Kays Translations
Just another Isekai Lover~
Chapter 349: Plans Never Keep Up with Change
The night was deep, yet within the Hall of the Inner Cabinet, lanterns blazed so brightly that the chamber was almost as luminous as day. Shadows of ministers flickered upon the walls as candlelight shimmered against the lacquered beams, and the muffled rustle of silk robes mingled with the scratching of brushes. The place was alive with tension and diligence, as if the fate of the empire itself rested upon the parchment spread before them.
Since the hours before dawn—around the fourth or fifth watch—the ministers had begun their solemn task of reviewing the imperial examination scripts. Except for brief pauses to take a hurried meal, every breath of their time had been consumed by the reading and grading of essays. At last, as the hour of the Boar approached—around ten at night—the final paper had been marked, each assessed according to the five-tier symbol system: circles and triangles, signs of merit or mediocrity.
But the labor was far from finished. Once the individual markings were complete, there remained the crucial phase of collective deliberation. The chief reviewing minister, the grand scholar presiding over the process, was to gather all opinions, weigh them, and pronounce the tentative order of merit. Each examiner was permitted to speak freely, and only after their voices fell silent would the chief adjudicator fix the rankings.
That chief reviewer was none other than Yan Song, the venerable Grand Secretary. Under his leadership, most papers were judged strictly in accordance with the tallies of symbols. Yet there came one exception.
As the deliberations reached a paper containing the striking passage:
“The governance of officials lies in connecting the sentiments of high and low; this is the essence upon which the nation rests. Honor the sovereign’s authority, select officials with care, test them by their duties, supervise their conduct, and mete out rewards and punishments justly…”
Yan Song lifted his eyes from the text. This essay had earned six “○”s—marks of excellence—and two “△”s, a sign of hesitation from certain reviewers. The old scholar paused, fingers tightening around the paper. After a brief silence, he set it deliberately upon the table, his gaze sweeping across the assembled ministers.
“This script,” he intoned, voice carrying the weight of seasoned authority, “is written with elegance, its words resplendent, its arguments alive with vigor. I cannot help but feel that its score is open to discussion. What say you, gentlemen?”
At once, one examiner leaned forward, his tone brimming with admiration. “Lord Yan speaks truly. This is a masterful work! Its proposals for reforming officialdom cut to the very heart of governance. Such insight deserves to rank within the first or second class.”
A murmur rippled through the chamber as several others nodded in agreement, echoing the sentiment.
Yet not all were so convinced. Among them, the Vice Minister of Rites furrowed his brow, momentarily stunned. Only yesterday, at the Yan family banquet, he had carefully explained to Lord Yan that this very essay—penned by the candidate Zhu Ping’an—was a dangerous contender for the top spot. If it were presented to the emperor, it could jeopardize the chances of Yan’s nephew, Ouyang Zishi, securing the title of Zhuangyuan (Number One Scholar). To avoid such peril, he had urged Yan to quietly sideline the essay.
Why, then, was Lord Yan now praising it so openly? Had he changed his mind? Could it be he no longer intended for his nephew to seize the top laurels? The Vice Minister’s mind whirled in confusion, suspicion biting at him.
Another grand secretary beside Yan cleared his throat. His tone was cultured, laced with metaphor.
“This essay’s calligraphy and rhetoric are like jade from the Eastern Hills, or the music of zithers upon the Western slopes—how fine, how pleasing! Yet…” He let the words hang before continuing with solemn caution. “Yet, within white jade lies a hidden flaw; amidst resonant tones, one may catch a discord. The treatise on official governance is sharp indeed, but in practice, might it not stray into empty formality? Our dynasty thrives upon the ancestral system of governing officials—could such structures be overturned by a few elegant phrases?”
He paused, then offered a conciliatory smile. “Still, the intention behind it is commendable. As Lord Yan himself has noted, the calligraphy is splendid, the prose vigorous. Perhaps I was overly severe in my earlier judgment. In encouragement, I am willing to raise my evaluation by one tier.”
The Vice Minister of Rites stiffened. Raise it? That would mean six “○”s and only one “△”! Was the essay now destined for the second tier, dangerously close to the top ranks? His heart sank. Had he failed to make himself clear last night at Yan’s residence? Why was everything turning against him?
Self-reproach gnawed at him.
“Very well,” Yan Song finally declared, nodding with gravity. “Then let us review it once more.”
Review it again? The Vice Minister’s thoughts nearly burst aloud. What are you playing at, Grand Secretary?!
Just then, his eyes caught a subtle gesture from Yan Song. The old fox’s fingers pressed lightly together as he lifted the paper, as though by chance, before he calmly added his own mark—another “○”.
The Vice Minister suddenly understood. That small hand sign had been for him. You give it another △.
Realization washed over him. Indeed, Yan Song was thinking far ahead. After all, Zhu Ping’an was already Huiyuan—the top scorer of the provincial exams. To block him entirely from even entering the second tier of the palace exam would seem far too suspicious. Even the Emperor himself might question it. But allowing him to remain in the second tier while denying him entry into the top three—Zhuangyuan, Bangyan, Tanhua—was perfectly reasonable. How many in all of Ming history had managed to win all three titles in succession? Only one! It was almost impossible.
Thus, Zhu Ping’an could safely be placed in the second tier, placating appearances, while Yan’s nephew’s path to the very top remained open.
The re-evaluation ended with seven “○”s and a single “△”.
Another half hour passed in weary calculation, and the tentative ranking list emerged. Of course, this was only the examiners’ version; the final authority rested in the Emperor’s hands.
The top ten scripts were carefully set aside for submission. Though sealed to prevent favoritism, everyone knew which essays shone with brilliance. Among them, one began with the phrase:
“All under Heaven belong to the public; a sage-king unifies the realm, upholding Heaven’s mandate above, and embracing the people’s will below…”
Yan Song could not praise it enough.
And yet, there was another essay he had praised just as highly—the one beginning with “The governance of officials lies in connecting the sentiments of high and low…”
Alas, after much deliberation, that essay placed eleventh. By a single step, it was excluded from the final set to be presented before the Emperor. What a pity! Had it entered the top ten, perhaps Zhu Ping’an might still have contended for a place among the Three Laureates.
Yan Song shook his head regretfully. But fairness must be seen, even if his heart inclined otherwise. Eleven was eleven. At least it still secured a place in the upper second tier.
By then, the bronze clepsydra struck midnight. The ministers were bone-weary, their eyes red from hours of study. It would be unthinkable to disturb the Emperor’s rest at such an hour. Thus Yan Song decided they would present the top ten scripts at dawn.
Everything, for now, was proceeding according to plan.
At first light, Yan Song gathered the seven other chief examiners. Together, they carried the ten chosen papers and made their way toward the Western Garden, where the Emperor resided.
As they entered the palace gates, they chanced upon the powerful eunuch Huang Jin, striding briskly with two junior attendants.
“Lord Huang, whither so urgently?” Yan Song called, halting respectfully with a smile, folding his hands in a distant salute.
“Ah, Lord Yan, you have arrived at last!” Huang Jin exhaled in relief. “His Majesty spoke of you all day yesterday. He sent me early this morning to hasten you along.”
Yan Song chuckled lightly. “Then fortune smiles upon us—we are indeed on our way to present the scripts.”
“How fortunate indeed, how perfect the timing,” Huang Jin exclaimed, delighted.
“Let us not delay further, then,” Yan Song said, aware that the Emperor’s impatience was no small matter.
But Huang Jin raised a hand. “No haste, no haste. May I ask—how many papers do you bring for His Majesty’s review?”
“According to custom,” Yan Song replied carefully, “the top ten from the palace exam.”
“Not enough,” Huang Jin said flatly, shaking his head. “Add ten more.”
A murmur rippled among the ministers. Twenty? Tradition dictated only ten! Why should the Emperor now demand twenty?
“Do the honored ministers question His Majesty’s will?” Huang Jin’s eyes narrowed, the smile never reaching his lips. His tone, though soft, carried a razor’s edge.
The examiners bowed their heads at once. “We dare not, we dare not…” Who would dare oppose the Son of Heaven? If the Emperor wished to read twenty, so be it; if he wished to read thirty, who could object?
Still, among them, faces turned pale and uneasy. Only one explanation seemed possible: the Emperor, who for years had buried himself in Taoist alchemy and neglected governance, was suddenly exerting unusual diligence.
But the truth was far less noble.
For in truth, the Jiajing Emperor was plagued by guilt. In a dream, he had seen the founding emperor, Taizu, gazing at him in silence. No rebuke was spoken, yet that silence had cut deeper than any words. Once, in his early reign, Jiajing had indeed ruled with vigor, bringing a brief revival to the realm. But decades had since passed in which he abandoned state affairs for his quest for immortality, leaving governance to rot.
Now, shaken by his dream, he sought to display renewed effort. The palace exam was a matter of state, touching the very lifeblood of the dynasty. Where his predecessors had reviewed ten papers, he would review twenty. Twice the effort, twice the diligence! So that if he dreamt again of Taizu, he might meet his gaze without shame.