March 30th, the Imperial Study.
The late spring sunlight slanted through the window lattice, casting a warm patch of light on the floor.
Inside the Imperial Study, dragon’s breath incense burned, its blue smoke curling upward, mingling with the scent of ink and old books, creating a quiet, solemn atmosphere.
The old emperor leaned back in his dragon throne, supported by a bright yellow brocade pillow embroidered with golden dragons. The silk had grown shiny from long hours of use.
In his hand, he held a memorial.
His brows were slightly furrowed.
His gaze moved slowly across the lines of text, pausing now and then, lost in thought.
On the imperial desk lay several stacks of documents. The vermilion brush rested on a celadon brush stand, its tip still wet with ink, gleaming a dull red in the light.
Shen Zhongcheng stood before the imperial desk, slightly bowed, his posture respectful but not servile.
He wore a navy blue official robe, its rank badge embroidered with an exquisite golden pheasant pattern. A black leather belt cinched his waist, and his entire appearance was neat and tidy.
His voice was neither loud nor soft.
He reported the affairs of the Ministry of Civil Appointments with clear, logical order.
“…For the vacancy of Vice Minister of Justice, I have proposed three candidates. Zhao Zhiyuan, former Vice Director of the Ministry of Justice, has served in the Ministry for six years. He is well-versed in legal matters and renders fair judgments, making him suitable for promotion to Director. Lin Qing, an Investigating Censor from the Censorate, has also held local office for many years and has extensive experience in handling cases. He is equally competent. And—”
He paused here slightly, glancing up at the old emperor’s expression.
The old emperor’s face remained impassive, showing no readable emotion. He only gave a soft “Mm,” signaling him to continue.
Shen Zhongcheng then continued, “And Zheng Fangyan, Chief Minister of the Grand Court of Judicial Review. He is well-versed in statutes and has overturned many unjust cases during his tenure. I believe this man is worthy of significant responsibility.”
Having finished, he lowered his gaze.
He waited silently.
The old emperor did not respond immediately.
He reached for the teacup on the imperial desk, lifted the lid, blew on the floating tea leaves, and took a slow, leisurely sip. The tea was this year’s newly offered Longjing, its brew clear and bright, filling the air with a bean-like fragrance.
After savoring the taste for a moment, he set down the cup and nodded slightly. Without giving an immediate verdict, he simply placed the memorial at one corner of the desk, signaling that the matter should be set aside for later discussion.
Shen Zhongcheng understood the implication.
He said no more.
He prepared to continue reporting the next item of business.
For a moment, the hall was silent, broken only by the steady drip of water from the bronze clepsydra—drop by drop, unhurried.
Just as he was about to speak again, the shrill voice of a eunuch came from outside the hall: “Your Majesty, Vice Minister Zhang of the Ministry of Rites requests an audience to present the examination papers of the palace exam.”
The old emperor looked up, a flicker of interest in his eyes.
The palace exam had been held only two days earlier. The papers were graded yesterday, and today the Ministry of Rites was already presenting them—quite fast, faster than in previous years, when the process would drag on for three to five days as the officials argued heatedly over the rankings. This year, they seemed to have reached an unusual consensus.
“Let him in.”
Moments later, Vice Minister Zhang entered the hall, bowing respectfully. He carried a wooden box wrapped in yellow silk. With utmost courtesy, he performed a formal bow and said: “Your subject, Zhang Boyuan, kowtows to Your Majesty.”
The old emperor waved his hand. “Rise. Have all the papers been graded?”
Zhang Boyuan rose and handed the wooden box forward with both hands. His voice carried a solemn note: "In reply to Your Majesty, this palace examination has selected a total of 236 gongshi (examination graduates). All papers have been fully graded, and the rankings have been provisionally determined."
“These are the papers of the top twenty candidates, presented for Your Majesty’s personal review.”
The old emperor took the wooden box.
He opened it.
Lifting the yellow silk, inside lay a neat stack of examination papers, each tied with a thin hemp string. The red slips covering the names were sealed tightly. He casually took one out and unfolded it.
The paper was made of fine Xuan paper, the handwriting neat, the ink evenly applied. Every paper had its name obscured, revealing only a serial number, hiding the candidate’s identity.
The old emperor flipped through the papers casually, his eyes skimming over the handwriting. Suddenly remembering something, he looked up at Shen Zhongcheng.
“Minister Shen, you’ve come at just the right time. I was thinking of having someone look over these papers with me. Stay and read the papers for me.”
Shen Zhongcheng paused for a moment, then bowed and said: “Your Majesty, my son-in-law, Pei Cijing, is also among the graduates of this palace exam. If I were to participate in reading and evaluating the papers, I fear it might give rise to suspicions of bias. I believe it is proper for me to recuse myself.”
As he spoke.
His expression was calm.
His tone was neither humble nor arrogant, as if stating a matter of common sense.
But in his heart, he had his own calculations.
Recusal.
That was the straightforward principle.
He was the Acting Minister of the Ministry of Civil Appointments. His son-in-law was participating in the palace exam. If he were involved in grading, the news would sound bad if it got out and, more importantly, would become a weapon in the hands of those with ulterior motives. On the court, concealed arrows and hidden daggers—how many people were waiting for him to make a mistake?
A mistake could even prevent him from shedding the “acting” prefix, trapping his official career forever under that mark.
So he had to offer to step down voluntarily.
This was about showing the right attitude—and about self-preservation.
Yet this recusal was not without its benefits. By bringing it up, regardless of whether the old emperor would still ask him to read the papers, the name Pei Cijing would already be noted in the old emperor’s mind.
If Pei Cijing’s paper was not among the top twenty, the old emperor might take an interest and have the paper retrieved for a look—any additional chance to be seen was good.
If Pei Cijing’s paper was among the top twenty, his voluntary recusal would highlight his impartiality, and the old emperor’s attention toward Pei Cijing would only grow.
Killing two birds with one stone.
Why not do it?
Shen Zhongcheng looked downward, his mouth slightly pursed, burying his calculations deep within.
After hearing Shen Zhongcheng’s words, the old emperor raised an eyebrow slightly. A glimmer of interest flickered in his aged yet authoritative eyes.
“Oh?” He set down the paper in his hand, leaning back in the dragon throne. His tone carried a hint of curiosity. “Minister Shen’s son-in-law… is he that child from the Marquis Weiyuan’s mansion… the second branch?”
Shen Zhongcheng nodded. “Exactly so.”
The old emperor stroked his beard, his gaze growing distant, as if recalling something.
The Marquis Weiyuan’s mansion.
That night of the palace coup, he remembered it clearly.
The bloodshed of that night still weighed heavily on his heart when he thought of it.
The crown prince had raised troops to force the palace. The chaos within the palace was immense—the shouts of battle, the cries, the clashing of weapons—all blending into a cacophony. Marquis Weiyuan, Pei Fucheng, fought bravely, covered in blood, displaying courage and loyalty.
The Old Madam of the marquis’s mansion, at the Celestial Fragrance Garden, remained calm in crisis. She protected the imperial consort’s entourage, killing three traitors herself. Such courage and boldness had even surprised him.
And Shen Zhongcheng’s daughter… What was her name?
“Minister Shen’s daughter, is she the child who gave the warning at the Celestial Fragrance Garden?” the old emperor asked.
Shen Zhongcheng’s heart stirred slightly, but he kept his face unchanged. He spoke respectfully: “In reply to Your Majesty, it is indeed my daughter. That night of the palace coup, my daughter sensed something amiss about a eunuch and promptly informed the empress.”
The old emperor nodded, a hint of approval in his eyes.
About that night’s events, he had heard the details later.
If Shen Ninghuan had not given an early warning, the Celestial Fragrance Garden might not have been able to fend off the crown prince’s surprise attack. If anything had happened to the empress, the consequences would have been unimaginable.
Both families were loyal subjects.
Though some unpleasant matters had occurred, it did not diminish the goodwill in the old emperor’s heart.
The old emperor looked away, then back at Shen Zhongcheng, his tone growing more casual: “How did Minister Shen’s son-in-law do in the metropolitan exam?”
Shen Zhongcheng replied, “In reply to Your Majesty, he placed sixth in the metropolitan exam.”
Placed sixth in the metropolitan exam.
These four characters fell within the imperial study, like stones plunging into a deep pool, stirring ripples that spread outward. The old emperor’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze sharpening with scrutiny.
Sixth in the metropolitan examination.
This ranking was no small feat.
To have fought through over ten thousand candidates, to have emerged from the ranks of countless scholars, and to land in sixth place—this showed that the man possessed no ordinary talent. The metropolitan examination was no trifle; it was a contest of ten or twenty years of hard study under the cold lamp. To rank among the top three hundred alone was to be a dragon among men, let alone sixth.
And it was said that the candidate was still quite young—likely under twenty.
The old emperor suddenly grew interested.
He waved a hand, his tone carrying a hint of dismissiveness: “Why all this fuss over avoiding suspicion? Minister Du, do you not know him well? He is the most impartial in his work. If your son-in-law placed sixth, it must be through genuine talent.”
He paused, his gaze settling on Shen Zhongcheng’s face, his tone growing more decisive. “Minister Shen, there is no need to be tense. In the end, I will judge for myself.”
Shen Zhongcheng’s heart steadied, though his expression remained reverent.
Since the old emperor had spoken thus, he would naturally not refuse further. To do so would only seem contrived, as if he had something to hide.
The way of an official lay in going with the flow, striking the right note at the right moment.
“Your servant obeys the decree,” he said, bowing.
The old emperor nodded and pushed the stack of examination papers toward him.
“Read them.”
Shen Zhongcheng stepped forward, picked up the topmost paper, and unrolled it. The paper rustled softly, the sound especially clear in the quiet imperial study.
The handwriting on the paper was neat and steady, every stroke exuding calmness.
Shen Zhongcheng glanced at the opening.
He cleared his throat.
And began to read.
“Your servant replies: Your Majesty asks how the Great Dry may flourish without decline. Your servant believes the foundation lies in the sovereign’s virtue as the root of governance, in revering Heaven and protecting the people as the key, and in being vigilant from start to finish as the admonition…”
He read steadily, his voice neither high nor low, neither fast nor slow, reciting the essay word by word. His timbre was a touch hoarse but not unpleasant, carrying a steady strength—like an old tree with deep roots, solid and unhurried.
This essay, beginning with “the sovereign’s virtue as the root of governance,” opened by clarifying the main theme: the sovereign is the foundation of the state, and his virtue determines the rise and fall of the nation.
The essay unfolded its argument across three levels:
First, when the sovereign’s heart is upright, the world is settled. Cultivating virtue, diligently handling state affairs, drawing close to the worthy, and distancing the sycophants—these are the foundations of long-term stability. If the sovereign indulges in pleasure and favors petty men, court politics will decay, and the state will surely decline.
Second, revering Heaven and protecting the people. Fear the mandate of Heaven, follow the will of the people, and use benevolent governance to solidify the nation’s foundation. Heaven sees through the eyes of the people; Heaven hears through the ears of the people. The people’s heart is Heaven’s heart—win the people, and you win the world.
Water can carry a boat, but it can also capsize it.
This principle.
Every enlightened ruler in history understood it.
Third, be cautious at the start and the end. Guard against extravagance and laziness, and treat the task of maintaining the realm and founding it anew with equal importance. The founding emperor often works hard to govern well, but later rulers are prone to indulgence. Only by being cautious from start to finish can the river-mountains be preserved.
The essay cited classics and historical examples, drawing on ancient lessons and practical advice. Its logic was tight, its rhetoric elegant but not flashy—a pleasure to read, leaving one impressed.
The old emperor listened, nodding repeatedly.
This essay was grand and dignified. The phrase “the sovereign’s virtue as the root of governance” struck a chord deep within him. If every generation of rulers could remain vigilant and diligent in loving the people through to the end, the Great Dry’s river-mountains would have no cause for worry.
All his life, his greatest fear was that his descendants would prove unfilial and squander the foundation laid by his ancestors.
Thus, the matter of succession must not be taken lightly.
The sixth prince’s performance in this imperial examination was clear to him. Compared to the crown prince in his day, there was indeed a gap, but it was not too poor—middling and acceptable.
He still needed more polishing in the future.
Though he greatly admired this essay, not all papers had been read yet. The old emperor was in no hurry to settle the rankings. He simply looked at Shen Zhongcheng and nodded slightly. “This one is good. Continue.”
Shen Zhongcheng set down the first paper.
He picked up the second.
As he unrolled it, his gaze paused briefly.
He knew that handwriting too well.
Stroke by stroke, character by character—neatly aligned, neither sloppy nor fancy, without ornate flourishes or deliberate decoration. It was the simplest regular script, every character written with earnest care.
This was Pei Cijing’s handwriting.
He gave no sign, not even a break in his breath. Having been steeped in officialdom for decades, he had long learned to hide all emotions beneath a calm facade.
Clearing his throat, he began to read.
“Your servant replies: Your Majesty asks how the Great Dry may flourish without decline. Your servant believes we should respond to the world with ‘change,’ and seek endurance through ‘innovation’…”
The old emperor’s eyes, which had been half-closed, opened a little wider.
Change?
This character was not commonly seen on imperial examination papers.
Most candidates spoke of “maintenance,” “benevolent governance,” “winning the people”—endless repetitions of these tired old principles. Not that such principles were wrong, but he had heard them so often his ears were growing calloused. Those essays were steady and flawless, yet also unremarkable, like a bowl of plain water—thirst-quenching but tasteless.
But this one began by talking about “change.”
Interesting.
The old emperor sat up straighter, his back lifting from the dragon throne. His gaze fell on the paper in Shen Zhongcheng’s hands, but his ears were fully pricked.
Shen Zhongcheng continued reading: “The Book of Changes says: When the path is exhausted, change; through change, there is smooth passage; with smooth passage, endurance follows. Heaven and Earth, the myriad things—none cease to change, none cease to transform. The sun, moon, and stars move without rest; the four seasons alternate; cold and heat follow one another—this is the change of the Heavenly Way. Human affairs come and go; systems are replaced; customs shift and evolve—this is the change of human affairs…”
The old emperor’s brows twitched slightly.
Citing the Book of Changes to open, breaking the topic with “When the path is exhausted, change; through change, there is smooth passage; with smooth passage, endurance follows”—this was an impressive start. It was no empty talk of adaptation but began with the natural principles of Heaven’s Way, advancing layer by layer, elevating the word “change” to the level of cosmic law.
Shen Zhongcheng read on, his voice steady, but his mind raced.
This essay, he had never seen before.
Now, as he listened, the boy’s thinking was indeed bold. In the imperial examination’s policy discussion, candidates traditionally played it safe, choosing a steady, unadventurous path, afraid to break new ground.
But Pei Cijing had chosen the word “change.” The novelty was certainly there.
Yet the risk existed too.
He could see that this essay made perfect sense and, using history as a mirror, every successful transformation had indeed strengthened the state. This reasoning applied equally well to the Great Dry.
But not every ruler liked change…
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the old emperor’s expression—those cloudy eyes now held a spark of focus, like a hunter scenting prey.
This was no perfunctory “mm-hmm”—it was genuine interest.
That risk had been well worth taking!
