At the hour of Si, three quarters past, the Qionglin Banquet began.
The great hall stood towering, its vermilion gates flung wide open. The spring wind, carrying the fragrance of flowers, surged in from outside, mingling with the scent of wine and ink that filled the chamber, intoxicating all who breathed it in.
As Pei Cijing stepped across the threshold, about seventy or eighty percent of those expected had already arrived.
Over two hundred newly-appointed Jinshi, all dressed in identical deep-blue scholar's robes with wide sleeves and large lapels, their waists bound with blue sashes, and their caps adorned with silver beads, stood in neat rows. The sight, viewed from afar, resembled a deep blue sea—calm on the surface, yet bearing a heavy, dignified presence.
With a sweep of his gaze, he spotted the empty seats at the front.
At the very center of the front row stood a long, vermilion-lacquered table. Upon it lay a full set of silver tableware—chopsticks, spoons, dishes, wine cups—all gleaming softly in the sunlight.
That was the Top Scholar's seat.
A table to himself.
Placed at the most prominent spot in the hall, like the bright moon surrounded by a host of stars.
Half a step behind, to the left and right, two more tables of the same kind. Also vermilion lacquer, also complete silver tableware, but positioned slightly to the side—like the two brightest stars guarding the moon.
Those were the Second Scholar and Third Scholar's seats.
Further back, tables were shared by two people. These tables were lower, and the tableware had been replaced with porcelain. Though still exquisite, they lacked that air of standing out from the crowd.
Even further behind, tables accommodated four. Their tables were even lower, the tableware even simpler, arranged in dense clusters—like the dim stars in the night sky. Though they had their own light, they were far from reaching the brilliance of the moon.
First class, second class, third class.
Jinshi and above, Jinshi rank, equivalent to Jinshi rank.
Three ranks, three levels of treatment.
It was laid out so plainly in the hall, right under everyone's noses, without the slightest effort to conceal it.
Pei Cijing sighed inwardly. So, he, too, could be someone with a table of his own.
But his face betrayed nothing. His steps unconsciously quickened as he found his seat and stood in place.
Glancing left and right, he saw Chen Wangbei, the Second Scholar, already standing behind the table on the left. He was tall and sturdy, with a square, upright face, standing there like an iron tower, completely motionless. Pei Cijing clasped his hands in a salute, and Chen Wangbei returned the gesture. They exchanged a smile, a simple greeting.
At that very moment.
The one missing from the top three—the Number One Scholar—finally arrived.
Liu Zhixing entered wearing a brand-new scholar's robe, the hem swaying gently with each step. He was quite tall, yet not lanky, with a straight back and a gaze that looked neither left nor right. His face bore the composed aloofness and reserve characteristic of a learned man.
He walked to the vermilion-lacquered table at the very front, stood still, adjusted his hat and robes, then turned slightly to clasp his hands toward Pei Cijing and Chen Wangbei.
"Brother Chen, Brother Pei."
His voice was soft and clear, like a mountain stream—neither warm nor cold, just right.
Chen Wangbei quickly returned the salute: "Brother Liu."
Pei Cijing followed suit: "Brother Liu, I have long heard of your reputation."
Liu Zhixing nodded slightly, said nothing more, turned back, and stood quietly, his gaze fixed straight ahead.
Pei Cijing withdrew his gaze.
He straightened his posture, imitating Liu Zhixing.
Inside the hall, the Jinshi stood in absolute silence. No one whispered, no one looked about. Those who had come this far were no fools.
That day's Qionglin Banquet—
Though the emperor was unlikely to attend in person, the official presiding over the banquet would definitely be of no lower rank. To leave an impression of frivolity or impropriety would be a grave mistake.
The hall grew still, leaving only the sound of the spring wind rushing in through the doors, rustling the robes of the assembly.
No one knew how much time passed.
Then, footsteps echoed from outside the hall.
The footsteps belonged to more than one person—disorderly yet orderly, growing clearer as they approached from a distance. The gathered Jinshi, as if by unspoken agreement, held their breath.
Entering first were two rows of officials from the Ministry of Rites, robed in blue. They filed in and stood on either side. Then, a figure crossed the threshold.
It was an elderly man, thin in frame, with a gaunt, refined face. He wore a purple official's robe, embroidered with a golden pheasant on his chest, a jade belt around his waist, and a black gauze cap on his head. His bearing was steady and composed, like an old pine tree that had weathered many storms yet remained tall and upright.
Chancellor Du! The Right Chancellor!
Everyone in the hall bowed in unison, the rustling of their robes merging into a single sound.
"Greetings, Chancellor Du."
Chancellor Du nodded faintly, a slight smile on his face. His gaze swept across the crowd, and his voice, though not loud, reached every ear clearly: "Gentlemen, no need for formalities."
But despite his words, no one dared to truly relax.
At the moment they finished their bow, everyone's gaze, almost as one, shifted away from the Chancellor. Not that Chancellor Du was unworthy of attention—a Right Chancellor of the First Rank presiding over the Qionglin Banquet was more than adequate; it was, in fact, above the usual standard.
In previous years, the banquet was often hosted by the Minister of Rites, or even only a Vice Minister.
But at this moment, everyone's attention was fixed on the two people behind him.
They were two young men.
One was dressed in a black silk robe, a jade belt at his waist, his expression calm and his gaze peaceful. His steps were unhurried, each one steady and firm. He was like a deep pool of water—serene on the surface, with hidden currents beneath.
The Sixth Prince, Li Chengyu.
The other wore an indigo silk robe, also with a jade belt. His features were sharper than the Sixth Prince's, with a visible air of confidence and vitality. His steps were a bit quicker, as if he could hardly wait to step into the hall.
The Eighth Prince, Li Chengyan.
The atmosphere inside the hall shifted, almost palpably.
Some of the Jinshi's breathing quickened; others grew shallower. A few eyes lit up, as if they had glimpsed a rare opportunity; others lowered their gazes, carefully hiding their excitement.
But all of them, without exception, felt their hearts beat faster.
The emperor had not come in person, but two princes had. The Chancellor presided, and two princes attended. The scale of this Qionglin Banquet far exceeded that of previous years.
What did this mean?
It meant the court valued this cohort of Jinshi. That they were different.
Many eyes involuntarily turned to the three figures at the very front of the hall—Top Scholar Liu Zhixing, seated alone at the most central and prominent position; Second Scholar Chen Wangbei and Third Scholar Pei Cijing, placed slightly behind, yet still each at a private table.
The three of them.
Standing ahead of everyone else.
Right under the gaze of the two princes, the Chancellor, and the other officials. It was impossible not to be noticed.
Especially Liu Zhixing. His vermilion-lacquered table was set right in the middle of the hall, like the single point of light at center stage, drawing every eye irresistibly.
Those gazes carried envy, jealousy, admiration, and a hint of indescribable bitterness.
Truly, comparing people only brings frustration!
But since they hadn't managed to outperform him in the exams, they had no choice but to accept it.
The tedious rituals proceeded one by one. Chancellor Du led the officials to their seats, the two princes followed suit, and then the newly-appointed Jinshi took their seats in order of rank.
Pei Cijing took his seat and finally had a chance to look at the dishes laid out on the long table before him. At first glance, his eyes lit up.
Roast suckling pig. There was actually roast suckling pig.
The piglet was roasted to a golden, glossy finish, the skin crispy and the meat tender, sliced into thin, neat pieces arranged evenly on a porcelain plate. Beside it was a small dish of dipping sauce, bright red and fragrant.
The regret from the last palace banquet was now being made up for.
Pei Cijing's gaze lingered on those golden, glistening slices of meat, and the corners of his mouth curled up involuntarily.
Du Hui stood up. He raised his wine glass.
The hall fell silent.
His voice was not loud, but it carried steadily into everyone's ears, carrying a calm and weightiness born of weathered experience: "Everyone, today's imperial banquet at the Qionglin Garden is a mark of the court's favor toward you, and a testament to your ten years of diligent study and this moment of passing the imperial exams. From now on, you must live up to the imperial grace, serve the country with loyalty, share the court's burdens, and plead for the people."
"This toast, on behalf of His Majesty, I offer to you all."
Everyone in the hall rose at once and raised their glasses: "Long live His Majesty's grace! A toast to Chancellor Du!"
The voices of hundreds merged into a torrent, echoing through the great hall.
They all drank in one go.
Then they sat down.
After these routine niceties, the atmosphere in the hall gradually became livelier.
The sound of string and wind instruments arose from a corner of the hall, a melodious tune spreading like spring water, diluting the solemn and dignified mood of a moment ago.
Some people began to stand and offer toasts.
Starting with Du Hui, then the two princes, then the accompanying officials from the Ministry of Rites.
The toasters lined up, wine glasses in hand, with smiles of just the right warmth, exchanging polite compliments that were neither too heavy nor too light.
Pei Cijing did not stand up immediately. With so many people offering toasts, he thought he might as well eat a bit first and go when the crowd thinned out, to save time.
But what he hadn't expected was this:
As Third Scholar, even if he didn't seek others, others would seek him.
No sooner had he swallowed a slice of roast suckling pig, barely able to savor its flavor, than someone approached with a wine glass.
"Third Scholar Pei, I am Fang Wenqing, ranked first in the second class, a scholar from Jiangnan. I've long admired your reputation. Meeting you today is the honor of a lifetime."
Since the man was reaching out, Pei Cijing could not afford to be rude.
So he stood up, raised his glass, and put on a smile of appropriate warmth: "Brother Fang is too kind. As fellow successful candidates in the same year, why be so formal? Come, let me toast you."
They clinked glasses and drank in one go.
Seeing that Pei Cijing was approachable without any airs, Fang Wenqing exchanged a few more pleasantries about "looking after each other in the future" before withdrawing, satisfied.
Pei Cijing sat down again, picked up his chopsticks, and grabbed another slice of roast suckling pig. He dipped it in the sauce and popped it into his mouth. The skin was crispy, the meat tender, and the fat melted on his tongue.
The taste was absolutely incredible.
Just as he was enjoying himself, another person came over with a wine glass.
"Third Scholar Pei, I ranked third in the third class..."
"Brother Pei, I ranked fifteenth in the second class..."
"Tanhua, I..."
One after another, they came in an endless stream.
Pei Cijing had to put down his chopsticks, stand up, raise his glass, clink with this one, exchange pleasantries with that one, all the while keeping a smile on his face without a trace of impatience.
After all, these were all fellow candidates from the same year.
In officialdom, being a Tongnian was an extremely important connection.
Though given his current background and starting point, most of these people likely couldn't help him much, but who could predict the ways of official life? More friends meant more paths; more favors meant more doors.
Pei Cijing understood this principle. So he responded to each one, refusing no one. But every time he sent one off, he would immediately sit down, seize a moment to stuff a bite into his mouth, chew hastily, swallow, and then wait for the next toaster to arrive.
Chen Wangbei sat beside him. Watching him snatch bites in the midst of his busyness, his square, solemn face showed a rare hint of amusement: "Brother Pei, with table manners like that, you hardly look like a Tanhua."
Pei Cijing swallowed the food in his mouth, raised his glass toward him, and said with complete nonchalance: "Brother Chen, you're mistaken there. A Tanhua is still human, and a Tanhua still needs to eat."
"These dishes are all crafted by imperial chefs. Normally, you could never get to taste them. If I don't eat my fill today, wouldn't that be a terrible waste? And if I don't finish them, isn't that wasteful too?"
"Wasting food is something I never do. Remember: every single grain on the plate comes from hard work."
The corner of Chen Wangbei's mouth twitched. This Third Scholar Pei was truly an amusing fellow. He had just been teasing him a little, never expecting such a torrent of words in return, and what's more, they made a fair bit of sense.
So he had no choice but to raise his glass again, and they clinked.
Both drank in one go.
Pei Cijing set down his glass. The roast suckling pig was finished, and he was ready to sample other dishes. But out of the corner of his eye, he noticed someone approaching the vermilion long table at the front.
It was not one of the toasting scholars waiting in line.
It was a figure in deep blue.
Eighth Prince, Li Chengyan.
Li Chengyan stopped in front of Liu Zhixing, wine glass in hand, a smile on his face. That smile was far more fervent than the one he had shown others—not the distant, condescending grin of someone on high, but a deliberate, almost patronizing closeness.
"Top Scholar Liu," Li Chengyan began. His voice was not loud, but it was clearly audible to those nearby. "During the metropolitan examination, when I was reviewing the papers, I spotted yours at once. That essay was brilliantly literary and exceptionally insightful. I thought right then that you were destined for greatness."
He paused, his tone adding a touch of emotion and undisguised admiration: "I immediately recommended you as the Optimum. And now, with you winning the triple crown and achieving the top scholar title, it is truly a cause for celebration. I also share in the honor and pride."
He raised his glass, his gaze burning as he looked at Top Scholar Liu: "Come, let me toast you, Top Scholar Liu."
Faced with Li Chengyan's toast, Top Scholar Liu showed no excitement on his face.
On the contrary, hearing the Eighth Prince's words—"I immediately recommended you as the Optimum" and "I also share in the honor and pride"—a wave of indescribable disgust arose in his heart.
How could he not detect the implication behind these words?
Ten years of hard study, burning the midnight oil at his desk, laboring endlessly over his texts—every stroke of the brush, every word and phrase, was something he had achieved through his own effort.
The paper for the metropolitan exam was written by his own hand. The policy essay for the palace exam was composed by his own mind. The triple crown was earned purely through his own ability.
Yet from the Eighth Prince's mouth, it sounded as if it were all a favor bestowed by him.
What did he mean by "I immediately recommended you as the Optimum"?
Metropolitan exam papers were reviewed with names sealed, transcripts made, and cross-checked through multiple layers. How could one person decide it all? His Optimum title was unanimously recommended by three associate examiners and personally approved by Chancellor Du. The Eighth Prince was merely one of the vice examiners.
How, then, did it become a case of the Eighth Prince's keen eye and personal patronage?
And what did he mean by "I also share in the honor and pride"? After ten years of hard study and winning the triple crown, what did the Eighth Prince have to do with any of that?
The Eighth Prince spoke these words as if they were only natural, as if Liu Zhixing should be overcome with gratitude and willingly take his side, becoming a pawn in his struggle for the throne.
Why should he?
Because he was a prince?
Liu Zhixing felt disgust in his heart, but he could not show even a trace of it on his face. He was the Top Scholar, true, but what was a Top Scholar in the presence of a prince? The Eighth Prince was not someone he could afford to offend.
"Thank you for your appreciation, Your Highness," he said, his voice neither too loud nor too soft, his tone calm and indifferent. "Your Highness's kindness is more than I deserve."
With that, he drained the wine in his cup.
His posture was respectful, his manners faultless—nothing about him could be criticized.
Yet beneath his lowered lashes, those cold, clear eyes held not a hint of gratitude. Only a faint aloofness, and a deeply hidden trace of disgust.
He set down his cup and resumed his seat, his gaze straight ahead, still wearing that indifferent expression, as if the exchange had been nothing more than an ordinary toast—unremarkable, insignificant.
Inside the hall, many observed this scene.
At the tables further back, someone lowered their voice, their tone full of envy: "For the Eighth Prince to personally toast him—Top Scholar Liu must have quite the standing. He was recommended by the Eighth Prince during the metropolitan examination, and now that he's become the Top Scholar in the palace exam, the Eighth Prince comes to toast him in person. Such favor—who in this hall can compare?"
"Indeed. Top Scholar Liu has caught the Eighth Prince's eye. His future prospects are limitless."
"A triple crown in the examinations, and the favor of a prince—his road ahead will surely be one of meteoric rise."
"How enviable."
Those whispers were low, but the envy in them could not be concealed. The men speaking stared in Liu Zhixing's direction, their gazes full of longing—wishing they were the ones being toasted by the Eighth Prince.
But others, watching the same scene, felt something entirely different stirring beneath the surface.
A tall tree catches the wind!
Top Scholar Liu's triple triumph was already dazzling, like flames fed by oil. And now, the Eighth Prince was so openly courting him...
This was no good thing.
Was meddling in the conflicts between princes something to be taken lightly?
How would the Sixth Prince see him? How would the neutral officials in the court view him? A newly minted official, his foundation yet unsteady, being dragged into such a vortex—this was hardly a blessing.
In this court, what was most feared was not a lack of recognition—but a patron who was a double-edged sword. Being targeted by the Eighth Prince, Liu Zhixing's path ahead was unlikely to be smooth.
The atmosphere in the hall remained lively.
Men toasted, chatted, exchanged pleasantries in an endless stream. The melodies of strings and flutes drifted through the air, the fragrance of wine lingered, clinking cups and merry voices filled the space, and the Qionglin Banquet gradually drew to a close.
After some time had passed.
Du Hui rose to his feet, raising the final cup.
The hall fell silent as everyone stood and lifted their glasses.
Du Hui's voice, though not loud, reached every ear steadily: "Ladies and gentlemen, today's Qionglin Banquet ends here. May each of you, in your respective posts, carry out your duties faithfully, serve the court, repay the imperial grace, and live up to the aspirations you hold today. To you all."
Everyone raised their cups in unison and drank.
The scholars filed out in small groups, moving in twos and threes, steadily making their way out. But beneath the surface, long after the clamor of the hall had faded, the undercurrents continued to surge in silence...
