Chapter 113: Combing Green Silk

Then there was his eighth-rank title of Fengyi Lang—not appointed by the Ministry of Personnel, but directly conferred by the Emperor's imperial edict; according to palace custom, he was required to enter the palace to express his gratitude.

This morning, the Palace Supervision Office had already notified the Ministry of Rites that the audience to thank the Emperor would be scheduled for the second watch after tomorrow's court session.

After finishing his duties at the Sacrificial Affairs Office, he specifically went to the northern hall of the Ministry of Rites to pay his respects to the Left Vice Minister of Rites, Guo Guo Youchang.

Guo Guo Youchang also served as the chief examiner for this year's Yongzhou provincial examination and was the mentor to all the scholar-candidates who passed.

Jia Cong, as the top-ranked candidate, was personally selected by Guo Guo Youchang, making their connection even closer than usual.

Though a mentor's influence is not as intimate as that of a personal teacher who imparts scholarly lineage, in official circles, a mentor's weight can sometimes surpass that of a personal teacher.

Since this was Jia Cong's first official duty at the Ministry of Rites, he naturally had to pay his respects to this mentor—it was an essential formality.

When Guo Guo Youchang saw Jia Cong arrive, though his words were full of praise, his heart harbored complex emotions.

Jia Cong not only displayed astonishing literary talent, but his appearance and bearing were also first-rate; throughout history, official selection always emphasized "body, speech, script, and judgment"—'body' meaning physical appearance, nearly a prerequisite for appointment.

After sorting through all these matters, he clearly understood: he had been thoroughly used as a pawn by Emperor Emperor Jia Zhao.

He had studied diligently, earned the top rank through genuine ability, yet still had a knife plunged into his back by unseen hands, nearly ruining him beyond recovery.

Yet this young man's fortune was simply too bizarre.

Over these days, he had carefully reflected on all events surrounding his false accusation, heard from Cai Cai Xiaoyu about the court debates, and learned of the imperial edict read by Guo Lin at the Jia residence.

But it seemed there was no avoiding it—he'd just have to grit his teeth and get through it.

Yet the little maid was tense and excited, tossing and turning unable to sleep, as if it were she who would face the Emperor tomorrow, not Jia Cong.

But Jia Cong himself felt little enthusiasm about entering the palace to meet the Emperor.

The quick-tongued censors of the Censorate might well slander him behind his back—flattering the powerful, fawning before the monarch, shifting with the wind, utterly losing his integrity.

Jia Zheng heard this and was thrilled and overjoyed: at such a young age, Cong-ge had already glimpsed the Emperor's face—his future was boundless.

After returning from the Ministry of Rites, Jia Cong had Wu'er and Qingwen begin packing his belongings, and told Jia Zheng about tomorrow's audience with the Emperor.

Going to Jin Ling to copy scriptures, far from trouble, and quieting his ears was not a bad thing.

He had been falsely accused as the son of a courtesan, yet became the Emperor's lever to crush all dissenting voices in court.

Alas, even he, Minister Guo, had suffered silent grievances—he was more wronged than Dou E.

Though he himself gained great advantage, he now felt wary of this calculating Emperor, and wished to avoid him entirely.

That night, Qingwen was on duty.

As the Left Vice Minister of Rites, he too had swallowed a bitter, silent pill.

Now he genuinely looked forward to the journey to Jin Ling, for the waters of the imperial capital were far too deep.

Not only did the Jia household harbor hidden daggers and secret fires, but even these extended relatives were no easy lot—and the court was even more treacherous, with fortune and misfortune unpredictable.

……

For a man like Jia Cong to be named top candidate, even he, the chief examiner and mentor, could take some pride.

……

She chattered animatedly on the small couch, her voice sweet and lively, charming and graceful.

After much fussing, she finally fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning, at first light, Qingwen unusually did not oversleep—she sprang up at once.

She helped Jia Cong dress and comb his hair, thinking that since this was his first time meeting the Emperor, he must be presented with utmost dignity.

Qingwen's movements grew increasingly meticulous and focused, the combing process stretching out unconsciously.

The wooden comb passed again and again gently over Jia Cong's head, a light, tickling sensation, deeply soothing.

The little maid seemed determined to leave not a single strand out of place, unaware that such prolonged motion was most soporific, especially since Jia Cong had just woken from sleep.

Before long, he grew drowsy under her ministrations; the comb tugged his long hair, his head tilting back unconsciously, pressing into that soft, fragrant fullness—it felt oddly pleasant.

"Oh! Young Master!" Qingwen blushed furiously and pouted.

At that moment, Wu'er entered and asked: "What's going on?"

Qingwen, startled as if caught in the act, gripped the comb tightly—her wrist jerked, unintentionally pressing Jia Cong into the tender spot.

Wu'er's face flushed crimson; she scolded: "Clumsy girl, can't even comb hair properly."

Wu'er went out again to prepare Jia Cong's clothes; Qingwen sighed in relief, saw Jia Cong still leaning against her bosom, and quickly pushed him away, her cheeks burning red.

Seeing Jia Cong smiling at her in the mirror, she shot him a bright, reproachful glance: "It's all your fault."

Wu'er brought out Jia Cong's brand-new eighth-rank official robe—the one he had received when he went to the Ministry of Rites.

The eighth-rank robe of the Great Zhou was green, embroidered with intricate, colorful oriole patterns, looking somewhat comical and festive.

They said seventh-rank robes were blue; if he got the chance, he should aim for promotion.

After Qingwen finished combing Jia Cong's hair and washing his face, Si'er arrived from the kitchen with breakfast; after they ate,

Wu'er and Qingwen began helping Jia Cong don his official robe, carefully smoothing every wrinkle.

Watching the two lovely maids bustling around him, Jia Cong felt slightly dizzy.

Had he not stopped them in time, they might have resorted to powdering his face and adorning him with flowers.

……

After the Mao hour, Jia Cong set out; yesterday, Jia Zheng had already instructed Guo Guo Zhigui to prepare the carriage and horses.

They left so early to enter the palace with the officials attending the morning court.

The palace gates were strictly guarded; you couldn't just arrive and expect them to open.

Only the Emperor's most trusted ministers were summoned to the palace for private audiences outside court hours.

As a newly appointed junior official, Jia Cong had no such privilege—he had to follow the crowd of morning court officials into the palace.

After entering, he would wait two hours in the palace's rest chamber until an eunuch came to escort him to the Emperor's presence; every step of protocol had to be flawless.

The Ministry of Rites officials had already demonstrated the procedures yesterday; fortunately, his audience was merely a simple gratitude visit, so the rules were not overly strict.

At the Wumen gate, carriages and horses of court officials lined the area; many officials whispered with familiar colleagues, waiting for the hour to strike and the great gates to open for the morning court.

When Jia Cong stepped down from the carriage, he drew many glances—mainly because he looked impossibly young, dressed in the glaring green of an eighth-rank robe, standing out like a crane among chickens in a sea of vermilion, purple, and blue.

For an eighth-rank official in green robes to appear here at this hour was truly rare.

After all, only fifth-rank and above officials were eligible to attend court—what was an eighth-rank doing here?

Only a few sharp-minded officials, from his robe and youthful appearance, guessed who he might be.

At that moment, three cannon blasts rang out at Wumen; the two massive vermilion gates, studded with cup-sized bronze nails, groaned open in the faint dawn light.

As Jia Cong stepped into the palace with the crowd of court officials, he was immediately stopped by palace guards—his bright green eighth-rank robe was too conspicuous.

An attendant from the Palace Supervision Office had already been waiting beside Wumen; he stepped forward and asked: "Are you the young Official Jia, Fengyi Lang?"

After verifying Jia Cong's official appointment document from the Ministry of Personnel, he led him to the palace rest chamber to wait—this was the designated area for officials awaiting audience.

When he entered the rest chamber, the outside world was still pitch black; he waited for over two hours, utterly bored, yet dared not step outside to wander.

Only when sunlight blazed outside did an eunuch finally arrive, leading him to the Qianyang Hall to meet the Emperor and express his gratitude.