I'll write it for you.

In the brightly lit Yunlong Palace that night, in the shadows dozens of feet away, under his stern questioning, Shangguan Jin vaguely saw again the image of the young Prince Guangling from decades ago, speechless and at a loss.

He watched as the broad-faced, large-eared prince sat under the lamp, scratching his head and hesitating for most of the night, while the paper still only contained the topic assigned by the Grand Tutor during the day.

Even he, who was used to hardship, felt restless and yawned constantly.

(Although Shangguan Jin lived a frugal and self-disciplined life, he never slacked off in practicing swordsmanship and reading every morning—but self-disciplined people don't stay up late.)

As Sima Jinyuan sighed incessantly, by the time he reached the eightieth chapter, he finally raised his head in embarrassment and said to the maids and eunuchs beside him who were holding up lamps with their eyelids open, "Why don't you go to sleep first? I'm afraid I won't be able to finish this piece until most of the night later."

This prince, though not particularly intelligent… was very lenient with his subordinates. His only redeeming quality was that he was a “good person.” Scholars and officials hoping for a better future avoided him. It was the lowly servants who, however, remembered his kindness and were willing to stay with him until late at night. But since he said they didn't need to, these men were naturally happy to go to sleep—those who served in the palace were always diligently attending to their needs day and night; who would complain about getting too much sleep?

Shangguan Jin covered his face with his sleeve, swallowed back a yawn without making a sound, and stared intently at the back of the foolish prince.

He was a man of few words, but he was not lazy or indolent in serving his lord. Since Sima Jinyuan insisted on working late into the night, he was determined to accompany him to the very end.

Servants may shirk their duties and be afraid of trouble, but subjects must die for their principles and be loyal to the death. This is a family rule and oath engraved in the blood of the Shangguan family.

If he can't even stay up all night, then he's really underestimating Shangguan Shisan.

Four or five servants acknowledged the order, tidied up briefly, and left, finally bringing peace and quiet to the study.

Seeing that no one was around, Sima Jinyuan threw the brush, whose ink had long since dried, far away, then slumped back onto his seat, lying down under the desk, and took a very long, very long breath.

He was relieved to finally be able to stop pretending.

The maid named Lan'er had already ground ink for him four or five times, and the inkstone had dried up several times.

The eunuch named Biyong was grumbling and swearing. He would walk back and forth, swatting mosquitoes for him, and then lift the lampshade to check if the light was on.

In short, he assumed his master couldn't write anything because the air wasn't circulating well enough, the lamp wasn't bright enough, or the mosquitoes were too noisy—completely unaware that he himself was the noisiest one. Moreover, the prince couldn't write anything, whether it was winter or summer, even when the ground was frozen solid and there were no mosquitoes.

Faced with so many people who cared about him, how could he simply throw down his pen and declare, "I just can't write, I'm really not cut out for studying"?

Inside and outside the palace, how many people openly or secretly mocked him as a good-for-nothing prince?

Why should he disappoint the children around him who trust him the most and have high hopes for him?

They were all brought from his hometown of Guangling, along with his mother, who was also there.

My mother was not well-educated; she was just a lowly maid in the needlework room. She only caught the eye of the late emperor because she had some beauty. But in the decadent capital, that beauty was nothing more than a fleeting petal.

Without him as a son, the mother concubine would probably have long been forgotten in some obscure corner of the palace, a lowly concubine whose rank had been covered in dust.

Actually, he didn't want to come to Jianzhang. After being enfeoffed as a vassal, the days he spent with his mother in the remote Guangling region, though impoverished, were among the few times in his life when he was not bullied or ridiculed.

He knew very well that he was not as intelligent or talented as his brothers, nor did he have the powerful maternal relatives from the Jianzhang Palace who had lived there for generations. Many of the princes' mothers were themselves well-educated ladies from noble families, skilled in poetry and literature, and were adept at teaching their sons.

Of course, they would also intentionally or unintentionally admonish their sons not to associate with the son of a lowly maid, lest he be corrupted, but at least pick up some of the vulgar and uncultured habits. Elegance and eloquent speech were undoubtedly the passports to the aristocratic class of Jianzhang, whose main entertainment was refined conversation.

Nothing is more painful for a nobleman than being called vulgar, even if he is the emperor's son.

He knew he didn't belong in Jiankang Palace; this was not a place for him at all. He knew how many people secretly mocked him, this good-for-nothing prince. He wanted to be with his mother, to feel the warmth of her clumsy yet diligent combing his hair. He knew his mother was the only person in the world who cherished him like a treasure.

But his mother wanted him to come to Jianzhang Palace.

"My son, don't miss this opportunity to be valued by your father. I'm useless, and I'm afraid that after I'm gone, you'll have no one to take care of you." His mother's fingers brushed through his dark hair, and cold tears fell on his face.

His mother didn't want him to curry favor with the powerful and wealthy; she was just worried that her dull-witted son would have no relatives left in the world after she passed away.

Going back to Jianzhang was at least the place of his father, and at least the place of his brothers. She wondered if things would be any better.

His mother assigned him the most trustworthy, loyal maids and eunuchs she had seen during his years of wandering from the capital to the prince's fiefdom. She repeatedly and solemnly entrusted them with the task, until they all swore on their chests that they would take good care of the Prince of Guangling, even at the cost of their own lives.

The mother also took out all her private savings, which was her monthly allowance that she had saved up penny by penny during the years when she was out of favor.

As he was leaving, his mother's tears fell in a torrent, forming strings of drops. He thought they were the most beautiful beads in the world, even more beautiful than the crystal pearls worn around the necks of those gorgeous and noble concubines.

So what does he have to complain about...?

It's just that they can't write essays or recite poems, so they are often looked down upon in the palace.

He had the best mother in the world. He firmly believed that none of his arrogant brothers' mothers were as gentle or kind as his. Although they all seemed well-mannered and noble, they were certainly not as good as his mother.

My mother is a fairy from heaven.

But why, when he thought of this, shouldn't he be full of confidence? Why is he now sobbing uncontrollably...?

Shangguan Jin tried his best to maintain a proper posture, kneeling behind the curtain, staring almost dumbfounded at the Prince of Guangling who was collapsing on the mat, beating his chest and stamping his feet, tears streaming down his face.

Even with his wisdom surpassing Zhuge Liang and his talent exceeding Guan Zhong, he couldn't immediately figure out why the prince, who had been scratching his head and racking his brains to write an essay just half an hour ago, would suddenly collapse completely.

It's just that I can't write articles... It can't be that serious.

Shangguan Jin received his early education at home and had seen his cousins ​​who couldn't write articles—even in the literary Shangguan family, not everyone could memorize a poem after reading it once and compose a poem in seven steps.

As a top student, he didn't quite understand, but he expressed his comprehension: "It's just a matter of probability; there are all kinds of birds in a big forest."

But the difference between those cousins ​​and the Prince of Guangling is that the former would nonchalantly express their disdain for these outdated and antiquated Confucian sayings. They were not bookworms; people are alive, books are dead, and there is no reason for living people to be driven to their deaths by books.

After school, those who wanted to visit brothels went to brothels, and those who wanted to train falcons and ride horses continued doing so. They didn't care about anything else.

But it seems that the Prince of Guangling is really obsessed with books.

These past few days, he watched helplessly as his son tormented himself and then the Grand Tutor. He would go through a policy essay over and over again until midnight, yet he still couldn't memorize it. Every time he raised his hand in class, he would blush and stutter. The Grand Tutor would wait for a long time, but he still couldn't give a complete answer—even though he had stayed up until the wee hours of the morning the night before last to memorize that essay.

Now even the Grand Tutor doesn't mention his name.

No matter how much he raised his hand with anticipation.

Waiting for his answer took too much time and slowed down the pace of the class. What's more, some people couldn't help but chuckle.

Actually, Shangguan Jin really wanted to advise him, but never mind.

However, his professional ethics as a tutor required him not to openly contradict his duties.

Shouldn't he be encouraging the prince to study diligently and strive for improvement?

But what Shangguan Jin really wanted to say was:

He's not cut out for this, just showing up to make an appearance and get noticed is enough. Many spoiled brats do it this way. Anyway, the whole palace knows what kind of person the Prince of Guangling is, so no one will blame him.

No need to work so hard—

There's no need to study or write so hard—

There's no need to try so hard to fit into circles that don't belong to you.

The way you try so hard looks so clumsy.

Although Shangguan Jin was an oddball in the Shangguan family, he still inherited the family's gentle, respectful, frugal, and modest demeanor.

Seeing his master, the Prince of Guangling, collapse onto the mat, tears streaming down his face, he thought to himself, "A gentleman should not look at what is improper," and wondered if he should pretend he hadn't seen anything.

After all, one of the virtues of nobility is to be considerate of others' embarrassment and face.

But after a long internal struggle between his upbringing and his innate compassion, he made a difficult choice.

He tried speaking, cautiously saying, "How about I write it for you?"

Then he saw Sima Jinyuan raise his head, his face streaked with tears, looking as if he had seen a ghost in broad daylight, his expression one of shock and guilt, bewildered and at a loss.

Just like tonight, when he questioned me, exactly the same.

It wasn't until much later that Sima Jinyuan had the opportunity to let Shangguan Jin know that he hadn't cried that night because he couldn't write an article.

He just missed his mother too much.

But that was many years later.

Thanks to Shangguan Jin's ghostwriting, Sima Jinyuan experienced a few moments of brilliance in his otherwise dreary and dismal life of court education.

He still remembers the fear and trepidation he felt when he first cheated at Shangguan Jin's suggestion.

Although he was slow-witted, he had never done anything like this before. Of course, he didn't know that Shangguan Jin was also doing this for the first time.

Ordinary people would never be able to persuade Shangguan Jin to cheat.

However, Shangguan Jin calmly told him to simply recite—or rather, perform—what he had been taught the day before in front of the ministers. The arguments were not difficult to understand; they were all simple and easy to comprehend, just like the best possible response someone like him could give after receiving guidance from a wise teacher.

Sima Jinyuan said cautiously, "The Grand Tutor and those officials are all very intelligent people, aren't they? If they ask me a few more questions based on what I said, I won't be able to answer anything, and I'm afraid I'll give myself away!" He was sure they were all very intelligent; he always thought so based on the half-mocking, half-calm expression on their faces when they looked at him. It was the kind of expression only intelligent people would have, as if they were saying, "I know everything, but I'm not going to say it."