repository for a long time. Yao Guangxiao put his palms together in a gesture of respect and said, "Madam, it's too slippery on snowy days for you to come in person."

The old lady walked in, leaning on her cane, and sat on the prayer mat opposite him, saying that she had come to have her fortune told.

Yao Guangxiao was taken aback.

He has now returned to secular life and is no longer a monk in the temple, but the old lady doesn't seem to care.

He paused for a moment, then asked her to draw a fortune stick as usual.

The old lady pulled out a fortune stick from the container and handed it to him; the fortune stick read:

The clouds parted to reveal the moon.

He read the fortune slip and remained silent for a long time. Then he looked up at the old lady and said that the fortune slip was auspicious.

The old lady asked him to try to unravel it.

He said the fortune slip said the clouds would part and the moon would appear, but it didn't say when the clouds would part or when the moon would appear.

Whether the clouds clear or not depends not on the moon, but on the wind.

The old lady asked where the east wind was.

He said the east wind wasn't inside the temple, but outside.

The old lady smiled, her wrinkled face blossoming into a chrysanthemum.

She put the divination sticks aside and said, "Young man, I've lived for almost seventy years and seen everything. Your words might fool others, but they won't fool me. It's not that you don't know where the east wind is, it's that you're unwilling to go look for it."

The old lady spoke slowly and deliberately, yet every word hit the nail on the head: "Now that you have returned to secular life and hold a sixth-rank official position, you stand firmly in the mortal world, but in your heart you still wear that monk's robe."

"You think you're caught between Buddhism and the secular world, but actually you don't want to give up either side."

"Take this fortune stick back. I have nothing left to wish for, but I do have a word for you."

"It is like a lamp that enters a dark room and dispels the darkness of hundreds or thousands of years. The lamp in your heart has been lit long ago, but you have closed your eyes."

For example, a lamp placed in a dark room can dispel darkness that has persisted for hundreds or thousands of years.

This is a quote from the Surangama Sutra.

Yao Guangxiao stared blankly at the white-haired old lady in front of him, when suddenly he felt something in his chest being gently pushed away by a tender hand.

He stood up, put his palms together, and bowed deeply, saying, "Madam, this humble monk has learned much."

The old lady stood up, leaning on her cane, and looked back at him as she walked to the door.

This gaze wasn't that of a worshipper looking at a fortune-telling monk, but rather the kind and warm gaze of an elder looking at a younger person.

She said that she was a stubborn person when she was young, but after getting married and having children, she realized that the warmest thing in the world is not incense, but human warmth.

Yao Guangxiao sat alone in the Sutra Repository for a long time.

The snow outside the window was falling heavier and heavier, the rustling sound of the falling snow like a long, drawn-out chant.

He looked down at the sandalwood prayer beads in his hand, then gently placed them on the shrine next to the prayer mat.

He pushed open the door of the library, and a flurry of snowflakes rushed towards him. He didn't wear a straw hat; he simply strode into the snow.