Chapter 247: 167. Chapter 166: Crimson Sleeves Add Incense, Discoursing on the Dao to Govern the State

167. Chapter 166: Crimson Sleeves Add Incense, Discoursing on the Dao to Govern the State

February 24.

The Western Garden, Wanshou Palace, just as night fell.

Wanshou Palace was brightly lit; Zhu Zhu Yijun sat before the imperial desk, holding a vermilion brush, circling and dotting the final examination paper.

The metropolitan examination had ended nine days ago.

The first session was on the Book of Documents on February 9, the second on essays and edicts on February 12, and the third on classics and history Ce on February 15—three sessions total.

As for the results, they would be announced within these next few days.

The Ministry of Rites had already graded all four hundred candidates' papers yesterday; now they waited only for the emperor's personal review of the eight candidates who were sons of high officials.

Precisely because time was tight, Zhu Zhu Yijun had to work overtime tirelessly.

Before he realized it, it was already night.

Fortunately, with the final paper graded, the task was complete.

Soon after.

Zhu Zhu Yijun lifted his vermilion brush and marked the last circle.

He set down the brush, picked up the paper with both hands, and blew gently upon it.

After a moment's scrutiny, he nodded in satisfaction, feeling the same ease as after finishing homework.

He glanced at Wang Jiaoping still beside him—thankfully, he had finished before the lock-down, or the attending Hanlin scholars would have had to leave.

Zhu Zhu Yijun arranged the eight fake anonymous examination papers into three stacks on the desk.

Then he called Wang Jiaoping forward and ordered: "Wang Qing, take these papers to the Ministry of Rites."

"This left stack is my selected candidates; this right stack are those who narrowly failed. Have the Ministry remove the seals and recombine them to see if I've made any errors."

Though he had graded only eight papers, Zhu Zhu Yijun's meticulous dedication was undeniable.

Wang Jiaoping silently stepped forward and neatly separated and bundled the two stacks.

Then he looked at the middle stack: "Your Majesty, what is this?"

Zhu Zhu Yijun, hearing this, flipped open the middle paper.

He turned to a page, pointed to a passage, and tapped it lightly: "This candidate was rejected for failing to observe taboo."

By regulation, candidates rejected for failing to observe taboo must be listed separately to make the reason clear; thus Zhu Zhu Yijun had set this one apart for the Ministry's convenience.

The Ming Dynasty's taboo rules were not overly strict.

Storytellers constantly say "this old pig" or "this pig number eight" in Journey to the West, and no constables ever come to harass them.

Even naming a child with a character identical to the emperor's was permitted, as long as not both characters matched.

But the metropolitan examination was different.

As the grandest ceremony devoted to classical meaning, it strictly followed orthodox principles: honor the sovereign, honor the parent, honor the worthy.

Not only must the emperor's name be avoided, but also those of one's parents—and even the name of the Great Ming itself—along with certain specific characters, all publicly announced before the exam.

Methods of compliance—such as substitution, rephrasing, blanking, or omitting strokes—were all established conventions, and every candidate was required to master them.

Just as in later eras one could not write one's own name, these were rules repeatedly emphasized before the exam.

Thus, upon hearing this, Wang Jiaoping was momentarily stunned.

How could a son of a high official, who had entered the National University through patronage, possibly commit such an error? The National University always issued repeated warnings before exams; this was no remote province like Yunnan.

He frowned at the spot the emperor pointed to: it was a direct quote from the Analects: "Though a man may wish to cut himself off, what harm can he do to the sun and moon?"

He had failed to observe the taboo of the Great Ming!

The taboo violation was far too blunt.

Wang Jiaoping frowned slightly, clutching the paper, and departed.

Zhu Zhu Yijun observed Wang Jiaoping's reaction, his expression tinged with quiet reflection.

Wang Jiaoping saw only a crude candidate; Zhu Zhu Yijun, however, was impressed—Zhang Zhang Jingxiu was remarkably astute, deliberately violating the taboo. This paper was, of course, Zhang Zhang Jingxiu's.

Was Zhang Zhang Jingxiu's level sufficient to pass?

Frankly speaking, he was just short—barely at the peak of the Tong Jinshi threshold, his success depending on his performance under pressure.

Even without the taboo violation, Zhu Zhu Yijun would have rejected this paper.

Zhang Zhang Jingxiu clearly knew his own level was uncertain.

If the emperor lowered standards to let him pass, it would not convince others; outsiders would surely suspect his essay topic was "My Chief Minister Father," or even accuse the emperor of favoritism.

But if he was rejected by the emperor…

Zhang Zhang Jingxiu understood himself—and clearly understood his father.

Historically, after Zhang Zhang Jingxiu passed, Zhang Zhang Juzheng remained dissatisfied, complaining to Zhang Zhang Siwei: "I appointed you from Puzhou; why begrudge me a top-rank position for my son?"

In his father's eyes, Zhang Zhang Jingxiu clearly merited a top-rank position—this is recorded in Zhang Han's notes, far more reliable than Wang Wang Shizhen's essays.

So if Zhu Zhu Yijun rejected Zhang Zhang Jingxiu, would it make the old man sullen? That was uncertain.

The best solution would be to skip this exam, wait three years until his skill was solid, then pass decisively and avoid all complications.

But whether Zhang Zhang Jingxiu took the exam this year, after the previous incident, was no longer his own choice—he might as well be on a burning pyre.

Thus, this deliberate taboo violation in the examination hall was truly ingenious.

And even more, it was profoundly considerate.

Zhu Zhu Yijun thought of this, summoned Zhang Hong, and ordered: "Send someone to comfort Zhang Zhang Jingxiu, and ask whether he would be willing to serve as a provisional Secretary of the Secretariat."

One who shares the sovereign's burdens deserves a stroke of fortune.

To honor Zhang Zhang Jingxiu, within the rules, allow him to begin accumulating seniority now, rather than wasting three idle years.

Secretaries of the Secretariat were divided into "formally appointed" and "provisional."

In our dynasty, those already holding office and entering the official hierarchy were barred from taking the examination; a seventh-rank Secretary of the Secretariat, whether formal or provisional, could not sit for the exam.

But during the reign of Emperor Xianzong, an exception was made for the son of Grand Secretary Lü Yuan, who was permitted to take the exam as a Secretary of the Secretariat—thus establishing a new ancestral precedent: provisional Secretaries of the Secretariat may now sit for the exam.

In other words, enter officialdom first, then take the exam without becoming a full Tong Jinshi—seniority and scholarly credentials are both preserved.

Zhang Hong hesitated, then asked: "Your Majesty, would it not be better to wait until the results are announced before offering comfort?"

Comforting him before the announcement would be leaking news—what might the court say then?

Prompted, Zhu Zhu Yijun came to his senses.

He had become too busy, nearly made a careless mistake.

He looked approvingly at Zhang Hong and nodded: "Wait until after the announcement."

Zhang Hong then relaxed and stepped aside.

…

After nine o'clock.

Zhu Zhu Yijun showed no sign of resting.

He took up Yin Yin Zhengmao's memorial and began reading.

It reported that the pirate Lin Feng had again raided Chaozhou and Huizhou, anchoring at Qian'ao (Chaozhou-Huizhou region), demanding amnesty, and asking whether to suppress or once again offer terms.

After making a few annotations, Zhu Zhu Yijun handed it to Zhang Hong and ordered him to send it to the Grand Secretariat for deliberation.

He then handled several other memorials in the same manner.

Since issuing the edict to select consorts, the number of memorials sent by the Grand Secretariat had steadily increased.

Matters large and small, involving military affairs, personnel, and finance.

After reviewing them, he returned them to the Grand Secretariat for deliberation and draft responses; if opinions differed, sometimes they went back and forth several rounds.

These memorials were clearly sent deliberately by the Grand Secretariat as training exercises, to gradually acclimate him.

Zhu Zhu Yijun naturally cooperated fully.

He came to Ni Ni Guangjian's memorial and, as if recalling something, asked casually: "I heard that Wu Tongzheng Commissioner Ni Ni Guangjian nearly got beaten in today's court assembly?"

The Wu Tongzheng Office was theoretically a powerful department, responsible for delivering memorials to the emperor.

But after centuries of emperors neglecting memorial review, its status had plummeted—it no longer had a seat at the table; court assemblies often did not even summon the Wu Tongzheng Commissioner.

Zhu Zhu Yijun would certainly restore proper handling of memorials.

Thus, after He He Yongqing retired, Zhu Zhu Yijun granted Ni Ni Guangjian the honorary title of Minister of Rites to ensure he could sit at the table, while retaining his post as Wu Tongzheng Commissioner.

Yet he failed to secure his seat—and today, he nearly got beaten.

Isn't this bullying a new official?

Zhang Hong replied cautiously: "Your Majesty, no fighting broke out—only a brief tug-of-war."

Zhu Zhu Yijun was accustomed to the martial vigor of court officials.

He pressed on, unmoved: "What was the cause?"

Zhang Hong paused, then said: "Your Majesty, Wu Tongzheng Commissioner Ni and Inspector General Huo quarreled over seating order."

Then, as an eyewitness, he recounted the full story to the emperor.

Ni Ni Guangjian had assumed office as Wu Tongzheng Commissioner in January and had attended court for over a month—he was not unfamiliar, merely rigid.

By rigid, he meant strictly following the Ritual Code: having been granted the honorary rank of Minister of Rites, his precedence should rank before the Censorate.

Thus, since taking office, he had always stood proudly before Ge Ge Shouli.

Ge Ge Shouli, a straightforward man, never found it objectionable.

But today, Left Inspector General Ge Ge Shouli was absent from court; the Censorate was represented by Right Inspector General Huo Ji.

Upon seeing the Wu Tongzheng Commissioner standing before him, Huo Ji's temper flared—he grabbed Ni Ni Guangjian and yanked him behind him.

Ni Ni Guangjian stumbled, his blood boiling; he glared fiercely and refused to move, standing defiantly before Huo Ji.

The two tugged and pulled—barely avoiding a brawl—until the Grand Secretariat and the Ritual Officer Xu Xu Wenbi intervened to separate them.

Afterward, both men separately petitioned the Inspector of Ceremonies to argue their cases.

"Minister Ni said that as a minister with the additional title of Minister of Rites, according to the Ritual Code, officials of the same rank are ordered by their offices—thus the Minister of Rites must stand ahead of the Censorate."

"Minister Huo countered that although Minister Ni held the same rank, he still oversaw the Wu Tongzheng Office and sought to place it above the Censorate, which was not in accordance with protocol."

The Duke of Xu and the Grand Secretariat could not immediately determine the truth, so they temporarily allowed the two to stand on either side, ranked equally.

After hearing this, Zhu Zhu Yijun fell silent for a long while before saying: "No more fighting during court deliberations from now on."

He then punished both men with one month's salary deduction for misconduct before the throne, a fair enough penalty.

Logically, Huo Ji had the more reasonable argument.

But Zhu Zhu Yijun, as the one who had encouraged the Wu Tongzheng Office to join the table, naturally took sides.

Zhang Hong heard this and silently noted it down.

Then he glanced at the hour and softly reminded: "Your Majesty, it is nearly time to rest."

The hour of Xu was well past halfway—the Emperor should be sleeping.

Zhu Zhu Yijun closed the memorial and set it aside, then rubbed his temples, half-asleep: "Hurry and rest. Zhang Daban, fetch me the latest reports and the Donglin Scholarly Journal."

Zhang Hong had no choice but to obey, hoping the Emperor would finish soon and rest.

When Zhang Hong brought over a stack of newspapers and placed them on the desk.

Zhu Zhu Yijun waved his hand: "Go prepare. I'll rest after finishing this."

Preparing for the Emperor's sleep involved much work, especially since he now had a Selected Consort serving in Wanshou Palace.

Zhang Hong sighed, bowed, and said: "Your servant takes his leave."

Zhu Zhu Yijun waved again, saying nothing further.

Zhang Hong bowed low and slowly withdrew from the hall.

Outside, he took a lantern from a junior eunuch and headed toward the sleeping quarters.

Just then, several lanterns approached from the direction of the sleeping quarters.

As they drew near, Zhang Hong recognized the figure and bowed: "Selected Consort Li."

The other eunuchs and guards, half a step behind, followed suit in bowing.

Li Baiyang signaled them to rise and explained: "The Emperor works so hard—I made him a bowl of soup myself."

She stepped slightly aside, revealing the soup held by the maid behind her.

Zhang Hong froze: "Did Selected Consort make this herself?"

Li Baiyang nodded.

Zhang Hong, without showing his surprise, said: "Selected Consort, according to palace regulations…"

Before he finished, she sighed and nodded: "I know."

She picked up a spoon, scooped a portion into her mouth, and swallowed.

Then she looked calmly at Zhang Hong: "Zhang Daban, is that sufficient?"

Zhang Hong said nothing, apologized, and stepped forward to taste it himself.

After a moment, finding no ill effects, he bowed repeatedly with a forced smile: "These are palace rules—I beg your pardon, Selected Consort, please proceed."

Li Selected Consort did not press him; she nodded and passed through the group into Wanshou Palace.

Zhang Hong signaled with his eyes to his adopted son Zhang Cheng and the bodyguard Jiang Jiang Keqian.

Both understood immediately and hurried after her, eagerly taking the wooden tray from the maid.

…

Zhu Zhu Yijun stared at the bowl, now only a quarter full, and looked at Li Baiyang in disbelief.

Even if the cook didn't steal, and even if the grains didn't fail, no one drank it all down like this.

Li Baiyang pouted: "Your Majesty, I came through five passes and slew six generals—each time you took a sip, I took one, and now only this little remains."

Zhu Zhu Yijun's expression twisted as he corrected: "Since you've been appointed Selected Consort, you must address yourself as ' Chenqie.'"

The way she called herself 'daughter' made him feel strange.

He knew this was a custom of the age—women used all sorts of self-references: 'old woman,' 'I,' 'this one,' 'your servant.'

He had seen in the Three Yuan Notes how palace consorts had called themselves 'daughter' to the Chongzhen Emperor.

But seeing Li Baiyang's youthful face, he still felt a pang of guilt.

Li Baiyang, unaware of his thoughts, smiled faintly and immediately changed her tone: "Your servant understands."

Zhu Zhu Yijun relaxed, then spoke of the matter at hand: "The Imperial Kitchen has its rules—next time, just make more."

He couldn't change the procedure: if the Shangshan Ju Jian didn't supervise the cooking and taste it step by step, he wouldn't dare drink it.

Making more was the practical solution.

Saying this, Zhu Zhu Yijun scooped half a spoonful and took a small sip.

The moment it touched his tongue, he instinctively recoiled.

It was cold.

He quietly set the bowl aside and said: "Let me finish this work first."

Selected Consort Li understood: "Then I shall take my leave."

Even the Regent Consorts of the Two Palaces dared not enter the Zhao Wenhua Hall for court deliberations—she knew well the danger of palace interference in state affairs.

If she accidentally saw the Emperor's memorials, she might be banished to the Cold Palace tomorrow.

Zhu Zhu Yijun waved: "It's not state business. Since you're here, wait with me—I'm tired. Give me a massage."

The memorials had already been taken by the Directorate of Ceremonial; there was no urgent matter. He might as well keep her for idle chat—they were roommates; familiarity was necessary.

Li Selected Consort softly replied: "Yes."

She circled behind the Emperor and placed her slender fingers on his shoulders, beginning to knead.

As usual, she urged: "Since it's not state business, Your Majesty should rest sooner."

Zhu Zhu Yijun stretched his neck, said nothing, and asked: "Did you study the classics at home?"

Li Selected Consort nodded proudly: "I studied some."

In this context, saying "some" was already far from modest.

Zhu Zhu Yijun found it unremarkable.

Li Li Chunfang was a great Confucian scholar of the age—men like him loved to instill moral education in their families.

He handed her a stack of newspapers: "There's fierce debate over the classics in Beijing now—have you heard?"

Li Baiyang reached out to take them, then placed them back on the desk, continuing to massage his shoulders as she replied: "Your Majesty, I read every issue of the newspapers brought by the Marquis of Gu'an for Consort Chen."

Zhu Zhu Yijun leaned back, curious: "Oh? Who do you think has the better argument?"

Li Selected Consort thought, then blushed and shook her head: "Your Majesty, though I studied some classics, the debate between Master Li and Master Xue is too profound—I can no longer follow it."

Zhu Zhu Yijun silently scoffed—he'd thought she was a scholar.

Indeed, before the metropolitan examination, the Donglin Scholarly Journal had changed its chief editor under the pretext of Gu Assistant County Magistrate preparing for the exam.

Now, the scholar debating Li Zhi was this renowned Confucian, Xue Xue Yingqi, who had entered the Zhezhe Philosophy Temple.

With such a heavyweight entering, the debate naturally grew more complex.

It involved a host of prerequisite knowledge, Confucian technical terms: mind, principle, intention, cognition, knowledge, action, form, emptiness, desire, innate knowledge, substance, cultivation…

Even though the New Report translated them into vernacular, they had already slipped beyond the grasp of ordinary readers.

This was inevitable—but it could not be allowed to continue.

"After Master Li proposed his theory of substance, I thought he was right: innate knowledge as substance must be universal. Even if his ideas on progress and fairness were narrow, whether it's my grandfather's ideal of benefiting all under heaven or my own modest wish to live in peace—aren't they both manifestations of innate knowledge?"

"This proves Master Li's foundational substance can support the many schools of Confucianism."

"Er… of course, this is merely my humble opinion—Your Majesty may take it lightly."

"But after Master Xue entered the debate, I began to think he had a point too."

"Master Xue said Master Li was substituting human reason for heavenly principle."

"The so-called universal substance and innate knowledge must first exist within the primordial—like in the perception of objects: the innate sensations of solidity, heat, and cold—this is heavenly principle."

"Only afterward does human reason combine with these sensations: sight, hearing, cognition."

"When sunlight strikes a stone and you feel it hot, do you perceive cause and effect?"

"Thus, the primordial must precede the derived; only after innate knowledge exists can it manifest universally."

"Though Master Xue's accusation that Master Li is a demon who confuses cause and effect is excessive, I still feel Master Xue's argument holds some truth."

Zhu Zhu Yijun listened quietly to this outsider's perspective, silently reflecting.

This was the flaw of profound scholarship: the common people could no longer understand it.

They only felt both sides made sense.

Li Zhi, as the everyday-school thinker, abstracted substance into the lives of all beings, proposing universal values.

When Xue Xue Yingqi entered, he directly challenged the very foundation of their disagreement: epistemology.

You, Li Zhi, have abstracted substance into the world and era—thus you've blurred the relationship between heavenly and human principles, losing precise grounding.

The sun shines on a stone, you feel it hot—these are human perceptions. But who saw the causal link between them?

Isn't this precisely the human subject's insight into heavenly principle?

Otherwise, no matter how much you speak, how do you come to know the causal relationships of all things?

Thus Xue Xue Yingqi believed: heavenly principle comes first, then human understanding; human cognitive capacity itself is primordial, requiring no cultivation—just as one naturally senses heat and cold.

Not as Li Zhi claimed: one passively perceives innate knowledge under external influence.

Otherwise, humans are no different from monkeys.

"At this point, I still understand."

"Behind them, Master Li and Master Xue began discussing the relationship between heavenly principle and human morality, and my head turned to mush."

Li Baiyang puffed out her cheeks, awkwardly shifting the air from one cheek to the other.

Zhu Zhu Yijun waited until she finished, then took her hand and stopped her from pressing: "That's why Wang Wang Shizhen is hosting a literary gathering—to be our audience and answer our questions."

What came after was simply too profound.

That's why we must carefully organize and translate the Confucian jargon if we're to keep pushing it forward.

Li Li Xianshi blinked in surprise: "Is the Alliance Master also joining the debate?"

Zhu Zhu Yijun nodded: "Not just Wang Wang Shizhen—two direct disciples of Wang Wang Yangming, the Three Masters and Seven Witnesses, and even the Confucian family's direct heir will all come to join the fun."

Li Li Xianshi hesitated a moment, then couldn't help asking: "Your Majesty, will my grandfather come?"

Zhu Zhu Yijun laughed heartily: "He's a disciple of the Taizhou School, a direct pupil of Wang Gen—he'll naturally come to support Li Zhi."

Then he turned to Li Baiyang with a mischievous grin: "Well, how about it? Want to go and join the fun?"

Li Baiyang gasped, fidgeting with her sleeve: "N… no, that wouldn't be right. Your Majesty was just scolded by Empress Li last time."

Zhu Zhu Yijun shook his head: "No, this time Wang Wang Shizhen invited me—it's perfectly proper to attend."

Without waiting for her agreement, he declared: "Then it's settled."

"Grind the ink for me—I still need to prepare the invitation for the gathering."

Only then did Li Baiyang realize what the emperor meant by "not state affairs"—he simply wanted to slip out of the palace for entertainment.

As she ground the ink, she asked, puzzled: "Why does he need an invitation from Your Majesty?"

Zhu Zhu Yijun picked up his brush and shook his head: "It's not that he's asking me for an invitation—it's that such a grand event can't begin without a moment worthy of history, and I might as well accommodate guests like you who know nothing of Confucian studies."

With that, he spread out a sheet of paper and began writing slowly.

Li Baiyang ground the ink, peering curiously.

Neat, bold characters appeared on the page: "A Literature Review of the Debating Canon."

Beneath it, a subtitle in the emperor's distinctive hand: "Pure Reason and Practical Reason: Origins of Divergent Views Among the Schools."