Kays Translations

Chapter 356: The Imperial Ceremony of Proclamation (Part 2)

One was showered with glory — eight perfect circles of approval, a flawless “○”. The Emperor himself had rewarded him with a golden fish, that most prestigious token reserved for the champion of the imperial examinations.

The other, though repeatedly praised and carefully recommended, had earned but seven “○” and a single “△” in his evaluation — a small, jarring imperfection. When the time came for imperial reward, the Emperor, in a curious twist of fate, bestowed upon him not the fish but a golden rooster — a symbol that had nothing whatsoever to do with academic triumph.

And yet, it was this very second man, Ouyang Zishi, who had arrived in the grand sedan chair of Elder Yan himself. The connection was obvious, and in the minds of nearly everyone present, his victory seemed all but sealed.

Thus, when the murmuring crowd of scholars gathered in the courtyard, they surrounded Ouyang Zishi like moths drawn to a flame, their lips dripping with honeyed flattery.

Just as laughter and polite congratulations filled the air, the deep, resonant dong… dong… dong of the drums atop the Meridian Gate shattered the morning calm. The sound rolled across the heavens, echoing through the crisp air — three solemn beats that silenced every voice.

At once, the civil and military officials standing ahead arranged themselves according to rank, robes rustling as they formed neat, orderly lines. The imperial palace awaited.

Prompted by the Ministry of Rites officials, Zhu Ping’an and the other four hundred successful candidates lined up as they had during the palace examination, each man falling into place with disciplined precision.

At the head of one line stood Zhu Ping’an; at the head of the other, Ouyang Zishi. Zhu Ping’an clasped his hands respectfully and offered a friendly smile. Ouyang Zishi, however, merely inclined his head in the faintest of acknowledgments — his expression cool, his eyes carrying the serene arrogance of a swan glancing disdainfully at a pig wallowing in the mud.

As the fifth watch approached, the palace bells tolled. The great doors of the Forbidden City groaned open, revealing the mysteries within.

Ranks of officials — civil mandarins in flowing robes and warriors in gleaming armor — stepped forward in synchronized grace. Behind them came the newly appointed scholars, guided carefully by the Ministry officials. Zhu Ping’an and Ouyang Zishi followed close behind, their hearts quickening as they passed through the towering Meridian Gate.

The walls loomed more than ten meters high, vast and austere like a mountain of stone. Zhu Ping’an could not help but feel a deep awe as he gazed upward. The Meridian Gate — the front entrance of the Forbidden City — did not open into a crowded maze of palaces, as one might expect, but into a broad, sweeping courtyard that seemed to stretch endlessly beneath the pale morning sky.

On both sides stood rows of armored guards, their spears gleaming coldly, their eyes sharp and unyielding as hawks’. One false step, Zhu Ping’an thought, and their blades would descend without hesitation.

Beyond that, the golden stream of the Inner Golden Water River wound gracefully between the Meridian Gate and the Gate of Supreme Harmony. Five bridges of pure white marble spanned its flow — the Golden Water Bridges, carved with exquisite precision, as luminous and noble as moonlight frozen into stone.

When the officials reached the bridges, they paused once more to adjust their robes and ranks before proceeding toward the Hall of Preserving Harmony.

Upon passing through the Gate of Supreme Harmony, Zhu Ping’an immediately sensed a change — an invisible weight pressing down upon the air itself. The palace grew solemn, its grandeur tinged with an almost sacred severity.

If the Meridian Gate had been guarded by warriors, here the vigilance had multiplied. The palace guards were not only greater in number, but their armor gleamed brighter, their postures straighter, their very presence sharper. Every motion spoke of absolute discipline and silent threat.

Even the imperial censors among the officials had taken up their duties, their sharp eyes watching for the slightest breach of etiquette. From this point on, every step, every glance, every breath of the newly appointed scholars was under scrutiny. A single misstep could be noted and reported — perhaps even ruin a career before it began.

As they walked deeper into the heart of imperial power, the scholars’ awe only grew. Each successive hall loomed higher, each courtyard wider, each column more richly gilded. Zhu Ping’an’s pulse thrummed with mingled reverence and disbelief.

By the time they reached the Hall of Preserving Harmony, mouths hung half open in silent wonder.

The hall stood upon a vast, three-tiered terrace of white marble, its base seven meters high. From every layer of the stone balustrade jutted thousands of dragon heads, exquisitely carved, their eyes fierce and eternal. The hall itself soared nearly thirty meters, supported by towering golden columns coiled with dragons, the air shimmering faintly with reflected light.

At the center, a broad flight of stairs led up to the hall — the imperial steps, or bi. Between each section of stairs lay a flat expanse called chi, painted a festive red to signify joy and fortune. In the middle gleamed the Imperial Path, a massive slab of marble twenty meters long, four meters wide, its surface carved with nine dragons rising from the sea in a scene so vivid it seemed the creatures might burst forth and roar.

The civil and military officials took their places upon the crimson chi, arranged strictly by rank. The newly appointed scholars, being of lowest station, stood behind them, at the very edge of the red steps — close enough to glimpse glory, yet still separated by an invisible chasm of hierarchy.

Many among them clenched their fists quietly, hearts burning. Today they saw their goal embodied — power, grandeur, destiny itself.

Because Emperor Jiajing would personally preside over the ceremony, every element of ritual perfection was in place. Above the hall’s eaves fluttered a yellow parasol embroidered with nine golden dragons. To either side stood ornate incense burners, gilded vessels, and ceremonial implements — basins, pots, stools, and trays gleaming in orderly splendor.

Musicians in magnificent robes waited motionless beneath the eaves, while imperial guards armed with sabers, bows, and spears stood rigid along the marble steps — row upon row, layer upon layer — their silent presence radiating power.

Then, the cry came:

“Sound the whip!”

A tall, imposing guard stepped forward, holding a long whip woven from golden silk. He raised it high and brought it down upon the stone. Crack! The sound exploded through the courtyard like thunder from a clear sky — the signal known as the “purifying whip,” warning all ministers to stand in utmost reverence.

Moments later, the Emperor’s procession approached. The air filled with solemn music from the palace orchestra, the sound rising and falling like waves of gold. Zhu Ping’an could only glimpse the splendor of the approaching retinue — banners, guards, and ceremonial attendants — but in his mind, he could already picture the Emperor ascending to the Dragon Throne.

When the music ceased, a eunuch’s voice echoed faintly from within, followed by the rustle of thousands of robes as every official fell to their knees. Zhu Ping’an followed suit, bowing low in the ritual of three kneelings and nine prostrations.

Then came the solemn reading of the imperial decree:

“In the thirtieth year of Jiajing, on the fifteenth day of the third month, under the grace of Heaven, the palace examination has been concluded. Those of the First Rank are granted the title Jinshi and Rank, those of the Second Rank, Jinshi, and those of the Third Rank, Associate Jinshi…”

Though the exact words were muffled, the meaning was clear — the Emperor had approved their success.

A eunuch then carried the sealed list of rankings — the Golden Roll — to the Grand Secretary, who received it kneeling, then carefully placed it upon the table to the east of the hall. The golden seal was broken, the scroll unfurled, and the names of the Empire’s brightest sons prepared to be sung.

The air crackled with anticipation.

No one’s eyes shone brighter than Ouyang Zishi’s. His breath came fast; his fists trembled. He had already imagined the moment a thousand times — the announcement, the cheers, his triumphant steps along the central Imperial Path to kneel before the throne. His acceptance speech, even, had been composed in his mind.

“Come,” his heart pounded. “Call it. Announce it already. This glory belongs to me.”

The Golden Roll Is Read

At last, the official from the Ministry of Rites stepped forward, unrolled the golden list, and cleared his throat. The hall fell silent.

“In the thirtieth year of Jiajing, in the Xin Hai Grace Examination — the first of the First Rank…”

A breathless pause.

“…Zhu Ping’an!”

The voice rang out, clear and final, cutting through the air like a blade.

For a heartbeat, no one moved. The announcement was then repeated by guards stationed throughout the hall — echoing outward, from one to the next, until it reached even the courtyard beyond.

“First of the First Rank — Zhu Ping’an!”

Ouyang Zishi’s heart jolted.

“Ah, they’re announcing it!” he thought first with excitement. “The First Rank — the Zhuangyuan! That’s me. I should step forward now, along the Imperial Path. Yes, the very path only the Emperor and the Zhuangyuan may tread. What an honor! What—”

Then, confusion.

“…Wait. Did he just say Zhu Ping’an?”

Then disbelief.

“No… no, that’s wrong. I am Ouyang Zishi. Not Zhu Ping’an. He must have misspoken.”

And then, horror.

“What?! The First Rank is Zhu Ping’an? Impossible! I had eight perfect circles! He had seven and a triangle! This—this must be a mistake!”

His foot, already lifted to step forward, hovered awkwardly in midair. His face drained of color. He looked as though he had taken a blow below the belt — frozen, broken, absurdly helpless.

The hall resounded again:

“First of the First Rank — Zhu Ping’an!”

And still again, repeated by the guards in unison, echoing down the crimson steps of the Hall of Preserving Harmony.

Zhu Ping’an. The name rolled across the marble like thunder.

The name of the true Zhuangyuan.

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