Chapter Sixteen: The First Glimpse of the Conspiracy

"The spring is just right, the spring is just right. This poem is lively and full of sunshine, brimming with the vigor of spring—how fitting, how fitting," Zhou Fulin said with a smile, looking at Li Zisheng.

"I wonder what Senior Brother Zhou means by that?"

"Boy, don't get carried away. My elder brother praises you a couple of times and you act as if all grudges between us have vanished," Zhou Fuxin said, his face shadowed with displeasure. He deeply disliked his elder brother's deliberate attempt to befriend this young upstart, so he ignored Zhou Fulin's glance and mocked Li Zisheng with cold sarcasm.

Li Zisheng paid him no mind; his aim had already been achieved. If Zhou Fulin was a man of insight, he would naturally recognize Li Zisheng's worth. But if he were like Zhou Fuxin, unable to hide his emotions and wearing them openly, he would never accomplish anything significant.

"My younger brother is back. Zisheng, don't hold it against him. He has some talent, which is why he speaks so boldly. You yourself said there is no absolute in literature; my brother is simply proud and sharp—don't take it to heart."

Zhou Fulin's words were like a gentle spring rain, subtly reframing Zhou Fuxin's offense as scholarly rivalry. Even outsiders could find no fault in his handling of the situation.

General Deng and his entourage could not help but offer praise—this young man is destined for greatness.

He lacked the arrogance and wildness typical of the wealthy, and his ability to endure was the first quality that stood out. The second was his skill in resolving conflicts, which drew admiration; he had undeniable ability.

Li Zisheng felt the same: Zhou Fulin was the first person he’d met at Lingzhou Academy whose intelligence was truly apparent.

"Senior Brother Zhou Fuxin is merely straightforward. Such things are commonplace in scholarly circles. If Senior Brother ever wishes to consult me again, I will gladly assist him, bearing no grudges."

Li Zisheng’s words, though seemingly magnanimous, carried a subtle sting. After he spoke, Zhou Fuxin looked as if he had swallowed bitter medicine, his face turning the color of pig liver in discomfort. But seeing Zhou Fulin's smiling eyes across the way, he could only suppress his anger and endure, though his hatred for Li Zisheng burned even stronger, as if he wished to kill him.

Li Zisheng noticed the meaning in Zhou Fuxin's glare, but paid it no heed. His words were not meant to provoke Zhou Fuxin but to test Zhou Fulin's boundaries. By saying what he did, he had shown little regard for Zhou Fulin’s dignity.

Whether it was offering guidance or forgiving past offenses, Li Zisheng had placed himself in a position of superiority over Zhou Fuxin—and perhaps even Zhou Fulin. It was an audacious challenge.

Yet Zhou Fulin was unfazed, his eyes crinkling with a smile as he looked at Li Zisheng, suppressing Zhou Fuxin’s actions without effort. This showed not only his powerful self-control but also his lofty status at Lingzhou Academy. It revealed Zhou Fulin's deep cunning; Li Zisheng knew he must be wary of this man, for it is always the silent dog that bites hardest.

"Brother Zisheng, since you’ve said so, I have nothing more to add. Thank you for your magnanimity. As for this examination, you must have heard that the literary and martial contests are held together."

Zhou Fulin paused deliberately and glanced at Li Zisheng.

"Senior Brother Zhou, I am already aware."

"Good. Originally, the martial contest was to be attended by a prodigy of our Martial Talent Hall at Lingzhou Academy, but he injured his waist during mounted archery and had to be replaced. The substitute, as you may know, is your fellow student from Huiyue Academy and also my cousin. His martial skills are exceptional and he will be your protector."

Zhou Fulin finished with a hearty laugh.

"Oh? Which fellow student from Huiyue Academy might that be?" Li Zisheng felt a faint unease.

"My cousin’s name is Zhou Linqing. His father is my uncle, the Deputy Supervisor of Military Equipment, so he is well versed in martial arts. He will be the guarantee for your pursuit of the top prize," Zhou Fulin said, his face still smiling, leaving no room for reproach.

"Zhou Linqing—so it’s Brother Zhou."

Li Zisheng’s expression remained unchanged, but inwardly his fury surged. He was no sage; he could not remain calm. He knew Zhou Linqing well—a pampered wastrel living off ancestral privilege. He might hold sway in the local villages, but in a grander arena, he was little more than a clown, utterly useless.

To assign Zhou Linqing as the martial contestant and pair him with Li Zisheng—though Li Zisheng could win the literary round, if the barbarian Turkmen were to cripple him, he would suffer a grievous loss. What then?

He could not believe the original martial candidate would conveniently injure his waist at this precise moment; clearly, this was a scheme.

"Brother Zhou is robust and, though I have not seen his martial skills, he must have been approved by Senior Brother Zhou. If he performs well, it’s fine. But if he fails, I hope Senior Brother Zhou is prepared."

"Of course," Zhou Fulin replied calmly, showing no surprise. The academy supervisor standing nearby remained silent, as if he already knew.

Li Zisheng had anticipated this. Unlike county academies, the Lingzhou Academy supervisors, though holding higher administrative power, were often outranked by the fathers of their students. Thus, student organizations wielded real authority—sometimes more than the academy head himself. That these people would collude was only natural.

Li Zisheng did not lose composure, but he pondered who was plotting against him and how to resolve the substitution of Zhou Linqing.

"May I ask the name of the original candidate paired with me? How severe is his injury?" Li Zisheng asked, probing.

"Oh, you mean him—he’s the top ranker from the Martial Talent Hall, surnamed Fang, given name Zhongzheng. His injury is not serious but requires rest; as the saying goes, bone injuries take a hundred days to heal, so he cannot attend the exam," the academy supervisor said, answering before Zhou Fulin could. Both parties were untouchable—one was Governor Zhang’s protégé, the other someone he admired.

He therefore tried to clear up Li Zisheng’s doubts, hoping to reduce any resentment. He didn’t want the stone-faced Zhong Bai to complain about him to Governor Zhang and get himself into trouble.

"Where is Senior Brother Zhou now? I know a bit of medicine, and my mentor always taught me to treat the sick when encountered. Out of kindness, I would like to offer a diagnosis, if the supervisor permits. Where might he be?"