The paper was as white as freshly fallen snow, layered seven times in fine mounting, and as it slowly unfurled, a faint fragrance of ink mingled with the delicate scent of sandalwood, seeping into one’s heart and mind. Upon it, the flawless characters—so precise and elegant they seemed almost printed rather than written—came into Zhu Ping’an’s view:

“We, having inherited the throne in accordance with the Mandate of Heaven, now govern the Eight Wildernesses and rule over all realms beneath the sky. We shepherd the lives of countless subjects, and under Heaven’s will, we must provide for them fertile land to cultivate, means to sustain their livelihood, and ensure that none are without sustenance. Only thus may we fulfill our sacred duty as shepherd of the people, and stand blameless before Heaven and Earth.

To bring peace to the people, they must have land to till and mulberry fields for silkworms. With land for farming, they will have food to eat; with silkworms and weaving, they will have clothes to wear. Thus, they shall be spared from hunger and cold. Moreover, the realm itself must be kept safe: without bandits, without raiders, without the scourge of war. Only then may the people live in peace, secure from the suffering of displacement and exile.

But if the people have no fields, what shall they eat? Without silkworms and mulberry, what shall they wear? Without secure borders, how shall they live? These three matters weigh heavily on Our mind. Yet today, there is less and less arable land even as mouths to feed multiply. Mulberry groves dwindle, yet the number of those needing clothing increases. Disorder grows while secure borders shrink. Floods plague the land unceasingly, droughts appear with alarming frequency, bandits rise again and again. To the north, the barbarians disturb our borders. To the southeast, the Japanese pirates harass the coasts without rest—from Shandong down to Fujian, even reaching Jiaozhi—their raids never-ending, their menace growing ever fiercer.

We lament the hardships of the people and grieve for the fate of the realm. We, who are not a sovereign of unmatched brilliance—above, unable to commune with Heaven’s mysteries; below, unable to bring peace and stability to the nation—lie awake at night, burdened with care. At this moment, only through adaptation, only through seeking wise counsel and clever stratagems, may the country be secured and the people brought peace. If the people have fields, food, and clothing, then the realm will be tranquil, the seas calm, and naturally the people will follow the Way and return to harmony.

We are not ignorant nor blind. You scholars—gifted, versed in principle, knowledgeable of the times, and well-read—have long been what We sought. For this examination, We have awaited you. Speak plainly of what you see and know, record it in your scrolls, and We shall read them with Our own eyes. Fear not. Hide nothing.”

This was the entirety of the examination topic—barely more than four hundred words.

Zhu Ping’an rubbed at his forehead lightly. The banquet at the Zhuangyuan Tower the night before, held to see him off, combined with a sleepless night, had drained him of all strength. When he first stepped into the Western Garden, his spirits had lifted somewhat. But by the time he had bowed before the Jiajing Emperor, all that fragile energy had been spent. Now, his temples throbbed in dull rhythm, his head dizzy with waves of fatigue.

Remove AdsFor a brief moment, Zhu Ping’an closed his eyes, forcing himself to rest his spirit, before reopening them to read through the topic once again.

The Emperor’s Question, translated into plain words:

“I, Jiajing, inherited the throne under Heaven’s will and became ruler of the great Ming, the master of the people of the Eight Deserts and myriad realms. To protect the realm, I must ensure that the people have farmland to till and occupations to sustain their families. Only then can I fulfill Heaven’s mandate, only then can I live with a clear conscience.

To settle the people, they must have land to farm, mulberry groves to raise silkworms. They must have food to eat and clothes to wear, so that hunger and cold will no longer haunt them. Beyond this, the empire itself must be peaceful—no bandits, no thieves, no wars. Only thus may the people live in peace, free of displacement.

But if the people have no fields, what shall they eat? No silkworms, what shall they wear? No secure borders, how shall they live? These three matters trouble me deeply. Yet now, fields are fewer, mouths are more; silkworms fewer, bodies more; security less, disorder more! Floods strike, droughts strike, bandits rise, rebels within our soil plot, northern barbarians raid, and along the southeastern coasts, Japanese pirates plague us without rest—from Shandong down to Jiaozhi—their depredations unceasing, their menace growing fiercer by the day.

My heart is heavy. I, Jiajing, am no sovereign of eternal brilliance. I cannot unravel Heaven’s secrets above, nor steady the nation below. Many nights I lie sleepless, worrying for the state. Now, I must adapt. I must find wise counsel. If the people can eat, can clothe themselves, can live in safety, then peace shall reign across the realm, and where peace rules, who would rebel?

You, scholars, are not without wisdom. You know principle, you understand the times, you have read widely—surely it is to help me, Jiajing, that you have studied so much. I have long awaited this day. Therefore, speak directly of what you know and think. Write it upon your scrolls. I shall read them with my own eyes. Fear nothing. Hide nothing.”

A monarch eager for counsel, a sovereign striving to restore the nation—at least in appearance, this was the impression left upon Zhu Ping’an as he finished reading.

The exam topic was short, a little over four hundred words. Soon the grand hall was filled with murmurs—whispers of excitement, gasps of astonishment. Few faces showed doubt; most were flushed with eagerness.

This was a “policy essay”—a request for strategies to govern the realm! How to secure the nation, how to bring peace to the people, how to rid the land of Japanese pirates and northern raiders, how to master flood and drought—all these were open ground for their ideas and proposals.

For scholars, this was the very stage of their dreams!

To brandish their learning with youthful pride, to unleash their words like banners in the wind—was this not what they excelled at?

To offer the fruits of their study to the Emperor himself—was this not their lifelong ambition?

How could they not be excited?

An imperial examination, and the Emperor himself seeking counsel, showing diligence in governance! This was the act of a ruler destined for greatness, a monarch of the ages. Long live His Majesty! Countless strategies swelled in their chests, clamoring for the brush!

All around the hall, the scholars’ faces shone with fervor, hearts pounding as if ready to spill blood for their sovereign. Each one braced to craft the perfect essay of statecraft.

“Silence! No clamor!”

A stern voice rang out. One of the Ministry of Rites officials barked the command. At once, the scholars sat straighter, their earlier excitement barely concealed upon their faces. Quiet returned, though the hall still hummed with suppressed energy.

Soon, more officials came forth, distributing the answer sheets. These were also made of snowy-white xuan paper, but on a grander scale. This was large folio paper, each sheet long and broad, foldable into eight pages. Upon each page, twelve red-inked vertical lines marked the columns for their writing.

This was the answer paper of the palace examination.

The scholars touched the sheets reverently, nervous yet thrilled. This paper was not mere paper—it bore their fates, their future careers, and would be read by the Emperor himself.

Suppressing their excitement, they dipped brushes into ink, but did not yet begin their essays. First, as custom demanded, they wrote their names, ages, appearances, and places of origin upon the paper—personal details required of all candidates.

Only then did they lay down their brushes, gathering their minds to outline their visions for governing the realm.

Zhu Ping’an, too, finished his details and set down his brush. Again, he pressed his fingers to his aching forehead. Fatigue bore down upon him heavily. His eyelids fought to close; had this not been the solemn palace examination, he might have rested his head upon the desk. But here, in the Emperor’s own hall, such disrespect could not be risked. To be caught napping would be deemed grave insolence. He had no choice but to grit his teeth and force himself awake.

How should he answer?

What strategy should he propose?

What angle should he take?

How could he distinguish himself above all others? The title of Zhuangyuan was not won by chance.

His mind, clouded by exhaustion, churned with tangled thoughts, no clear path emerging. He shook his head vigorously, but the fog remained, his brain a knot of chaos.

Across the hall, seated in the foremost position on the western side, Ouyang Zishi sat upright, brimming with confidence. His expression was calm, his manner assured, his mind evidently clear. Catching sight of Zhu Ping’an on the opposite side, pale and weary, Ouyang’s lips curled ever so slightly into a smile—the smile of one who already saw victory within his grasp.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep