My Wife Is A Sword Immortal
Chapter 461 - 316: It’s So Boring to Be Slapped in the Face Passively, I Prefer to Take the Initiative to Ride the Face (Part 1)

Chapter 461: Chapter 316: It’s So Boring to Be Slapped in the Face Passively, I Prefer to Take the Initiative to Ride the Face (Part 1)

The early sun rose, along the long corridor of Mochi Academy.

Zhao Rong, dressed in the blue robes of a scholar, rolled up his sleeves and walked quietly among the crowd.

Conversations of nearby Mochi Academy students echoed around him.

He remained silent.

Today at Mochi Academy, nearly everyone was eagerly discussing the upcoming Ritual Skill examination.

As the first assessment in the mid-monthly exams, one that was complex and time-consuming, it always garnered the most attention.

Moreover, the performance of the first assessment tended to have a significant impact on the subsequent ones.

Many students at Mochi Academy could relate to this.

Therefore, the examination in Great Li set up by Meng Zhengjun became the center of their discussions.

Previous exams had shown that.

Setting aside the fatigue of travel, the difficulty of off-campus assessments was slightly higher.

It’s not that their difficulty was vastly different from on-campus assessments, making them unfairly challenging, but they were indeed arduous tasks.

No one was keen to be assigned to such duties.

However, the students chatting lively along the corridor didn’t seem too worried.

Because it was said that not many places for the trip to Great Li were available, and...

It appeared that some had almost been pre-selected, with the candidates being from a certain range.

At least, that’s what most students silently speculated within the Academy.

For instance, those from Justice Hall who had been criticized by Meng Zhengjun a few days earlier.

Or a few troublemakers from Chongzhi Hall and Guangye Hall.

And then there was...the student from Shuaixing Hall who was said to have the unfortunate fate of a son-in-law, as often described in books, bearing the surname Zhao, and so on.

Mochi Academy had been operational for quite some time.

The students from each Hall within the Academy mostly had an idea about the relative merits and shortcomings among themselves and the other students.

At this moment, along the lakeside corridor that connected the Six Halls of the Academy,

The ’student surnamed Zhao’ mentioned by the crowd, while heading towards Shuaixing Hall, was quietly listening to these snippets of conversation.

Indifferent to the occasional curious glances directed at him, his lips moved ever so slightly.

As if he was talking to himself.

When a student from Shuaixing Hall passed by Zhao Ziyu, they pricked up their ears to listen closely.

They discovered he was silently reciting from the "Rites" in the Confucian Thirteen Classics.

After completing his assigned recitation for the morning, Zhao Rong raised his hand and yawned.

His eyelids drooped slightly.

Not from extreme tiredness, but rather from the rarity of getting a full night’s sleep.

With a calm demeanor tinged with drowsiness, Zhao Rong turned his head to glance at these curious classmates with their peculiar stares.

He nodded and stepped into Shuaixing Hall.

...

The first class in Shuaixing Hall was on Scripture Meaning Skill.

Following past precedent, after the first class, Meng Zhengjun would usually gather all students from the Six Halls to the open space in front of Ritual Hall.

There he would announce the details of the mid-monthly examination,

Including the allocation for the Ritual Skill assessment, which everyone was most concerned about.

At this time, the sound of a bell from the distant mountains rang out, resonating through Mochi Academy.

The first class on Scripture Meaning Skill in Shuaixing Hall had come to an end.

The previously quiet hall quickly became noisy.

But most students from Shuaixing Hall didn’t leave to relax,

Instead, many headed to the front of the hall, to seek guidance from the Art Studies Teacher who was packing up his books, intending to leave.

The exams were imminent.

In the Seven Arts of Confucianism, both the Scripture Meaning Skill and Poetry and Prose Skill were major disciplines, each counting for double the points of the minor arts.

They were of utmost importance and afforded no room for negligence.

At the back row of the big hall, Zhao Rong, who was buried in classic texts, looked up at the familiar figure who was now surrounded by students on the podium.

That was an elder with white hair wearing a long robe.

Zhao Rong recognized him.

When he first arrived in Du You City and was waiting for an opportunity outside the Academy, he had seen the elder once before.

Even at that time, Zhao Rong had almost been recommended by this robed elder to enter the Academy.

The elder’s surname was Gu, and the students of Shuaixing Hall respectfully referred to him as Teacher Gu.

He taught Scripture Meaning Skill studies.

Moreover, Zhao Rong also knew that Teacher Yan, who followed the path of Confucianism in Scripture Meaning, had a very good relationship with this Teacher Gu.

However, despite this,

Teacher Gu didn’t seem to have much of an impression of Zhao Rong. When he recognized Zhao Rong earlier, the elder had merely nodded slightly in acknowledgment.

Zhao Rong understood.

It looked like what he and Teacher Yan had discussed that day in Taiching Prefecture’s Fenglin Courtyard was true.

Teacher Yan hadn’t mentioned Zhao Rong to many people.

Nor had he asked his old friends to give Zhao Rong any special treatment. Well, he probably hadn’t mentioned him at all.

Zhao Rong looked down and continued to flip through his book.

Before long, Teacher Gu, smiling, left, and the students gathered around the podium began to disperse.

There was, however, a large group that didn’t scatter immediately but paused in place, quietly discussing something.

Leading this group was Wu Peiliang.

He had just consulted with Teacher Gu about the Scriptures with a few friends.

At this moment, Wu Peiliang, taking advantage of everyone being gathered, prepared to do something he had previously discussed with his friends and classmates.

He whispered a few words to his classmates beside him, and at the same time, his eyes darted around and glanced at a person quietly reading at the back of the hall.

Soon, Wu Peiliang had gathered around him a number of students who had come with tacit agreement.

He slightly squinted his eyes, his somewhat effeminate face becoming even more so.

Wu Peiliang looked around and didn’t find Senior Yu’s figure. Right after class, she had been called away by Meng Zhengjun and hadn’t returned yet.

Suddenly, Wu Peiliang showed a smile and, with the classmates who had come to back him up, walked towards Zhao Rong.

In the front rows of the Academy.

Jia Tengying, who was absorbed in reading, looked worriedly in the direction of the back rows.

Zhao Rong lowered his head, flipping through his book as if unaware of the unusual atmosphere in the Academy.

Well, although Jia Tengying had specifically stopped him before he left that morning to remind him of a few things.

Wu Peiliang led a group of students to Zhao Rong’s desk.

Zhao Rong, without lifting his eyelids, said, "Brother Wu, two hundred copies, have you finished them?"

Wu Peiliang’s expression remained placid, he nodded gently and took out a large stack of manuscript papers from his sleeve, tossing it onto Zhao Rong’s desk.

He spoke as if nothing were amiss, "Teacher Zhao, please check..."

Wu Peiliang wanted to say more, but suddenly he choked up.

For he saw Zhao Rong behind the desk, after flipping another page of his book, slowly closing it and glancing briefly at the stack of ’punishment copies’ before him.

The next second.

Zhao Rong stood up calmly and walked to the miscellaneous area in the hall.

He didn’t even look at this non-compliant ’group effort’ and casually threw it away.

"......"

Wu Peiliang’s expression stiffened slightly and he narrowed his eyes.

Behind him, most of the students from Shuaixing Hall exchanged glances, their expressions gradually turning ugly...

Zhao Rong stood quietly, facing the students.

His gaze swept over each person’s face one by one, missing none, and lastly his piercing eyes rested on what he expected would soon be the snide expression of Wu Peiliang.

Zhao Rong, with drooping eyelids, too lazy to wait for a back-and-forth argument to escalate the conflict, said directly and confrontationally...

————

PS: Thank you, brothers, for your concerns, much appreciated!

Ah, right, brothers also introduced to little Rong a new term — mature author (with a backlog of manuscripts, sob sob).