Chapter 2022: A Mere Ninth Grade, Yet Daring to Reach for Heaven

A black gauze cap, two wisps of short beard, a pale face and a long robe — Wang Qinruo's appearance was still quite presentable, and his refined, gentle bearing easily inspired goodwill in others.

However, under the night sky within this mansion, Registrar Wang was far from his usual composure and ease. On that scholarly face, what faintly showed through was anxiety and lingering fear.

No need to guess — the matter of blocking the imperial carriage to lodge a complaint was naturally engineered by Wang Qinruo himself. Of course, being well aware of the risks involved, Wang Qinruo was extraordinarily careful in the actual execution, doing his utmost to cast himself as a subordinate official concerned for his country and people, blood hot with righteous indignation, acting rashly in a moment of passion, and daring to plead for the people.

First, he put considerable thought into the selection of the complainants. The two who blocked the carriage were naturally locals of Luoshan County, both of artisan background, registered in the artisan rolls, possessing some property and reputation, and with a measure of knowledge and spirit.

Moreover, in their capacity as work foremen, they had participated in the construction of Taikang Palace and had suffered greatly from it — enduring hardship and mistreatment, losing workers and money. This last point was especially important; it was the driving force that gave them the dog's courage to block the imperial carriage and lodge their appeal, and it could also plausibly explain their familiarity with the terrain and roads of Mount Jigong, as well as their rough recognition of the carriage markings of imperial nobility.

Of course, Wang Qinruo was also deeply aware of the risks, and so he was exceptionally cautious throughout the entire instigation process. No matter how many strings he pulled in the dark, on the surface at least, Wang Qinruo was merely opposing harsh state policies, pitying the suffering of the artisans and the common folk of Luoshan. Two artisans came to him for help, and in a moment of righteous indignation, he wrote them a petition.

This point was equally important — throughout the entire affair, he, Wang Qinruo, had to show something, some display of "righteousness." Otherwise, why go to all this trouble? It couldn't really be to aid the distressed and plead for the people, could it?

To be honest, Wang Qinruo's move carried significant political risk. If things went wrong, losing his post and being dismissed would be the light outcome; death and the extermination of his clan would leave no room for regret. Over these days, the more Wang Qinruo thought about it, the clearer he saw it, and the more terrified he became — restless all day, unable to find peace.

For Wang Qinruo, this was a gamble. Having entered officialdom at the age of twenty, now approaching thirty, he was still merely a Registrar of a low-ranking county at the ninth grade. Such circumstances made Wang Qinruo anxious.

When a man grows anxious, mistakes become hard to avoid — making rash, unsober decisions. Wang Qinruo was exactly such a case, and this had little to do with the level of one's intelligence.

Under normal circumstances, as an officially appointed court official who had risen beyond clerical duties — even if only a minor ninth-grade official — he was still a court-appointed mandarin, with a different status and standing. With Wang Qinruo's seniority and ability, even if he developed step by step, becoming the chief administrator of a county within ten years was not overly difficult.

However, if by around forty he were still merely a county magistrate, that would not be something Wang Qinruo could accept. His youth had already been frittered away; he could not afford to waste another decade of his prime years. Yet this was precisely the most common situation in the current officialdom of the Great Han — for someone without deep family connections, becoming the chief official of a county by around forty was already considered outstanding.

Barring unexpected events, Wang Qinruo would next choose to go to the capital to take the imperial examinations. Compared to ordinary clerks and scholars, his advantage was that his qualification to sit for the exam was direct — he did not need to pass through the three levels of county, prefecture, and circuit examinations in succession, nor did he need to vie for a superior's recommendation.

The Great Han's examination regulations stipulated that appointed officials without "scholarly honors" could directly sit for the regular and special examinations — this could naturally be seen as part of bureaucratic privilege. As the Great Han's institutions continued to improve and evolve, those meticulous and cumbersome rules and regulations, while constraining all under heaven, grew ever more favorable to the upper-class nobles and bureaucrats. The higher one's status and the greater one's power, the more this held true. This was hardly anything strange — so-called systems have always served the ruling class.

The imperial examination would be a step-by-step path for Wang Qinruo. With his intelligence and years of practical experience, passing the exam was highly likely. However, beyond this rule-following choice, he had glimpsed another opportunity to make a name for himself.

The root perhaps lay in Wang Qinruo's restless heart and opportunistic nature, but the spark was a single man — Zhang Qixian, the newly appointed Administration Commissioner of the Capital Circuit.

Wang Ming's appointment as Administration Commissioner of the Capital Circuit had been conciliatory in nature and had in fact become a transitional arrangement. Just last month, before his seat had even grown warm, Wang Ming died in office, succumbing to illness. Several consecutive senior officials of the northwest had come to no good end — either executed for crimes or dead of disease. Perhaps this was the "magic" of the northwestern officialdom.

As the number one circuit under heaven, the importance of the Capital Circuit went without saying. After Wang Ming's death, there was no shortage of struggle at court over this position. Yet just like the Luoyang Governorship last year, it ultimately fell to someone no one had expected — Zhang Qixian.

Zhang Qixian could be considered a senior official half-raised in the northwestern officialdom. Over the past decade, he had performed well in Yulin and Guannei, and his abilities had earned recognition both at court and beyond. But to serve as the chief official of the Capital Circuit, he clearly still lacked some seniority — just like Pan You back then.

However, in the current Great Han, most things pushed forward by the old Emperor could be accomplished, and the rest could at least secure a "decent outcome." And when a matter was jointly promoted by both the Emperor and the Crown Prince, it was naturally bound to succeed. Zhang Qixian's appointment to the Capital Circuit was exactly such a case.

The old Emperor had always held a favorable impression of Zhang Qixian — from drawing maps and offering strategies, to observing governance as a jinshi, from Prefect of Yanzhou to senior official of the northwest. Over thirty years, front and back, only thus had such a well-rounded senior official of both civil and military capability been honed. The old Emperor could not possibly set him aside.

As for Crown Prince Liu Yang, the reason was even simpler. Back when the maps and strategies were first presented, it was Zhang Qixian who had targeted the Crown Prince. Song Zhun's death early this year had cost the Eastern Palace a Luoyang Governorship, but in exchange they gained a Capital Circuit — however one calculated it, it was worth it, at least not a loss.

And looking at the several personnel changes from the Luoyang Governorship to the Capital Circuit, Crown Prince Liu Yang's control and influence over the capital region had been steadily increasing, and over the years had formed genuine strength.

A change of county magistrate could stir ripples — how much more so a circuit's chief official, and the Capital Circuit at that. Although Shen Prefecture was remote, merely an unimportant lower prefecture on the edge of the Capital Circuit, and Luoshan was but an ordinary small county, when the wind of the circuit office's change blew here, the repercussions were enormous.

Setting aside other matters, at least Zhang Qixian's experience was quite legendary to many bureaucrats, carrying positive significance and an encouraging effect.

And for Wang Qinruo, what moved him most was the old story of "drawing maps and offering strategies." With that connection and that reputation, one naturally possessed advantages in officialdom that others lacked. For thirty years, Zhang Qixian had greatly benefited from it.

Fame must be sought early! This was roughly Wang Qinruo's realization after the news of Zhang Qixian's transfer to the Capital Circuit was confirmed.

It was not just a realization — it also stirred a desire to emulate. Time waits for no one. However, copying the original approach and blocking the carriage to offer advice was clearly impossible — first, there was no such opportunity at the moment; second, it would break the rules and would not be tolerated by officialdom.

After much agonizing thought, having personally witnessed the construction of Taikang Palace, and combining the imperial southern tour with the local conditions of Shen Prefecture, Wang Qinruo found this method of "making a name."

When making the decision, he was resolute, and even during the planning and execution, he was calm and firm without a trace of hesitation.

But that composure existed only because the arrow was still nocked but not yet loosed — everything remained under control. But once it was formally set in motion, nothing was within his grasp any longer, and anxiety became unavoidable.

Reflecting on the entire plan, negative emotions such as regret and panic began to assail Wang Qinruo. He could not help but be tense — at least in Wang Qinruo's current understanding, this move was too risky and too audacious. If anything went wrong — no, things very likely would go wrong — how could the result be as he wished?

Even if he made a name, it was hard to know whether it would be a name of merit or of infamy. Burdened with such heavy psychology, acquaintances had recently noticed that Registrar Wang seemed somewhat off his game — highly uncharacteristic of him during the imperial southern tour.

According to the prefectural office's notification, estimating the time, the imperial carriage had already arrived at Taikang Palace. Barring accidents, the matter had already unfolded — there was utterly no turning back. As these two days approached, Wang Qinruo's anxiety kept intensifying; his furrowed brow had not relaxed once.

The situation at Taikang Palace was not something a mere registrar like him could inquire into. No concerned news arrived, but what was placed before him was a prefectural notice bearing a stern admonition from Prefectural Administrator Liu Jiqian, to the effect that the imperial visit to Shen Prefecture was a matter of great importance, requiring all officials at every level under his jurisdiction to be meticulous, cautious, and careful in handling affairs.

The county office receiving this admonition was hardly surprising. What put pressure on Wang Qinruo was that the County Magistrate had specifically sent someone to copy and deliver this notice to him overnight.