Chapter 325: The Singing Deer Banquet and the Shaping Rebellion

After finishing Huang and Gu's exam papers, Lin Qian casually flipped through the remaining papers and saw one examinee who had written: "Since ancient times, when emperors governed the world, none did not put the peace of the people first. Yao and Shun ruled with folded hands and hanging sleeves, unable to bear a single thing being left without its place; Yu... Heaven establishes rulers to shepherd the people, not for the sake of one man's eminence, but truly entrusting to them the lives of the myriad people." It looked like proper classical prose, but it was actually all boilerplate—the four great arguments of Yao, Shun, Yu, and Tang were practically a universal template that could be trotted out to save face on any topic about diligent governance, loving the people, benevolence and righteousness, moral instruction, people as the foundation, or storing wealth among the people.

This was clearly one of those scholars who memorized model essays to cut corners.

Lin Qian glanced at the upper-right corner of the paper—there was a dot drawn there, shaped like a slight pause mark. That meant "middling."

A middling paper meant passing the exam was out of the question, but there was still a chance of being selected for an official post. Whether this man ultimately got a public position would depend on his performance on tomorrow's policy essay.

Lin Qian flipped through several more papers, finding plenty of empty rhetoric, clichés, and contorted prose, all circled and marked by the examiners to determine scores.

It seemed this topic of "the people are noble, the ruler is light" had indeed caught the scholars off guard—those without real learning were immediately exposed. In the latter half of the night, Lin Qian found an empty dormitory room at the university and slept for a while.

The next day, examinees filed in one by one after body searches. As before, at the beginning of the mao hour, the bronze gong rang and they began answering.

Gu Yanwu flipped over the back of the exam paper and saw five questions in total. Unlike the eight-legged essay, the policy essay prompts were extremely long.

The first question asked about the way of governing the state—how to nip problems in the bud and guard against their growth?

The second question drew on the words of Guan Zhong and Mencius, as well as Wang Anshi's reforms, asking whether the state should enrich the country and strengthen the military, or store wealth among the people.

These two were classics-and-history policy questions, selecting grand debatable topics with no easy answers. What they tested was the examinee's ability to design institutions and synthesize conclusions. Even without the talent for grand vision, one who had studied history well, summarized the rises and falls of successive dynasties, and written a good essay could still earn points.

The last three questions were practical policy questions, asking about official governance, the legal system, and grassroots administration. The angles chosen were the corruption of petty clerks, judicial problems in the countryside, and the collapse of the lijia system.

All were real problems that county- and township-level officials would encounter. The questions were extremely targeted—and they were personally selected by Lin Qian.

In the early Ming, policy essays carried the greatest weight in the examinations, but by the late Ming it had reached the point where only the eight-legged essay mattered and policy essays could be dashed off carelessly. Whatever the paper asked, examinees could respond with clichés about light corvée and low taxes, cherishing the people, rectifying official governance, and strictly investigating corruption—no concrete measures needed, just shouting slogans.

But Great Xia's policy essay was a supplement to the eight-legged essay. Even if one scored poorly on the eight-legged essay in the first session, a strong policy essay in the second session could still earn a public post. Conversely, if one's eight-legged essay was florid and brilliant but the policy essay was merely average, one might pass and gain the degree, but would only be assigned a sinecure like a clerk in the Government Affairs Hall, to be tempered and observed first.

Before the exam, Lin Qian had sent people to explain the rules of this examination, but he imagined there would still be scholars who dared not write frankly, who would still follow old conventions and write hollow nonsense.

Such people were timid and fearful. If they actually became officials, they would be mediocre functionaries who governed lazily and indifferently—good riddance to have them weeded out.

Gu Yanwu looked at these five questions and found them quite challenging. His heart cried out in delight, and before he even set brush to paper, half his draft was already formed in his mind. The examinations had an unwritten rule: of the five policy questions, one could choose only three to answer. This was a provision made to accommodate poor scholars of limited experience. Great Xia had not changed this, but anyone aiming for a top ranking and a high score had to write all five.

Gu Yanwu pondered for a moment, then set brush to draft paper. He wrote all five policy essays almost without pausing or correcting a single stroke, flowing in one breath. He then weighed every word, revised for a long while, and only before dusk did he neatly transcribe the final version onto the exam paper, submitting almost at the last possible moment.

That evening, Lin Qian came as usual to review the grading. As before, he first asked for the papers of examinee number two hundred ten of the di section and number thirty-five of the xuan section.

The chief examiner had already finished grading both papers. He pulled them out and handed them to His Highness for review.

Lin Qian took the papers and saw that Gu Yanwu believed the Han dynasty fell to consort clans and eunuchs; the Tang fell to military governors and factional strife; the Song fell to a strong trunk with weak branches; and the Ming would fall to factional conflict and eunuch tyranny. A new dynasty should store wealth among the people, take the people as the root, emphasize agriculture without suppressing commerce—only then could it enjoy lasting peace and order.

The prose was brilliant, but unfortunately the views were stale. Only "emphasize agriculture without suppressing commerce" counted as somewhat novel. Based on these two classics-and-history essays, it rated at best second-tier. However, Gu Yanwu had answered the three practical policy questions quite well.

His essay wrote that the Ming's petty clerks were severely corrupt because they lacked performance evaluation and were difficult to punish. The remedy was to tighten evaluation methods, increase penalties for corruption, and incorporate clerk evaluations into the official evaluation system, forming a structure of officials governing clerks.

Second, the barrier between officials and clerks should be broken down, allowing scholars to serve as clerks and shattering the hereditary clerk tradition, giving clerks a channel for upward mobility. Clerks could become officials, which in turn would effectively extend official tenure, giving officials more time to master local governance and escape their dependence on clerks.

Clear new laws should also be enacted so that clerks could not arbitrarily distort the law or selectively cite conflicting statutes.

Finally, the functions of clerks should be divided. Ming clerks held power over law enforcement, judicature, prison administration, taxation, household registration, and documentation—too many responsibilities with no checks and balances, making corruption all too easy. At minimum, law enforcement and judicature should be separated.

This analysis of pros and cons and these governance proposals were better than anything Lin Qian himself had thought of.

Lin Qian pointed at Gu Yanwu's exam paper and asked: "This question on petty clerks—have you all read it? What do you think of this examinee's proposals?"

An examiner said: "Reporting to Your Highness, proposing this method is not difficult—the difficulty lies in implementation. Judging purely by insight and literary style, this policy essay is truly of the highest order." Lin Qian smiled slightly. That was a safe, all-purpose answer that could never go wrong.

Ye Yisun said: "Your Highness, this examinee from the xuan section holds views similar to the examinee from the di section on the corruption of petty clerks, only more vehement..." The so-called xuan-section examinee was Huang Zongxi; the di-section examinee was Gu Yanwu. Apart from Lin Qian, no one else knew the correspondence between exam numbers and names, so they could only refer to them by seat number.

Ye Yisun pointed at Huang Zongxi's paper and said: "Your Highness, look—he writes, 'The flaw of the feudal system is that the strong swallow the weak, and the Son of Heaven's governance and instruction cannot reach everywhere; the flaw of the commandery system is that the calamities of the frontier never cease.'"

The extended meaning of this statement was: at worst, the feudal system meant warlords carving up territory and the Son of Heaven unable to control the feudal lords—and if that failed, one could simply replace the man sitting on the throne. But the commandery system left the state with a strong trunk and weak branches; once imperial power declined, the entire Chinese civilization faced the danger of collapse.

Huang Zongxi also gave an example later in the text—the great Song dynasty ended exactly this way. Before the Song, no matter how chaotic a dynasty's final days became, the realm still belonged to the Han people; it merely meant changing the surname of the emperor, and Chinese dress and civilization remained intact.

The Song's over-centralization and weakened localities directly led to the Mongol invasion and the fall of Chinese civilization.

Now the great Ming had inherited the Song's commandery system, to the point that the localities were weakened, war blazed on every border of the Ming, and territory in the northeast and southwest was constantly being devoured by foreign peoples. If this continued, the Ming feared it would follow the Song's path to ruin.

Lin Qian praised: "Insightful."

Had there been no Great Xia, history would indeed have unfolded exactly as Huang Zongxi had deduced.

Of course, Lin Qian's praise did not mean he agreed with Huang Zongxi's views. Huang Zongxi was young after all, and his views were still somewhat radical, prone to extremes. For Chinese civilization, warlord fragmentation and chaotic warfare would be no less destructive.

Ye Yisun said: "This examinee from the xuan section talks at great length on the classics-and-history essays, and his three practical policy answers are all extensions of the classics-and-history essays as well. He seems to be the type for empty theorizing."

Lin Qian shook his head, pointing at a line on the exam paper: "Not entirely. Look, he says, 'The academy is not merely a place for nurturing scholars, but also a place for public deliberation of right and wrong,' and further, 'Even the Son of Heaven should sit among the students; when governance has flaws, the chancellor of the Grand Academy should speak frankly without reservation.'"

Ye Yisun suddenly realized: "This lad means to say that there should be a supervisory power established from the bottom up? That is not unlike what Your Highness had in—" He had meant to say "not unlike what Your Highness had in mind," but seeing Lin Qian's gaze fall on him, he hastily coughed and swallowed the rest of his words.

Ye Yisun was the editor-in-chief of the Great Xia Times and Lin Qian's mouthpiece. His political sensitivity was not particularly high, but his sensitivity to public opinion was in the top tier in all the Ming.

Lin Qian had previously, at family gatherings, touched sporadically on ideas about opening up public discourse with Ye Yisun, but they had always fizzled out without conclusion.

To be sure, opening up public discourse would bring many benefits, but in times of chaos and transformation, what mattered more than separation of powers and checks and balances was concentrating strength to accomplish great things. The Ming's popular discourse was mostly controlled by the gentry, while the toiling masses had the smallest voice of all.

Relaxing control over discourse would turn public criticism and political commentary into megaphones for the gentry, and could even mutate into tools of factional struggle.

Therefore, at the present stage Lin Qian was not prepared to open up public discourse. First, build a unified and powerful state—then talk about the rest.

Lin Qian flipped through the two examinees' papers again. He could clearly sense that Huang Zongxi was more radical, more inclined toward the institutional and national level—clearly a future talent for the Grand Secretariat.

Gu Yanwu was more pragmatic and moderate, leaning toward the local, the concrete, and the detailed. He should serve in a ministry position, managing practical affairs, or as a regional governor ruling over one region. The two men's views had many similarities, yet they complemented each other in a remarkable way—truly fulfilling Confucius's saying, "The gentleman harmonizes but does not conform."

Lin Qian set down the two papers and asked again: "Are there any other policy essays that were answered well?"

The chief examiner rose and said: "Reporting to Your Highness, your servant has several papers here that are quite good." With that, he handed the papers over.

Lin Qian took them and flipped through them one by one. Regardless of right or wrong, at least each paper had its own viewpoint and could argue its case coherently—which was already quite rare. Among them were even a few suggestions that made Lin Qian's eyes light up.

For example, one examinee's view on rural judicial problems was that when a township magistrate heard a case, three people should be publicly elected from a neighboring village or another county to assist.

The township magistrate would be responsible for investigating the facts of the case and selecting the applicable laws, while the publicly elected persons would be responsible for determining guilt and punishment. The minority would yield to the majority in deciding the outcome of the case.

This proposal was very similar to Europe's jury system, effectively preventing judges from rendering arbitrary verdicts for personal gain—though whether it could truly ensure fairness was hard to say.

At the very least, coming up with such an idea was commendable, and the literary quality of this paper was also excellent. When depicting the ugly faces of Ming grassroots gentry, bureaucrats, and petty clerks, it was truly incisive, every word dripping with blood, extremely sharp.

Lin Qian pulled out the roster to look it up and found this examinee was named Gui Zhuang, also from Kunshan in the Southern Direct Administration—a fellow townsman of Gu Yanwu. He came from a scholarly family, and to be able to write so profoundly about the suffering of the lower classes, he must have put real thought into his investigations.

Lin Qian then cross-referenced the roster one by one, verifying the identities of the rest. The outstanding examinees were mainly local students, and among the local students, most were from Civilization University. However, he did not see Li Shixiong's name.

"One who excels in learning should take up office"—that was the life creed of scholars, and university students naturally could not escape it either.

For Great Xia, these university students, whether or not they participated in the examinations, were all rare talents. After graduation they would all be given important positions and entrusted with key duties. This was also in line with the national policy of "reducing the importance of the examinations and diversifying the talent selection mechanism."

Lin Qian watched for a long while, then drained the tea on the table in one gulp before giving his orders: "I'll trouble you all to finish grading the papers as quickly as possible during this period."

The examiners rose together, hurriedly disclaiming any credit.

Over the following days, the examiners were shut in their rooms, grading papers almost without pause day and night, managing only one or four hours of sleep each day.

Lin Qian, mindful of their hard work, sent fine food, rare teas, incense, and silver flowing into the rooms like water, and even stationed a physician nearby on standby. He also promised the examiners half a month of leave after the results were posted, but during the grading period, he never once mentioned rest.

At the same time, the provincial examination grading in Guilin, Fuzhou, and Chitan was proceeding in parallel, equally ceaseless day and night.

Among the four provinces, Dongning had the fewest candidates—fewer than a hundred. Under this brutal schedule, Chitan finished grading and posting results in just one day. Two days later, Guilin also posted its results.

Five days later, Fuzhou and Guangzhou posted theirs in succession.

The four provinces' provincial examination candidates totaled nearly four thousand, with one hundred fifty selected as juren on the main list and twenty as government students on the supplementary list.

Supplementary-list government students meant they had barely passed—they couldn't directly sit for the metropolitan examination, but they gained exemption from the next provincial examination, something like a consolation prize. This was a Ming dynasty examination tradition that Daxia had inherited.

Among these, the Guangzhou provincial examination was split into two lists: the top three were chosen only from local candidates, while out-of-province candidates had a separate list and were not ranked alongside locals. Gu, Huang, and Gui thus had no actual rankings.

In Lin Qian's view, the local candidates' essays were inferior to those of Huang, Gu, and Gui.

But the chief examiner believed that since local candidates already resented out-of-province candidates taking their quota slots, ranking outsiders above locals would have the scholars rioting. This was the wisdom of maintaining stability in the examination system.

Besides, since ancient times there has been no first among essays—Gu and Huang held extreme views, too sharp-edged; what is rigid easily breaks. Hiding their rankings was both protection and a tempering of their character.

Regardless, everyone had passed—all were juren on the main list, all could sit for the metropolitan examination, and becoming a Zhuangyuan then would be far more impressive than being a provincial top scorer. The day after results were posted, the Guangzhou prefectural office prepared the Singing Deer Banquet, the official celebration after the provincial examination, hosted personally by Guangdong Governor Ye Yifan. Before the feast began, bells, chimes, zithers, and lutes played in unison, performing "The Deer Sings," while all manner of delicacies flowed to the tables throughout the meal.

The candidates paid respects to the chief examiner, the examination supervisor, the education commissioner, and other officials, performing the four-kowtow ritual. Every step was carried out with utmost precision, and out-of-province juren had to fill in their native place, address, name, and number of family members before taking their seats.

Dozens of seagoing ships were already anchored on the Pearl River, waiting to pick up people from other provinces.

Huang, Gu, and the others had failed the Ming provincial examinations, yet here in Daxia, where they freely voiced their views, they passed on their first attempt—all felt as if in a dream.

The splendid rituals of the Singing Deer Banquet all carried an air of unreality.

During the feast, Gui Zhuang picked up a piece of braised lamb in red sauce. The moment he tasted it, his eyes lit up with brilliance.

The lamb not only lacked any gamey smell but preserved the meat's fresh fragrance. On closer savoring, there were floral and citrus notes, and after swallowing, his mouth filled with saliva, the aftertaste lingering long. It seemed to transport one to a grassland, a gentle breeze blowing, ten thousand acres of verdant green, flower scents, grass scents, and earth scents arriving all at once.

Gui Zhuang hastily called his two friends over to taste it. The Gu family was a great clan of Jiangdong, and Gu Yanwu had sampled countless delicacies, yet he too couldn't understand how the meat was made so delicious—clearly a braised dish in brown sauce, yet carrying a fresh, clean quality. He went to ask a nearby attendant.

The attendant smiled: "The dish has powdered mace added to it."

Gui Zhuang was first stunned, then said: "You mean that one that's entirely crimson red, shaped like flames?"

The attendant said: "Exactly. His Majesty specially ordered it. The four main dishes of the Singing Deer Banquet—deer, lamb, pork, and fish—each has its own story. The deer is Dongning sika deer with Siamese lemongrass, the fish is giant grouper with cloves, and the pork is Luzon black pig with Malacca pepper."

Seeing the three newly minted juren fall into a daze at his words, the attendant smiled with satisfaction.

Besides the new juren, this provincial examination also selected over three hundred failed candidates. Though their eight-legged essays were mediocre, their policy essays had merits of one kind or another—fine material for filling grassroots official posts.

After the results were posted, these men all received appointment notices one after another and were immediately dispatched to various townships across Guangdong.

At the same time, the various prefectural examinations also concluded one after another, selecting over two thousand men who were granted grassroots clerk positions and set off for their posts alongside the newly appointed township magistrates. With this batch of officials joining, Guangdong's shortage of officials was somewhat alleviated. In the three prefectures of Guangzhou, Zhaoqing, and Huizhou, township and prefectural offices could now basically function smoothly. According to examination regulations, each session had to be spaced three years apart—these three years could count as a pilot run of the township magistrate reform in the three prefectures. If effective, more talent would be selected and the reform extended to all four provinces.

Now that the provincial examination was concluded and the metropolitan examination still a month and a half away, government affairs had eased somewhat. Lin Qian was lying in the shade of a tree in his residence, enjoying the cool.

Suddenly he saw the signal arm on the relay station atop Panlong Ridge begin swinging left and right. This line had been used frequently since its completion, though each time it had transmitted only simple messages.

This transmission went on for a very long time—the station swung through more than thirty commands in one breath and still hadn't stopped.

Lin Qian sat up straight, vaguely sensing that something major had happened.

After the time it took to eat a meal, the signal arm finally came to rest, returning to the "000" standby state.

A moment later, the sound of horse hooves rang out beyond the residence gates, and a messenger rushed into the compound, handing over an official document.

"Your Majesty! The latest dispatch from Guilin! Urgent military intelligence."

Lin Qian stood, took it, and saw that the document was filled edge to edge with code groups and their translations.

The dispatch read: "On the first day of the third month this year, the chieftain Pu Mingsheng seized Weimo Prefecture and recruited rebels and deserters.

On the twenty-second day of the third month, Pu killed Ming officials and raised the banner of rebellion, commanding nearly ten thousand followers, coordinating with An Bangyan from north to south. The Yunnan-Guangxi post road has been severed, and pressure on southwestern Guangxi has greatly increased. The chieftains of Guangxi's Siming, Guishun, and other prefectures harbor secret ambitions, privately drilling troops—untold trouble may be brewing.

Additionally, Yunnan's common folk are fleeing the fighting into Guangxi, clashing incessantly with local Han and Zhuang residents.

It is recommended that troops be reinforced for garrison duty. Decision by the General Staff."

Lin Qian cursed inwardly. Though he didn't know exactly where Weimo Prefecture was, from Qin Liangyu's dispatch he knew it lay along the Yunnan-Guangxi border—and it was certainly a strategic transportation hub.

Guangxi and Yunnan had previously coexisted peacefully, with brisk trade between them.

Yunnan abounded in copper, silver, tin, lead, and other minerals—an important supplement to Daxia's resources beyond overseas trade. Dali horses and Dian horses were also continuously imported, and western Guangxi relied on Dian salt for its daily needs.

With war breaking out, not only were the trade routes completely severed, but vast sums of money would have to be spent maintaining garrison troops.

Right now, Daxia's main army was still in Jiangxi, having just taken Ji'an Prefecture, with Yuanzhou, Linjiang, Fuzhou, and Jianchang still unbroken. Even if they fully occupied Jiangxi and then turned the army around to march back, the fastest would be three to four months—far too late.

Moreover, this rebellion was no petty affair. This was the beginning of the Sha-Pu Rebellion in history, a disturbance that lasted over thirty years, only pacified when Wu Sangui entered Yunnan.

Lin Qian pondered for a moment, then said: "First, to the General Staff headquarters."

Lin Qian went out, mounted his horse, and rode all the way to the General Staff headquarters, where he dismounted nimbly and went inside.

In the main hall, staff officers were gathered around the sand table, bustling about in a flurry.

As Lin Qian entered, all the staff officers clasped their hands in salute and said: "Your Majesty."

Lin Qian walked to the sand table and asked: "You've all received the urgent dispatch from Guilin, I take it? Is there a decision?"

The staff officers exchanged glances. After a long while, Army Chief of Staff Xu Fengjie said: "Helmsman, our department's deliberation is that a small troop reinforcement this time, with diplomatic means as the primary solution, would be best."

Lin Qian said: "Your reasoning?"

Xu Fengjie pointed at the sand table: "Helmsman, please look—Weimo Prefecture, where the rebels are based, has extremely rugged, complex terrain with countless karst caves. Even troops skilled in mountain warfare would easily lose their way. To take this place, one would need to mobilize a large army with heavy artillery, supplemented by numerous local guides.

Though the main force of the Ming army in Jiangxi has been wiped out, there are still many prefectures and counties, and the front line is very broad. Regional Commander Lei is preparing to strike on four fronts simultaneously, attacking Yuanzhou, Linjiang, Fuzhou, and Jianchang at once.

Regional Commander Huang in Fujian is to coordinate from the east, attacking Jianchang and Guangxin.

Regional Commander Ma in Guangdong has to split his forces to garrison Nan'an, Ganzhou, Ji'an, and other places—maintaining public order, protecting the grain routes, and guarding Ming prisoners of war. He truly has no spare troops to send to Yunnan.

Besides, Chieftain Pu Mingsheng operates under Ming rule—he's making trouble for the Ming court, and he can also help tie down Fu Zonglong and the Mu Prince's Manor in Yunnan." The Mu Prince's Manor was the common folk's name for the Qian State Duke's residence. It had been established in the early Ming dynasty, when Zhu Yuanzhang's adopted son Mu Ying had led troops to pacify Yunnan and was enfeoffed with the title, tasked with guarding Yunnan in perpetuity.

Everything Xu Fengjie said, except the last part, matched Lin Qian's own thinking. This was the critical period for annexing Jiangxi, and Daxia truly had no spare capacity to deal with the Yunnan chieftain's affairs.

The trouble Pu Mingsheng was causing Daxia could only be endured for now—once they had free hands, they would settle accounts after the autumn harvest.

Lin Qian added, "What about stationing troops along the Guangxi–Yunnan border?"

Xu Fengjie picked up the teaching pointer and drew a line across the border of the two provinces: "This entire stretch is nothing but rocky mountains and stone forests, with almost no continuous flat land. It cannot be cultivated, waterways are poor, transport is inconvenient, logistics are extremely difficult, and supplies are scarce. On top of that, miasma and disease run rampant, and the terrain is so fragmented that troops would have to be scattered everywhere and garrisoned at every point. So... even if we do send troops, we can only send a small number."

The Great Ming would surely respond to this problem by mobilizing the native chieftains' wolf soldiers—that is a double-edged sword.

In fact, Pu Mingsheng himself had grown powerful and risen gradually precisely because the court, in order to suppress the She-An Rebellion, frequently mobilized his troops and lavished him with large amounts of military pay.

The Guangxi chieftains were already none too obedient as it was; going out of our way to provoke them would easily lead to solving one problem only to create another.

After weighing the matter repeatedly, Lin Qian said, "Execute according to the Army General Staff's resolution."

"Yes, sir!" Xu Fengjie acknowledged.

Lin Qian fell into thought again for a moment. Great Xia would soon be able to swallow up Jiangxi, and with the territory expanding, it was time to increase the troop strength as well.

This expansion of the army was just the right opportunity to complete some of the Army's plans.

Thinking of this, Lin Qian said, "Geng Wu, tell Minister Song of the Ministry of War to come see me!"

Yahei

Pink Round

Pen