Although Liu Bei had read countless classics in the past, his understanding of them was limited to rote memorization.
He didn’t truly grasp their essence.
‘What did these classics mean? What stories lay behind them? Under what circumstances were certain lines written?’ Liu Bei had no idea.
He was like a spoiled rich kid gorging himself at a banquet—he swallowed everything without knowing how the food was made or what it actually tasted like.
Someone like him might become an official one day, but his perspective would be extremely narrow.
If he encountered a situation similar to one he had faced before—like the case Mengde had just shown him—he might be able to sense that something was off using intuition.
But what if he faced something entirely unfamiliar? Without the knowledge and insight found in books to guide him, wouldn’t he be completely lost, unable to even tell when he was being deceived?
How could someone like that possibly become a good official?
Sure, his current level of knowledge might be enough to impress other privileged youths.
But that’s all it could do—fool other privileged youths.
Could he use such shallow learning to deceive the common people? If he did, did he really deserve to call himself a good official?
Now that he understood his teacher’s words, Liu Bei was overcome with shame.
***
Meanwhile, after lecturing the two Yuan brothers, Miss Mengde waved her hand at the three of them, signaling them to step outside.
She had work to do.
The documents spread across her desk were all official court records—absolutely not for outsiders to see.
After all, these files detailed major issues from across the empire.
If certain information were to leak out, it could easily spark chaos.
It was just like what happened with Emperor Huan’s planned general amnesty.
A seemingly minor policy—once the eunuchs caught wind of it—triggered a series of disastrous events across the provinces.
It even led to the first Disaster of the Partisan Prohibition.
The aftermath was like kicking the already fragile foundation of the Han dynasty.
That one incident probably shaved at least a decade off the empire’s lifespan.
Yuan Shao, Yuan Shu, and Liu Bei might barely be trustworthy in Mengde’s eyes, but to the imperial court, the three of them were complete nobodies.
Showing them that case from Qing Province had already been a major exception.
She couldn’t afford to make another mistake.
‘As for herself?’
‘Was she an outsider?’
‘Let’s not forget—she was the daughter of Minister of Works Cao Song.’
‘Helping her father review government documents? That was just being a dutiful daughter!’
According to the Han dynasty’s core value of governing through filial piety, she should absolutely be nominated as a “filial and incorrupt” official one day.
She might even end up at the top of the Twenty-Four Filial Exemplars!
The thought alone nearly moved Mengde to tears.
***
After being chased out of the study by Mengde, Yuan Shao, Yuan Shu, and Liu Bei sat down with some of their hangers-on in the courtyard outside.
They casually shared stories about recent experiences.
Thanks to his silver tongue, Liu Bei quickly became the center of attention—his jokes had everyone laughing out loud.
Before long, Miss Mengde’s eldest brother, Cao Bin, arrived.
Seeing so many guests in the house, he quickly ordered the servants to prepare tea and snacks, and apologized for his sister’s rudeness.
Yuan Shao laughed and waved it off, assuring him they didn’t mind at all.
Inside the study, Miss Mengde’s mind was working like a high-speed computer.
Data from every commandery and county in the Han Empire was arranged like spreadsheets in her head, ready to be accessed with a single thought.
While reviewing the files in her hands, she pulled information from her mental database and used it to produce the most accurate, appropriate responses for each issue.
As for the documents that contained errors, she immediately rejected them and demanded an explanation.
With nationwide data stored in her mind, she could spot any mistake in a document with just a glance.
Roughly an hour later, Mengde finally finished processing the stack of files piled on her desk.
“Mm…!”
She leaned back and stretched.
The motion accentuated the faint curves of her still-developing body—but unfortunately, there was no one around to appreciate it.
“Whew!”
Letting out a long sigh, the girl lowered her arms, stood up, opened the door, and stepped out of the study.
She addressed Yuan Shao and the others waiting outside.
“All done! Let’s go have some fun!”
***
Women during the Han and Tang periods still enjoyed a fair amount of freedom—at least enough to go outside and be seen in public.
It wasn’t until the Song and Ming dynasties that they were gradually confined to life indoors as “proper young ladies.”
What’s more, in this version of the Han dynasty, the presence of a phenomenon known as the Mandated Woman made things even more unique.
Thanks to that, women in this world could participate in politics.
For example, the talented scholar Ban Zhao—who in the real Eastern Han only taught women—in this timeline had once served as the Shangshu Ling (Minister of Personnel), and with the regent Empress Dowager Dou, helped restore the ailing Han dynasty for over a decade.
Together, they pulled it back from its decline.
Even within the Sikun Office under Cao Song, there were quite a few female officials.
Still, while women in this world could become officials, the overall situation was similar to Mengde’s past life.
Women were allowed in government, but most were stuck in low- to mid-level roles.
The court’s higher positions remained dominated by men.
So Mengde wasn’t worried about suddenly running into any other gender-bent figures like herself in this world—apart from her role as the Mandated Woman.
Only one Mandated Woman appeared per era.
‘Tch… Why does that somehow feel even more depressing?’
‘Of all people, why did it have to be me?’
Mengde sighed inwardly with resignation.
Meanwhile, Yuan Shao and the others approached once they saw her come out.
“All done with the paperwork?”
“All done,” Mengde replied with a shrug.
She turned to her older brother, Cao Bin, standing nearby.
“Yo! Binbin!”
Cao Bin gave her a resigned look, clearly used to her antics.
“I’m called Cao Bin, not Binbin. And call me Da Xiong—big brother. Thanks.”
“Got it, Binbin. No problem, Binbin. Don’t be so lame, Binbin.”
Mengde grinned as she delivered her triple-hit of “Binbin” teasingly.
Seeing her brother’s helpless expression, she felt her mood lift again—just moments ago, she had been sulking over being the only one in this world who’d undergone a gender swap.
She gave Cao Bin a quick reminder.
“Da Xiong, I’ve finished Father’s paperwork. When he gets back, have him check it over in case I missed anything.”
“Got it.”
Cao Bin nodded, already well-accustomed to this routine.
For the past two years, Mengde had been helping manage much of Cao Song’s official business, so Cao Bin was familiar with the whole process.
At first, Cao Song had flat-out refused to let Mengde handle his government affairs.
After all, he was one of the Three Excellencies of the court, responsible for state matters.
‘How could he possibly hand that over to a teenage girl?’
But Mengde had been persistent, wearing him down with endless coaxing.
Eventually, Cao Song reluctantly let her take over just one batch of work—and was stunned to find that not only did his daughter process things faster than he did, but her methods, once implemented, actually produced better results?
Cao Song had to swallow the bitter truth: his ability to govern was seemingly worse than that of his teenage daughter.
From that day on, he started handing over all official duties to Mengde and began enjoying the carefree life of retirement—spending his days drinking and chatting with fellow scholars.