By the time Zhu Ping’an returned from the Western Garden to the Marquis of Linhuai’s residence, the sun was already hanging high overhead. The warmth of midday spilled over the courtyard stones, and as he stepped through the carved wooden gate, the quiet dignity of the household greeted him.

Not long after his return, a servant from the Bureau of Ceremonial Rites under the Ministry of Rites arrived, bearing a large lacquered chest. Inside was a complete set of ceremonial attire — the official jinshi crown and robes — prepared specially for the grand ceremony at the Golden Luan Hall the next morning.

This outfit was to be worn when the emperor personally proclaimed the results of the imperial examination. The full ensemble consisted of five principal pieces: the cap, robe, tunic, belt, and shoes — along with a surprising array of smaller accessories, each crafted with meticulous precision.

Li Shu, graceful as ever and with the calm authority of the mistress of the house, led the lively young maid nicknamed “Baozi” and several older attendants into Zhu Ping’an’s chamber. Together, they carefully unpacked and arranged the attire.

The set included so many intricate components that Zhu Ping’an himself, had he been left alone, would have had no idea what half of them were for. Baozi, with her round cheeks and sparkling curiosity, could hardly contain her excitement.

Her voice chirped constantly as she handled each piece — marveling, exclaiming, and gasping in turn, as though every item were a treasure unearthed from legend.

The first item was the cap — the jinshi guan. It resembled the traditional wusha hat worn by officials, but upon closer inspection, it bore subtle distinctions. The inner frame was formed from fine rattan strips, lacquered in deep black for sturdiness and sheen. Its structure was slightly slanted, lower in the front and higher in the back, giving it a poised, dignified angle.

Across the top stretched a thin layer of black gauze that shimmered faintly when it caught the light. The crown was mostly flat, but on each side extended a narrow, rectangular “wing” about fifteen or sixteen centimeters long, curving upward at the tips with a delicate arc. From each tip dangled a thin silk tassel of black threads that swayed with even the faintest movement.

Remove AdsFor decoration, six ornate hairpins adorned the surface — each shaped from brass tinted with green enamel to mimic jade leaves, paired with blossoms of red velvet. These jeweled accents lent the sober black hat a festive brilliance, like spring flowers blooming against dark stone.

Near the junction where the crown’s height shifted from low to high on the right side, a small, intricate copper plate was embedded, engraved with three refined characters: “恩容宴” — The Banquet of Grace and Honor.

Baozi picked up the hat gingerly, holding it at arm’s length, her round eyes widening. “This hat is so strange! Look at these wings — they’re so long! If two people wore them side by side, wouldn’t they poke each other in the face?”

Li Shu rolled her eyes with practiced elegance and reached out to flick Baozi lightly on the forehead. “Foolish girl. You say it’s strange, but there are countless men in the empire who’d give their right hand to wear one.”

“Ow, that hurt, miss!” Baozi pouted, rubbing her forehead with both hands. “Still, it’s weird. Why make them so long?”

Zhu Ping’an, amused by their chatter, took the hat gently from her hands. “This wusha hat,” he explained, “was designed for the emperor’s use — to supervise his officials.”

Baozi blinked. “What? The emperor supervises you with… a hat?” Her incredulity was written all over her face. How could a hat possibly report anything to His Majesty? Surely the young master was teasing her.

Even Li Shu, who prided herself on knowing courtly customs, tilted her head with curiosity. She knew the wusha hat had long been the mark of officialdom — decreed by the founding Emperor Hongwu himself — but she had never heard it described as a tool of imperial supervision.

Zhu Ping’an lifted the hat and gave it a slight shake. The long black wings trembled delicately, causing the tassels to sway like twin ribbons in the air. “See these wings?” he said. “Originally, wusha hats didn’t have them. It was His Majesty who ordered them added.”

“But… why?” Baozi frowned. “It’s not like the hat can talk.”

“Oh, it speaks — in its own way.” Zhu Ping’an’s smile deepened, his eyes gleaming with quiet mischief.

“You’re lying again!” she protested.

“Once, during court assembly,” Zhu Ping’an began, lowering his voice as if recounting an old secret, “the emperor noticed that some officials whispered among themselves while he was speaking. He grew furious. To put a stop to it, he ordered that every wusha hat be fitted with these long, stiff wings.

Now, whenever an official nods or turns his head to gossip…” — he demonstrated with a playful shake — “…these wings flutter or bump into the next person’s. The emperor, seated high upon the Dragon Throne, can easily spot any movement. Those who fail to show respect are punished accordingly.

So, you see — the hat doesn’t need a mouth to speak. It tattles with every careless nod.”

Baozi’s mouth formed a perfect “O” of awe. Her eyes shone with admiration. “Wow… Master Zhu, you’re amazing! You know everything!”

Li Shu’s gaze softened briefly with pride before she quickly masked it beneath her usual air of dignified disdain — chin tilted up like a proud little peacock.

After the hat was properly arranged on the desk for tomorrow’s ceremony, Baozi pointed to another object in the chest — a slender board of polished locust wood, roughly half a meter long. “Master, what’s this for?”

“That,” Zhu Ping’an replied without looking up, “is an office notebook.”

“Notebook?” Baozi blinked, utterly puzzled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Zhu Ping’an caught himself — ah, right, there were no “notebooks” in this era.

He smiled faintly. “It’s a tool used in court sessions. Officials hold it in both hands to jot down the emperor’s decrees or reminders of what they wish to say. It helps them remember important matters.”

“Ohh…” Baozi nodded solemnly, though her wide eyes betrayed more admiration than understanding.

Next came the jinshi robe — deep blue in color, woven from fine gauze, with a round collar and wide sleeves. Azure silk trimming lined the edges, lending it a touch of elegance without excessive ornamentation.

A long belt of darkened oxhide accompanied the robe, its ends capped in black leather. When Zhu Ping’an tied it around his waist, the excess hung down behind him like two neat tails. Beneath the robe was a simple white tunic for layering, and with it came a pair of silk-linen socks and sturdy leather boots — the very likeness of an official’s court attire.

When Zhu Ping’an tried on the full set, the women in the room fell momentarily silent. Even Baozi forgot to chatter.

Remove AdsClad in the jinshi robes, Zhu Ping’an seemed transformed. His scholarly composure took on a quiet majesty; the air around him filled with the poise of one destined to stand before the throne.

The only flaw was the fit — the outer robe and inner tunic were a little too large, clearly made for an older man. The Ministry’s tailors had not imagined that a youth of such tender age would rank among the successful jinshi.

Li Shu promptly summoned the household seamstress. With quick, precise hands, the woman measured and adjusted while Li Shu oversaw every stitch. In less than an hour, the attire was altered to perfection.

When Zhu Ping’an donned it again, Li Shu stepped back, eyes narrowing with critical grace. Then, after a pause, she nodded approvingly — though not without a hint of mischief. “There’s still one thing missing,” she said thoughtfully. “A sachet or a jade pendant. Something to complete the look.”

Ten minutes later, a small embroidered sachet depicting a plump duck dangled proudly from his belt, paired with a jade ornament that caught the light beautifully.

The duck motif was… peculiar, to say the least, but somehow the colors harmonized perfectly with the attire. Thanks to Li Shu’s refinements, Zhu Ping’an’s outfit was now impeccable — worthy of tomorrow’s imperial audience.

To express his gratitude, Zhu Ping’an offered Li Shu the golden rooster the Jiajing Emperor had given him that morning — a finely crafted piece of art, gleaming with life-like brilliance.

Li Shu’s lips curved in a proud little pout. “Who wants your silly trinket?” she sniffed.

Zhu Ping’an chuckled and began to put it away, but before he could, she snatched it from his hands with the speed of a cat.

He blinked, amused and a little startled.

“What are you staring at?” she said, her cheeks faintly pink. “That sachet and jade pendant I gave you weren’t cheap. This golden rooster will do nicely as payment.”

Her tone was airy, almost imperious, but the flicker in her eyes betrayed a softer emotion beneath the pride — one that made Zhu Ping’an’s lips curve into a quiet, knowing smile.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep