Time within the illusion began to blur and accelerate at a dizzying pace.

The walls of the examination cell crumbled and reformed, the scenes shifting like a revolving lantern.

The results were posted.

Red paper with characters of gold, Su Ming, top scorer.

Amidst the clamor of gongs and drums, he was jostled onto a tall horse, a large red flower pinned to his chest.

On both sides of the street, the common folk of Qingshi Town lined the road, cheering.

In the crowd, he saw Zhao Rui, who was currently staring at him with a face full of envy, trying to push forward only to be blocked by yamen runners.

The scene shifted again.

Yunshuo Prefectural City, the Provincial Examination.

This time, he no longer hid his talent.

That policy discussion essay was written with flowery brilliance, each word a pearl.

He passed, second top scorer.

At the Deer Cry Banquet, cups were raised and exchanged.

Those scions of noble families who had once looked down on him with cold eyes now, one by one, held their wine cups with beaming smiles, addressing him as “Brother Su.”

The wine slid down his throat, spicy with a lingering sweetness, warming his stomach.

Su Ming tried to stay clear-headed.

During a lull in the feast, under the pretense of freshening up, he walked to a corner of the corridor and pinched the inside of his thigh hard.

Intense pain.

The pain of twisted flesh shot straight to his brain along his nerves, making him suck in a sharp breath.

“The pain is real too…” Su Ming leaned against the vermilion-red pillar, looking towards the brilliantly lit banquet in the distance, his gaze somewhat dazed. “Even this level of detail is simulated to perfection?”

He raised his hand, looked at the wine stain lingering on his fingertips, and brought it to his nose to smell.

The rich aroma of aged vintage.

“Master?” he called out again in his heart.

Still, only an empty echo.

That sense of loneliness was more piercing than the cold winds of Hundred Refinements Peak.

In this world, there was no cultivation, no formations, no old man always shouting about the “Way of Survival.”

There was only him, Su Ming, a genius charging ahead at breakneck speed on the path of the imperial examinations.

The scenes continued to accelerate.

The capital, the Metropolitan Examination.

The examination cells in the Examination Hall were slightly more spacious than those in the County School, but also colder.

Su Ming, wrapped in a thick cotton robe, wrote with flying brushstrokes.

Tenth in the Second Class, granted the status of jinshi.

The Palace Examination.

In the Hall of Golden Chimes, the floor tiles were polished to a mirror-like shine.

He knelt on the hard ground, listening to that lofty voice reading out his name.

“Appointed, compiler of the Hanlin Academy.”

The scene froze.

The capital of the Great Xing Dynasty, the Hanlin Academy.

Outside the window, heavy snow swirled; inside the room, charcoal fire burned brightly.

Su Ming, dressed in a set of dark blue official robes with a jade belt at his waist, sat behind a large rosewood desk.

The desk was piled high with memorials and ancient texts, next to which sat a steaming cup of premium Longjing tea picked before the rains.

“Lord Su.”

A sycophantic voice came from the doorway.

Su Ming looked up and saw Qian Bin.

That colleague who had once mocked him in the Hanlin Academy and sent him to sort through piles of waste paper and archives.

Now, Qian Bin held a stack of archives in his hands, his back bent like a boiled shrimp, a fawning smile plastered on his face. “These are the records of past malpractices in the grain transport system you requested. This humble official has compiled them all. Please review them, my lord.”

Su Ming took the archives, his fingers lightly stroking the surface of the paper.

Rough, aged paper carrying a faint musty smell.

“Leave them,” Su Ming said indifferently.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Qian Bin, as if granted amnesty, carefully placed the archives down, then eagerly picked up the teapot on the table. “My lord, your tea has gone cold. This humble official will fetch you a fresh, hot cup.”

Watching Qian Bin’s servile actions, a strange feeling welled up in Su Ming’s heart.

Was this the taste of power?

No fighting or killing, no life-and-death crises. One only needed to sit here, move a writing brush, and those who had once humiliated him would grovel and obey.

“Brother Su!”

A hearty laugh shattered the quiet of the room.

Xu Qing pushed the door open and entered.

He wore a set of crimson official robes, the attire for officials of the fifth rank and above.

After several years apart, Xu Qing had grown a short beard, appearing more steady and capable, but the ambition and vigor at the corners of his eyes and brows were impossible to conceal.

“I heard you were working overtime here at the Hanlin Academy right after court adjourned,” Xu Qing strode over, unceremoniously picking up Su Ming’s teacup and taking a sip. “So? His Majesty praised your ‘River Management Policy’ to the skies. I heard he intends to promote you to serve in the Southern Study?”

Su Ming looked at Xu Qing.

This person before him was flesh and blood, his breath visible as white mist, even a speck of unmelted snowflake from the morning court session still clinging to his collar.

“Brother Xu,” Su Ming spoke, his voice somewhat hoarse. “You… are you well?”

“Well? Of course I’m well!” Xu Qing laughed heartily, patting Su Ming’s shoulder. “Now that we brothers serve in the same court, one civil, one military, it’s the perfect time to realize our grand ambitions. By the way, I’m hosting a banquet tonight at ‘Taibai Tower.’ You must come. Guess who’s here?”

Su Ming’s heart stirred. “Who?”

“You’ll know when you get there.” Xu Qing winked, keeping the secret.

…

Taibai Tower.

The capital’s most renowned restaurant, brilliantly lit, with pleasant music from stringed and bamboo instruments.

Inside the private room, warmth enveloped the space.

The moment Su Ming pushed the door open, his entire body froze in place.

Several figures sat around the round table.

At the head sat Su Shan, dressed in brocade robes, looking much more prosperous, and next to him, his mother, her face full of kindness, holding Zhao Chunlan’s hand as they chatted.

“Third Brother!”

A robust shout.

Second Brother Su Yang stood up. He was burly, wearing purple silk only eligible for imperial merchants, with two large jadeite rings on his fingers.

He strode over with large steps, embracing Su Ming in a hug so tight it made Su Ming’s bones ache.

This wasn’t the first time seeing his family.

His parents and second brother visited him in the capital periodically, sometimes staying for ten days or half a month.

Mother would nag him about not wearing enough clothes, Father would watch his back as he walked in the Hanlin Academy with his hands clasped behind him, Second Brother would boast about his business achievements and also secretly stuff wads of banknotes into his hand for socializing with colleagues.

It was all too real.

So real that he began to wonder if the Cloud Hidden Sect, cultivation, formations… those memories were merely a bizarre, fantastical dream?

“Second Brother…” Surrounded by that familiar scent, Su Ming’s eyes grew slightly warm.

“Good lad! You’ve truly brought honor to our old Su family!” Su Yang slapped Su Ming’s back forcefully, his voice booming. “You have no idea how big our ‘Su Family Paper Business’ has grown! Even the palace procurement specifically requests our paper! When I walk the streets of the capital now, who doesn’t show me some respect?”

“Third Son, come here quickly, let Mother look at you.” His mother’s voice trembled slightly.

Su Ming was pushed by Su Yang to stand before his mother.

He looked at his mother’s wrinkled yet smiling face, at his father Su Shan’s straight-backed posture…

It was all too perfect.

Perfect, like the most beautiful dream he had ever dreamt on countless cold nights, curled up under the quilt.

Su Ming sat down.

Food and wine flowed onto the table like a stream.

Braised lion’s head meatballs, steamed perch, and wild vegetable dumplings hand-wrapped by his mother.

Su Ming picked up a dumpling with his chopsticks and put it in his mouth.

The fresh fragrance of shepherd’s purse mixed with the savory flavor of pork exploded on his tongue. It was the taste of home, the warmest imprint deep in his memory.

“Is it good?” his mother asked, looking at him expectantly.

“It’s good.” Su Ming lowered his head, chewing heartily.

If this was false, then what was real?

That cold, cruel cultivation world where killing and treasure-seizing were commonplace? Or that Hundred Refinements Peak where one had to risk their life for a few spirit stones?

Here, his parents were alive and well, brothers were harmonious and respectful, close friends were by his side, and he had achieved fame and success.

Here, he didn’t need to worry about having his head cut off by an evil cultivator in the middle of the night, didn’t need to tread on thin ice to conceal his cultivation, didn’t need to talk to the air.

Su Ming raised his wine cup and drained it in one gulp.

The spicy liquor slid down his throat, gradually relaxing nerves that had been taut for far too long.

Perhaps… staying here wouldn’t be so bad?

Once this thought sprouted, it grew like wildfire.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep