In the seventeenth year of the Kaihuang era, I wrote my will in the examination hall.

Chapter 13 Thunder and Rain, All are the Emperor's Grace

Sweat mixed with cold sweat trickled down my forehead and into my eyes, stinging painfully.

Yang Yan's consciousness began to blur, but his mind remained unusually clear.

He is counting.

11...12...

He cannot make a sound, not even a single utterance.

This was not merely punishment, but a silent game of strategy. Yang Jian was watching, Dugu Jialuo was watching, and even the old eunuch Yang Yue, who had just left, was listening in the shadows.

If he cries out, he'll truly be just an arrogant youth; only if he withstands the pressure will he be qualified to become a pawn on this chessboard.

Fifteen...Eighteen...

"Snapped!"

"Execution complete—!"

The Thousand Bull Guard put away his long staff, glanced at the boy who was lying on the torture bench, almost exhausted, and for the first time, a hint of admiration flashed in his eyes.

Twenty strokes of the cane would have made even an ordinary soldier howl in pain, but this pampered young prince didn't utter a sound.

"Your Highness, please forgive me."

Yang Yan gasped for breath, his chest heaving violently, each breath accompanied by a tearing pain in his back.

He trembled as he loosened his already stiff fingers, his fingernails filled with wood shavings he had picked off.

"No...it's nothing."

Yang Yan squeezed out two words through gritted teeth, his voice hoarse.

He refused Qianniuwei's help, and struggled to his feet, using both hands and feet to support himself on the stool.

……

When Yang Yan returned to Daxing Palace, he looked rather miserable.

Although he had put his outer robe back on, his pale face and the cold sweat covering his forehead showed just how severe the twenty lashes had been.

Yang Yan walked respectfully to the imperial desk and knelt down again.

This time, because of the injury to his buttocks, the kneeling motion was much slower than before.

"Grandson...thanks to the Emperor Grandfather for the punishment."

Yang Jian finally put down his vermilion brush.

He raised his head, and for the first time, his cloudy old eyes lacked the sinister look of someone scrutinizing prey, but instead held a subtle, undetectable depth.

He looked at his grandson, who was kneeling upright even though he was trembling slightly from the pain.

He's a ruthless guy.

Like the Yang family's offspring.

He's much better than Yang Yong, who only knows how to drink and cry.

"It's good that you know you were wrong."

He waved his hand: "Go back. Heal your injuries, behave yourself from now on, read more classic texts, and stop thinking about unorthodox methods. If I find out you've misbehaved again, next time it won't be as simple as thirty lashes."

Yang Yan looked up abruptly, his eyes filled with disbelief.

That's... all? What about the roll? Weren't you going to teach me a lesson? Why aren't you checking it out anymore?

After enduring such a severe beating, all I got in return was a "read more classic texts"?

What a joke!

Yang Yan opened his mouth, wanting to ask for clarification.

He wanted to ask Yang Jian, "Did you understand? Did you understand the crisis facing the Sui Dynasty?"

But he saw the look in Yang Jian's eyes.

It was a kind of extreme fatigue, and also a kind of silent rejection.

"...Grandson, as you command."

Yang Yan finally swallowed all his resentment and kowtowed heavily.

He struggled to his feet, each movement aggravating the wound on his back, causing him to break out in a cold sweat from the pain.

He bowed and retreated step by step until he reached the entrance of the main hall. A gust of cold wind blew, and the wound on his buttocks burned painfully, but it also instantly cleared his mind.

Why?

He asked himself the same question over and over again.

Since Yang Jian didn't kill him, it means he recognized his talent. If he recognized it, why didn't he ask for advice, but instead beat him up and called it "heretical"?

"Read more classic texts...and dabble less in unorthodox methods..."

Yang Yan muttered to himself, then suddenly stopped in his tracks.

A flash of lightning struck my mind.

He turned sharply and looked at the palace that stood majestically like a mountain in the night.

At this moment, he finally understood Yang Jian's meaning.

What was the core message of that exam paper? It was "faith".

It is a contract between the court and the people, and a trust between the monarch and his subjects.

In Yang Jian's view, it was a breach of trust and a "heretical" act for a grandson of the emperor born out of wedlock to offer advice by disguising himself and deceiving the examiners.

It's ironic that you use "deception" to talk about "trustworthiness".

Yang Jian's beating of him was a way of telling him: to accomplish anything, you must first be a good person. If you want to govern a country, you must first walk the right path.

Yang Yan had already stepped one foot across the threshold.

"Just like that, you left?"

Yang Jian's saying, "Read more classic texts and seldom ponder unorthodox methods," sounds like the advice of an elder, but it was actually a political death sentence. This meant that in Yang Jian's mind, Yang Yan was still a clever but unruly person who couldn't be of any real use.

Once you step out of that door, tonight's gamble will only be half won—you'll save your life, but lose your "momentum."

In this era of absolute imperial power, without the emperor's favor, once Yang Guang and his old schemers recovered, killing a disfavored imperial grandson would be easier than crushing an ant.

"No! We can't just leave like this!"

"The so-called 'unorthodox methods' are simply because my methods don't match my theories. I'm going to tear off this 'dishonest' label and turn it into a stepping stone for my advancement!"

Yang Yan's foot, which had stepped out of the threshold, froze in mid-air before he withdrew it.

He turned around, but the movement was too big, which aggravated the wound on his back, causing his facial muscles to twitch in pain.

Amidst the astonished gazes of the Imperial Guards and eunuchs, the young man, who had just received twenty strokes of the cane and could barely stand, strode back to the center of the main hall.

"thump!"

Yang Yan didn't even have time to cushion the impact; his knee slammed heavily onto the hard gold brick.

The sound of the impact was particularly jarring in the hall.

Ignoring the ache and numbness in his knees and the tearing pain in his back, he pressed his forehead against the cold ground, his voice hoarse yet filled with resolute sincerity: "Grandfather! Your grandson cannot leave!"

Yang Jian was about to open another memorial when Yang Yan interrupted him. He raised his eyelids, looked at his grandson who had returned, frowned slightly, and said with obvious impatience, "What? Twenty strokes of the cane aren't enough? Or do you want me to give you another beating and then carry you back?"

Dugu Jialuo, who was standing to the side, also put down her teacup, her phoenix eyes narrowed slightly, her gaze scrutinizing.

Yang Yan didn't raise his head, his forehead pressed tightly against the floor tiles, his voice echoing in the hall: "Grandson is not begging for mercy, much less seeking a reward. My 'I know my guilt' just now was nothing but a perfunctory attempt to downplay my guilt, a ruse to deceive you! Grandson has lied to His Majesty!"

"Oh?"

Upon hearing this, Yang Jian's hand, which was turning the pages of the memorial, froze in mid-air.

That's a new term.

In this grand hall, countless officials have knelt, some crying out for justice, some expressing gratitude, and some begging for mercy, but no one has ever come back to say that their confession was "insincere."

Only now did Yang Yan truly grasp the core rules of this era: it not only demands "what you say," but also examines "your identity and the manner in which you say it." All his previous calculations were based on the logic of "efficiency" and "results" in modern society, but here, "procedural justice" and "legitimate status" are themselves part of power.

This beating not only shattered his physical pride, but also stripped away that incompatible mental shell.