Zhu Ping’an returned each salute in turn, acknowledging everyone with calm courtesy. Yet under the boisterous urging and playful heckling of several Hanlin scholars, he could only laugh helplessly and agree to treat everyone that evening—once again—to a hearty meal at the same tavern where they had gathered before.

A top scholar barely in his teens, who had entered the Hanlin Academy only days ago and already risen a rank—without exaggeration, Zhu Ping’an had quietly become the Academy’s newest rising star. Several Hanlin officials chatted and joked as they clustered around him, following closely behind as they headed toward the Imperial Library, claiming they would help him organize and catalogue the books and classics. By now, Zhu Ping’an was a full sixth-rank official. Within the Hanlin Academy, only five people outranked him—and that included Director Li Mo, who scarcely ever showed his face there. And so, among those with keen eyes for opportunity, Zhu Ping’an had already become a piece of political capital worth investing in.

Watching Zhu Ping’an standing at the center of the crowd, Zhang Juzheng felt his heart as still as water. He stood quietly to the side, a faint smile resting on his lips.

To be honest, when Zhang Juzheng had first heard the news of Zhu Ping’an’s promotion, a ripple had stirred within him. When he himself had entered the Hanlin Academy as a shujishi, that status was not even a formal official post. He had spent three full years there—three years of tireless diligence, bowing and scraping in service—before finally being granted a seventh-rank position as an editor.

And now, look at Zhu Ping’an. Upon entering the Hanlin Academy, he had already started as a sixth-rank compiler. In just three days, he had been promoted again, becoming a full sixth-rank court reader.

Three years of relentless effort for his first official post… while another man rose a rank in three short days.

Man is not made of wood, nor is he a saint. Faced with such a contrast, how could one’s heart truly remain untouched?

Yet Zhang Juzheng was Zhang Juzheng. That faint ripple surfaced only for an instant before his heart returned to its former stillness. Calm and unperturbed, he watched Zhu Ping’an surrounded by admirers, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly in a restrained smile.

Wasn’t Yuan Wei the same? Rising swiftly through the ranks, armed with a marvelous pen that brought flowers to life, a hand that could craft Daoist prayers as if divinely inspired.

Remove AdsWhat harm was there in adding one more man who dazzled with poetry and verse?

As he watched Zhu Ping’an being ushered away amid laughter and conversation toward the library, Zhang Juzheng’s smile deepened ever so slightly.

The officialdom was full of flattery and fair winds—yet deaf to the cries of the people. Many were adept at praising merit and singing odes of peace. Even as the great house teetered on the brink of collapse, they could still paint their faces and perform a spectacle of prosperity.

In the memorials submitted to His Majesty, everything spoke of diligent governance, benevolent rule, songs and dances, and a flourishing realm. But how many of these men truly knew how precarious the provinces had become? How many understood that officials and commoners now stood opposed like fire and water, that officials employed every trick to squeeze out wealth, while popular resentment simmered on the verge of boiling over? If this continued, the Great Xia would surely fall.

But, Zhang Juzheng was not the same.

It was not that he could not write Daoist prayers or elegant verses. He simply disdained to do so. He had studied the teachings of the sages for over a decade, pored through thousands of volumes on statecraft, and spent countless nights immersed in policy and governance—not to become a clever pen serving the court’s empty praises.

The state of the court—he saw it clearly.

“Governance rests upon the use of the worthy; the state flourishes by appointing the capable.” “Select talent by virtue, appoint men by merit?” Hah. If that were truly the case, how could Yan Shifan—a man who had never even sat for the imperial examinations—hold the post of Vice Minister of Works? And the current head of the Imperial Academy was an even greater farce. Everyone knew how much silver had changed hands.

In such times, this was not the moment to step forward.

The Jiajing Emperor was obsessed with alchemy, while Yan Song was timid and cautious, seeking only to avoid blame. Since Yan Song had taken control of the Grand Secretariat, the court was no longer what it once had been. How many worthy men were left with no place to exercise their talents? And how many treacherous officials celebrated, preening like birds freshly crowned?

As long as Yan Song did not fall, what difference would it make if one rose one rank, two ranks, three, or even four?

Better to conceal one’s brilliance and bide one’s time.

That was the path best suited to him.

Today, patience and restraint; tomorrow, deliberate action. What he sought was never mere promotion. Zhang Juzheng turned his gaze toward the sunlight slanting ever lower outside the window—the aging sunset would, in time, be replaced by the morning sun.

As the sun dipped toward the west, the Hanlin scholars, having worked a full day, were finally dismissed. And since Zhu Ping’an had promised a feast to celebrate his promotion, the moment work ended they seized him and dragged him off to the same tavern as before, determined to feast heartily at his expense.

Zhang Juzheng and Gao Gong both declined to join them, having matters to attend to at Prince Yu’s residence.

Remove AdsNo sooner had Zhu Ping’an and the others taken their seats than an uninvited guest arrived, barging in without announcement. Yet none of the Hanlin scholars present objected. On the contrary, several—Yuan Wei among them—became enthusiastically attentive, like sons greeting their own father.

“Hehehe, congratulations, Zihou. I’ve come to add a bit of joy to the occasion.”

Yan Shifan waddled over with his protruding belly, grinning broadly. Reaching the table, he patted the Hanlin scholar seated to Zhu Ping’an’s right, forcibly squeezed him out of his seat, and plopped down heavily beside Zhu Ping’an.

Yuan Wei and the others hurried to pour tea, serve water, and summon the proprietress to add more dishes, their eagerness bordering on fawning.

“Now, now—Lord Yan, you flatter me too much,” Zhu Ping’an said, rising promptly and cupping his hands in apology. “Your presence honors this humble gathering, yet I failed to welcome you from afar. Please forgive my discourtesy.”

“Why call me ‘Lord Yan’? That’s far too distant,” Yan Shifan said with a chuckle, accepting the tea Yuan Wei handed him and taking a leisurely sip.

Yan Shifan was notorious for his shameless, overbearing temperament—it was nothing new. Zhu Ping’an had no intention of offending such a man over a mere form of address.

“Then I shall call you Lord Donglou,” Zhu Ping’an insisted.

“Tch—fine, suit yourself,” Yan Shifan laughed.

At that moment, from the corner of his eye, Zhu Ping’an caught sight of Li Mo and his entourage passing by the doorway. They had intended to take the private room opposite, but upon seeing Yan Shifan laughing and chatting with Zhu Ping’an, Li Mo’s face darkened. Muttering a curse under his breath, he turned and led his people away.

Yan Shifan clearly noticed. Though he did not turn his head, when the sound of departing footsteps reached his ears, the grin on his fleshy face only grew broader.

Well, then. That would thoroughly place him in Li Mo’s mind as a member of the Yan faction.

And judging by the smile on Yan Shifan’s face, Zhu Ping’an could not help thinking—if this wasn’t deliberate, then something truly strange was afoot.

“Our shop has recently received a new batch of lamb,” the proprietress said as she swayed into the private room, her willow-like waist moving gracefully. She directed several maids to set dish after dish upon the table, smiling as she addressed them. “Might the honored lords be interested in giving it a taste?”

“Please trouble yourself to bring out several of your finest lamb dishes,” Zhu Ping’an replied at once. Since he was hosting, he could hardly afford to be stingy.

Remove Ads“Is your lamb gamey?” Yan Shifan asked suddenly.

His eyes lit up as he looked at the proprietress’s alluring figure. With a grin, he stood and strolled over to her.

“If milord wants it gamey, then it shall be gamey,” the proprietress replied, her voice tinged with a seductive lilt. “If milord does not, then it shall not be so.”

“Hehehe—naturally, I want it gamey,” Yan Shifan said, thoroughly pleased. “And I want you to cook it yourself.”

As he spoke, he reached out and gave her backside a casual pat, then closed his one good eye in contentment.

“Milord, how naughty,” the proprietress protested coquettishly, twisting away as she fled with feigned shyness. “At this rate, I might just add extra salt.”

“Women are beautiful when they’re bold, and lamb is fragrant when it’s gamey,” Yan Shifan declared loudly.

He laughed as he watched her retreating figure, then raised the hand he had used to pat her, bringing it to his nose and savoring the lingering scent for a long while.

Turning back, he slung an arm around Zhu Ping’an’s shoulder and spoke with unabashed enthusiasm. “Zihou, you must taste this lamb properly today. It’s got a bit of the lamb’s gaminess—and a bit of the proprietress’s allure mixed in. That’s what makes it truly exceptional.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep