By the pond in the courtyard stood two little boys, the older about eight or nine, the younger about seven or eight, both deeply engrossed in a game of grass-fighting. The people of Song loved to gamble, young and old alike. This game of grass-fighting was divided into martial and literary contests—boys usually played the martial version, girls the literary. The martial contest was the simplest: when the grass grew in early spring, they would search for their favorite blades, pit them against each other, and the tougher one would win, while the broken one would lose.

The boys’ elder sister was leading the play, so naturally it was a literary contest. Earlier, she had taken her younger sister to the garden by the street to pick a large bunch of various flowers and grasses, kept them in a basin of water, and played the game with her two younger brothers… The rule was to take turns naming the plants in matched pairs; whoever knew more species and could come up with better pairings, and lasted the longest, would win.

As the elder sister, her main goal was to combine education with fun, so she wouldn’t compete with her brothers just to show off. Thus, the two little boys squared off. One picked up a willow twig and said, “I have the Guanyin willow.” The other picked up a pine branch to match: “I have the Luohan pine.” The first picked up another and said, “I have bellflower,” and the other replied, “I have drum flower.” The first continued, “I have calendula,” and the other nonchalantly said, “That’s hosta…”

Just as the elder sister led Brian Brooks in, the younger brother happened to pick up a stem and say, “I have brother flower.”

“How is that called brother flower?” The younger brother was dumbfounded. “That’s clearly spring plum.”

“Look, the plum blooms on a single branch, one above and one below, just like the two of us, born of the same mother, I first, you after. Isn’t that brother flower?” The older brother argued confidently.

“So that’s brother flower, then this one…” The younger brother searched the basin, picked up a double-headed spike, and said, “This is couple spike.”

The two argued back and forth, making their six- or seven-year-old little sister giggle and say, “By your logic, if a flower blooms one big and one small, it should be called ‘father and son flower,’ and if two flowers bloom back to back, they should be ‘enemy flowers,’ right?”

Her words made both brothers blush. The older one laughed and ran over to pinch his sister’s mouth, and the two started chasing each other. The little sister, seeing her elder sister, quickly ran over to act spoiled: “Sister, look, big brother is bullying me again.”

“Enough, don’t make a fuss. Don’t you see we have a guest?” The elder sister smiled apologetically at Brian Brooks and said, “Please forgive my siblings’ antics.”

“No, not at all, your younger siblings are quick-witted and so innocent and lively,” Brian Brooks stammered a bit. “I truly envy them.” His embarrassed look made the little sister giggle even more.

The elder sister shot her a glare, then told the two brothers to lead the guest to the main hall, while she took her younger sister to the study to invite ‘Uncle Brooks’.

In the study at the back courtyard, a portrait of Zhang Guolao, one of the Eight Immortals, hung in the central hall. The bookshelves and the desk were piled high with books. Two men, both in their thirties, each occupied one end of the desk, both writing diligently.

The slightly older one was the master of the house, Simon SmithOld Smith. In his youth, he was clever and had a strong memory, but also a strong-willed and rebellious nature, unwilling to be disciplined. He despised the exam-oriented education of the era and loved to travel.

But later, probably after having his eldest son, seeing that his own elder brother, his brother-in-law, and two other brothers-in-law had all succeeded in the imperial exams and were about to become officials, while he himself was still aimless and had to rely on his family for support… Such circumstances would be a blow to even a mediocre person, let alone someone of exceptional talent and intelligence—it was even harder to bear.

He regretted wasting his youth and began to push himself hard, studying diligently. He cut off ties with his old ruffian friends and started learning from gentlemen, shutting himself in to read and write. It had already been eight years.

But effort does not always bring reward. In those eight years, Old Smith had already failed the exams twice. This made him even more taciturn and eccentric. Coupled with his independent thinking and often shocking remarks, he naturally did not get along with those who valued moderation.

Sitting across from him was one of his few close friends, surnamed Brooks, given name Stephen, courtesy name James, from Qingshen County. He was slender, with a cold expression, and eyes as clear as water—one look and you could tell he was upright and resolute.

Stephen Brooks was not like Simon Smith, who had wasted his youth. He was strict with himself and had studied hard since childhood, but fate played tricks on him, and his path in the imperial exams was full of setbacks.

He studied hard until he was twenty-four, and only when he felt confident did he go to take the exam. Sure enough, he passed and went to the capital, but just before the spring exam the following year, a letter arrived announcing his father’s death, and he had to return home, forced to wait for the next round.

In this dynasty, the imperial exams were not held on a fixed schedule, but according to the government’s need for officials. Sometimes they were held every year, sometimes there would be a gap of several years. Since the current emperor ascended the throne, there had been a surplus of officials, so the recent exams had been held only once every four years.

So, four years later, at the age of twenty-nine, Stephen Brooks once again passed the preliminary exam and went to the capital. But starting that year, the examiners no longer focused on the classics and policy essays, but instead emphasized ‘paired prose and tonal patterns.’ As a result, Stephen Brooks, who was not skilled in this, failed.

On his way back to Shu, he met Simon Smith, who had also failed for the same reason. The two taciturn men happened to share a cabin and could go days without saying a word. But before they disembarked, they had become the closest of friends. In the years since, they often corresponded, studying together the art of ‘paired prose and tonal patterns.’

That was why Simon Smith instructed his daughter to include practice in paired prose and tonal patterns when playing with her two younger brothers—a lesson learned from bitter experience.

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