Chapter 2

Every night after that, I tossed and turned to the sound of zithers.

When I finally fell asleep in the early morning, the stinky tofu woke me up.

After half a month of this, I was a gaunt, haggard wreck, my face yellow and dark circles beneath my eyes.

The deputy chief censor was shocked when he saw me.

“So young, and already your body is this useless? How are you supposed to serve the country?”

After scolding me, he pushed another stack of papers toward me.

“These too! Write memorials about all of them!”

I looked closely:

On the seventh day of the sixth month, Hua Yingxiu and the General of the Left Cavalry engaged in improper acts on horseback outside the capital. The people beside the road saw it with their own eyes.

On the eleventh day of the sixth month, Long Aotian took a famous courtesan boating on the lake and made love to her.

On the thirteenth day of the sixth month, Hua Yingxiu met Prince Jing and his son in secret at a hot-spring estate. Their cries were said to echo through the rafters for three days.

On the fourteenth day of the sixth month, a pregnant female bandit smashed open Long Aotian’s gate, shouting that she would marry no one but him.

…

The deputy chief censor patted my shoulder. “From now on, keep a special eye on these two. You will write every memorial concerning them.”

My vision went black. I nearly fainted.

What a pack of nightmares.

I wanted to die. Really.

That desire reached its peak when I received my salary at the end of the month.

I stared at the bits of silver before me, collapsed into my chair, and wailed in anguish:

“Twenty years of studying, and I earn less than the stinky-tofu vendor outside my door.”

“Listen to yourself.” Censor Wang leaned over from beside me. “Vendors work from dawn till dark. They work so hard—isn’t it only right that they earn more than us?”

Censor Wang was ten years older than I was and had placed second in the previous imperial examinations. Like me, he was still wasting his years at the Censorate.

After giving it a great deal of thought, I decided an official career was no way to make a living. I immediately packed my bags, ready to resign and go home to sell stinky tofu.

Censor Wang hurriedly caught hold of me. “Hey! Sit down. What’s the rush?”

He glanced around. Once he had made sure no one was nearby, he cautiously leaned toward my ear and whispered, “Our salaries may be pitiful, and we’re hardly in a position to make money under the table. But we can have side jobs!”

Censor Wang said there was a Harmony Bookshop in the busy northern part of the city that accepted fiction and miscellaneous writing.

If I wrote a hit book for them, the royalties could equal ten years of my salary.

That sounded like a good idea.

So, on my way home from work, I detoured north and bought a few books to take home.

I opened the first one:

“Long Aotian and the Finest Courtesan Cruise the Lake; the Third Princess’s Devotion Comes to Nothing.”

I opened the second:

“Hua Yingxiu Serves Both Father and Son; the Jealous General of the Left Blocks His Carriage.”

Me: …

Why was it these two nightmares again?

Harmony Bookshop sold crowd-pleasing stories about whoever was currently causing a stir.

For the past few months, Long Aotian and Hua Yingxiu had been the talk of the capital. The common people loved reading about them.

There was no shame in following a trend if it made money.

I gritted my teeth, lifted my brush, and wrote down a title:

The Rakish First-Place Scholar and the Pretty Third-Place Scholar.