After the snowfall, the Floating Life Gathering became livelier than ever. All the scholars and literati with nowhere else to go seemed to have gathered here.

They didn’t necessarily take part in the formal literary events—some gathered around braziers to boil snow and brew tea, others sipped wine, or engaged in lively conversation. But one thing they all did was listen to the excellent poems and verses shared at the gathering, offer their critiques, and then head over to the railing to identify who had written them. This, in turn, spurred the younger scholars to dig out every bit of talent they had kept hidden away and put it on display.

Zhuang Nan joked, “If an out-of-town student wandered in, they’d probably think this is some kind of holy land.”

“Calling it a holy land isn’t an exaggeration,” Zeng Xian replied, looking toward a group seated nearby. “That’s Mister Chen Qi over there. No one knows when he arrived in the capital—and now he’s here at the Floating Life Gathering.”

Chen Qi was a figure as renowned as Mister Qixin, highly celebrated in the south.

The group turned to look. Three people sat there. Dou Yuancheng asked, “The one with the three strands of long beard?”

“That’s him.”

He wore long whiskers, stood tall, dressed in white, and had the air of an immortal.

Seeming to sense their gaze, Chen Qi turned to look at them. He had an excellent appearance and dignified bearing.

The four of them greeted him with a respectful bow. Chen Qi nodded lightly in return before turning back to his conversation.

They withdrew their gazes.

Dou Yuancheng asked, “Any major news in the capital lately? Otherwise, what would draw him here in this freezing weather?”

“Nothing I’ve heard of,” Yan Shian said, turning to Zeng Xian—who usually had good sources.

Zeng Xian laughed, “Only you guys are still willing to hang around with me. No one else pays me any mind. What news could I possibly get?”

That was just how things worked in the capital. When Lord Zeng was still a third-ranked Grand Judge, everyone would rush to deliver information to Zeng Xian. Whenever their schoolmates organized literary gatherings, they would beg him to attend. His mere presence lent prestige to any event.

But now that his father had fallen from power, all those people who used to flatter and fawn over him disappeared overnight. It was rare to even run into them these days. Even relatives and in-laws treated him differently now—how could he expect others to treat him as they once had?

And yet, he was lucky. Before his pride and dignity could be crushed, these three friends had lifted him up. They were merely schoolmates, yet they had helped him through the hardest time.

Now, facing a few strange glances and some snide remarks—what did that matter?

He had wondered before if they had ulterior motives. But he quickly figured it out: even if they did, what had he lost? If their goal was his father, the Zeng family held no leverage they could use.

They had acted as gentlemen. Even if they had other intentions, as long as they didn’t make him betray his family, break their house rules, or sell out the nation—why not? Friends are supposed to help one another.

His father said he had become enlightened, far better now than when he had buried himself in books and ignored the world outside his window.

Zeng Xian poured warm wine for the three of them from the pot atop the brazier. He also felt like something had clicked inside him. Things he couldn’t see before were now clear; things he couldn’t understand now made instant sense. Even his father found it much easier to teach him than before.

Dou Yuancheng changed the subject: “Shian, why aren’t you entering the contest today and taking the top prize?”

“You think the top prize is just sitting there waiting for me?” Yan Shian shot him a glance. “You’re a scholar too. Why don’t you go take it?”

“If I had your level of talent, I’d practically live here in the Floating Life Gathering. No one could drag me away,” Dou Yuancheng said, spreading his hands. “But I don’t. After muddling along for a couple more years, I’ll have to head back home.”

Zhuang Nan looked at him. “They’re pressuring you?”

“Yeah. Engagement next year, marriage the year after. Then I’ll have to take up an official post.”

Family expectations were much the same across all noble houses. Every generation followed this pattern. Anyone with a bit of sense wouldn’t resist—at most, they’d just try to delay it as long as they could. After all, once you stepped into that muddy water, unless you were executed or exiled, you’d be stuck in it for life—just like your father and grandfather.

That was how family legacies were passed down—and also where their roots lay.

“I’ve got you beat,” Zhuang Nan sighed. “After the new year, I’ll have to enter the military.”

Yan Shian’s heart stirred. He lowered his eyes and took a sip of wine.

“Joining the Right Divine Guard?” Dou Yuancheng teased. “That’s rough. Your father will hound you all day in the army, then hound you again at home.”

“You think my father even wants to see me?” Zhuang Nan grumbled. “I didn’t even say I was joining the Right Divine Guard—he brought it up first, said he didn’t want me under his nose, finds me annoying.”

The group burst out laughing.

Zeng Xian asked curiously, “Then where do you plan to go?”

“Most likely the Right Feathered Forest Guard. My father has good connections there.”

The Feathered Forest Guard was mainly responsible for protecting the emperor. Yan Shian swirled the wine in his cup.

Dou Yuancheng gave him a glance, thinking he didn’t enjoy hearing such talk—after all, the Imperial Guards weren’t something ordinary people could just join. Once Zhuang Nan entered the Feathered Forest Guard, he’d start at the seventh rank.

Lifting his cup to clink against Yan Shian’s, Dou Yuancheng said, “I’ll host a small gathering at my place sometime soon. Bring your cousin along—it’s always good to make more connections.”

Thinking of Miss Shi’s temperament, Yan Shian shook his head. “She’s not in good health. Best not to trouble her in the winter. Wait for better weather, then help her out.”

Dou Yuancheng nodded in understanding.

“Lord Assistant Minister!”

A shout from downstairs startled the group. They looked at one another, and Zhuang Nan quickly stepped to the railing to peek down, then just as swiftly turned back—quick and sharp.

“It’s that Assistant Minister of the Office of the Imperial Clan.”

People of royal blood held various court posts, and their surnames were not used directly out of formality. So it was common to refer to them by title. The moment he said it, they all knew who he meant.

Dou Yuancheng lowered his voice, “There were rumors he thinks highly of you. Didn’t he promise to write a preface for that last literary gathering? Any updates on that?”

“I haven’t seen him since.”

Yan Shian got up and walked to the railing, but didn’t see anyone. Judging by the noise, the person was likely coming upstairs, so he sat back down.

The Floating Life Gathering saw many visitors. While the guests weren’t treated with complete indifference, even high officials only received a greeting—the rest of the time, everyone just did their own thing.

And it was precisely this casual atmosphere that drew so many officials to come.

The Assistant Minister of the Office of the Imperial Clan was a bit more special, but there was still no need to fawn over him.

Yet even without fawning, the Assistant Minister came right up to Yan Shian himself.

The group quickly stood and bowed.

Ji Hui waved a hand dismissively, then reached behind his back and pulled something out, handing it to Yan Shian with a bright smile. “Take a look.”

Yan Shian quickly accepted it. The cover read Floating Life Literary Gathering—he was momentarily stunned. He hadn’t expected a day like this to come.

He opened it. The preface was written by the Assistant Minister himself. Turning another page, there was his poem—and beside it, a small line of text introducing him:

Yan Shian, aged twenty. Passed the provincial exam in the twentieth year of Deyong. A pillar of talent.