Save That Miserable Protagonist - Chapter 30

The rain outside shows no sign of stopping.

The pattering raindrops drum against the glazed tiles of Wenhua Hall, gathering into streams along the flying eaves before cascading down like beaded curtains. This wall of water isolates the interior of the hall from the outside world. Because of the storm, the light inside is dim, forcing the palace lanterns to be lit early. The flickering yellow candlelight, mingled with the damp, cold mist, stretches and twists the shadows of those present against the freezing floor.

Aside from the rain, the only sound is the rhythmic rustling of wolf-hair brushes gliding over Xuan paper. The air is thick with the faint scent of decaying ancient timber soaked in moisture, a smell quickly suppressed by the heavy, expensive aroma of ambergris. This contrast makes the atmosphere feel even more stifling.

Yan Buzhuo carries out his duties as a proctor listlessly within this suffocating silence.

He looks up toward the main seat, where Crown Prince Liang Jie sits upright. The dark dragon patterns embroidered on his black everyday robes shimmer faintly under the candlelight. His expression is calm, and his gaze is heavy as he surveys every student bent over their desks.

Watching this, Yan Buzhuo lets out a heavy sigh. He nudges the System on his shoulder and complains in his mind, “System, you never told me proctoring would be like this.”

System 888 is not offended by the nudge. Its emotionless gaze mirrors the Crown Prince’s cold stare. [Host, sit up straight.]

Yan Buzhuo is currently slumped in his chair. Compared to the dignified students or the motionless Prince, he looks exactly like the “joke” the Princess of Yongning described. Hearing the System’s prompt, he begrudgingly straightens his posture.

Boredom eventually draws his gaze toward Ruan Suiyu, who is seated in a corner. Ruan Suiyu is wearing a plain white robe today. Upon closer inspection, pale green bamboo is embroidered into the fabric, appearing and disappearing with his movements.

His back is perfectly straight. Perhaps because of the dim lighting, his profile appears even more refined, and his skin is a translucent white. A few strands of ink-black hair slide from his shoulder as he leans forward, resting against the paper like a scene from a beautiful painting.

Yan Buzhuo rests his head on his hand, mesmerized. He thinks to himself that it is no wonder the ancients loved watching beauties play the zither or paint. It truly is a sight to behold.

His thoughts wander even further, wondering if Ruan Suiyu knows how to play the zither. He probably does, Yan Buzhuo muses. He decides he will have to find a way to get him to play a tune for him sometime.

Finally, the tedious ritual exams conclude, leaving only the final subject: Policy Questions.

While Yan Buzhuo knew nothing of ancient imperial examinations, the System had fortunately given him a crash course. He knows this final section is similar to modern civil service essays. The chief examiner poses a specific problem regarding current affairs, and the candidates must offer their insights.

Like the candidates below, Yan Buzhuo looks up, waiting for Liang Jie to announce the final question. The Crown Prince personally unseals the examination paper, his voice clear and steady. “Scholars, today’s policy question is: Discuss the current accumulated ills of the Dynasty and the path to reform.”

As soon as the words leave his lips, a dull roll of thunder echoes through the hall. It is followed by a flash of lightning that momentarily illuminates the sky. In that brief light, Yan Buzhuo’s spine snaps into a rigid line.

Though he is a modern soul, his weeks of forced study under the System and the rumors he overheard in the Marquis’s manor are enough for him to understand the weight of this question. This is no longer a simple exam; it is a forced declaration of loyalty.

Everyone knows that the reforms initiated by Emperor Liang Heng have angered the Great Families. This seemingly ordinary question is actually a death warrant. The Emperor is forcing these future pillars of the state to choose between imperial power and the nobility, or between reform and conservatism.

As Yan Buzhuo expected, several gasps of shock ripple through the silent hall. Many students turn deathly pale, and their brushes hover frozen over the paper.

In this eerie silence, Yan Buzhuo turns his gaze back to Ruan Suiyu. To his surprise, there is no panic on Ruan Suiyu’s face. His brush pauses for only a fraction of a second before he dips it in ink and begins the first character.

This extraordinary composure piques Yan Buzhuo’s curiosity. He stretches, stands up, and begins to pace the hall under the guise of an inspection, eventually drifting toward Ruan Suiyu’s desk.

Yan Buzhuo expected a masterpiece of passionate criticism given Ruan Suiyu’s intellect. However, looking down, he sees a stable, balanced essay that seemingly aligns perfectly with the Emperor’s will. The piece praises the Emperor’s determination to innovate, using flowery language and rigorous logic.

Just as Yan Buzhuo is about to frown in disappointment, he pauses.

Within that grand tapestry of praise, Ruan Suiyu has subtly woven in several historical allusions from the previous dynasty. These are stories of grand construction projects and heavy taxation that led to public fury and the eventual collapse of the state. It is handled with extreme subtlety, like a warning stitched in fine silk inside a magnificent robe.

At the end of the essay, Ruan Suiyu’s tone shifts sharply. He writes, “Therefore, the duty of a scholar is to establish a destiny for the people. If the Way is not followed, it is already known. If straight talk invites disaster, then subtle persuasion reaches destiny.”

If straight talk invites disaster, then subtle persuasion reaches destiny.

Yan Buzhuo’s gaze freezes on that line. It takes him a moment to fully grasp the meaning, and when he does, it is a moment of pure realization. If speaking directly will only bring ruin, then one must use indirect means to convey the intent of the heavens.

Ruan Suiyu is more than just clever; he saw through the essence of this re-examination long ago. He understands the power play at the top of the throne and the games being played in this hall. He acknowledges reality and understands the motives of everyone involved, yet he is stubbornly, almost foolishly, unwilling to abandon his principles as a scholar.

While everyone is forcing him to pick a side, Ruan Suiyu chooses the hardest path. He stands neither with the Great Families nor the Imperial Power. Instead, he stands only with his original intention to establish a destiny for the people.

Looking at Ruan Suiyu’s thin but straight back and the ink that seems to pierce through the paper, a complex emotion wells up in Yan Buzhuo’s heart. Others have hearts, and he can finally fathom them.

The rain outside grows more frantic, hammering against the tiles. The sky darkens further, and the candles flicker in the wind. Finally, the bell signaling the end of the exam pierces through the curtain of rain. The heavy toll rings out, and the students drop their brushes as if granted a divine reprieve. The stagnant atmosphere in the hall seems to crack open.

Just then, an official from the Eastern Palace rushes in, bringing the cold air with him. He leans down and whispers into Liang Jie’s ear. Upon hearing the news, the Crown Prince’s grip on his teacup tightens, and a dark shadow instantly covers his face.

Standing up with a look of deep grief, the Prince speaks in a mournful tone, “Everyone, news has just arrived. The brave man who stepped forward to provide evidence of the examination fraud has just committed suicide in his lodgings.”

As the Prince finishes, the sound of the rain outside seems to explode. Amidst the horrified whispers of the students, a chill runs down Yan Buzhuo’s spine.

He digs his fingernails into his palms, using the pain to stay calm. He watches the Prince’s performance coldly. Though Liang Jie wears a mask of pity, there is no surprise or genuine grief in his eyes. His voice turns raspy. “That brave man left only a four-word suicide note, stating he would die to prove his intent.”

That four-word phrase strikes Yan Buzhuo’s mind like the thunder outside. This is completely different from what he knows. In the original timeline, the student who claimed to have evidence did commit suicide, but he was not supposed to die now. He certainly was not supposed to leave such a note.

This is a change triggered by Yan Buzhuo’s presence. The plot has deviated. Yan Buzhuo’s advantage of knowing the future is completely gone.

His heart sinks. Blood begins to seep from his palms due to the pressure, and cold sweat drenches his back. In a flash of insight, he understands the move: this is a silencing. The Emperor is using a human life to solidify the fraud case, leaving no witnesses to be cross-examined. It is a complete reshuffling of the court’s power structure.

The rain pours harder, as if carrying an overwhelming force. Amidst the rolling thunder, Yan Buzhuo’s gaze crosses the crowd again, precisely finding Ruan Suiyu in his white robes. Ruan Suiyu stands still, his head slightly tilted back, and his ink-black hair flutters in the wind. His silhouette is thin, but his frame is sharp, carrying the resilience of a scholar. He is like the green bamboo outside those refuses to bend in the storm.

The flickering candlelight illuminates his face. In that brief moment of light, Yan Buzhuo sees Ruan Suiyu’s eyes clearly. In those dark pupils that are usually calm like spring rain, there is now a cold, piercing anger and a bottomless grief, as deep as the endless rainy season of March.