Chapter 404: This Humble Official Raises a Cup in Your Honor

As the sun tilted westward toward the horizon, its dying light spilled across the sky in layers of blazing crimson and molten gold. The splendid evening clouds set the entire capital ablaze in warm hues, as though the city itself were slowly sinking into a sea of fire. A fleet-footed errand boy hurried up to the gatehouse of the Linhuai Marquis’s residence, slipped a folded note into the hands of the doorman, and—after weighing the heavy reward coins in his palm—left with a grin stretching from ear to ear.

Not long after, the note found its way into Li Shu’s hands.

“Why isn’t the young master coming to eat dinner?” asked the little maid nicknamed Baozi, puffing out her soft cheeks as she stared mournfully at the table laden with dishes. The steam was still rising, and the aroma filled the room, yet one seat remained conspicuously empty.

“He can come if he wants—or not at all!” Li Shu snapped.

Her rosy lips pouted as she crumpled the note into a tight ball and hurled it far across the courtyard. Rising abruptly to her feet, she strode outside. She wore a pleated, flowing gown the color of ripe tangerines, which glowed with an even more refined elegance beneath the slanting rays of the sunset. Her long hair cascaded smoothly down her back, pinned at an angle with a simple peachwood hairpin. Her exquisitely made-up face was delicate and luminous, giving her an almost celestial air—as if she had stepped straight out of a painting.

“Stinking toad… rotten toad…” she muttered as she walked, her small mouth pursed in indignation. When she reached the crumpled note she had thrown away, she paused briefly. Then, with a flick of her embroidered shoe, she stomped on it twice—hard—just as if she were trampling the very “toad” she had been cursing under her breath. Yet once her anger had vented itself, she lifted her skirts, bent down, and extended her slender, jade-like fingers to pick the note back up.

“Miss, why are you…?” Baozi stood at the doorway, her mouth hanging open in shock.

“I’m going to burn it!” Li Shu spun around, baring her small tiger-like teeth at the maid. It was as though stepping on it twice still wasn’t enough—only reducing it to ashes would finally soothe her temper.

Baozi shrank back instinctively, her head retreating as far as it could go, afraid that a fire at the city gate might somehow scorch an innocent fish in the pond—and that she herself would be the unlucky fish.

While Baozi was fretting over how to deal with a full table of untouched delicacies, the evening banquet on Zhu Ping’an’s side had already begun.

Though it couldn’t compare to extravagant delicacies from mountains and seas, there was no shortage of chicken, duck, fish, and meat. The dishes were plentiful and varied, and several jars of Nü’er Hong wine circulated among the guests. As cups clinked and sleeves brushed, the fragrance of wine drifted through the air, and the atmosphere grew lively and warm.

“Lord Zhu, this humble official offers you a toast.”

After several shared drinks, the guests began to toast one another in turn, formally making acquaintances. At that moment, Zhang Juzheng lifted his cup and turned toward Zhu Ping’an, who was eating with unrestrained enthusiasm beside him.

Zhu Ping’an still had a skewer of sizzling, dripping meat between his teeth. Hearing Zhang Juzheng refer to himself as this humble official while raising a cup toward him, Zhu Ping’an froze, utterly unprepared.

In Zhu Ping’an’s mind, Zhang Juzheng existed only as the towering figure of history—the Grand Secretary of the Cabinet, second only to the emperor, a man of immense authority who maneuvered through court politics with ease and held the fate of the Great Ming in his grasp. And yet here he was, right now, calling himself “this humble official” and toasting Zhu Ping’an. The dissonance was so strong that Zhu Ping’an couldn’t process it at once.

“Lord Zhu?” Zhang Juzheng held his cup in midair for a moment. Seeing no response, he smiled and called out again, his manner graceful and refined, every bit the cultured gentleman.

It was only at that second call that Zhu Ping’an finally snapped back to reality. This wasn’t an illusion—Zhang Juzheng was genuinely toasting him. The future helmsman of the Great Ming was standing there, cup raised, offering him respect.

“Cough—cough. What did you just say?” Zhu Ping’an swallowed the skewer in a rush, excitement surging through him. He hastily wiped his hands with a handkerchief.

“Lord Zhu?” Zhang Juzheng looked puzzled, but repeated himself nonetheless.

“Not that line—the one before it,” Zhu Ping’an urged, staring at him with eyes full of encouragement.

“Lord Zhu, this humble official offers you a toast,” Zhang Juzheng repeated, though he felt increasingly unable to follow Zhu Ping’an’s train of thought.

The moment Zhu Ping’an heard those words again, it was as if he had just downed a bowl of supreme tonic. His face flushed as though blood were rushing to his head. Zhang Juzheng—future grand chancellor, legendary statesman—was calling himself this humble official before him! For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, the feeling was intoxicating, like swallowing a miraculous elixir.

The Jiajing Emperor. Yan Song. Yan Shifan. All those giants of history were figures he could only look up to. And yet here was the first time a future titan addressed him in such a manner.

It felt absurdly unreal—like someone still debating whether to eat pickled cabbage instant noodles or beef-flavored ones, only to have the nation’s most famous tycoon suddenly appear, bow deeply, and say, Hello, boss. I’m Xiao Wang.

After the initial rush, Zhu Ping’an let out a silent, self-mocking laugh. How small-minded can I be? he thought. To get this excited over a single phrase like “this humble official”—wasn’t that embarrassingly shallow?

Zhang Juzheng was merely lying low for now, gathering strength. One day, he would soar straight into the heavens.

At this moment, Zhang Juzheng stood below him. In the future, Zhang Juzheng could become Grand Secretary. He could take the helm of the Great Ming.

Then why couldn’t I?

What young people fear most is contentment. What they fear least is ambition.

If Zhang Juzheng was still a hundred thousand miles away from the position of Grand Secretary—from steering the fate of the Great Ming—then Zhu Ping’an was only ninety-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine miles away. Just a single step closer.

Since he was already walking ahead of him, why shouldn’t he dare to think further?

All these thoughts collided in his mind, complex yet swift, completing their course in the blink of an eye—less than a hundredth of a second. In that instant, Zhu Ping’an’s ambition quietly took root and began to sprout.

“Senior Brother, those words truly give me more honor than I deserve. It should be I who offers you a toast,” Zhu Ping’an said with a shake of his head and a smile, lifting his cup toward Zhang Juzheng.

There was reason behind the address. Zhang Juzheng had passed the imperial examination earlier than Zhu Ping’an, and they shared the same mentor, Xu Jie. Being of the same scholarly lineage, calling him Senior Brother was perfectly appropriate.

Hearing this, Zhang Juzheng was mildly surprised. When Zhu Ping’an had earlier asked him to repeat the words, Zhang Juzheng had assumed he was merely a shallow, vain newcomer enjoying the sensation of an experienced official addressing him so deferentially. Though he hadn’t shown it, that had been his judgment. Now, however, Zhu Ping’an’s response made him pause.

Still, it was only a trace of surprise. In Zhang Juzheng’s heart, the superficial impression Zhu Ping’an had left during their previous visit to Xu Jie hadn’t truly changed.

“Heh, look at the two of you—what’s there to push back and forth? Just drink together,” someone nearby laughed, unable to watch any longer.

Zhu Ping’an and Zhang Juzheng exchanged a glance, smiled, raised their cups, and drained them in unison.

The atmosphere at the table grew increasingly warm. Conversation flowed easily, and laughter rose now and then. Aside from eating, Zhu Ping’an spent most of his time quietly watching and listening as others spoke. To everyone else, it seemed like a gesture of respect. In truth, he was using the corner of his eye to study their mouth movements, practicing lip-reading.

As he listened and observed, Zhu Ping’an unconsciously applied the theories he had read that afternoon in the Yongle Encyclopedia to real situations. Gradually, he felt his skill improving. From the subtle shifts of their lips, sounds began to emerge—faint at first, then clearer.

“Don’t you think Uncle Da’s wearing way too much powder today?”

“Yeah… I could smell it the moment he walked in…”

Two men across from him spoke in low voices while raising their cups. Zhu Ping’an caught the movement of their lips out of the corner of his eye and deciphered most of their exchange. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly in a silent smile.

His lip-reading skills, it seemed, were turning out rather impressive.