Chapter 3: Dumpling Buns

Within the inner quarters.

“My Lord, your behavior today is vastly different from usual.”

“There are so many nephews from our clan—why is only this one worth your attention?”

The Marquis’s Lady asked, puzzled.

She had seen many nephews come to visit relatives; some were even closer by blood.

Most times, the Marquis of Zhenyuan merely offered polite formalities; even a few private words of advice were considered an act of familial kindness.

“Different!”

“Those nephews of ours before me are either timid and hesitant, or desperate to impress.”

“No matter what I say, they all agree blindly. They lack independent judgment—mere sycophants. Their potential in officialdom is severely limited.”

“Li Mu remained neither subservient nor defiant throughout. Even when I deliberately raised sensitive topics, he stayed calm.”

“He neither agreed nor openly contradicted—he simply deflected.”

“He has unique insights into court politics. Based on just fragments of outside information, his analysis already approaches the truth.”

“Someone with such mature judgment, sharp political instinct, and clear self-awareness is best suited for officialdom.”

“Even if he is still immature now, a few years of polishing in court will see him grow rapidly.”

“Most crucially, when trouble arises, he knows how to sidestep it—he understands how to preserve himself. Putting him forward won’t bring me trouble.”

“The next generation of the Hou family still needs time to mature, and my political resources are currently in a lull. Why not give him a chance?”

Li Yuan said with a smile.

Influenced by Confucian clan culture, promoting younger clan members in the Great Ming bureaucracy was a social norm.

Yet due to the bias of civil over military prestige, fewer young men now chose the military path; most opted for civil service.

Even his own sons prioritized studying, hoping to achieve success in the imperial examinations.

Not just the Marquis of Zhenyuan’s household, but the entire aristocratic elite were actively shifting from military to civil careers.

In this regard, successive emperors had always encouraged it.

Aristocratic sons who passed the imperial examinations as jinshi were given priority cultivation and promoted far faster than ordinary officials.

Top-tier aristocrats received even greater favors: as long as a direct heir held even a shengyuan degree, he could become a prince’s companion.

If the prince he accompanied ascended the throne, he would often be granted a jinshi title as a reward.

“My Lord, Mu’er has reached marriageable age.”

“His parents passed away early, and no one has arranged anything for him. Could we help him out?”

The Marquis’s Lady ventured tentatively.

It wasn’t that she valued Li Mu particularly—rather, aristocratic families traditionally practiced marriage alliances.

She had only two daughters, both already betrothed. By custom, the Hou family must also marry in a mistress from another aristocratic house.

For the sake of both families’ honor, whichever son married into the alliance must be recorded as her adopted son in the clan register.

Once this status was formalized, he became the primary heir; even if she later bore a biological son, he would be relegated to second place.

With legal inheritance rights and the backing of his wife’s family, replacing him as heir would become nearly impossible.

No matter how composed she appeared daily, the Marquis’s Lady still found this prospect distasteful.

Until she completely lost the ability to bear children, she would not allow such a risk to unfold.

Even if she eventually had no choice but to take this step, to safeguard her own position, the wife’s family of the adopted son must not be powerful.

Li Mu’s status was considerably lower than that of a potential heir, but aristocratic marriage alliances still valued personal potential.

A hereditary rank of third-rank military officer was barely acceptable; if the Hou family backed him and he showed notable promise, his chances were still substantial.

“Hmm.”

“His parents passed away early; it is only natural for elders like us to help arrange his marriage.”

“First, look into it for me—I’ll confirm whether he already has a prior betrothal, to avoid any embarrassing mix-ups.”

Li Yuan said dismissively.

Clearly, he had not sensed the Marquis’s Lady’s true intent; otherwise, he would never have agreed so readily.

Promoting a promising junior did not mean pouring in heavy resources.

Political marriage was itself a reallocation of resources; once arranged, the Hou family’s political capital for years to come would be invested in Li Mu.

The childless Marquis’s Lady didn’t care—she’d be lucky to bear a son even if she conceived now, and that son would still be twenty years from maturity.

Such a long span meant those who could rise had already risen; those who couldn’t were no longer worth wasting resources on.

But the Marquis of Zhenyuan was different—he had illegitimate sons too, and he’d naturally prefer to invest his political capital in his own bloodline.

“Rest assured, My Lord—I’ll find Mu’er an excellent match!”

The Marquis’s Lady smiled warmly.

Achieving her goal so easily was far beyond her expectations.

Having long managed the inner quarters of the Hou family, she knew perfectly well who was betrothed, who was still being considered.

Betrothal was a major matter.

All proper rituals and ceremonies had to be observed, and relatives and friends across the land had to be formally notified.

To finalize a marriage alliance between two great families based solely on a decades-old verbal promise was pure fantasy.

Betrothal was solemn; breaking it was even harder.

According to Great Ming law, breaking a private betrothal without cause carried fifty strokes of the cane.

If one then betrothed another without having married the first, seventy strokes if the marriage was not consummated, eighty if it was.

This applied equally to men and women; unless the other party committed grave misconduct or died, attempting to break the betrothal meant losing half your life.

Even if one survived the punishment, public opinion would destroy one’s reputation—future marriage prospects with respectable families would vanish.

A career in officialdom would be impossible; the court did not appoint those without virtue.

The entire clan would suffer collateral damage; whether arranging marriages or pursuing official posts, their prospects would be tainted.

Once the fact was established, there was no turning back.

…

Back in his small courtyard, Li Mu, unaware of the impending dumpling, began readjusting his life plan.

The capital was no match for his hometown in Hanzhong—he could not simply lie back and drift through life; he had no such luxury.

From his luggage, he took out a roster of names and, cross-referencing recent information, began analyzing each one.

If he was to build his future in the capital, he must leverage every possible connection.

Those who had left the capital for provincial posts were filtered out first.

Then those entangled in factional struggles and political storms were also eliminated.

The rest were categorized by rank and closeness of relationship.

What gift to give whom—this was a skill in itself.

It was indeed cynical, but officialdom was a marketplace of fame and profit.

Connections were an advantage in favorable winds, but how much they could help in adversity remained uncertain.

It wasn’t that people lacked righteousness—mainly, some risks were too great; stepping into them meant being shattered to pieces.

(End of chapter)