Chapter 397: A Chilly Welcome on the First Day (Part 1)

Li Shu smiled sweetly, folding her hands in a deep, formal kowtow, her eyes dark as ink, glimmering with a teasing ambiguity as she looked at Zhu Ping’an.

Zhu Ping’an had just returned from the Guozijian, dressed in his official robes, when Li Shu greeted him this way. Yet, despite the formality of her gesture, the subtle curve of her lips betrayed a playful mockery rather than genuine respect.

Zhu Ping’an let out a helpless chuckle. It wasn’t as if he enjoyed parading around in official attire; it was simply the custom after the shicai ceremony. One had to wear the official robes home and only remove them after offering incense.

“Skip the formalities. Come here and let your old master rub your shoulders.” Seeing Li Shu’s exaggerated posturing, Zhu Ping’an couldn’t resist teasing her a little.

“You may be ugly, but you think highly of yourself…” Li Shu rolled her eyes in mock disdain.

At her words, the little maid behind Li Shu, her hair neatly tied like a steamed bun, covered her mouth to stifle her giggles, while the older housemaid trailing behind glanced at Zhu Ping’an’s official robes and held back a laugh, maintaining decorum with difficulty.

After the shicai ceremony, Zhu Ping’an officially became a government officer. That evening, the Marquis of Linhuai hosted a celebratory banquet in his honor.

The matriarch of the Linhuai household treated Zhu Ping’an with unprecedented warmth, and the young ladies of the house looked at Li Shu with envious admiration. Becoming an officer in the Hanlin Academy as a sixth-rank compiler was no small feat; it was often considered a stepping stone to prime ministership, a career with unlimited potential.

Zhou the Fatty, sitting at the table, alternated between calling Zhu Ping’an “brother-in-law” with respect and teasing him casually. He even mentioned that he would introduce Zhu Ping’an to some of his friends in a couple of days.

Only the mischievous little boy frowned, his round face twisted in discontent. Sure, his brother-in-law was impressive—but how could he possibly be better than himself?

“I’ll top the imperial exams too! I’m the strongest!” His small eyes gleamed with determination, constantly scanning for an opportunity to prove himself.

“Last time I smashed the jar… has brother-in-law ever done that?” he thought, pride swelling in his chest.

The evening was filled with warmth, laughter, and celebration, interrupted only briefly when Zhou the Fatty, unable to hold it in, farted mid-conversation. He claimed he had stepped out for a moment, but the sound had already drifted back inside.

It wasn’t a big deal, though. Everyone else at the table was either refined young ladies or scholars trained in etiquette and poetry; they maintained their composure, pretending nothing had happened.

But just as Zhou the Fatty thought the incident would be forgotten, the little boy spoke up.

“Brother Zhou, I’ve noticed you’ve gotten fatter.” He said it with an earnest seriousness that made it all the more cruel.

“You… how did you notice that?” Zhou the Fatty thought the boy was trying to smooth things over for him. He was touched—what a considerate little fellow! He resolved silently to never scold him again, even promising that when he inherited his title and wealth, he’d share some with him.

“From your fart,” the boy replied, his tiny eyes sparkling with mischievous intelligence.

Coughing violently, Zhou the Fatty nearly choked. He tried to maintain his dignity, but inside he felt like a volcano on the verge of eruption.

“You see, your farts used to be loud and clear. Tonight, they sounded muffled… obviously, you’ve gained weight, and your fat is trapping the gas!”

The boy’s explanation was delivered with pride and brilliance, his little eyes practically shooting sparks. (Look! I can tell so much just from a fart! Can brother-in-law do this?)

The words hit with surgical precision. Trapped farts… in his own fat… the insult stung perfectly. Zhou the Fatty could no longer contain himself and burst out laughing, a mix of fury and helplessness.

Even later, in his private room, Zhu Ping’an couldn’t help but chuckle whenever he remembered the boy’s unique observational skills. That child was truly remarkable.

That night, Zhu Ping’an lit the lamp and turned to Chuanxi Lu (Record of Transmission), his mind fully immersed in the teachings of Wang Shouren. As he studied, his understanding of the concept of zhi liangzhi—the cultivation of innate knowledge—deepened. Those three characters were Wang Shouren’s concise summary of his philosophy.

He recalled the historical account: when Prince Ning, Zhu Chenhao, rebelled in Nanchang with over a hundred thousand troops, Wang Shouren subdued him in just thirty-five days. This was the essence of zhi liangzhi, the application of moral knowledge to decisive action.

Zhi liangzhi, in essence, was the unity of knowledge and action. Knowing what is right is one thing; doing it is far harder. But with steadfastness and sincere intent, the light of understanding eventually emerges—time was the only variable.

Every reading of Chuanxi Lu offered Zhu Ping’an new insights. Each session nourished his growth like essential nutrients absorbed by a sponge, his mind relentlessly soaking up the wisdom left behind by Wang Shouren.

The feeling was akin to a protagonist in a xianxia novel discovering a legendary immortal’s hidden chamber, gaining access to a world-altering manual for cultivation—a thrill he could never put down.

Only when the night deepened into an inky black and the household lay in slumber did Zhu Ping’an finally wash, extinguish the lamp, and sink into a deep, contented sleep.

The following morning, dressed in his official robes, Zhu Ping’an set out with excitement to begin his duties at the Hanlin Academy.

During the Ming Dynasty, the Hanlin Academy was a prestigious institution despite its modest fifth-rank bureaucratic status. It commanded immense respect, responsible for drafting imperial edicts, maintaining historical records, refining official documents, overseeing examinations, and advising the emperor. Its influence could even sway court politics and determine the rise or fall of officials. For example, the Chief Hanlin Scholar, officially a fifth-rank officer, could take precedence over fourth-rank officials during court sessions.

The Hanlin Academy was known as a “cradle for future prime ministers.” Young scholars who entered the academy honed their skills, made their presence known before the emperor, and accrued political capital—an invaluable training ground.

Yet, the reality was harsher than the dream. Many entered the academy, but few truly rose to the pinnacle of power.

Because it was the emperor’s advisory body, its offices were located close to the imperial residence. At the time, the Jiajing Emperor resided in the Western Gardens, so the Hanlin offices had relocated nearby.

Along the way, Zhu Ping’an met Zhang Siwei, and together they reached the Hanlin gates. Presenting their credentials to the guards, they were admitted smoothly.

But upon entering, Zhu Ping’an immediately encountered a human-shaped icicle—cold, unyielding, and familiar. It was Li Mo, the Minister of Personnel, who had once scolded him in the Jinluan Hall, calling him “a small rascal with no manners, no better than a common scoundrel.” Li Mo now held the additional title of Hanlin Scholar, favored by the emperor.

Li Mo’s icy gaze swept over Zhu Ping’an.

This would not be easy, Zhu Ping’an thought, quickly forming a grim conclusion about the challenges ahead.