An ordinary diviner at the Divination Commission. She would never slack off in slacking off.
Following her parents' wishes, Qingque qualified for the Divination Commission, but the relaxing post she was expecting was in fact a brutal, high-intensity workplace.
After several years of work, Qingque has honed her skills — no matter which department she's transferred to, she's still the lowest-leveled diviner.
She would browse books and play ancient tile games to wile away the hours… What more could one ask for than a life like this?

The legend of Qingque begins at the lyceum.

From the time of Qingque's freshman year right through to her graduation, whenever exam grades were announced, the word Qingque was always followed by a number written out in full: 60, with no exception.

At first, her tutors thought that Qingque was just an average talent unsuitable for academia, so they didn't delve too deeply into things. However, as the same number kept turning up in the examination records, her tutors began to suspect that this wasn't a coincidence at all.

Very soon, having long conversations with the tutors became a common occurrence for Qingque. Anyone familiar with this kind of sophistry will recognize that handful of sayings: At first, she's “quiet and well-behaved,” or “gifted.” Then, later on, the tone will shift to blame, “A pity that big brain of yours is going to waste,” before the grand finale: “If only you could dedicate such ingenuity to your studies, then blah blah blah…”

But Qingque knew the kind of life she wanted far better than her tutors do. She kept repeating “Oh, yes yes yes,” and “Mmm, sure sure sure,” before turning straight around to fall asleep at her desk, and just scraping by during the next exam — this was how Qingque responded to the coercion and threats of her tutors.

They finally ran out of patience with her. In the end, they could only leave behind a resentful message in her yearbook:

“It'd be difficult for her to achieve greatness.”