Ning Qingtian stripped himself in just a few quick motions, then quickly lay down on the bed, patted the empty space beside him, and looked at his wife, who still hadn’t moved, feeling a little puzzled.

“What’s wrong?”

The woman hesitated again and again, but in the end she gritted her teeth, took off her outer robe, and lay down beside Ning Qingtian wearing only a thin inner garment.

Seeing his wife lie down, Ning Qingtian was about to reach out and pull her into his arms.

“Don’t, I want to talk with you.”

Her voice came from beside him, and Ning Qingtian hurriedly drew his hand back, fixing his gaze on her.

Wu Qianlan’s heart was pounding wildly.

From childhood until now, she had never been this close to a man.

If her father had had other heirs, she probably would never have had the chance to inherit the throne.

Now, with no other choice, she had to share a bed with this unfamiliar man, which felt strangely new to her.

Fortunately, this man seemed somewhat afraid of her and did not dare to act rashly.

Otherwise, she really wouldn’t know what to do.

However, in this bandit stronghold, he might currently be the only one she could rely on.

At least until she confirmed her own guess.

But right now she had no ability to protect herself, and this man did not seem to know martial arts either.

If something really did happen, all she could do was sit and wait for death.

No matter what, she could not allow such a situation to occur.

Perhaps she should find a way to make this man start cultivating.

“Husband, have you ever thought about cultivating?”

Ning Qingtian had been looking at his wife.

Although they had lived together naturally as husband and wife for three years, he still thought Yan Bailu was extremely beautiful.

Especially now, lying quietly beside him, glancing over at him from the corner of her eye, she possessed an indescribable beauty.

So when he suddenly heard this question, he was stunned.

Remembering his previous attempts, he could only give a bitter smile.

“I have no talent for the martial path. As for the literary path, that might be possible, but we have no way to cultivate it.”

In the Song Kingdom, poor people could only rely on their bodies, tempering them again and again, and only those with talent could successfully set foot on the martial path.

The wealthy, or those with connections, even if they lacked talent, could still study and enter the literary path.

There were still talent requirements, but at least it allowed them to step into the privileged class.

Precisely because of this, although there were many martial masters in the Song Kingdom, real power still rested in the hands of the leaders of the literary world.

Especially twenty years ago, when Han Xuanqi, who had served as grand chancellor under three emperors, publicly declared that only those whose names were read out at Donghua Gate were true heroes.

From then on, the already declining martial path in the Song Dynasty plummeted even further.

Everyone began the journey of studying, striving to join the literary path, sit examinations, and have their names announced at Donghua Gate, then ultimately enter the literary world.

Only those from impoverished families, or those with no other options, would cultivate the martial path and temper themselves in the already-rotting armies of the Song Kingdom.

Although Yan Bailu was a third-rank martial expert, she understood nothing of the obscure literary path.

And in this remote little county, there wasn’t a single literary cultivator.

So even though Ning Qingtian could read, he had no way to cultivate the literary path.

Over the past three years, whenever Yan Bailu went down the mountain to rob, she had always tried to bring books back.

Yet no matter how Ning Qingtian pored over them, he never found any record of literary cultivation.

But hearing his wife bring the topic up again, a light suddenly flashed in Ning Qingtian’s mind.

Could it be that she had already discovered a cultivation method?

With that thought, he immediately sat up, his burning gaze locked on his wife.

Wu Qianlan had been hesitating over whether to share the literary cultivation method she knew, but under his fervent gaze, her hesitation vanished.

She also sat up, looked at the man before her, nodded, and said gravely, “When I broke through my realm and my spirit wandered the world, I once saw a method for cultivating the literary path.”

“Really? Tell me, quickly!”

Hearing this, Ning Qingtian grabbed her arm in excitement.

He had waited far too long for this day.

In a den of bandits like this, it was terribly difficult for an ordinary man with no strength to survive.

If he had not stayed glued to his wife’s side for the past three years, always under her protection, he would probably have died with not even his bones left.

She glanced at him, and Ning Qingtian realized what he was doing and quickly released her arm.

The woman put on her outer robe, got out of bed, and walked over to sit at the table.

Seeing this, Ning Qingtian hurried after her, sat to one side, and stared at her expectantly.

“In truth, entering the literary path is both difficult and simple. You only need to write a ‘true’ character that you yourself feel is worth writing, and have it recognized by heaven and earth.”

Wu Qianlan’s gaze rested on the man in front of her.

She did not know what kind of talent her current “husband” possessed.

“That simple?”

Ning Qingtian was even more excited when he heard this. It was just writing characters.

Sure enough, in this world all things are easy for those who understand and impossible for those who do not.

“It is that simple, but not everyone can gain the recognition of heaven and earth.”

Seeing how relaxed he seemed, Wu Qianlan could not help pouring a little cold water on him.

Ning Qingtian waved his hand, indicating that he understood.

He immediately took out the brush and paper he usually kept prepared, ground the ink, spread out the rice paper, then stood before the table with brush in hand, expression solemn.

As a liberal-arts student who had studied all kinds of poetry and prose before transmigrating, he had practiced brush calligraphy, and had copied so many famous calligraphers’ works he had lost count.

Yet now, at the moment that would decide his fate, he did not know what to write.

From what he had learned over the past three years, this world had a culture similar in style to his previous one, but it was fundamentally different.

Should he write poetry, essays, or classical prose? The Four Books and Five Classics? Or the Book of Changes, the Lisao?

After pondering for a long time, he still couldn’t decide.

Just as the ink on the tip of his brush was about to drip, a sudden inspiration struck him.

He remembered the Thousand Character Classic his father had bought him when he first practiced writing as a child.

Without any hesitation, just as the first drop of thick ink was about to fall, he brought the brush down in a sweeping stroke.

Heaven and earth, mysterious and profound; the universe, vast and ancient.
The sun and moon wax and wane; the stars and constellations spread across the sky.

As the sixteen vigorous characters fell onto the paper, the night sky above suddenly flared with the light of the Big Dipper.

At the first star of the dipper’s bowl, where the handle met the ladle, the Wenqu Star—the star that governs literature and scholarly talent—sent down a beam of light.

With Wenqu Star descending into the world, in that instant, the entire realm was shaken.