At the break of dawn, the crimson sun rose slowly from the horizon. It was as if a bride on her wedding night, veiled in scarlet silk, was shyly lifting her head covering, revealing a delicate face flushed with bashful beauty. That timid, glowing countenance gazed down at the earth as though embarrassed by her own brilliance.

“Damn this sun! Why does it have to rise so early? Now this young master has no choice but to wake up too!”

Inside the guest courtyard of the Marquis of Linhuai’s residence, a chubby-faced boy glared at the eastern sky with the look of someone burdened by great injustice. He stretched out his stubby little hand, clawing at the air as though he could snatch the glowing red sun right out of the heavens and drag it down like a hot fried pancake.

Watching him, Zhu Ping’an couldn’t help but laugh softly.

Ever since the palace examination ended, the Marquis of Linhuai had insisted that this mischievous child—his nephew, known to all as the family’s little terror—be sent to Zhu Ping’an’s care early each morning.

Zhu Ping’an himself enjoyed rising early to practice calligraphy. Though now he had all the ink, brushes, and paper he could want, habit bound him to an older method: dipping a brush in clear water and practicing strokes on a wooden board. And so, day after day, he followed the same routine at dawn.

At the same time, he did not neglect his duty as tutor. With quiet firmness, he supervised the boy’s morning readings. No matter how many excuses the child invented—a thousand reasons, each more ridiculous than the last—none could withstand Zhu Ping’an’s steady gaze. In the end, the little rascal always slumped back into his seat, clutching his book with a face twisted in exaggerated misery.

The courtyard had yet another regular visitor: a little girl, no more than seven or eight, who introduced herself with great seriousness as Niu’er. She had taken a liking to Zhu Ping’an’s company. Whenever he grew tired of reading or writing, he would tell her stories—fairy tales, legends, even the tale of the mischievous monkey born from a stone. Each time, she listened wide-eyed and utterly enthralled, reluctant to leave. She often clung to her excuse of “accompanying Brother Rui in his studies,” but in truth she stayed for the stories.

Remove AdsAnd, truth be told, the mischievous boy was the same. Though he pretended to despise Zhu Ping’an—finding fault with him in every possible way—whenever the storytelling began, he wore the exact expression of someone deeply infatuated: “You can scold me a thousand times, brother-in-law, but I will always love you the same.” His round face would hang slack in bliss, as he listened with shining eyes.

After the morning lessons and calligraphy practice were done, servants of the Marquis’s household brought in breakfast. The meal was modest yet plentiful: bowls of lean pork congee, small dishes of pickled vegetables to whet the appetite, three plates each of hot meat and vegetable dishes, along with steamed buns and freshly boiled eggs.

The sight alone was enough to stir hunger.

But the little rascal, still sulking from being forced to read, sat down with a defiant pout. His plump face was full of challenge, and whatever Zhu Ping’an said, he would counter immediately, just for the sake of opposition.

Zhu Ping’an merely chuckled at his antics. Deliberately mysterious, he picked up an egg from the table. Holding it up against the sunlight, he studied it with a solemn air—tilting it this way and that, running his fingers along the smooth shell, even sniffing it under his nose. Finally, as though calculating on invisible abacus beads, he nodded with authority.

“This,” he declared gravely, “is an egg laid by a hen.”

The boy blinked in astonishment, then immediately scrunched up his face in doubt. “How could you possibly know that? Hah! I don’t believe you!”

Seated nearby, sipping her congee daintily, Niu’er rolled her eyes. “Stupid Brother Rui! Of course it’s laid by a hen. Roosters don’t lay eggs!”

The boy froze. His cheeks puffed up, and then—

Pffft!

The mouthful of porridge he had been holding in sputtered out as he choked. His round face turned as dark as the bottom of a pot. Once again, he had been tricked.

Just as Zhu Ping’an was finishing his breakfast and before the table could be cleared, the peaceful courtyard was suddenly broken by a commotion outside. The hurried sound of footsteps, shouts, and barking dogs echoed closer.

“Master Zhu, Master Zhu—quickly! Quickly! A decree has arrived!”

Zhu Ping’an looked up in surprise just in time to see the steward burst in, panting as if chased by hounds, several attendants scrambling behind him.

A decree?

That couldn’t be right. It was only the second day after the palace examination! The official rankings wouldn’t be released until the third day. And even then, weren’t results simply posted on the golden board? Why would a decree be delivered straight to his home?

Still, though suspicion gnawed at him, Zhu Ping’an dared not take the matter lightly. In a time when the word “Sacred” carried the weight of heaven itself, no one could risk disrespect. He followed the steward at once.

Upon reaching the front hall, the truth revealed itself. It wasn’t a decree at all—merely a eunuch sent from the palace, summoning Zhu Ping’an for an audience with the Emperor.

The eunuch explained: after the palace exam, the reviewing ministers would select the ten best papers and present them to the Emperor. In the Emperor’s presence, the seals were broken to reveal the candidates’ names. His Majesty would then personally assign rankings—choosing the Zhuangyuan (First Scholar), Bangyan (Second Scholar), Tanhua (Third Scholar), and the next seven of the Second Class.

Moreover, the Emperor traditionally summoned the top examinees for a private audience, known in history as the “Minor Proclamation Ceremony” (Xiao Chuanlu). The final results—including the names of the top three and the first seven of the Second Class—were only confirmed after this meeting. Then, three days later, the official Golden List would be announced to the world in the grand Chuanlu Ceremony.

This time, however, the eunuch whispered, the Emperor had gone even further—he had reviewed not ten, but twenty papers.

Zhu Ping’an couldn’t help but compare it to the modern civil service exams he remembered: the palace exam was like the written test, and those ranked among the top—this time, the top twenty—earned the right to proceed to the interview, the Xiao Chuanlu. The Emperor himself was the interviewer, and out of twenty candidates, three would be chosen for the highest honors.

He allowed the eunuch to lead him to a carriage belonging to the Marquis’s household. As they rattled toward the Western Garden of the palace, Zhu Ping’an discreetly slipped a small red envelope into the eunuch’s hand. The man’s face immediately lit up with smiles, his tongue loosening. He chattered cheerfully the rest of the way, offering detailed advice on the proper etiquette when appearing before the Son of Heaven.

At the palace, Zhu Ping’an was made to wait in a side hall. An hour passed before another eunuch entered, glanced at him, and announced briskly:

“Zhu Ping’an, Master Zhu—His Majesty summons you.”

“Thank you for your trouble,” Zhu Ping’an said, bowing respectfully.

Remove Ads“No trouble at all, Master Zhu,” the eunuch replied with a grin, gesturing for him to follow.

Step by step, Zhu Ping’an walked deeper into the palace, his heart beating faster. This was it—the chance to meet the Jiajing Emperor himself. A thrill of excitement coursed through him, mingled with an unavoidable edge of nervousness.

After ten minutes of walking through vast courtyards and echoing corridors, they finally reached a resplendent hall. Its roof was crowned with golden glazed tiles, its eaves curved high like wings, each corner adorned with carved animal heads of the zodiac. Jade pillars gleamed, carved with intricate patterns of clouds and dragons.

Twin flights of stone steps led up to the hall, and between them stretched a massive slab of jade, carved with a coiling dragon soaring through clouds. In the morning sunlight, the dragon seemed to come alive, its head raised proudly, its tail lashing in unseen winds.

The majesty of the imperial palace left Zhu Ping’an inwardly stunned.

“Master Zhu, please wait here for a moment while I announce your arrival,” said the eunuch, pausing at the entrance.

“You have my thanks,” Zhu Ping’an replied, bowing slightly.

And so he stood at the threshold, waiting to be summoned into the presence of the Son of Heaven.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep