Chapter Two: The Greatest Traitor

Time flies like a white steed passing through a crack in time.

In the blink of an eye, it had been half a month since Yang Lin arrived in the great Song dynasty. His health was gradually improving, and he was becoming familiar with every blade of grass and tree around him.

After the autumn imperial examination, scholars typically traveled to the capital before the new year to await the provincial exam.

During this period, it became the final deadline for other students to prepare their travel expenses. Except for those from very remote areas, who might receive official stipends, most had to raise their own funds.

Fortunately for Yang Lin, none of this posed a problem. In the past, he buried himself in study and paid little attention to his family’s business. But after half a month of observation, he realized he was nothing less than a genuine young master.

Yang Tong had risen from humble beginnings, with an astonishingly rapid ascent in Yangzhou. His enterprises now flourished—workshops, shops, carriage services, taverns—thriving and prosperous to the point that he was nearly among the top ten wealthy merchants in the city.

The Yang family residence, located in the eastern outskirts of Yangzhou, was not particularly large. After all, Yang Tong had only been successful for about a decade, and the family was small. Mrs. Yang had died in childbirth when giving birth to Yang Lin, leaving only father and son; the rest were servants and maidservants. The Song dynasty had no slaves; its laws explicitly forbade slavery. Instead, household servants typically signed fixed-term contracts, resembling employment relationships.

The autumn air was crisp and refreshing, with the flowers and plants in the courtyard gradually wilting and turning yellow. Bright sunshine poured in, casting patches of golden light across the garden.

On the swing frame in the courtyard, Yang Lin held a copy of the Analects, nearly dozing off while reading.

The provincial exam in the Song dynasty tested one’s understanding of the classics. Candidates were given sentences from the classics and had to compose essays elucidating their meaning. This style would later evolve into the eight-legged essays of the Ming dynasty.

Yang Lin was to take the provincial exam in the capital in early spring next year, naturally prompting him to review old lessons while learning new ones. Fortunately, he retained memories from his original life and already possessed a certain level of examination skill.

Bored to tears, Yang Lin truly felt the tediousness of a scholar’s life in the old days. This era was severely lacking in entertainment; there was not even the chance to read a single copy of the infamous Golden Lotus. Trapped in this small courtyard every day, he was nearly going mad.

He covered his face with the book, his mind wandering aimlessly, when suddenly he heard stealthy footsteps.

“Stop right there!” Without even looking, Yang Lin knew it was his maid, Jin’er. Putting down the book, sure enough, it was her. The little maid carried a basket, wearing a tight-fitting green short-sleeved jacket over a close-fitting half-arm garment, with two innocent, adorable twin buns atop her head. Hearing Yang Lin’s call, Jin’er froze, still tiptoeing as if sneaking around.

“Hehe, young master, you’re awake?”

In his previous life, Yang Lin was a man of upright virtue, respected by all. Even his personal maid was unafraid of him, instead harboring a brotherly admiration.

Yang Lin snorted coldly, deliberately putting on a stern expression. “Where are you going?”

“Now that the water caltrops are ripe, Sister Chunhua from the neighboring Chen household invited me to pick them. Young master, wait for me to come back and cook some for you.”

Hearing this, Yang Lin thought that picking water caltrops while boating sounded far more romantic than reading the Analects here. Smiling, he said, “What’s so fun about following the village belle to pick water caltrops? Why not come with me? Let me prepare, and we’ll go together.”

Jin’er covered her mouth to giggle. “Her name’s Chunhua, not village belle. Young master sure knows how to tease. Following you sounds great, but you’re about to take your big exam soon—isn’t it better to stay home and study?”

“To be worldly-wise is knowledge; to understand human nature is literature. I, young master, am well-versed in the classics. What need have I for these books? Staying cooped up at home teaches nothing.”

Dressed in a white robe and holding a bone fan, Yang Lin spun around and asked, “So, how do I look as your young master?”

Jin’er noticed that the young master seemed a little different from before but attributed it to the aftereffects of his recent illness and didn’t think much of it. She laughed brightly, “Young master, you’re handsome and dashing. Let’s hurry before it’s too late to return.”

Yang Lin tucked the fan into his waist. At this time of late autumn, only a fool would actually use a fan. He patted Jin’er’s twin buns and smiled, “What identity does the young master have? There’s no way I’d walk. Go quickly and tell Yang San to prepare the carriage.”

Jin’er cheered and hopped away to fetch the carriage. Yang Lin stretched lazily, looked up at the sky, and felt a flutter of excitement. After all this time, he was finally going out to see the world of the great Song.

Autumn’s heart is serene, wading through water to view the green lotus. Songs drift from the boat girl’s tune; dances enter the southern strings.

Outside Yangzhou city lay Baozhang Lake, known in later times as the northern section of Slender West Lake, also called the Nine-Bend Pond.

Three or five small boats floated on the lake, carrying city folk out to boat and pick lotus.

This season was when water caltrops released their fragrance. Within the Nine-Bend Pond, acres of lotus flowers stretched to the horizon—the green leaves endless—alongside ripe water caltrops, attracting young girls who bent and knelt to gather them, creating a uniquely charming scene. Occasionally, clear and lovely singing floated over the water; those familiar knew it was wealthy families touring the lake with their courtesans.

Yang Lin sat at the bow, mesmerized by the Jiangnan scenery. Little Jin’er’s small arms and legs moved skillfully, and soon her basket was full to bursting.

“Brother Wenyuan!” Suddenly, a shout came from the boat next to theirs. At first, Yang Lin ignored it, but when the calls persisted, he recalled that his courtesy name was Wenyuan.

Standing up and turning, he saw several scholars at the bow of the neighboring boat waving and calling out.

It was clear Yang Lin was well-liked; after all, he was wealthy and generous, quietly footing expenses in the academy. Moreover, he was a scholar with strict self-discipline—no bad habits to be found—making him difficult to dislike.

The two boats docked side by side, and Yang Lin, with Jin’er, boarded the other vessel. A quick glance revealed at least dozens aboard this painted pleasure boat. There were maidservants, singers, scholars, and officials—clearly a gathering of newly minted examination candidates.

At the center stood a middle-aged man, complexion as white as jade, hair and beard flowing. He did not rise when Yang Lin boarded. Around him clustered scholars and officials. Yang Lin recognized him at once: Cai Jing, the magistrate of Yangzhou, who would later become notorious as the foremost of the six treacherous ministers of the Northern Song dynasty. This old man was destined to dominate Emperor Huizong’s court for decades, though at present, he had yet to rise to prominence.

Yang Lin’s eyes brightened. A cold stove had been handed to him by heaven—one who did not use it would defy fate. As the saying went, “Heaven gives but does not take; to refuse is to invite disaster.”

He had no time for pleasantries with fellow scholars and instead clasped his fists, saying, “Student Yang Lin pays respects to Your Excellency.”

Judging from his countenance alone, Cai Jing gave no hint of villainy; he even bore the refined bearing of a gentleman. Laughing lightly, he said, “Wenyuan, no need for formalities. You’re the top scorer of this exam. We were just about to rely on you to raise the spirits of Yangzhou’s scholars and bring home the laurels.”

Yang Lin inwardly mused that if he wanted to make a mark in the great Song, he would have to depend on this crafty minister in the coming years. As for loyalty or treachery, that mattered less.

To truly aspire to be an honest official, clean and incorruptible, might never grant entrance to the court. When iron hooves marched south, powerless officials faced death with only empty reputations left behind—utterly useless. A true man born in troubled times cannot go a day without power.

“I will devote myself wholeheartedly and not disgrace Your Excellency,” Yang Lin pledged.

Cai Jing’s expression shifted slightly. He had heard this boy was a pedantic scholar, yet he spoke quite well.

Yang Lin continued, “I have heard the Emperor greatly admires Your Excellency’s literary talent and charm—masterful in both calligraphy and painting. I dare boldly predict you will be appointed soon. Allow me to congratulate you in advance.”

Such unusual words naturally carried meaning. Cai Jing’s heart skipped a beat. His hand holding the wine cup trembled slightly. When he looked at Yang Lin again, he raised an eyebrow subtly. Yet he said lightly, “The Emperor’s court is filled with talented men; how could a disgraced old official like me be chosen? Wenyuan, do not speak presumptuously.”

Since the accession of Prince Duan to the throne, strange things had been happening. This new top scorer was cautious and would not speak so boldly without cause. Cai Jing could not help but be stirred.

Could this boy have some connection?

The eagerness in his eyes nearly overflowed. Though his words seemed modest, they bore a hint of inquiry. Yang Lin understood and, after seating himself, turned to Jin’er and said, “Go to the boat’s edge and call Yang San. I’ll disembark and ask my father to prepare a generous gift. Tell him tonight I am going to pay a visit to the magistrate.”