Kays Translations
Just another Isekai Lover~
Chapter 340: The Palace Examination Begins a Day in Advance (Part 3)
Under the warm and seemingly enthusiastic greetings of Yan Shifan and the others, Zhu Ping’an cupped his hands one by one in salute to the distinguished guests already seated. Only then did he take his seat, pretending to be “overwhelmed with honor,” though in truth he was bracing himself for what lay ahead.
Yet the moment he sat down, he noticed something peculiar. Among the assembled figures of power and influence, Ouyang Zishi was nowhere to be seen. Wasn’t this banquet meant as a send-off for those about to face the palace examination? Ouyang Zishi was also due to sit tomorrow’s exam. Why, then, was he absent from this so-called send-off banquet?
One thought connected to another, and in Zhu Ping’an’s mind the pieces swiftly aligned. There was no doubt now—this banquet was a Hongmen Banquet, a feast in name but a snare in truth!
Yan Shifan, after all, was not just anyone. He was the Left Vice Minister of Works, a third-rank official of the realm. His father, Yan Song, stood even higher—Grand Secretary of the Cabinet, Senior Grand Tutor to the Crown Prince, holder of the title of Grand Preceptor, the highest minister of state, a man second only to the emperor himself. Even the other men gathered here—members of the Yan faction—were formidable figures upon the imperial court, not ones to be dismissed lightly.
Zhu Ping’an had suspected from the beginning, but now he was certain. This was a trap. And yet, despite knowing, he could not refuse to come.
Reason told him one thing, reality another. Refusal? Hah! Try refusing. Any single man here had a finger thicker than his thigh. What chance did he have to say no? He thought bitterly: If in modern times you were invited by the governor of your province, or the mayor of your city, or even your school principal or company director—what then? Suppose they not only invited you but sent people again and again, four or five times, insisting that if you would not come, they themselves would fetch you personally. Could you possibly refuse?
As if reading his thoughts, Yan Shifan laughed heartily. “Ouyang caught a slight chill today and is resting at home, so he cannot attend. Otherwise, he could have asked Zihou for more guidance.”
Zhu Ping’an put on an expression of genuine concern, nodding earnestly. “Ah, what misfortune! Still, Brother Ouyang is a man of good fortune—surely he will be restored by tomorrow.” Inwardly, though, he sneered. Hmph. Spare me the excuses. Who do you think you’re fooling? But he kept his silence. To expose their lies now would serve no purpose.
Yan Shifan raised his cup with a smile. “Zihou, let me drink with you on Ouyang’s behalf to express our thanks.”
Zhu Ping’an nearly choked. What the hell—are they planning to drink me under the table? Tomorrow is the Palace Examination, and tonight they want to drown me in wine? What exam could I possibly take after that?! His mind cursed like a stampede of wild horses while he eyed the gleaming cups in the hands of the men around him.
Oppression by power—shameless!
In that moment, a fire lit within Zhu Ping’an’s chest, a yearning for power far greater than ever before. Today’s predicament was nothing but weakness before the strong. Yet he was no ordinary youth. Countless history books had passed before his eyes, and he knew what the future of the Ming would bring. Yan Song might remain in power for nearly another decade, but time would shift. Though today he must endure, though ideals and ambitions must be hidden, he would wait. He would not be cannon fodder! If Xu Jie could endure, why could he not?
A true gentleman hides his edge, waiting for the proper moment to act.
Zhu Ping’an rose smoothly, cup in hand. “How could I dare let Master Yan toast me? It should be I who toasts you.”
With elegant composure, he raised his cup slightly lower than Yan Shifan’s, concealing a small movement with the wide sleeve of his robe. His hairpin slipped silently into the wine. One discreet glance—the silver tip had not blackened, nor had it changed color. No poison. His heart eased a fraction.
“Still,” Yan Shifan chuckled, “Zihou mustn’t overindulge. Tomorrow is the great examination, after all. Just a light sip will do.”
To Zhu Ping’an’s surprise, Yan Shifan did not press him to drink further. Instead, turning to the others, he declared, “None of you are to force Zihou to drink either. This banquet is meant to strengthen his resolve for tomorrow, not hinder him. Tonight, one cup will suffice.”
The others chorused their agreement. “Rest assured, Lord Yan. Though Zihou is young, his learning is extraordinary. He is even a strong contender for the Zhuangyuan title. How could we, at such a critical moment, be foolish enough to drag him down?”
This was unexpected. Zhu Ping’an’s brows lifted slightly as he returned to his seat, faintly surprised by their restraint.
Yan Shifan then turned the feast in another direction. “Since tonight is for Zihou’s sake, all of you have passed through the palace examination yourselves. Don’t keep your experience to yourselves. Share what you know with Zihou; any guidance may help him tomorrow.”
And with that, Zhu Ping’an understood.
This was not the Hongmen Banquet after all. He glanced at the window, silently exasperated. Not a Hongmen Banquet perhaps, but hardly a pleasant one either!
One man after another rose to share his so-called “experience.” A middle-aged official from the Ministry of Personnel spoke at length about the emperor’s preferences, recalling an earlier imperial instruction that examination essays should be plain and elegant rather than gaudy or bizarre. He fixed Zhu Ping’an with a meaningful look. “Remember, Zihou—His Majesty values sincerity and purity of style. Flowery tricks are fleeting blossoms, unfit for lasting success.”
Zhu Ping’an listened politely, though inwardly he scoffed. Sincerity? Elegance? Then what of those “immortal petitions,” those flowery Daoist hymns the emperor so adores? Hasn’t His Majesty’s taste changed a thousand times over twenty years? This advice is as fickle as the emperor’s moods. Still, he nodded and thanked Shang Dazhi with the utmost courtesy.
But the torment had only begun. One man finished, another began. They spoke endlessly, pulling Zhu Ping’an into their questions and answers, forcing him to feign deep gratitude and eager inquiry. His face wore the mask of a respectful student, while his eyes drifted often to the window.
The bright midday sun slanted westward, then faded into twilight. Darkness fell, the moon climbed above the willows, and still the chatter droned on. At last the watchman’s clapper sounded the second watch, deep into the night.
Only then did Yan Shifan raise his hand. “Enough, enough! Look how long you’ve gone on. Zihou must rise early for tomorrow’s examination. No more tonight. Zihou, take my sedan chair home—no one will dare stop you despite the night curfew.”
Zhu Ping’an forced a smile, but inwardly he wanted to howl. Damn it all! A so-called send-off feast, dragging on from noon until late at night while a flock of ducks quacked endlessly about their “experience.” His body was tired, his ears numb, his spirit drained—and he still had to make his way home. Truly, utterly exhausting!