“Write?”

Lin Yi glanced at Chen Jinbei, feeling that this academy instructor seemed... a little off.

Wasn’t he supposed to be investigating Lin Yi for using Daoist techniques to awaken his literary spirit?

So why, in the middle of an interrogation, was he suddenly asking Lin Yi to write?

“To awaken your literary heart through poetry or prose, the work must at least reach the ‘Spirit-Piercing’ level,” Chen Jinbei explained earnestly. “What I need you to write is exactly that.”

His tone was calm, but inwardly, he could hardly contain his excitement.

If what Fang Qingxue said was true, he might soon witness the birth of another Spirit-Piercing masterpiece—a rare gem of poetry or prose.

“There’s no need for that. Fang Qingxue, the academy scholar, can vouch for me,” Lin Yi replied, shaking his head.

He had just written a Spirit-Piercing poem yesterday. Now he was expected to produce another one?

A Spirit-Piercing work could resonate for a century, a priceless treasure that would drive any scholar wild with admiration.

This academy instructor wouldn’t possibly... be trying to freeload off my talent, would he?

The idea took root in Lin Yi’s mind, and the more he considered it, the more plausible it seemed.

“Fang Qingxue has already left Anyang County,” Chen Jinbei said. “She is on her way to the capital for the imperial examinations.”

“Left?”

Lin Yi was stunned. A pang of disappointment welled up in his chest, but he quickly composed himself. “Fine, I’ll write—but only if no one interferes with my investigation into the theft of Daoist techniques!”

“Agreed!”

Chen Jinbei nodded.

“Master Chen, this is highly improper...” Sun Wenyin interjected, but Chen Jinbei shot him a sharp glare.

“Stay out of the affairs of scholars, Magistrate Sun!”

It was a warning.

Sun Wenyin’s face flushed crimson. Beneath his official robes, his hands trembled.

What had changed? Last night, Chen Jinbei had demanded the arrest of Lin Yi’s cousin. Now, he seemed like a different person altogether.

Lin Yi felt reassured.

Clearly, Chen Jinbei had already met with Fang Qingxue and must know about the poem he had written.

If he wants to freeload, he’ll have to pay for it.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Lin Yi approached the desk, dipped his brush in ink, and confidently wrote on the open scroll:

"The path of study lies through diligence;

The ocean of knowledge requires hard work to sail."

A surge of literary energy rippled outward, but no extraordinary phenomena accompanied it. It was as if he were merely practicing calligraphy—a perfectly ordinary scene.

“Excellent!”

Sun Wenyin heaved a sigh of relief. He had been bracing himself for Lin Yi to produce another Spirit-Piercing work.

How could a mere impoverished scholar create such a masterpiece when even academy instructors struggle to do so?

Lin Yi stepped back and handed the scroll to Chen Jinbei. “Please, Master Chen, have a look.”

Chen Jinbei approached the desk with faint disappointment.

So it wasn’t a new Spirit-Piercing poem after all.

Still, as he examined the calligraphy, he couldn’t help but exclaim, “Marvelous handwriting! It has the flair of a true master!”

His disappointment evaporated. The poem matched the one engraved on the literary stele at Pingzhou Academy—a beacon of literary achievement.

If Pingzhou Academy ascended to the Imperial Institute of Literature, it would be thanks to Lin Yi.

But that wasn’t Chen Jinbei’s goal. What he truly wanted was a new Spirit-Piercing work, something that could help him break through his current literary bottleneck.

“Let me see that!”

Sun Wenyin leaned over, reading aloud:

"The path of study lies through diligence;

The ocean of knowledge requires hard work to sail."

Wait.

Why did this poem seem so familiar?

Hadn’t Chen Jinbei just mentioned it yesterday, saying it was the key to breaking Lin Yi’s literary defenses?

But now Lin Yi had written it himself.

Sun Wenyin turned to Chen Jinbei, confused. “Master Chen, this poem—”

“Is none of your concern!” Chen Jinbei cut him off, carefully rolling up the scroll and slipping it into his sleeve.

He coughed lightly and turned to Lin Yi. “This poem alone is insufficient proof. You’ll have to write another.”

Lin Yi stared at him in disbelief.

If it’s insufficient, why are you keeping it?

Chen Jinbei’s face remained unflinching. “For posterity.”

Lin Yi scoffed inwardly. This academy instructor is utterly shameless!

“I have no inspiration at the moment,” Lin Yi said firmly. “If this poem isn’t enough for you, why keep it at all?”

“To commemorate your talent,” Chen Jinbei replied. “When will you have inspiration again?”

Lin Yi glanced at Sun Wenyin. “Perhaps once the case of the stolen Daoist techniques is resolved and I’ve cleared my name, I’ll feel more inspired.”

Chen Jinbei nodded. “Very well, I’ll help you.”

He seemed to remember something, adding, “I won’t interfere with your investigation—but I’ll always be available to guide you in your studies.”

Lin Yi was speechless.

For a single poem, this instructor was willing to cast aside his dignity?

Wasn’t he a scholar?

In the Grand Yan Dynasty, academy instructors were at least fifth-ranked paragons of virtue, respected literary figures.

“Master Chen, what’s going on?” Sun Wenyin’s head was spinning.

Hadn’t Lin Yi been labeled a heretic? Why was Chen Jinbei now helping him?

Chen Jinbei turned to Sun Wenyin, his voice stern. “What’s going on? Ask yourself this: Would someone capable of creating a Spirit-Piercing work care about stealing Daoist techniques?”

“Would such a person steal from the Hall of Suppression?”

“You failed to guard the hall, allowed the theft to occur, and then falsely accused a scholar. The academy will petition the Imperial Institute for judgment. Consider your fate carefully.”

Thud!

Sun Wenyin fell to his knees, trembling and drenched in sweat.

A Spirit-Piercing scholar?

The author of Pingzhou Academy’s literary stele was none other than Lin Yi?

Realization struck like a bolt of lightning.

He finally understood why Fang Qingxue had delayed her journey to the capital to defend Lin Yi.

Lin Yi’s mere words resonated with unyielding literary spirit. He wasn’t just talented—he was a once-in-a-century prodigy.

“Master Chen, please don’t petition the Imperial Institute!” Sun Wenyin begged. “I’ll make amends, I swear!”

He knew the consequences if Chen Jinbei reported him. Losing his position would be the least of his worries; survival itself might become impossible.

After all, he had almost cost the empire one of its greatest literary treasures.