Chapter 396: The Shicai Ceremony

“Confucius, trapped between Chen and Cai, went seven days without food, playing his zither in his chamber, while Yan Hui laid out vegetables outside his door to show his respect and loyalty to his teacher.” — Fengsu Tongyi

From that moment onward, the act of offering vegetables became a symbol of reverence for one’s teacher. The “Shicai” ritual evolved into one of the two major ceremonial practices in honoring Confucius. To perform Shicai was to offer fruits and vegetables in homage to the sage—a gesture of devotion and gratitude. Initially, it was a “ceremony of discipleship,” a personal act of respect. But over time, it extended beyond students: newly minted scholars were required to perform Shicai, offering thanks to Confucius before formally stepping into official life. Removing their coarse cloth clothes and straw sandals signified their entry into the world of civil service.

Upon entering the Confucius Temple, Zhu Ping’an and the others were guided by officials of the Guozijian into a side hall. There, they washed and changed, removing their personal attire and donning the simple, pre-prepared coarse cloth robes and cloth shoes. Following the officials’ instructions, they lined up according to the rankings they had earned in the final imperial examination.

In the Confucius Temple, aside from Guozijian officials, there were also ritual officers from the Ministry of Rites. Each had a specific role in the Shicai ceremony—some leading the ritual, some assisting, some overseeing the proceedings.

Zhu Ping’an walked at the very front. Guided by the ushers, he passed through the Gate of Respect and reached the base of the terrace before the Dacheng Hall. Ascending via the east steps, he stepped onto the terrace with a mixture of solemnity and anticipation.

“Positions for all ranks, below the officers!” a lead ritual officer commanded loudly after bowing to the hall, his voice echoing across the courtyard.

Several attendants stepped forward to guide Zhu Ping’an and the others into formation along the east side of the terrace. Once everyone else assumed their designated positions, the ceremony began in earnest.

As Zhu Ping’an took his place, music began to play. He hadn’t noticed when a grand orchestra had assembled both above and below the terrace, dressed in crimson ceremonial robes, holding a dazzling array of instruments. The melody was unmistakable—identical to the music played at imperial court sessions, the “Jiajing Chapter.”

Soon, thirty-six dancers from the Ministry of Rites’ Music Bureau appeared, each carrying three pheasant feathers in the right hand and a short flute in the left, all clad in deep red ceremonial garb. They ascended the terrace and performed the solemn Six-Step Dance, moving with measured grace and precision.

At the same time, the lead ritual officer began reciting the sacrificial text:

“Eternal Sage of Letters, Teacher for all ages,
Your flame of wisdom passes through the generations, never extinguished.
Now we, your disciples, strive to emulate the virtuous…”

“We humbly present our offerings.”

With the ritual text concluded, it was time for Zhu Ping’an and his peers to perform the Shicai. Traditionally, only the top three scholars—the Zhuangyuan, Bangyan, and Tanhua—would step forward to offer vegetables to Confucius and the Twelve Worthies. Today, however, Ouyang Zishi was added to the group, so the four of them represented all scholars in performing the ceremonial offering.

Some newly minted scholars in the crowd murmured in confusion, but the Guozijian’s presiding official quickly silenced them with a stern glance.

Zhu Ping’an approached the offering table first, selecting a stalk of water celery, a bundle of chive blossoms, several red dates, and a handful of chestnuts. He arranged them neatly on a platter and carried it to the terrace.

Each ingredient bore symbolic meaning: the water celery represented the scholars themselves, chive blossoms symbolized talent, red dates reflected early ambition, and chestnuts expressed reverence for Confucius. These were long-established conventions.

“I, disciple Zhu Ping’an, have been blessed by the teachings of ritual and music. Having achieved modest success, I dare to present these offerings to the First Sage, Confucius,” he intoned solemnly.

Kneeling before the statue of Confucius in the Dacheng Hall, Zhu Ping’an placed the offerings with reverence. An attendant handed him a cup of wine, which he also presented with three deep bows, repeating the gesture with three cups in total. Only then was his Shicai complete.

The Bangyan, Tanhua, and Ouyang Zishi then offered their vegetables and bows to the Twelve Worthies. Other scholars on the terrace followed suit under the guidance of the ritual officers.

When the Shicai ceremony concluded, the sun had risen high, nearly overhead. Zhu Ping’an and the others shed their coarse robes and sandals and changed into the official garments prepared by the Ministries of Rites and Personnel, corresponding to their newly assigned ranks.

In an instant, they were transformed—students no longer, now officials in full regalia.

Zhu Ping’an wore the blue uniform of a sixth-rank officer, the front adorned with a patch depicting an egret. Zhang Siwei and Wang Shizhen, along with others, wore the seventh-rank blue uniforms, their patches displaying cranes instead.

“Lord Zhu, please guide me generously in the future…” Zhang Siwei said, winking, his flattery thinly veiled.

“Ah… that depends on how you demonstrate it,” Zhu Ping’an replied, wiggling his fingers seriously, pretending to make an official gesture.

“You two dogs of office…” Wang Shizhen shook his head, smiling and scolding them.

In truth, everyone, now dressed in official garments, laughed and joked, their excitement bubbling over. Years of cold nights studying, endless repetition, all for this one moment, and now it had come.

While they laughed, an official from the Ministry of Works approached with news: the stele commemorating the names of the newly minted scholars had been carved and was ready to view.

A permanent mark in history!

The group hurried to the specially designated stele area of the Guozijian. The official, seeking favor, lingered by Ouyang Zishi, chatting and flattering him, which drew even more scholars around him, eager to bask in reflected prestige.

The reason was clear: the official was showing deference to Yan Shifan, now second-in-command at the Ministry of Works—the Right Vice Minister, effectively a deputy minister. With Yan Song as the Grand Secretary, Yan Shifan held immense sway, and so all the ministry’s affairs passed through his hands.

Ouyang Zishi, being a relative of Yan Shifan, naturally received the official’s attentions.

For the other newly minted scholars, the glory of the examination was over. From this moment on, past achievements mattered little. A new journey had begun. Advancement in officialdom required effort, yes, but even more, it required patrons—powerful figures whose favor could make or break a career.

Thus, the scholars clustered around Ouyang Zishi, vying for his attention, hoping to secure a foothold in the bureaucratic hierarchy.

Zhu Ping’an, by contrast, had only Zhang Siwei and Wang Shizhen nearby.

“He’s… not rising,” Zhu Ping’an murmured, pointing to Ouyang Zishi surrounded by admirers.

Indeed, Ouyang Zishi no longer held his ceremonial umbrella amidst the crowd.

Zhang Siwei and Wang Shizhen couldn’t help but laugh. Others might not have understood Zhu Ping’an’s meaning, but they did, recalling his sly remark from the morning: “If he does not rise, it will be a clear day.”

At the Guozijian’s stele area, rows upon rows of carved stones bore the names of scholars past and present. Under the guidance of the official, each of the newly minted scholars found their own stele.

Seeing his name etched into stone, every scholar radiated pride, imagining their names shining through the ages.

Only Zhu Ping’an remained calm.

The stone was new, the characters firm and vigorous… yet nearby, older steles bore inscriptions faded by sun and wind.

True immortality, he thought, was not carved in stone.

Stone weathers. Only what is etched in people’s hearts endures forever.