HE With the Cold Male Protagonist C60

Chapter 60: First Place, Driven to Madness

The crowd before the results board was packed like sardines—some had sent servants or pages to look, others had been loitering there just for the bustle, and the rest, nervous candidates desperate for their fate. They shoved and jostled with no trace of scholarly decorum, but in this moment no one cared for such things.

Even Lu Lizhi could not wholly avoid being swept up. Though he carried calm confidence in his heart, the nervous excitement of Ding Lihui and the others tugged at him, and his chest grew faintly heated, as though stoking some inner fire.

This was not just a grade—it was one small step, a necessary step, on the road to uncovering his father’s death.

At this moment, the boy who had always been reserved, who avoided conflict, suddenly used his tall frame to advantage. Amid the throng, he stood head and shoulders above, like a crane among chickens.

And in the past half year, nourished with good food and rest, though still slim, he was far from frail. Unlike other students, weak with nerves, pushed helplessly by the crowd, Lizhi had strength. With ease, he led Ding Lihui and the four of them, cutting a path through the mass.

“Lizhi, you’re so sturdy, so amazing!” Ding Lihui’s eyes shone like stars. They had strained with all their might earlier, only to be shoved farther away.

Lizhi: “…”

Just then, someone deliberately rammed into them. This shove was no accident—it was not like the others, who were simply eager to see the list, with no ill intent.

Lizhi quickly caught Ding Lihui, who had nearly landed on his backside.

In a crowd like this, falling was dangerous—those behind might trample without even seeing. Tomorrow’s retest could be ruined.

His gaze snapped to the culprit—swaggering, self-satisfied.

“Sorry, didn’t see. Some people are just too short.”

Ding Lihui’s face burned red with shame.

Lizhi lowered his eyes—and in the next instant slipped forward. With feigned casualness, he brought his heel down hard on Yu Zhijie’s foot.

“Ahhhh!” Yu screamed, face twisting with pain, wailing, “Lu! Lizhi! Don’t you dare run!”

But Lizhi was already swallowed by the crowd. Ding Lihui and the others blinked, then burst into laughter.

“So this is the real Lu Lizhi!”

“Respect, respect—that’s how it should be, stomp him flat!”

Lizhi’s lips curved ever so faintly.

At last, they reached the board. One by one, they found their seat numbers. Joy surged through their bones, tidal and unstoppable.

“We passed—we all passed the first round, this is great!”

“It’s just the first round. Half will be cut in the next, don’t get cocky, haha!”

“What about you, Lizhi? What’s yours?” Ding Lihui asked, anxious, for Lizhi had not spoken.

Lizhi’s sharp gaze fixed on the very center of the board—the place of first rank.

There, bold and clear, was his seat number.

He had passed—and taken first place.

The first round listed only numbers, not names. In the second, after the exams ended, the seals would be broken and names revealed. Then, in order, the anshou (first-ranked student) would be plain for all.

“What about Qinghong? What’s his number? Huh—he’s not in the inner circle!” The Mingli Academy students noticed with disbelief.

Among their cohort, Lu Qinghong was considered a leader. In sparring contests with other academies, he had always ranked high. Everyone thought the anshou was his without question.

But his number was shoved to the outer rim, almost excluded altogether—a sign of near rejection.

That circle marked those admitted and ranked. The closer to the center, the higher the place.

Everyone’s eyes had darted first to the very center. All assumed it was Qinghong’s. But there—written was “Eighty-three.”

“Wait—who’s Number Eighty-three!?”

“Did anyone sit nearby? Do you know who it was?”

“Is this some dark horse, or…” Their eyes flicked toward Lizhi and his companions, suspicion mounting. Could it be him again?

As Mingli students stood stunned, Lizhi slipped quietly from the raucous press of cheers and laments.

He ate a hearty lunch with Ding Lihui and the rest. If not for fear of greasy food upsetting their stomachs, they might have feasted in celebration.

“Next round—we’ll all pass again!” Ding Lihui toasted with tea.

Lizhi drained his cup to the last drop—pledging resolve.

Meanwhile, Qinghong had already learned his result.

“Lu Lizhi!” The more he thought, the less right it seemed. Perhaps that spectacle before the exam had been Lizhi’s scheme, meant to unsettle his mind, to reduce one rival—so that he could steal the anshou, and become Xiao Sanyuan.

Still, this was only the first round. As long as he advanced, the next would decide the anshou.

Just wait.

Yu Zhijie, for his part, had done slightly better than Qinghong, but not by much. His results too were pushed to the outer ring. He too had been shaken, and his performance worse than usual.

Then, unbidden, he thought of Jiang Yueming. If that man had sat the exam—what might he have scored?

He knew Yueming always hid his skill, careful not to outshine Qinghong. But in truth, his strength could not be ignored…

At that same moment, in the prefectural prison—

Locked in the foulest, filthiest cell, Jiang Yueming endured torment worse than the past months combined.

He knew too well what days these were—how momentous they had been to his former self.

And the jailers, as if deliberately cruel, never failed to mention it, describing the grandeur of the exams, the brilliance of the students—then spitting on him in contrast.

“If you hadn’t done evil, you might be there now.”

“Could’ve become a xiucai—tsk, tsk. What a pity. A fine scholar turned murderer. Good thing we caught you—else as an official you’d be a scourge!”

“Men like you deserve nothing but to rot here until you die!”

…

“Go die. You don’t deserve to test. You’d never pass anyway.”

“Ahhh! Stop, stop! I didn’t—I didn’t do it! I want the exams! I need to sit the exams…”

The cell that had been quiet erupted in his mad shouting. Other prisoners, used to it, only sneered.

“Another fit.”

“Wouldn’t you go mad too? From near-xiucai to shackled wretch. Who could bear it?”

“Serves him right.” Even among criminals, contempt for him was bitter.

Each sneer washed over him like waves. Shackled, he lay collapsed on the straw, hair matted, twitching, curled like a lunatic.

“I am not—I am a xiucai… I must pass, be an official, defy fate, trample them all beneath my feet.”

As he muttered deliriously, the sound of chains unlocking came from the gate. At once, every prisoner grew tense.

At such an hour, it could mean beating, execution—or perhaps… a chance of rescue?

Hu Yaowei was first to stir, eyes bulging, fingers white on the bars.

The first door swung open. Hearts clenched tight.

A shaft of light spilled in, illuminating the man entering. Dust motes swirled, outlining a face of striking beauty, his form sharply set against the damp, shadowed corridor.

He descended like a god, slow and deliberate, each step unhurried.

His bearing was proud, his stride composed—yet with a lazy, careless air, as if merely sight-seeing.

Prisoners peered from each cell, catching only glimpses, awestruck. What great man was this, so imposing? Whom had he come for?

Until Hu Yaowei’s hope plummeted to despair. His eyes bulged, and he hurled himself at the bars, shrieking.

“Jiang! Bai! Ye!”

“Quiet!” A guard’s whip lashed, striking Hu’s hand. He collapsed, trembling, staring out.

The young man beyond was resplendent in fine black robes, his tall frame and striking looks now polished to brilliance. No trace remained of the rustic boy from before.

It shouted of success, of freedom, of triumph.

“Doctor Hu, seems Second Master Qin and his lot are barely managing themselves these days.” Baiye bent slightly, gazing on him like an insect.

The words cut—mocking his downfall.

“You lie, don’t you dare!” Hu trembled.

Baiye only chuckled, as though Hu were beneath notice, and walked on, pausing before another reeking cell.

His calm in such stench won the guards’ respect.

Inside, Jiang Yueming slowly raised his head. The atmosphere stilled his mad ramblings. That towering figure struck his heart with a sharp ache—at the gulf between them.

“Long time no see, cousin.” Baiye smiled, harmless in appearance.

Yueming clutched the straw, nails digging deep. Yet unlike Hu, he did not rage. He knew—this was his last chance. He crawled forward, kneeling, forehead pounding the ground.

“Baiye, cousin, I’m sorry—I was wrong! I truly was wrong! Please, save me! Save me, I beg you! I’ll be a new man, my life is yours! I know you can—please, save me, let me out. Flay me if you must—just free me!”

Never had Yueming been so abject, debased, groveling for his cousin’s mercy.

Baiye’s face was mild, his tone almost kind. “Indeed, I could save you.”

Hope burst in Yueming’s chest.

“But… I won’t.”

The air rushed out of him, choking him. “W-what did you say?”

“I said I could save you—so easily, with but a flick of my finger.” Baiye held up his little finger. Then smiled. “But I simply won’t.”

Hope dangled before his eyes, then snatched away. The insult stung like a whip. Yueming ground his teeth, swallowing the humiliation, groveling with ever greater desperation.

Baiye let him rant until hoarse, then said lightly, “I only came to tell you—you haven’t long to live.”

On his way out, Baiye paused before Hu Yaowei’s cell, his face expressionless. “Drag him out.”

“Wait—what are you doing? Why listen to him? Don’t take me, I won’t go!” Hu’s terror was plain. In that moment, he felt the cell was his only refuge.

But he was hauled out nonetheless, dragged to the place of punishment.

There, waiting like an underworld king, was Baiye—smiling faintly, whip in hand.

“Doctor Hu, since you’ll be leaving soon, I must give you a parting gift…”