Chapter 257: 176. Chapter 174: The Grand Examination of Talent, Pen and Ink to Praise and Censure

176. Chapter 174: The Grand Examination of Talent, Pen and Ink to Praise and Censure

Inside the Huangji Hall.

Civil and military officials, each in their official robes, stood in their usual positions, silently awaiting the Emperor.

The examination candidates had already been led by Ministry of Rites officials to stand in rows east and west on the dais outside the hall, facing north— the dais being the steps outside the hall, where they all waited for the exam to begin.

As for the examination site, the Guanglu Temple had already prepared desks in the side corridors yesterday, awaiting only the Emperor's arrival to formally open the exam, after which the candidates could begin.

The sun slowly climbed higher.

At some point, the Honglu Temple official suddenly announced: "His Majesty ascends the throne."

Immediately following, came three sharp cracks of the cleansing whip.

The Emperor is coming!

Everyone instantly snapped to attention, straightening their posture.

As expected, the Emperor, dressed in everyday attire, emerged at last, surrounded by a retinue of eunuchs and ritual officers.

The candidates were ordered to keep their heads bowed and not look up, yet few could remain entirely unmoved.

Aside from those who had already seen the Emperor in the past few days, most candidates now stealthily shifted their eyes to glance at him with the corners of their vision.

Only after the Emperor's figure vanished did the candidates lower their gazes again.

The palace examination was the Grand Examination of Talent; every grand ceremony had its formalities, and civil and military officials were required to perform a kowtow.

Thus, as Zhu Zhu Yijun entered the Huangji Hall, civil and military officials immediately knelt en masse.

Zhu Zhu Yijun walked calmly up the imperial steps and seated himself slowly: "Rise, my ministers, and resume your posts."

The officials chorused "Thank Your Majesty's grace," then rose and returned to their ranks.

Then, the officiating officer placed the examination question table in the center of the hall and respectfully presented the questions.

The palace attendant handed the questions to the Ministry of Rites official, who placed them upon the table.

Wang Wang Xilie, the officiating officer, stared in shock at the examination questions placed on the table by Zhang Hong.

These were clearly not the questions prepared by the Ministry of Rites!

He stole a glance at the Emperor, who wore an expressionless face, as if utterly unaware.

At this moment, the Honglu Temple official was already ushering the candidates into the hall; Wang Wang Xilie felt trapped, unable to retreat or advance.

Under the previous Emperor, he might already have considered smashing his head against the Golden Throne.

But this Emperor was no reckless man.

Wang Wang Xilie's mind raced, and finally he sighed.

He raised the examination question table high, descended slowly from the left steps, and, following ritual protocol, placed the table squarely in the center of the imperial path.

The candidates, heads bowed, scrambled behind the Honglu Temple official in orderly procession, entering one by one.

"Candidates, perform the five prostrations and three kowtows!"

The Honglu Temple official intoned.

The candidates, though flustered, maintained composure: they bowed, clasped hands, performed four bows, then one final bow with three kowtows.

Zhu Zhu Yijun raised his hand to signal dismissal, then spoke slowly: "I ascended the throne in my youth, unenlightened in principle; I rely solely on the legacy of my late imperial father—studying learning, associating with the worthy, daily diligent in reading, consulting my ministers on all matters great and small, striving night and day without rest, seeking to approach the ideals of the Book of Songs and the Book of Documents, and never letting fall the great legacy of my Two Ancestors and Eight Imperial Predecessors."

This was the standard opening of the examination question—similar in form across all such exams.

It simply meant the Emperor wished the state well, but recognized his own limited perspective, and thus sought counsel from the worthy.

As the Emperor spoke, Wang Wang Xilie raised the examination table and moved it slowly to the east of the dais, eyes lowered, mind focused inward.

Zhu Zhu Yijun continued calmly: "I hold that the ruler of all under Heaven, in promoting virtue and achieving good governance, has many duties, yet the paramount is to honor the root and prioritize agriculture. The Book of Documents says: 'Only after knowing the hardship of farming and harvest can one enjoy ease.'"

"I have reverently recited the Grand Ancestor Gao Emperor's edict on the Plowing Field, and the Chengzu Wen Emperor's Instruction on Prioritizing the Root; thus I understand how the imperial enterprise arose and how hard the people's livelihood truly is."

"Today, the people who cry from hunger and freeze from cold are not only found in remote corners, but even in great cities and major towns."

"Many across the land have lost their land and have not returned to farming."

"How then can we ensure all people devote themselves to agriculture and do not lose their livelihood?"

The paramount duty of governance lies in agriculture; both the Book of Documents and the Zhu Ming ancestral instructions say so, yet in our own dynasty, this has been poorly managed—people have lost their land, go hungry, and the Emperor is deeply troubled. He asks: what should be done?

The Grand Secretariat, the Ministry of Rites, and the Hanlin Academy officials all raised their heads at once.

This… the Ministry of Rites' prepared question did not include this?

ZHU Zhu Dashou, Left Vice Minister of Rites, knew best—he secretly reached out and nudged Ma Ma Ziqiang, who stood just ahead of him.

Ma Ma Ziqiang let him nudge, but kept his head bowed in silence.

Lu Lu Diaoyang of the Grand Secretariat looked at Zhang Zhang Juzheng with surprise, his gaze asking for confirmation.

After a moment's thought, Zhang Zhang Juzheng slowly nodded.

Though the Emperor had not consulted the Chief Grand Secretary beforehand, the Chief Grand Secretary still silently supported him.

For Zhang Zhang Juzheng, upon hearing the Emperor's words, immediately grasped the intent—he understood this question was laying groundwork for something.

During the Emperor Jiajing era, when state finances were depleted, the paramount issue in palace examinations was taxation and coinage.

During the Emperor Longqing era, when the Tatar tribes repeatedly raided the borders, the paramount issue was naturally military preparedness.

Now, the Emperor elevates "honoring the root and prioritizing agriculture" to the paramount duty—what could this mean? Clearly, it is preparing public opinion for land surveying, and simultaneously advancing his Grand Examination of Talent.

This was far more practical than the Ministry of Rites' vague, abstract questions.

Since it aligned with the direction of new policies, the Grand Secretariat had no reason to undermine the Emperor.

As for bypassing the Ministry of Rites to set the questions, to the Grand Secretariat, this was merely a minor detail.

"You, my learned candidates, study the teachings of the ancient sages and understand the affairs of the present age; weigh the various opinions, discern their essence, determine which policy should come first, whether ancient and modern methods differ, or whether innovation and preservation follow divergent paths—clarify them fully, to fulfill my earnest desire to begin well and remain steadfast. Do not be vague; do not conceal."

Zhu Zhu Yijun concluded with the standard closing phrase, inviting the candidates to speak freely, assuring them the Emperor's tolerance was vast.

Then came the Ministry of Rites officials distributing the questions; the candidates knelt in formation, received them, kowtowed, and began their exams.

The ritual was now complete.

After the Honglu Temple official announced the ceremony ended, the Emperor and civil and military officials departed the hall together.

…

The path to becoming a Tong Jinshi differs from scholarly study.

Some things may be spoken aloud, but one must not deceive oneself—otherwise, the palace examination would not rank candidates by their policy essays.

Understanding the examiners' psychology is the foremost skill in passing the Tong Jinshi exam.

In past sessions, the palace examination rankings were determined by the Grand Secretariat: the top candidate's paper was read by the Chief Grand Secretary, the second by the Deputy, the third by the other Grand Secretaries, the first of the Second Rank by the Minister of Rites, and so on—this prevented the Emperor from failing to judge quality or even misreading obscure characters and causing embarrassment.

Thus, candidates needed only study the collected writings and governing inclinations of the Grand Secretaries and Nine Ministers to tailor their answers.

But this session was clearly different.

Ever since the Emperor revealed himself as a Master of Confucian Learning five days ago, candidates now had more to consider.

Would a Master-level Emperor still allow the Ministry of Rites and the readers to determine rankings?

Even if one assumed the Emperor intervened, how could candidates discern his governing inclinations without access to his writings?

And how far would his intervention extend? Would he decide alone, or weigh opinions? Would he personally review only the top three, or all four hundred candidates?

Precisely because of these external factors,

the palace examination's defining characteristic—its heavy emphasis on background—was confirmed.

Leaving aside differences in education and family background, those who had personally witnessed the Emperor debate scripture five days ago understood him far better than any candidate who had spent the past month shut in their rooms.

Sun Sun Jigao had already replayed the Emperor's debate performance in his mind.

Now seated at his desk, he thought only a moment before putting pen to paper, pouring out his response.

"Your servant responds: Your Imperial Majesty, endowed with sacred virtue, has received the Mandate of Heaven, offering sincere devotion to Heaven and governing with reverence; all under Heaven, ministers and subjects alike, raise their heads and wipe their eyes, hoping to partake in your renewal…"

Every word in the policy essay mattered.

At the dynasty's founding, policy essays were required to be straightforward, with a minimum of one thousand characters.

While a minimum word count was mandated, the length also imposed an upper limit.

Thus, Sun Sun Jigao immediately merged the customary praise of the Emperor with the essay's central theme.

The phrase "renewal" alone revealed his profound understanding of the Emperor.

Simultaneously, he built upon this notion of renewal to elaborate on the critical importance of "honoring the root and prioritizing agriculture."

Meanwhile,

Li Kun sat motionless for a long while, not writing a single word.

Not for any other reason than to recall the Emperor's words and demeanor during the debate.

That day, upon seeing the Emperor's presence, he only then realized why someone had specifically invited him to attend.

Though he did not know who possessed such extraordinary influence and compassion,

since he had stepped into this opportunity, his only course was to leverage it fully in the palace examination.

As for repaying the debt? He would deal with that later.

With this thought, Li Kun finally dipped his brush in ink.

"Your servant responds: Your Majesty, still seeking the Dao and earnestly pursuing good governance, has summoned your servants to court and humbly inquired of us, with deep concern for internal stability and rooting the state in agriculture."

"Su Shi once said, 'The ruler seeks by name, the minister responds by substance.' Now Your Majesty seeks by substance—how could your servant dare not lay bare his heart in response?"

"…"

Again, customary praise of the Emperor.

But after establishing the essay's central thesis, Li Kun did not continue to dwell on classics, ancestral instructions, or the Emperor himself—he turned instead to the great flaws of the current situation.

"If Your Majesty truly wishes to compel all the people of the realm to devote themselves to agriculture, the path is simple: curb land consolidation and implement land surveying—six words alone."

"If the people go without food all day, hunger follows; yet today, many abandon their fields to pursue trivial trades—is this because the people no longer love life? No—it is land consolidation…"

Each essay had its own approach.

Demonstrating political insight is also about striving for a prestigious background.

Li Kun is old; he is already thirty-nine this year, so he only seeks a second-rank Tong Jinshi background.

Second-rank officials hold seventh-rank posts and are granted the Tong Jinshi background; third-rank officials hold eighth-rank posts and are granted the equivalent-Tong Jinshi background. Under the current Examination Performance Law, each rank requires three years of probation—this cannot be ignored.

As for first-rank, he dares not even dream of it.

Yet while Li Kun dares not dream of it, Li Sancai dares to dream of it deeply.

First-rank Hanlin compilers and editors reduce the probation period by another three years compared to shugishi.

And on what grounds does he dare to dream so boldly?

After all, he is a scion of a great household—he understands the Emperor better than outsiders ever could.

He mentally reviewed every summary his father had relayed about the Emperor's conduct, combined with his own two encounters with the Emperor, gradually piecing together the Emperor's character.

After a long while, Li Sancai slowly put pen to paper.

"Your servant submits: Our Grand Ancestor Emperor Gao once decreed during the field ritual, 'To ensure state finances never run dry, the realm always remains prosperous, and the spirits are perpetually honored, must we not rely on agriculture?' Great are the Emperor's words, earnest in their emphasis on farming!"

"Our Emperor Chengzu issued a teaching on fundamentals, first highlighting the hardships of Grand Ancestor's founding, then contrasting ancient sage-kings with tyrants, to serve as warning and example. Sacred is the imperial teaching, deeply concerned with leaving legacy!"

He first listed the ancestral edicts cited by the Emperor, outlining them clearly to demonstrate his scholarly depth.

Then he turned his pen sharply toward the Emperor himself.

"Your servant has read in the Book of Documents: 'Heaven sent down the people and appointed rulers and teachers, so that they might assist Heaven and pacify the four quarters.' Thus we know: Heaven's purpose in creating the people is to guide and perfect them, and this duty rests always upon the ruler; and the ruler's governance of the people, to nurture and secure them, must truly follow Heaven's way."

Heaven nurtures the people to care for them; this duty happens to be entrusted solely to the ruler.

"The seat Your Majesty occupies is none other than that passed down by Grand Ancestor Emperor Gao; and Grand Ancestor Emperor Gao himself rose not from elsewhere, but from Fengyang."

"The Yuan regime was lawless, greedy beyond measure, ruled by petty men, imposing cruel taxes and exactions—so the people could no longer endure, and collectively entrusted their mandate to Grand Ancestor, who then drew his sword, swept clean the filth, received Heaven's great treasure, and thus passed it to Your Majesty."

"When the Hu Yuan was at its height, its territory was vast, its soldiers and horses strong—no less than today's realm—yet Grand Ancestor, a commoner, conquered it as easily as felling rotten wood. Why?"

"Tax burdens multiplied, the people displaced; currency decayed, the people unemployed!"

The current Emperor's throne came from the inherited responsibility passed down generation by generation by Grand Ancestor Emperor Gao.

Grand Ancestor Emperor Gao's throne came from the Yuan's brutality, which the people loathed and rejected—so they collectively entrusted the Mandate of Heaven to Grand Ancestor.

"Your Majesty has said: many people have lost their land and have not yet returned to farming—this is precisely where Heaven's Mandate lies, and cannot be ignored!"

"..."

"Therefore, the urgent task now is to prioritize agriculture; resettling landless people need not exclude commerce. Agriculture and commerce flourishing together will resolve both difficulties!"

The rustling of robes and the turning of examination scrolls mingled, yet only deepened the silence within the hall.

Hai Rui sat in an unremarkable corner.

He wrote with precise, methodical strokes.

Though he was already a crimson-robed senior official, this examination merely granted him a formal background—even last place would not hinder his path to the Nine Ministers.

Yet Hai Rui still poured his heart and soul into his answer.

"Your servant observes: the land allocated for military farming has been seized by powerful families; lakes and mountains have been monopolized by the powerful; corrupt elites conceal land and idle vagrants aid their tyranny—this is why Your Majesty calls them 'the people crying from hunger and despair.'"

"I have personally witnessed: in the counties of Hainan, farmers till their meager plots, losing them to natural disasters and human misfortune, losing their tenant rents until their marrow is dried—so they must gather water chestnuts from the lakes. But water chestnuts are sharp, often cutting their fingers, causing continuous bleeding, leaving them gaunt and ghastly. By the time I left Hainan, even the chestnut lakes had been seized by powerful families, who now charge two taels and four mace monthly rent from the gatherers."

"..."

"Therefore, the immediate priority is to survey existing land, measure acreage, and demarcate boundaries..."

Hainan, like Yunnan, is regarded in the examination world as a remote, backward region.

As a juren from Hainan, Hai Rui, after entering office, had little time to deeply study the classics; his writing shows almost none of those ornate phrases.

He simply produced a realistic, grounded answer from years of grassroots experience.

Time slowly passed.

Ink stained every examination scroll.

The Tong Jinshi candidates answered questions within the hall.

Court officials mostly returned to their respective bureaus to perform duties.

Only the Emperor and the two Grand Secretaries walked slowly on the terrace outside the Huangji Hall, discussing something.

"In the eighth year of Tian Shun, it was ordered that the Grand Secretariat, together with the Ministries of Personnel and Rites, draft examination questions to select shugishi."

"In the sixth year of Hongzhi, it was approved: one selection per imperial examination cycle; candidates under forty must submit fifteen or more of their own classical essays, to be delivered to the Ministry of Rites within one month."

"After the Ministry of Rites reviews them, they are numbered and sent to the Hanlin Academy for evaluation. Those with acceptable prose have their scrolls anonymized, sealed, and forwarded to the Grand Secretariat for standard selection."

Gao Yi briefly explained the shugishi selection process to the Emperor.

The conditions were roughly this: young; skilled at writing qingci; passed the independent selection exam organized by the Grand Secretariat, Ministry of Personnel, and Ministry of Rites.

Zhu Zhu Yijun asked curiously: "Fifteen classical essays written in daily life? What if someone has written fewer than fifteen?"

Since it says "classical essays," it certainly cannot mean poetry.

Fu compositions are not something one writes frequently in daily life.

Gao Yi patiently explained: "That is why the Ministry of Rites sets a one-month deadline—to give the Tong Jinshi candidates time to complete fifteen classical essays."

Zhu Zhu Yijun understood—it meant they'd have to rush their writing.

Rushing is good.

He nodded, signaling Gao Yi to continue: "And after being selected as shugishi?"

Gao Yi walked behind the Emperor, pacing slowly: "They are sent to the Hanlin Academy, where academicians and officials instruct them. Those who complete their studies are appointed as Hanlin officials; second-rank Tong Jinshi become compilers, third-rank become assistants, continuing advanced study."

"The rest are appointed concurrently as censors, departmental assistant directors, or secretaries."

Zhu Zhu Yijun murmured, "Oh."

Then he shook his head, glanced back at Zhang Zhang Juzheng, and said carefully: "Two Masters, selecting shugishi to cultivate talent for the Grand Secretariat and ministries is perfectly reasonable."

"But this year's Tong Jinshi exceed four hundred; adding over a hundred shugishi will only fill the ranks of prefectural and county magistrates and provincial three-bureau cadres under today's Examination Performance Law and tomorrow's land survey."

"If all are kept in the Hanlin Academy for study, they still cannot fill the vacancies in the ministries and prefectural-county offices."

They had worked together long enough.

Now, when the Emperor shifted his weight, whether he was defecating or urinating, the two Grand Secretaries could tell at a glance.

They exchanged a glance.

Zhang Zhang Juzheng sighed and shook his head: "Your Majesty, if you wish to assign shugishi to provincial and prefectural posts, asking the Grand Secretariat to privately plead the case is truly too much for our old bones."

He heard the hidden meaning.

The Emperor's words clearly intended to send shugishi to the provinces for practical training.

Zhang Zhang Juzheng bluntly refused, almost saying outright that it was unrealistic.

Zhu Zhu Yijun looked curiously at Zhang Zhang Juzheng: "Does the Chief Grand Secretary mean even the Grand Secretariat cannot decide? Should I summon the Minister of Rites?"

Zhang Zhang Juzheng stopped the Emperor from sending for Ma Ma Ziqiang, helplessly saying: "If the Minister of Rites is dragged into this, he'll resign even if he didn't want to."

The three reached the balustrade and stood leaning on it.

After a moment's thought, Gao Yi gently added: "Your Majesty, this is not a matter that can be settled by a single edict."

"Throwing shugishi into the provinces... would be a grave humiliation; it would inevitably spark unrest."

Zhang Zhang Juzheng was even more direct: "If shugishi are humiliated like this, resignation will be the least of it—they may well dash their heads against the ground, spilling blood on the Huangji Hall."

"Then the entire court will be shaken, and another chaos will surely follow."

Confucian scholars value dignity above all.

Sending scholars over forty with equivalent-Tong Jinshi status to serve as county magistrates is one thing; but sending shugishi—these elite, self-regarding talents of the age—to the provinces?

That would be blatant mistreatment of Confucians by the new dynasty.

It would trigger a mass protest.

Today, officials routinely claim "unfit for local climate" to request transfer, or say "Huizhou is too cold and harsh—it violates our dynasty's tradition of honoring scholars."

Under such conditions, the Emperor's idea of assigning shugishi to prefectures and counties is far too difficult for the Grand Secretariat and Ministry of Rites to handle.

Zhang Zhang Juzheng no longer cared about being criticized, but he feared disrupting the broader order—these men were the true base of power.

The Emperor, Chief Grand Secretary, and Vice Grand Secretary, if united, could decide the court's fate with a single word—but now, facing an issue touching the very foundation, they must proceed with extreme caution.

Zhu Zhu Yijun, hearing this, gripped the balustrade, feet braced against the bottom rail, swaying his body back and forth: "Not all need be sent to prefectures and counties."

He paused mid-sentence.

Zhang Zhang Juzheng frowned and gripped the Emperor's waist, interrupting: "Your Majesty, mind your posture."

Zhu Zhu Yijun straightened up sheepishly.

He cleared his throat and continued: "My meaning is this: those Hanlin compilers and shugishi who voluntarily request assignment to the provinces may be granted preferential treatment in their careers."

This was offering incentive.

Gao Yi sighed upon hearing this.

He shook his head and explained to the Emperor, unfamiliar with Confucian social dynamics: "Your Majesty, in scholarly circles, reputation is the foundation. No shugishi would willingly damage his foundation for the sake of reducing three or five years of probation."

The weight of career versus reputation is clear from how many court officials yearn for the punishment of bastinado.

The small favors the Emperor offers are insufficient to make shugishi "stand out from the crowd."

Zhu Zhu Yijun pondered a moment, then asked the two Grand Secretaries seriously: "Would it be easier if someone took the lead?"

The two Grand Secretaries froze.

After exchanging glances, they both nodded.

Zhu Zhu Yijun smiled in relief: "Then, Two Masters, draft a proposal first. As for the shugishi, I will personally do some 'ideological work' on them."

Someone still owes him a debt—the Father-King demands repayment, and it must be paid.

Once someone leads, it becomes easier—whether the dynasty has precedent makes all the difference in political resistance.

Sending shugishi to the provinces—even if only as a symbolic first step—is now inevitable.

The two men were not surprised by the emperor's peculiar phrasing.

Gao Yi couldn't help but remind: "Your Majesty, be mindful of fairness in selection."

Zhu Zhu Yijun nodded vaguely.

What does it mean to be mindful of fairness? The top three are already chosen by the emperor's own hand!

Legal and reasonable!

Zhang Zhang Juzheng, seeing the emperor's demeanor, seemed to recall something and suddenly said: "If that's the case, Your Majesty will inevitably have to intervene frequently; otherwise, some Hanlin junior scholars may remain in provincial posts for over a decade."

Zhu Zhu Yijun cast a pleased glance at Zhang Zhang Juzheng—Old Zhang always saw further ahead.

He understood all too well how these selected candidates sent out to the provinces were never recalled to the core after ten years, despite promises.

If no powerful patron upstairs remembers you, no matter whether you're a Hanlin junior scholar or a doctorate holder, you're sent down—and once sent, no one speaks up.

Zhang Zhang Juzheng was reminding him: if he left this to the Grand Secretariat or the Six Ministries, it would inevitably become a tool for favoring factions and kinship—Hanlin junior scholars were potential chancellors; who returned to court and who stayed in the provinces meant the difference between heaven and earth in their careers.

Therefore, this matter was best handled directly by the emperor.

Zhu Zhu Yijun immediately declared: "Naturally. When the time comes, the Hanlin junior scholars will submit their reports directly to me, and their annual evaluations will be personally reviewed by me and the Grand Secretariat before final ratings are assigned."

Since he had already prepared to assume personal rule, there was no need to hide such matters.

Zhang Zhang Juzheng nodded in approval of the emperor's diligence.

Together with Gao Yi, he bowed: "Your subjects will immediately consult with the Ministry of Rites to draft the regulations."

Zhu Zhu Yijun kept pouring out a stream of words about hard work, toil, and mental strain.

The two ministers bowed and withdrew.

Only Zhu Zhu Yijun remained, his arms propped on the balustrade, his palm supporting his cheek, gazing into the distance, lost in thought.

After a long while, he finally came back to himself.

He beckoned Li Jin: "Li Zhang Daban, after the palace examination, deliver a copy of the Lüshi Xiangyue to Li Kun and tell him to study it thoroughly."