Chapter 45: The Rebirth of the Illegitimate Daughter, Part 5

To be honest, why did ancient writers always strive for such concise and profound prose? Was it truly, as someone once complained in a certain book, simply because they used bamboo slips—heavy and cumbersome—and therefore kept their writing as brief as possible?

Thus, Mu Yin truly admired those in novels who, after traveling back in time, could disguise themselves as men and pass the imperial examinations. After all, altering an established knowledge system is no easy task. It was much like how, after regaining her memories, she found it difficult to maintain her previous level of study.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t keep up; rather, the knowledge she possessed was far ahead—over a hundred years beyond the present. The changes brought by this span were not limited to technology, but extended to the content of learning itself. In her own time, education was specialized from as early as middle school; students chose their fields and focused solely on them, leaving unrelated subjects untouched.

But here, it was clearly not the case. Fortunately, whether in the present or the future, language and mathematics remained essential. Language enhanced reading and comprehension, mathematics developed logic—skills needed in every field.

Classical Chinese, however, was not something she had formally studied; in her future, apart from those specializing in ancient poetry and appreciation, few spent time on it. Her understanding of classical Chinese stemmed only from the occasional appreciation essays in her language classes.

Now, in this ancient era, she had learned some so-called poetry and song, but Mu Yin’s own verse lacked true spirit; it was merely constructed by following the standard parallelism and rhyme schemes. Yet after several years, she had absorbed enough to at least comprehend most texts—even if she could only grasp one or two interpretations. After all, classical Chinese lacked punctuation, so there were countless ways to parse it. She could never understand it all, nor fathom what the author truly intended.

Mu Yin’s best subjects were calligraphy and painting, followed by music; she quite liked the zither. Her knowledge of chess was average, since calligraphy and painting were essential skills for her, while the rest were merely hobbies.

Listening to those obscure and difficult essays, Mu Yin’s mind wandered until she was startled by a chorus of praise. She refocused, looked down, and saw two people engaged in a written contest, with the crowd judging their work. One person’s piece drew repeated admiration.

She hadn’t noticed this individual when she first entered the room, so she casually asked, “Who is that?”

“Miss, that is the Fifth Prince,” Chunfen replied, seeing her curiosity.

“Oh.” So that was the male lead. He was indeed handsome, but Mu Yin felt no interest. Her gaze drifted over the crowd, then met a pair of bright, black eyes. She blinked, realizing she had been noticed, quickly withdrew her gaze, and sat upright.

The young man noticed Mu Yin’s reaction and smiled. “Young master, what are you looking at?” his attendant asked, unable to resist.

“None of your concern,” the youth replied, giving him a sidelong glance. Why was he so talkative?

“Jinyan, let’s go.” The Fifth Prince approached and addressed the youth.

“Mm.” Jinyan nodded, and under the earnest gaze of the scholars, the two departed.

They seemed to be on good terms. Mu Yin watched as they left, and Chunfen spoke up: “Miss, the Fifth Prince is already engaged. The one walking with him is his future brother-in-law. You must not dwell on it.”

“Do I seem like that kind of person?” Mu Yin replied, speechless. She hadn’t expected the Fifth Prince to be engaged, but considering the custom of betrothal at twelve or thirteen and marriage at fifteen or sixteen, it was not surprising. The Fifth Prince was sixteen this year.

“By the way, which family is the Fifth Prince engaged to? When is the wedding?” Mu Yin felt this might be an opportunity—a way to sever the connection between the male and female leads without her intervention.

Love is a path for two; adding anyone else never ends well. And since this was a romance novel, if the male lead wasn’t devoted, it wouldn’t be romance—it would be tragic love.

Therefore, since the male lead had not married two years after meeting the female lead, there was only one possibility: either he had married and been widowed, or something happened before the wedding. This was not the type of story where widowhood was common, so likely something occurred before marriage.

“Miss, this isn’t something you should concern yourself with,” Chunfen advised. Even as a concubine-born daughter, their family would never let her become a concubine herself.

“You’re overthinking it. I actually find his companion rather admirable,” Mu Yin said, rolling her eyes at Chunfen’s worried expression and conveniently choosing someone as a shield.

“Miss, that is the heir to the Marquis of Guangyang. You may not be able to reach that high,” Chunfen answered, still uneasy. Though Mu Yin came from the Liu family, one of the top families of the time, she was only a concubine-born daughter, and the status did not match that of the Marquis of Guangyang.

Though the Marquis of Guangyang was a noble, his title was earned through military merit. His family had defended the borders for generations, amassing great accomplishments, yet they knew how to conduct themselves. Whenever there was war, they immediately requested permission to go to the battlefield; when peace returned, they promptly surrendered their military authority. Despite being a military family, their influence in this dynasty was considerable.

“Chunfen, don’t overthink it. I’m still young—I just think he’s pleasant to look at, nothing more.” As someone from the future who neither understood nor felt love, Mu Yin still had no idea what those emotions meant.

Seeing her mistress in such a state, Chunfen realized her worries were unfounded. Mu Yin hadn’t even reached the age for budding feelings. Then Mu Yin spoke: “By the way, Chunfen, I need all the information about the Fifth Prince’s fiancée.”

“Miss, what exactly are you planning?” Chunfen was baffled. If her mistress didn’t like the Fifth Prince, why investigate his fiancée?

“You don’t need to know. Just get me the information,” Mu Yin said firmly.

“All right.” Chunfen recognized her mistress’s determination and said no more.

Mu Yin then rose to leave. As she boarded the carriage, Chunfen suddenly spoke up: “Miss, over there is the eldest daughter of the Xing family.” As her chief maid, Chunfen knew Mu Yin had once investigated the female lead, and unlike Mu Yin, who had only read about her, Chunfen had met her in person.

“Hmm?” The female lead—upon hearing this title, Mu Yin immediately turned to look. She saw a girl of delicate, ethereal beauty. Though young, her outstanding features were already apparent.

Indeed, she was worthy of being the female lead; her beauty was remarkable. Mu Yin paid no further attention and went to the restaurant for a meal. As someone who practiced physical arts, she had a considerable appetite. After eating enough to be half-full, Chunfen stopped her, reminding her that, in these times, men powdered their faces and sought frail looks. Women, even more so, were expected to be delicate. Her appetite would frighten people.