The idler hunched his neck when the butcher bellowed at him.
He took no offense. Instead, he grabbed the bowl from the table and gulped down a hearty mouthful.
“Ah, that hits the spot!”
The rough tea went down, and the idler let out a satisfied belch.
He casually tugged off the battered felt hat perched on his head.
Dozens of pairs of eyes were fixed on him, all simmering with irritation at having their storytelling interrupted.
The idler leaned forward and deliberately lowered his voice. “It’s not the court trying to arrest anyone! The news came from the Brightmoon Pavilion! His Highness the First Prince has announced that he will host a Deer Cry Banquet at the Brightmoon Pavilion. The invitations are going to the top-ranking candidates from this year’s metropolitan examination! I hear the outstanding candidates from the various prefectures and provinces have been invited as well!”
The moment those words were spoken, the noisy teahouse fell so silent that one could hear a pin drop.
“Really?!”
The butcher’s anger vanished at once, replaced by a face full of gossip.
The laborer sitting on the threshold suddenly stood up.
In previous years, once the autumn examinations were posted, the capital’s customary procedure was for the Prefect of Shuntian to make a formal appearance, set out a few simple tables of food outside the prefectural office, award several jars of rice wine, and offer the students a few words of encouragement. That was the end of it.
But had the winds changed this year?
The First Prince was personally hosting a banquet!
These common folk, who spent their days scraping by in the streets and haggling over every last coin, had never witnessed such extraordinary imperial favor.
The majesty of the imperial clan had once existed only in the plays they listened to. Now it had truly and palpably descended upon ordinary scholars.
“What are you making such a fuss about? What country bumpkins…” came a slow, aged voice from the corner.
An old licentiate with graying hair and a patched scholar’s robe sat there, idly rolling a chipped teacup between his fingers.
He swept his gaze over the crude men around him, all of them wearing expressions of astonishment.
“Old Scholar, you understand these matters?” The butcher edged closer.
The old licentiate lifted his tea, took a sip, and smacked his lips twice. “The Great Qian established its examination system at the founding of the dynasty. It follows the ‘Autumn Examination Tribute System.’ Do you think the Provincial Laureate, the provincial runner-up, and the Classic Laureate are merely ordinary successful candidates?”
The old licentiate gave a cold laugh and tapped the tabletop with one finger. “Those three are called ‘Tribute Scholars.’ They are exempted directly from the fierce competition of next year’s metropolitan examination. So long as they pass the verification conducted by the Censorate and the Ministry of Rites—where their household registers and guarantors are checked for fraud—then at next year’s palace examination, they will go straight to the imperial court, holding their yellow credentials as they answer the emperor’s questions!”
At this, a deep mixture of envy and resentment appeared in the old licentiate’s murky eyes.
“What is the First Prince trying to do? He’s personally stepping in to win over these few men who are certain to enter the Hanlin Academy! The status of the host of this banquet is weighty enough to crush a man!”
The idler clicked his tongue repeatedly, then let out a long sigh.
“That Zheng from the Xingyang Zheng clan, Zheng, the Provincial Laureate, and Xu from the Xu household, Xu, the provincial runner-up—attending a prince’s banquet is only fitting for men of their standing.” The idler rubbed his reddened nose. “But just think about the third-place Classic Laureate! A fellow named Niu Dazhuang! He’s nothing but a rough farmer who digs in the soil back in Wanping County!”
The moment Niu Dazhuang was mentioned, the atmosphere in the teahouse exploded.
“Damn it! I went to Wanping to collect pigs a while back, and I saw him myself! With that build, he could carry two hundred pounds of manure and still stride like he was taking a leisurely walk!”
“He’s just a village bumpkin, yet not only has he been exempted from the metropolitan examination and given a direct path to an audience with the emperor—now even the First Prince is laying out a banquet and courteously inviting him to take a seat of honor!”
The tea drinkers looked at one another, unable to conceal the envy and astonishment in their eyes.
A mud-legged farmer whose family had tilled the soil for generations had vaulted straight through the Dragon Gate!
His ancestors’ graves must have been smoking with incense!
…
Outside the capital, in Niu Family Village of Wanping County.
Three full days had passed since the examination results were posted.
The withered-branch fence outside Niu Dazhuang’s precarious home had long since been trampled beyond recognition by visitors from every direction.
Several household servants from local gentry families, dressed in brocade-padded robes, were rolling up their trouser legs as they picked their way through the mud, each holding aloft a different congratulatory gift.
The dilapidated thatched cottage belonging to Niu Dazhuang’s family had long since run out of room.
Basket after basket of fine white flour tied with red silk, newly milled rice, and bolts of expensive Shu brocade gleaming in the sunlight had been crammed into the already cramped house until there was barely space to put one’s feet.
The crooked old willow tree at the village entrance, dead for many years, was now bustling with activity.
Its trunk was covered with all kinds of congratulatory gifts sent by the local gentry and wealthy families:
Fat black pigs snorted and shoved against their tethers, while sturdy rams with magnificent horns bleated incessantly.
The hot, rank stench of the livestock mingled with the fragrance of cosmetics worn by wealthy merchants who had come to curry favor.
In the courtyard, two old grand chairs borrowed from the village headman’s home had been placed neatly beneath the eaves.
The county office’s household-registration clerk sat in the chair on the left, dressed in a brand-new official uniform, one leg crossed over the other. The village headman sat stiffly on the right, barely resting half his backside on the seat as he clutched a register in both hands.
The clerk reached out, grabbed a handful of shelled peanuts from the table, and stuffed them into his mouth. Then he picked up the aged wine specially bestowed by the county magistrate and took a sip.
“Dazhuang!” the clerk called, exhaling a breath heavy with alcohol as he cast a sidelong glance at the man standing below the steps.
Niu Dazhuang was enormous, standing there like half a wall.
He wore a newly made blue cotton scholar’s robe.
The fabric was good cloth sent by one of the visitors, but the elderly tailor who had made it had failed to account for Dazhuang’s size. Not only was the robe far too short, it was also stretched tight across his body.
The garment seemed to restrain the knots of muscle bulging across his frame.
“This one is here,” Niu Dazhuang replied in a deep, rumbling voice.
The clerk used his little finger to pick at a gap between his teeth, his tone carrying a hint of advice.
“The household records for three generations have been checked, and you are indeed a respectable farmer from a clean and honest family. But don’t let all this flattery from outside go to your head. Right now, the censors of the Censorate are watching this crucial stage of verifying your examination papers with bloodshot eyes.”
The clerk’s smile faded, and his voice turned cold.
“They will inspect your guarantors and investigate any old grudges. If they find even the slightest flaw at this sensitive juncture—say, that you secretly accepted someone’s bribe, or became entangled in a lawsuit—then don’t think being a Tribute Scholar will protect you. Even if you were the Heavenly King himself, the Censorate would still dare submit a memorial and strip you of your title, demoting you directly to a Secondary Tribute Scholar! Then you would have to return home and study for another three years before trying again.”
“For the next few days, stay quietly at home. Don’t accept gifts from just anyone who comes bearing them. You absolutely must not make a mistake at a time like this!”
Niu Dazhuang’s heart tightened, and he nodded repeatedly.
Just as the clerk finished speaking, a commotion arose outside the courtyard gate.
“Out of the way! Move aside! Are you all blind? Why are you crowding around?”
The visitor was none other than Squire Wang, who in the past had never once deigned to cast even a proper glance at this ramshackle courtyard.
Now, however, Squire Wang pushed through the crowd of onlookers with a fawning smile plastered across his face.
“Oh, my! Tribute Scholar, what a magnificent frame you have! You must have absorbed the aura of the Star of Literature!”
Squire Wang seized Niu Dazhuang’s rough hand and pulled out a thick sheaf of red-paper documents.
“This is the red deed to the eighty mu of top-grade rice paddies at the eastern end of our village! Your whole family has worked yourselves to the bone! I knew from the other day that you were bound to pass the provincial examination! I had this land deed prepared long ago, and it’s already registered under your name!
“From now on, I’ll have someone deliver the rent from those fields to your residence every month. What do you think?”
Squire Wang kept addressing him as “Master Gongshi” with practiced flattery, completely ignoring the clerk’s darkening expression beside him. He simply pushed the land deed into Niu Dazhuang’s hands.
Inside the house, on the earthen kang, Niu Dazhuang’s old mother sat sprawled on a cushion, blind in one eye and her face furrowed with wrinkles.
As she listened to Squire Wang’s shrill, ingratiating laughter outside, her lips kept trembling.
Only last month, the Wang family’s rent collector had pointed at her nose and cursed, calling Niu Dazhuang a useless good-for-nothing who lived off handouts.
“Passed the county examination once and now you think you’re a scholar? Hand over the rent!”
Yet now, this mighty local magnate, once so far beyond their reach, was standing humbly in their yard, practically begging to give them land.
It all seemed like some impossible dream.
Niu Dazhuang stared at the stack of red deeds in his hands.
Images flashed through his mind: the Wang family seizing the villagers’ water supply and driving tenant farmers to their deaths.
His brows drew together sharply. The arms that had swung a hoe for years suddenly tensed with force.
“Take it away!”
He growled and shoved the stack of deeds back against Squire Wang’s chest, pushing him off balance. Squire Wang staggered and nearly fell into the muddy ditch.
His face shifted from green to white. He stood there helplessly, at a complete loss.
Niu Dazhuang paid him no mind.
He turned and walked toward the corner of the yard.
There, Sister-in-law Zhang, the widowed neighbor, was shrinking back at the edge of the crowd.
She wore a coarse cloth skirt covered in patches. Her hands were red from the cold as she clutched a chipped bamboo basket.
A layer of dry straw lined the bottom, with more than a dozen free-range eggs neatly arranged on top.
When Sister-in-law Zhang saw Niu Dazhuang approaching, she took half a step back and stammered, “D-Dazhuang… I don’t have anything good. You passed the provincial examination, so your sister-in-law brought these eggs to share in your good fortune…”
Niu Dazhuang strode forward. His weathered face squeezed out an honest, sheepish smile.
He extended both hands and steadily accepted the half-basket of eggs.
“Sister-in-law, I’ll take the eggs! Once the weather clears, I’ll bring two loads of wheat straw from my fields over to fill your fire pit.” Niu Dazhuang’s voice was deep and firm.
The local gentry and wealthy households surrounding them wore expressions of utter awkwardness.
When faced with such unexpected wealth and flattery, Niu Dazhuang reacted with nothing but wariness and rejection.
His unpolished, rugged nature left all those who had prepared bellies full of compliments with no idea what to say.
Suddenly—
From the end of the village road came the chaotic thunder of hooves through the wind and snow.
Dozens of tall warhorses charged toward Niu Family Village in tight formation, fierce as an army storming into battle.
“Get out of the way! Are you looking to die?”
Terrified screams erupted from the edge of the crowd.
Just a moment ago, the road had been jammed with carriages, gentry, and idle villagers, all jostling for space. Faced with the violent thunder of the horses’ hooves, they scrambled and tumbled toward both sides of the road.
A massive carriage made entirely of ebony, drawn by four magnificent black northern warhorses, smashed through the villagers blocking the way.
There were no gaudy decorations on the carriage.
Only one large, dark-gold character—“Xiao”—stood out, radiating a harsh, overpowering chill that seared itself into everyone’s eyes.
“The First Prince is here! It’s the carriage from the First Prince’s residence!”
Someone cried out in a strangled voice.
The carriage stopped outside the dilapidated fence surrounding the Niu family home. The lead horse threw back its head and let out a long, piercing neigh.
Several fat sheep and pigs that had been tied to a crooked-necked tree and butting against one another in a frenzy were so terrified by the aura of slaughter that their legs gave out. They dropped to their knees in unison, unable even to make a sound.
Inside and outside the yard, the flattering voices that had filled the air only moments before fell silent at once.
The wind stopped.
The snow seemed to hang in place.
The carriage curtain was swept aside.
A tall, lean man with a cold, stern face strode out of the carriage.
He wore a deep blue-green yesa patterned with subdued clouds, cinched tightly at the waist with a leather belt. Most striking of all was the embroidered spring saber hanging at his side, still sheathed.
He was the chief secretary of the First Prince’s household—not merely an administrator in charge of documents, but also a hardened warrior who had once held military office.
With the tip of his foot, the chief secretary tapped the carriage rail and landed steadily on the ground.
He raised his head and swept the courtyard with eyes as keen as an eagle’s.
Thump!
The village headman’s legs went limp. He slid straight from his grand chair and collapsed to his knees, trembling like a leaf.
Squire Wang, who stood beside him, had gone deathly pale. He scrambled to the ground and lay there, not daring even to raise his head.
The chief secretary gripped the hilt of the saber at his waist and strode into the yard, walking directly toward Niu Dazhuang, who stood rooted to the spot, utterly at a loss.
Niu Dazhuang swallowed hard.
The chief secretary stopped three paces away.
He released the saber hilt, reached into his wide sleeve, and drew out a stiff invitation.
It was a large red invitation edged in gold.
Even its borders were trimmed with the hidden cloud-and-thunder pattern reserved for the imperial family.
There were no unnecessary pleasantries or polite formalities written on the front.
Holding the invitation in one hand, the chief secretary extended it steadily toward Niu Dazhuang.
“Provincial Examination Laureate, Niu Dazhuang.” The chief secretary’s voice was low. “His Highness has prepared a Deer-Crying Banquet at the Bright Moon Tower. His Highness requests that you do him the honor of attending without fail.”
Niu Dazhuang stared at the large red invitation within arm’s reach, his rough fingers trembling faintly.
He did not even dare turn to look at the clerk who had advised him moments ago not to cause trouble.
That clerk was now hiding beneath the table, scarcely daring to breathe, let alone make a sound.
Should he accept it, or not?
Niu Dazhuang’s throat felt dry. For the first time, his usually wooden face revealed a struggle between awe and hesitation.
After a moment, he reached toward the gilded invitation.
