Chapter 117: Autumn Longing, Bright Moon, Mid-Autumn

Ning Zheng Yi was momentarily stunned, then asked, “Are you confident?”

He didn’t understand why Xu Zijian had previously insisted they would lose, but now claimed they could win.

Xu Zijian merely smiled enigmatically and said, “It’s almost certain.”

After that, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Shen Xian, who was helping the young mother carry dishes. “He…”

Xu Zijian intended to ask Ning Zheng how he knew Shen Xian, but before he could finish, he was interrupted.

Ning Zheng assumed he was about to ask who Shen Xian was, so he quickly replied, “Just an ordinary friend of Ning Cai’s, here to help today.”

Xu Zijian’s eyes brightened upon hearing this and he ventured, “Since he’s already brought home, is there a chance those two kids might… develop something?”

If Ning Zheng could secure Shen Xian’s help to establish the research institute, it would be a monumental political achievement!

It might even earn him a promotion!

Don’t underestimate that half-step promotion—it’s a world apart.

In “In the Name of the People,” Zhao Ruilong’s father, Zhao Lichun, was a vice-national level official; a half-step promotion beyond that would change the story’s title to “In the Name of Ruilong.”

Ning Zheng now sought such a promotion, relying not only on the formidable momentum within the Ning family but also on a significant political accomplishment to show to the public.

A national classical culture research institute fit that purpose perfectly.

Once established, it would be promoted nationwide, complete with teaching resources to extend its influence to schools everywhere.

“Who’s the judge tonight?” Xu Zijian asked.

“Mr. Yan Shi,” Ning Zheng replied.

Xu Zijian gasped softly, “Wow…”

Mr. Zhou Yan Shi, a venerable elder of ninety, had once participated in the compilation and promotion of simplified characters and contributed greatly to the nation’s literacy campaign in the ’60s and ’70s.

“Upon hearing about this event, he volunteered, saying he was tired of opera and wanted to join the fun tonight,” Ning Zheng said with a wry smile.

Bang, bang, bang.

The sound of car doors opening and closing came from outside.

“He must be here,” Ning Zheng said.

“Let’s go greet him,” he added, walking over to Jiang Tianji. “Come, let’s welcome Mr. Yan Shi together.”

Jiang Tianji’s expression immediately turned solemn, showing a rare look of respectful reverence. “Let’s go!”

Soon, Ning Zheng and Xu Zijian were escorting a sprightly elderly man in traditional Tang attire into the room.

Although ninety years old, the old man’s steps were steady, his posture upright, his hair snowy white but not frail, and his eyes clear and sharp.

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“I’ve always wanted to visit Mr. Yan Shi, but these years abroad with lectures have kept me busy,” Jiang Tianji said, showing great respect.

Zhou Yan Shi was not only highly accomplished academically but also fluent in seven languages, with profound expertise in classical literature.

His discerning eye could evaluate Tang poetry, Song ci, and Yuan drama with exceptional skill, and he had helped compile and publish collections like “Three Hundred Tang Poems” and “Tang Poems, Song Ci, Yuan Drama.”

Of course, the “Three Hundred Tang Poems” and “Tang Poems, Song Ci, Yuan Drama” in this world differed from those on Earth.

This world lacked Li Bai, Su Shi, and Du Fu.

Compared to Earth, history here diverged starting from the Qin and Han dynasties; many famous figures from Earth simply never existed here.

Shen Xian was not involved in classical literature circles and did not know who Zhou Yan Shi was; he quietly continued helping the young mother with the dishes.

Meanwhile, the foreign research institute members all lowered their posture and greeted Zhou Yan Shi with deep respect.

“It’s been years since I last saw Ning Cai. She’s grown so much,” Zhou Yan Shi said kindly upon seeing Ning Cai.

“Hello, Grandfather Zhou!” Ning Cai greeted politely.

Zhou Yan Shi’s gaze swept the room but did not linger on Shen Xian.

Though handsome, Shen Xian was carrying plates, and Zhou assumed he was just a helper called in by the young mother.

“Ning Cai, go to your room and bring out that jar of fine wine,” Ning Zheng instructed.

Ning Cai nodded and said to Shen Xian, “Come help me move it.”

Shen Xian responded quietly and followed her upstairs.

Ning Cai’s room was on the second floor. Though she seldom returned, it was kept neat and tidy—clearly the young mother’s handiwork.

Upon entering, Ning Cai didn’t immediately fetch the wine but instead looked at a photo.

The picture showed a delicate woman holding a young Ning Cai—likely her biological mother.

“This is my birth mother. She passed away over ten years ago,” Ning Cai said softly, her eyes tinged with wistful longing.

This revealed the young mother’s greatness—she tolerated that photo placed on the bedside table all this time.

“In fact, my young mother and my birth mother were very close, like sisters,” Ning Cai sat on the bed, looking around. “The day my mother died, I cried and told my father I had no mother anymore.”

“Later, my young mother came, held me, and said, ‘Cai Cai, don’t cry. From now on, I’ll be your mother.’”

“But she cried too.”

She recounted this calmly, yet her tone carried gratitude, remembrance, and a hint of sadness.

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“Come to think of it, it’s been almost two years since I last visited my birth mother. Since the young mother came, my memories of her have grown faint… The place where she rests is beautiful, with rows of green pine trees on high ground—it probably isn’t cold there, just a bit far from here.”

“My father said they met during their time as sent-down youth in the northwest, and they always had a good relationship.”

Shen Xian interrupted her reverie: “Let’s go—don’t keep Secretary Ning waiting. Where’s the wine?”

Ning Cai pointed under the bed, where several five-pound jars of white liquor were stored, well sealed—likely saved for her wedding day.

But with Mr. Zhou Yan Shi visiting today, Ning Zheng had taken one jar out to serve him.

Shen Xian and Ning Cai each carried a jar—ten pounds total—and headed downstairs.

Everyone was already seated. The young mother had taken off her apron and sat beside Ning Zheng.

“Come, Xiao Shen, sit here,” she said quickly upon seeing Shen Xian come down, pulling him to a seat beside Ning Cai.

The large table could easily seat twenty without feeling cramped, and it was clear there were two distinct camps.

The domestic group sat together, led by Ning Zheng, and the foreign group sat together, led by Jiang Tianji—an unmistakable divide.

Zhou Yan Shi occupied the center seat, smiling warmly at everyone.

The task of pouring wine was entrusted to Wu Qiong, a Bruneian, who handled it with elegant etiquette.

Zhou Yan Shi looked at him with a hint of admiration.

He knew this young man came from a wealthy family—not fabulously rich, but wealthy enough to be listed on Forbes. Such a second-generation rich heir focusing on classical literature was quite rare.

Among the domestic youth, those from wealthy families either wasted time wandering like Su Rulong or, like Qi Zhengqing, spent their days surrounded by women.

Those with talent and family resources were often sent into politics.

“Mr. Zhou, I toast to you!” Jiang Tianji was the first to stand, bowed deeply before Zhou Yan Shi, and drained his cup.

Zhou Yan Shi, appreciating the fine wine, sipped gently.

Jiang Tianji returned to his seat and said, “Secretary Ning, my intentions today are clear. If you demonstrate sufficient strength, we will invest five billion yuan to build a research institute here. There will also be ongoing financial support. The materials compiled by the institute will be distributed nationwide, incorporating classical literature into primary, secondary, and even higher education curricula.”

“Since tonight is the Mid-Autumn Festival, I’ll start with a theme: the bright moon, autumn thoughts, or Mid-Autumn itself. You may compose poetry, lyrics, or even music. Mr. Zhou will be the judge. How does that sound?”

Ning Zheng’s heart trembled at these words.

It has begun!