The two of them returned a full month later than the main group.
It was already the twelfth day of the twelfth lunar month.
As the New Year approached, vendors crowded both inside and outside the city, and the streets bustled with festive energy.
Hearing the familiar dialect in his ears and feeling the warmth of everyday life all around him, Quinn Liew wiped the tears of emotion from his face. His once-drifting heart finally settled.
He assumed his uncle would be feeling the same, but when he turned to look, he saw instead a complex, unreadable sadness in Lester Liew's eyes.
"You go on ahead," Lester gave Quinn a gentle shove and entered the city alone.
Quinn quickly called out, "Uncle, aren't you going home?"
Without stopping, Lester glanced back with a mournful expression. "I still have some things to take care of. You go ahead."
"Then… then let me pass a message to Aunt Clara. I'll tell her you're back—she'll definitely be happy!" Quinn offered, eager to show his gratitude.
If not for his uncle leading the way, he probably wouldn't have made it back alive.
The corner of Lester's mouth twitched. If that fierce woman knew he'd returned, she'd probably charge over with a broadsword in hand!
At that thought, he felt colder than the moat in the dead of winter.
No—he had to do something. After making it back alive, how could he just surrender to fate?
If it meant reading until he went mad, then so be it!
Strangely, the thought of studying didn't repulse him like it used to. In fact, he was almost… eager.
Studying was good. If he could pass the exams and gain scholarly status, he'd never have to serve in forced labor again.
Let others go defend the borders—he was done for life.
And the only way to say no to labor drafts was to earn academic distinction, even if it was just the lowest-level County Scholar.
He handed two coins to the guards at the gate and strode toward the academy.
When he left back then, it had been in a rush—many of his belongings were still at the dorm: his quilt, brazier, inkstone, brush and paper. Compared to home, it was shabby, but after sleeping on the grasslands outside the Darkmoon Gate, even a straw mat seemed like luxury.
Lester felt as if he'd attained enlightenment. A stream of clarity rose from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head—he wanted to live with purpose!
"Brother Lester?"
Someone called tentatively from behind.
Lester snapped out of his moment of clarity with a shiver—his enlightenment interrupted by the cold.
He looked down and realized his shoe had a big hole in it, letting in freezing air that shot straight to his skull.
"It really is you! Lester Liew, you actually made it back alive!"
Several students in academy robes gathered around in disbelief.
"Ahem—no, not 'Master Taoist' anymore. It's me," Lester quickly dropped the Taoist act and nodded calmly to his fellow students.
They looked him over, sensing something different about him but unable to pinpoint exactly what had changed.
Still, his return was a joyous surprise, and one after another they congratulated him, albeit sheepishly: "Congrats, congrats. We're just glad you're back. We honestly thought you were gone…"
Realizing the slip, their voices trailed off, and they gave him awkward smiles.
Lester waved it off. "No harm done. Are you all heading back to the academy?"
They nodded, and he invited them to walk together.
Someone asked about his journey, but Lester replied lightly, "A stroke of fate—beyond words."
Then he caught himself slipping back into the Taoist persona and coughed awkwardly. "Ran into some surprises, but thankfully heaven looked after me. Danger turned to safety."
"Why aren't you going home first?" someone asked curiously.
"I've already lost too much time in my studies. I want to catch up as quickly as I can. I'll visit home during the next break. For now, learning comes first."
Everyone stared at him, stunned, then took two synchronized steps back to examine him up and down.
They realized what was different now. His tattered robe and worn shoes couldn't hide the fire in his heart.
To come back from military labor and head straight to class instead of home—was this really the same Lester who used to party with Scholar Fan?
Someone even rubbed their eyes, wondering if they were seeing things. Was it possible that Lester looked even more handsome than before?
But no, the man before them still shone brightly—so dazzling, he was hard to look at.
When they reached the academy, Lester gave them a courteous bow and went ahead.
Back in the dorm, there were more greetings and explanations. By the time he finished dealing with his roommates, night had fallen.
He heated some water, wiped himself down, washed his hair, changed into clean clothes, and sat by the fire with his long hair down. As he dried his clothes and hair, he opened the Analects and began to study with fierce focus.
He set himself a goal: finish memorizing the Analects before the New Year.
That way, if the tigress came knocking with a knife, maybe—just maybe—he'd stand a chance at survival.
Lester had never felt such mental clarity before. Having played the part of a Taoist so convincingly, he now felt like a true strategist—a master of human hearts.
Clara was a woman driven by results. She only tolerated or supported what benefited her. If something didn't, she ignored it. But if it posed a threat—she crushed it in the cradle.
After the hardship at the border, Lester was sure: she wanted him dead.
But this journey had also made him understand why she had pushed him so hard to study.
She had long since seen through the struggles of the lower classes—farmers, merchants, artisans—and sought to rise.
And wasn't that exactly what he had longed for, too?
In the past, he had tried shortcuts, forgetting one critical truth: to the elites, a lowly farmer like him had no value.
His fawning and flattery were replaceable—anyone could do that. That's why he always failed.
But a man who could read, write, paint, who had intelligence, good looks, and knew how to flatter? That kind of man was irreplaceable.
His clothes dried, Lester slipped them on with one hand while keeping the other on his book. His eyes never left the page.
After reading through two chapters, he set the book down briefly, smoothed a headband across his lap, dipped his brush in ink, and wrote bold words:
"Lord protect me."
He tied the headband to his forehead, as if invoking divine memory powers.
From that day on, Lester studied from morning to night without rest—he barely seemed to sleep.
His roommates were so spooked that they pulled out their own books to keep pace.
Within three days of Lester's return, every student in Willowridge County's academy had been forced into study mode.
Not because they wanted to—but because Lester's intensity had drawn the attention of the head instructor, who ordered everyone to follow his example and even moved the year-end exams forward.
In order to pass, all the students had no choice but to hit the books.
Scholar Fan was about to lose his mind. He stormed up to Lester and yelled, "Do you really need to study like your life depends on it?!"
Lester didn't even lift his head. "If there were a blade hanging over yours, ready to fall the moment you stop—would you still not study?"
Scholar Fan rubbed his arms. That was... terrifying.
(End of Chapter)
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