Chapter 91 Congratulations, you've discovered the true nature of the literary society...

"Cotton..." Mei Yaochen murmured as he took off his gloves. The scorching heat almost immediately disappeared, and the temperature returned to normal in the gentle spring breeze. The warmth of the fabric was evident.

He couldn't help but imagine how warm it would be to be completely wrapped in this fabric in the cold wind. Would his back, which had been bent from being forced to huddle for warmth, be able to straighten up and walk proudly through the snow-covered streets?

He immediately said, "I'll go and talk to Chief Minister Yang right away. You don't need to worry about this. You only need to send one person. We'll take care of the rest."

"And there's also contacting the Imperial Academy..."

"Yes, the Imperial Academy!"

Seeing Mei Yaochen's sudden realization, Fusu knew that he must have thought of the same thing as him. While there were many sons of officials in the Imperial Academy, the Imperial University was filled with poor but outstanding students recommended from all over the country. They were more likely to "lament the hardships of the people's lives," and when they saw cotton, they would praise it more earnestly and vigorously, saying how it could "provide shelter for all the poor scholars of the world, bringing them joy."

"There's a scholar at the Imperial Academy I know, I can make the contact. Zhao Xiaolang, when is your literary gathering scheduled?"

"It will be held at the Imperial College in five days. How about it, Mr. Mei? Will you have enough time?"

Mei Yaochen nodded with utmost seriousness: "You must come then."

He had already realized the immense changes that the textile in Zhao Xiaolang's hands would bring to the Song Dynasty. This single item was enough to earn him a biography in the history books, commemorate him with monuments and temples throughout the land, and ensure his incense would burn for centuries. His insistence on holding the literary gathering at the Imperial Academy wasn't about using the Academy for personal gain, but rather about giving them an opportunity to be remembered in history—it was about showing them favor!

It's not uncommon for people to return home in glory after achieving wealth and status. But to be able to benefit one's alma mater through one's own abilities before even donning an official's robe is truly a rare find.

However, the thought of official robes immediately reminded Mei Yaochen of the overwhelming criticism he had heard about Zhao Xiaolang. He frowned: "You... how have you been lately?"

"Not good." Fusu pouted and shook his head. Seeing Mei Yaochen's sudden change in expression, he quickly waved his chubby little hands: "But it has nothing to do with those people in the court, please don't misunderstand! They can't affect me!"

In fact, the reason he wasn't doing well was with cotton. After removing the cotton seeds and fluffing the soft cotton, he immediately went to the imperial farm and took the lead in spinning cotton clothes, gloves, and other fabrics day and night. But unfortunately, despite working hard at the imperial farm and developing calluses on his hands, he still couldn't remember how flying shuttles and spinning jenny were made.

Sigh, why does my brain just not work when it really matters?

As for the power struggles in the court… Fusu rubbed his nose. He'd heard they were quite bloody. But unfortunately, he was facing the Emperor, not him.

“Moreover,” he patted the cotton glove in Mei Yaochen’s palm, making a dull sound, “with this, do I still need to worry about what others say about me?”

"Only incompetent people are called treacherous officials. Those who can please the emperor and are capable are usually called favored officials, right? Ouch—Mr. Mei, you hit me hard! That hurts!"

The officials had never hit him so hard before. The gentleman was really willing to be ruthless.

Fusu covered her brow, her lips trembled, and her eyes welled up with tears: "Mr. Mei, I was just joking."

But Mei Yaochen, with a stern face, said seriously, "Aim high, and you'll achieve something. If you only think about how to become a favored minister, you'll only end up as a treacherous minister. Don't say things like that again."

He paused, seemingly regretting his harshness and wondering if Fusu hadn't listened. All his emotions culminated in a long sigh: "You are destined to be a sage."

Fusu: "...?"

I didn't realize, Mr. Mei, that you had such high expectations of me.

But his eyes darted around, and ultimately he couldn't bear to hurt his mentor, so he swallowed his rebuttal: Titles like "sage" should be left to Zhu Xi and Yangming. As for himself, he only wanted to be a pure person, someone free from base desires, someone beneficial to the people—that was enough.

-

Five days later.

With an incense stick's time still to go before the literary gathering began, the Imperial Academy was already bustling with people. At the head of the table, the Chancellor Yang Anguo sat upright with his eyes closed, resting, while the students below whispered and murmured among themselves.

There was only one person who became the center of their conversation.

Zhao Xiaosanyuan.

The students at the Imperial Academy were still in a daze. They all recognized Zhao Xiaolang; wasn't he the short, chubby-cheeked, adorable boy who always greeted everyone with a smile? Many people, seeing his cute appearance, treated him like a younger brother.

...Is he really the same person as the legendary genius who is touted as the reincarnation of the God of Literature and the prodigy who wins the top three prizes?

The students at the Imperial Academy were filled with a strong sense of unreality. But the students at the Imperial College were filled with nothing but curiosity. They inquired about this person from the students at the neighboring Imperial Academy, and all they received were replies like, "Young Master Zhao is extremely cute," "Young Master Zhao is very popular with the scholars," "Not to mention the scholars, even we like him," and "Me too, me too."

The students of the Imperial Academy: "..."

They didn't find out anything else, but they did find out one thing: if "cuteness" was also a subject of the imperial examination, then Zhao Xiaolang would undoubtedly be the top scholar and number one.

Based on these remarks, many people suspected that Zhao Xiaolang was seeking fame and fortune. They believed that he only won first place because of his young age and kind appearance. As for the emperor, he thought he was obsessed with the idea of ​​a child prodigy.

They thought they had figured out the truth, but suddenly felt bored and wanted to leave early, but were stopped by their classmates.

Why are you pulling me?

"Sit down quickly. Don't forget, the doctor told us to come, saying we'd see something that would make our trip worthwhile. How will you explain leaving early?"

Yang Anguo, seated at the head of the table, saw everything clearly in the commotion and subtle movements below. But he didn't intervene, only glancing at the incense and candles on the table: Shouldn't Zhao Xiaolang make his appearance soon?

Speak of the devil, and he appears. Almost simultaneously, a series of light footsteps sounded behind Yang Anguo. Fusu's tender little voice, like a clear spring, instantly extinguished the restlessness in the room: "Sorry to keep you all waiting."

A little boy dressed in an imperial scholar's robe slowly appeared before everyone's eyes. The robe was brightly colored and intricately embroidered on the chest and collar, but it couldn't suppress the bright spirit between the little boy's brows. He didn't look like a child wearing an adult's clothes at all; the robe seemed to be an extension of his body.

Looking at his soft, creamy skin and bright, dark eyes, almost everyone couldn't help but sigh: "So cute!" No wonder he could win the top prize in the imperial examinations despite being "cute."

Fusu was completely unaware of the chemical reaction resulting from the information exchange between the students of the Imperial Academy and the National University. He was even less able to discern the thoughts swirling in the minds of those below the stage. He nodded almost imperceptibly, but with satisfaction: It seems his entrance was quite effective; he certainly impressed everyone!

He blinked twice: "A few days ago, Mr. Mei invited me to attend a literary gathering. However, I was delayed in the suburbs for some other reasons and only found time today. I am truly sorry to have kept you all waiting."

Were we delayed in the suburbs?

You finally have some free time today?

Those well-informed and aware of the recent developments in officialdom fell silent. You mean, while the powerful officials of Yanzhou were launching a verbal and written attack on you, almost to the point of war, you went to the outskirts alone, acting as if nothing had happened?

A hint of pity crept into their gazes as they looked at Xiao Fusu.

This child is terrifying!

Fusu naturally noticed those gazes, but pretended not to see them and continued reciting his usual pleasantries: "I was so apprehensive when I learned that I would be presiding over the literary gathering, but it is a great honor to be able to discuss and progress together with you all..." After he had finished all the polite words and flattering remarks, the people below the stage began to get restless.

Fusu smiled and readily agreed, "Do you gentlemen have any questions for me?"

Upon hearing this, the students raised their hands like bamboo shoots.

Their mentality is quite understandable: as Cao Pi once said, scholars have always been prone to mutual disdain. A mere four-year-old boy has ascended to the throne of the top three scholars. Besides his undeniably adorable appearance, everyone is curious about his true intentions. What if, just what if, one of his questions stumps all three scholars? Wouldn't all the good reputation Fusu has built up fall on their own shoulders?

Fusu looked down at the rows of hands below, each hand representing a challenge to him. But he showed no fear; he was not the protagonist today.

He winked at Yang Anguo. The latter nodded, took over the presiding role, and said that there were too many people raising their hands, making it difficult to choose. He suggested that they follow the ancient method of floating wine cups on a winding stream, and whoever's cup landed on it would be chosen.

Yang Anguo was the chief priest, and his words carried great weight; his plans were generally not open to dissent. But a problem lay before them: the house they were in was a dry plot of land; where would they find a winding stream, and how would they possibly hold the floating wine cups ceremony?

Yang Anguo then raised his hand: "This will suffice. Wear it on your hand and then take it off before handing it to the next person. Zhao Xiaolang will have his back to everyone. Whoever has this when he calls 'stop' will ask the question, how about that?"

Although it was somewhat playful, it was still fun and fair.

The students nodded in agreement.

After watching the first person put on the cotton gloves, Fusu slyly turned his back. At Yang Anguo's command, he covered his eyes and began to count silently in his mind.

one two three……

How long will it take for them to discover the clues?

Every student eagerly awaited their turn to ask a question, so the key to success was to prolong the time they wore their gloves. They swore they had never examined their hands so slowly and carefully, keeping the gloves on for as long as possible before reluctantly removing them under the urging gaze of the next student.

...That's not right.

Is the temperature difference before and after removal an illusion?

Almost everyone who took off their gloves wore a look of surprise and uncertainty. They opened and closed their hands several times, then exchanged their feelings with others who had had the same experience, confirming that they were not imagining things.

Then, the look of surprise and doubt on their faces deepened.

Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three...

The gloves continued to be passed around, and several people whispering among themselves began to murmur and talk to those around them.

Twenty-five, twenty-six...

Fusu: "Stop."

He turned around and asked the man holding the gloves, who looked conflicted and hesitant, "Excuse me, senior brother, do you have any questions for me?"

"I, I..."

The man paused for a moment, then swallowed his original question under the urging gazes of those around him: "May I ask, young scholar, what exactly is this fabric attached to your hand?"

Fusu: Bingo!

That's the question I want to hear!

Congratulations! You've discovered the true protagonist of the literary gathering!

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Author's Note: Good news: Tomorrow is Friday.

Bad news: My fingers are going to be injured. [Cracked face]