"A proper lady must be skilled in the zither, chess, calligraphy, and painting."

"It’s like casting pearls before swine!"

"..."

"Qian Zhuye, your uncle is here. The teacher is calling for you," a young student announced as he walked in.

"Alright," Qian Zhuye replied. He picked up his finished transcription of the Disciple’s Rules. "You all take your time. I’m heading out."

Ye Qianning looked up. ’What is Qian Fanji doing at the academy?’

"Are you going to write or not?" Sang Zhi nudged her.

Ye Qianning squirmed and flopped back onto the desk. "I’m not writing."

"If you’re not going to write, then go back to your courtyard. Don’t sleep here, you’ll catch a cold."

"Why don’t you just go? Leave me alone," Ye Qianning mumbled, not moving from her spot on the desk.

Sang Zhi seemed to let out a sigh. A moment later, Ye Qianning heard the rustle of paper being gathered.

’She’d never met a child more stubborn than Sang Zhi. The way she held a brush was second nature to her, but he wasn’t wrong. A child’s bones really could become misshapen from maintaining an improper posture for too long.’

’But she wasn’t a normal child. Her fingers weren’t made for playing the zither. Her hands were born to wield a knife.’

’Zither, chess, calligraphy, painting—the skills of a proper lady. She was destined never to learn them, and she didn’t want to in the first place...’

As she thought, she slowly closed her eyes. Images from her past life surfaced in her mind. Everything she ever learned, she learned for a reason; it seemed there was never a single thing she’d pursued just because she liked it.

’What did I even like...?’ Thinking back, it seemed there was nothing at all.

Ye Qianning fell into a long, deep sleep and dreamed. The dream was a chaotic montage of her past life. A great fire raged, consuming the land, and tall buildings crumbled to the ground.

The screams and cries for help from the crowd filled her ears. She watched from a god-like, bird’s-eye perspective. In the blink of an eye, the scene shifted to a rooftop...

On the rooftop lay a woman, covered in blood and on the verge of death, her face ashen. That person... was her.

The figure in black across from her took out a pistol, raised it slightly, and aimed it at her. BANG. A gunshot rang out.

The bullet flew like a gale, straight into the center of her forehead...

Ye Qianning’s whole body trembled as she jolted awake. The fogginess in her eyes gradually cleared. Slowly, a small figure came into focus—a boy, head bowed, quietly writing with a calligraphy brush.

The candle flame flickered, its warm red glow casting a faint blush on his fair little face.

’Sang Zhi...’

Ye Qianning finally snapped out of the nightmare completely, her heart still pounding with lingering fear.

"What’s wrong?" Sang Zhi turned his head, a hint of worry in his gray eyes.

Ye Qianning subconsciously raised a hand to the center of her forehead.

"Did you have a nightmare?" Sang Zhi asked.

"Something like that," Ye Qianning answered. She looked up and saw it was already dark outside. "What time is it?"

"The Hour of the Pig has just begun."

’The Hour of the Pig... nine o’clock at night.’

"It’s so late. Why haven’t you left?" Ye Qianning stood and stretched, her gaze casually falling upon the stack of paper in front of her.

A thick stack of paper was piled high. The writing on the top sheet was hers... No, that wasn’t right. She hadn’t written this.

A little surprised, Ye Qianning walked over and picked up the sheet. The one underneath had the same handwriting, as did the next several pages she flipped through. Although it looked very similar to her own, a closer look revealed it to be slightly better than her own writing.

"You wrote all of these?" she asked, looking up at the sheet of paper in front of Sang Zhi.

"Your handwriting is hard to imitate, but if the teacher doesn’t look too closely, it should pass," Sang Zhi said, lowering his head to continue writing.

Outside the window, the corner of the teacher’s mouth twitched as he listened...

Gazing at the thick stack of paper, Ye Qianning was a little touched. "How many have you done?"

"Four more copies to go."

"Then let’s do them together." Ye Qianning picked up her brush.

"Position your fingers on the brush correctly." Sang Zhi held up his hand for her to see.

"..."

’Fine.’

’Seeing as he’d gone to all the trouble of imitating her handwriting for her copies, the least she could do was reluctantly endure it for a little while...!’