The Marquis Mansion’s Elite Class

Zong Jincheng listened to the old man’s nonsense with a blank expression. This eccentric had just barged in and taken over the Etiquette Teacher’s class—there was no way his mother would entertain him.

But the next second, Xu Wan said, “Very well, I’ll inform the Etiquette Teacher to take a month’s break. Please take care of your health, sir. If you feel tired, let the other teachers handle the lessons for now.”

Zong Jincheng: “???”

Mother, you’re spoiling him too much!

Su Xi snorted. “Tired? Pah! A bunch of brats—I could handle them with one hand.”

The little troublemaker rolled his eyes.

You old coot! If not for your reputation, who’d put up with you?

Su Xi caught the eye roll immediately and complained to Xu Wan, “See? I told you he doesn’t need etiquette lessons. How many students in this world dare roll their eyes at their teacher?”

Xu Wan smiled awkwardly and turned to the little troublemaker. “Apologize to the teacher at once.”

Zong Jincheng muttered reluctantly, “Sorry, sir.”

Su ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‍Xi looked as if he’d seen a ghost. “Who is she to you? You listen to her so obediently.”

The little troublemaker scowled. “My mother!”

You didn’t even figure that out before coming here to torment us!

Su Xi glanced between Xu Wan and Zong Jincheng, then sighed. “The noblewomen in the capital really take care of themselves—she doesn’t look a day over thirty.”

Xu Wan: “…” Well, let him misunderstand then.

The little troublemaker brightened.

Su Xi thought she was his birth mother—he must think they look alike! Hah, at least the old man had some taste. Comforted, Zong Jincheng buried his head and resumed scribbling furiously.

After the ninth attempt, his work finally passed muster. The little troublemaker bolted the moment he was dismissed—starved half to death by the old man’s torment, he just wanted to stuff himself with food.

Su Xi had no appetite for rich dishes, so Xu Wan had freshly baked flatbread brought to the study. By now, night had fallen, and Su Xi, ravenous, grabbed a piece and wolfed it down. “Nothing beats freshly baked flatbread. The dry rations I brought could break teeth.”

In the quiet study, only Su Xi, Xu Wan, and Cui Zhi remained. The old man ate without a care for manners while Xu Wan instructed Cui Zhi to pour him tea. Then she asked, “You’ve had a long journey, sir. Besides flatbread, what else do you enjoy? I’ll have it prepared in advance.”

Su Xi chewed as he replied, “Plain fare is enough. I’m a simple man—your fancy food would upset my stomach. Go on, it’s almost Hai hour. No need for a lady like you to stay hungry with me. Seems even a noble matron’s life isn’t easy—my old wife’s freer than you; she’d be asleep by now.”

Xu Wan took a piece of flatbread and ate with him, prompting another round of grumbling from Su Xi. “Hard life for a matron, pitiful, truly pitiful.”

A man like him, used to humble meals, considered flatbread a luxury. But for a noblewoman like Xu Wan, eating flatbread probably felt like hardship. Though Su Xi cursed the heavens, he understood the ways of the world all too well.

Xu Wan smiled. “The flatbread is delicious—what’s pitiful? Let me guess: you also like a bowl of millet porridge in the morning, with steamed buns and pickles? Maybe a salted duck egg in harvest season?”

Su Xi paused mid-bite, eyeing her suspiciously. “Aren’t you the matron of the Zong family? I heard they’re richer than the state. You’ve eaten like this before?”

Xu Wan shook her head with a laugh. “If family and friends are together, living in harmony, what difference does food make? It’s all sustenance—no high or low.”

Su Xi roared with laughter. “Well said! Those high-and-mighty types used to offer me houses and silver to write poems for them. Hah! How’s that different from a brothel girl? Fancy clothes and food are just worldly distractions—nothing beats the joy of harvesting sweet potatoes.”

Xu Wan nodded. “Untouched by material things, far from worldly noise—that’s why you write such fine poetry, isn’t it?”

Su Xi hissed. “Nah, mostly because the people I insulted couldn’t travel a thousand miles to beat me up.”

Xu Wan: “…”

You’re self-aware, at least.

After finishing a flatbread and two bowls of sweet tea, Su Xi finally asked, “Out with it—which kid do you and Luo Jingfeng want me to focus on? Zong Jincheng? Or Zong Wenxiu?”

After an afternoon of wrangling, he’d memorized all five names. The two Zong brothers were from the family, the other three had different surnames. Oddly, none were Luo—so why was Luo Jingfeng so worked up? None of his business!

Xu Wan answered honestly, “Zong Jincheng.”

Su Xi scoffed. “That brat, huh? Total troublemaker, full of attitude.”

Xu Wan tried to defend him. “Jincheng has improved a lot. He lacked guidance as a child, so it took time to correct his ways. Luo Jingfeng—his godfather—has high hopes for him, especially for the autumn exams.”

Su Xi frowned. “That kid doesn’t look twelve yet. Is he even a scholar? Qualified for the exams?”

Xu Wan smiled. “Yes. Last year, he passed the Childhood Scholar exams—those exempt him from age restrictions, allowing early entry.”

“Childhood Scholar?? Him??” Su Xi’s second flatbread suddenly lost its flavor.

He knew the title was reserved for prodigies nationwide—only 120 selected yearly, 360 every three years. The autumn exams, though tough, produced nearly 2,000 graduates each round—far more than the elite Childhood Scholar track.

But because it was so hard, few knew about it, let alone met a Childhood Scholar.

And that kid—the brat who’d glared at him—had earned it last year?

Su Xi refused to believe it. “Luo Jingfeng bought it for him, didn’t he?”

Xu Wan: “…” A true master—insulting both uncle and nephew in one breath.

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Luo Jingfeng only became his godfather a few months ago. They weren’t close before.”

Wiping her hands with a handkerchief, Xu Wan fetched Zong Jincheng’s exam papers from the shelf and handed them over. “You can review these, sir—his monthly tests.”

Unlike Xu Wan, Su Xi didn’t bother cleaning his flatbread-greased hands before smearing the papers. She averted her gaze, resisting the urge to scold him.

He started with the policy essay—on Yellow River flood control. The analysis of containment versus diversion was meticulous, weighing pros and cons before merging both approaches flawlessly. It read like the work of a seasoned scholar, not a child.

He picked up the next exam paper—the classics of Confucianism were recited flawlessly, and the translations were so precise they seemed copied straight from the books. Su Xi held the two papers and remarked, "The handwriting is indeed his, but if he can memorize the Four Books and Five Classics this well, why can't he apply even a single line to poetry?"

Puzzled, he grabbed the last exam sheet, which contained Zong Jincheng's earlier poetry recitations and analytical translations. Every section was impeccable—until the final poetry composition. It was like a priceless, exquisitely crafted vase suddenly stuffed with a scraggly weed, shamelessly preening as if declaring, "Behold, I am the most magnificent flower in the world!"

Su Xi choked on his breath, nearly suffocating. His face flushed red as he struggled for words before finally slamming the paper onto the desk and sputtering out an evaluation: "This abomination of a poem dares to boast? Even the bird I keep at home could compose better verse!"