Mu Qing had never imagined that one day, she would end up guest-starring as Zhu Yingtai. And she even had a matching Liang Shanbo. Oh, if we really must push the analogy, then even Ma Wencai was present.
Like a dream, she, her husband, and Liu Feng all somehow ended up enrolled in White Crane Academy’s “Special Class.”
This was the new class established that year which didn’t require a xiucai (scholar) qualification, nor was it primarily focused on preparing students for the imperial exams in two years.
The class monitor? None other than that cross-dressing young lady Qin Qin.
And although the Headmaster Qin gave a high-sounding and grand speech when the class was founded, Mu Qing quickly guessed that this class had everything to do with Miss Qin.
According to the original storyline, this Qin Qin was a brilliant female scholar—the kind that could aim straight for the zhuangyuan (top scorer in the imperial exam) title.
Unfortunately, she was born a girl. The imperial examinations weren’t even an option. Even if she wanted to attend White Crane Academy to learn and make a few like-minded friends, that too was off the table.
Because White Crane Academy didn’t admit female students. Not even if her own father was the headmaster.
That was the rule.
No rules, no order.
Back when he founded the academy, Headmaster Qin had sworn to uphold its regulations. Even though he dearly loved his only daughter, in the tug-of-war between paternal affection and institutional rules, he ultimately chose to defend the latter.
Once Headmaster Qin set his mind to something, even ten oxen couldn’t pull him back.
Clever as she was, Qin Qin found herself helpless against such intransigence. And so she came up with a new idea: disguising herself as a man and creating a special class to go head-to-head with her father.
At first, Headmaster Qin ignored her antics. But her persistence eventually wore him down, and he reluctantly gave in.
Of course, giving in came at a cost. She had to agree to a rather dire condition: if no one in her class passed the provincial-level juren exam in two years, she would have to enter the palace selection.
Otherwise, the matter would be dropped, and she would obediently marry the “promising young man” her father had chosen for her.
The current emperor, though advanced in age, had several grown sons who were at the right age to take wives and consorts. Thus, His Majesty had decreed that after the dianshi (final round of the imperial exam), there would be a special selection process for the princes’ future consorts.
Headmaster Qin had previously served as the Jijiu (Rector) of the Imperial College and had even taught some of the princes. In his heart, he already had a preferred “ideal son-in-law,” but of course, he never told his daughter.
Qin Qin had stubbornly refused to acknowledge the topic. But now, with no other choice, she agreed.
After all, she didn’t want to marry just anyone. If she couldn’t marry someone she truly loved, then entering the palace was no different. Betting on her own intelligence, she decided to gamble with her father—wagering her future marriage.
Unfortunately, even though she was brilliant, she was clearly no match for her wily old fox of a father.
Riding high on her “upperclassman” title, she had gone out in full confidence to recruit students for her class—only to end up roping in no one, and instead gifting Liu Feng a golden opportunity.
Though the two of them hadn’t gotten off to a good start, as time passed, their mutual bickering turned into love. That was the original plot, and what came afterward was a mess of clichés.
The aloof scholar-maiden fell for him, only to learn he already had a primary wife. She tried to withdraw, but the original wife came in person, bare of jewelry, in simple dress, to beg for her marriage… even offering to yield her position as the main wife.
Moved by the generosity and grace of the original wife, Qin Qin accepted a sisterly bond with her and willingly became Liu Feng’s second wife. Using her talents and her father’s powerful connections, she played a vital role in helping the Dragon-AoTian rise.
But of course, Liu Feng never stopped gathering new “flowers.” Proud to the end, Qin Qin acknowledged only the original wife, kept her distance from the others, and eventually gave up on Liu Feng. After bearing the eldest daughter, she lived a quiet life, reading and teaching, detached from the world.
After recalling Qin Qin’s tragic arc, Mu Qing realized that her fate in the original story was not much better than that of the original wife.
Reading about it was one thing—she could close the book and sigh at the character’s misfortunes. But now that she was living the story herself, and coming face-to-face with others who shared her “misery,” it was getting harder to stay detached and cold-eyed.
To be honest, she hadn’t known Liu Feng very long, but it had already become obvious that he embodied nearly every trait she disliked in a man.
Sure, he wasn’t without strengths—he wouldn’t be a Dragon-AoTian lead without some small measure of cleverness.
Otherwise, he wouldn’t have reacted so quickly when Qin Qin, using her teaching assistant authority, tried to expel him for “improper conduct” and unilaterally revoke his application.
Faced with rejection, Liu Feng immediately switched tactics—first trying to cozy up to Mu Qing and her husband, then clinging to Mu Jiang, playing the “longtime friendship” card…
Just thinking about it made Mu Qing’s temples throb.
When none of that worked, he threw a fit right at the academy gate, playing the victim once more. And sure enough, it caught the attention of Headmaster Qin.
The headmaster had only come out to restore order. But after Liu Feng stirred up the drama with just the right amount of shamelessness, he somehow managed to persuade the old man to make an exception and allow him into Qin Qin’s special class.
What’s worse, he was the only student in the class who already met the qualifications to take the qiuhui (provincial exam) this year.
Though clearly displeased, Qin Qin had no grounds to object. Perhaps she even suspected that her father had deliberately given her a “strong player” so she wouldn’t have to start off with a group of unqualified “dead weights.”
But as an outsider, Mu Qing saw things clearly—this old fox wasn’t doing her daughter any favors. He knew perfectly well that someone like Liu Feng might have some talent, but he wasted it all on frivolous schemes and shortcuts. When it came to the serious business of the exams, he likely wasn’t even close to ready.
Mu Qing didn’t know how he’d eventually manage to pass the qiuhui, chunhui, or even the dianshi and win the tanhua title. But judging by his current performance, he was far from qualified.
Qin Qin clearly didn’t like him. And Headmaster Qin saw right through him from the start. To him, Liu Feng was just “a half-filled bottle that rattles the loudest.”
Pushing such a person onto his proud, talented daughter was obviously calculated. Mu Qing figured the old man probably just wanted to give his daughter a taste of reality—a little hardship, a little disappointment, so she could someday find earthly happiness: a decent man, a stable home, peace and comfort.
Unfortunately, things didn’t go as planned. The man was a dud, and the result? Tragic.
Mu Qing sighed over the dog-blood twists of the original plot, groaned at the ridiculous turns it had taken since she transmigrated, then slowly got up from bed to go to “class.”
A basin of fresh water and a neatly folded cloth towel had already been placed beside the window. The water was exactly seven-tenths full. The towel was folded into a perfect rectangle. Just one look and she knew it was the work of her “brother-in-law.”
Yes, she was currently the distant relative “Mu Qing,” accompanying the main family’s young master Mu Jiang to submit his letter to the academy. But she had been hand-picked by Qin Qin and forcibly recruited into her class.
As for Mu Jiang, of course, he’d been successfully admitted into the main “Imperial Exam Class,” and had even caught the attention of Headmaster Qin.
With a recommendation letter from the esteemed Teacher Chen, Headmaster Qin had high hopes for the child prodigy even before meeting him. After meeting him in person, he was completely won over.
He immediately admitted Mu Jiang and seemed intent on grooming him for success—aiming to guide him through the qiuhui, chunhui, and maybe even into the top three of the dianshi.
The youngest “Little Three Yuan,” “Big Three Yuan,” maybe even a new zhuangyuan—it would be the crowning achievement of his teaching career.
Headmaster Qin’s long-dormant passion for teaching had been reignited.
Qin Qin wasn’t one to be outdone either. She admired Mu Qing for her talent and upright character, and she respected her husband’s scholarly abilities as well.
So, naturally, Mu Qing’s husband had been enrolled into the class too.
Since Mu Qing and Qin Qin were the same age and both cross-dressing, even without confessing their identities, there was a strange sense of mutual understanding between them. A sort of silent kinship: “We’re not like the others.”
And so, within just a few days of starting classes, Mu Qing and Qin Qin were thick as thieves, and her husband had become their mutual “brother-in-law.”
After all, Mu Qing hadn’t exactly been thinking that far ahead when she’d fabricated her identity.
The worst part was that this prestigious academy had actually let her sneak in so easily.
Back then, things had happened too fast. She barely had time to send Bingtang back with a message before she and her husband were roped into enrollment.
Her parents had responded swiftly… with letters encouraging them to study hard, take good care of themselves and Mu Jiang, and ideally produce two or three zhuangyuan titles…
Mu Qing nearly ripped the letter up on the spot. But they were her real parents—no matter how much she wanted to complain, she had no choice but to swallow it down.
Luckily, living undercover in a prestigious academy wasn’t as stressful as she’d feared. Studying and laughing with Miss Qin by day, “sweetly cohabiting” with her husband by night—it was unexpectedly… refreshing.
If only her husband weren’t so painfully gentle and thoughtful, it’d be perfect.
After washing up, Mu Qing stepped out of the bedroom and saw her husband reading by the window.
A plain scholar’s robe on him looked like the raiment of an immortal descended to earth.
Mu Qing sighed, walked over, and draped a robe over his shoulders. In a soft voice, she said, “Brother-in-law, tonight… come back to the bedroom to sleep, all right?”
