The palace gates swung wide with solemn majesty. From within, a line of little eunuchs in yellow robes filed out like a stream of orderly fish, their voices sharp and carrying as they proclaid the imperial decree: the gathered tribute scholars were now permitted to enter the Western Garden.
Zhu Ping’an, along with the other examinees, followed under the eunuchs’ guidance. They ford into two neat lines, hearts pounding with anticipation. Excitent and anxiety churned together in their chests as they stepped across the threshold, so tense that none dared even breathe too loudly.
The Western Garden unfolded before their eyes like a realm of immortals. Zhu Ping’an felt a strange dizziness—as though he had been transported, not to a palace courtyard, but into the ethereal paradise of Penglai itself.
The first sight that greeted them was the Golden Sea. Even in his own era, Zhu Ping’an had long heard its na whispered with awe. This great body of water was composed of three parts: the Northern Sea, the Central Sea, and the Southern Sea. Yes—“Central and Southern Seas,” a title he had once only read about, now lay living and breathing before his eyes.
At this mont, the Golden Sea shimred in endless rippling waves. Mist rose gently from its surface, curling in veils of silver to cloak the islands scattered upon the waters and the rugged peaks that stood proudly beyond the shores. The occasional cry of cranes echoed over the water, while along the banks strange flowers and rare herbs blood in profusion. In the distance, palaces revealed themselves in fragnts through drifting mist—half-hidden, half-seen, as though glimpsed in a dream. Truly, it was a scene out of a celestial fairyland.
Led by the eunuchs, Zhu Ping’an and the others crossed the Golden-Ao Jade Arch Bridge, which spanned the waters between the Central and Northern Seas. Step by step, they entered deeper into the heart of the Western Garden.
Everywhere they passed, imperial guards stood watch in full armor, weapons gleaming. From the style of their armor, one could distinguish the various divisions—the Jinwu Guard, the Yulin Guard, the Imperial Army Guard, and the Tiger Valor Guard. They were stationed at critical paths throughout the garden, ensuring that no disturbance could reach the imperial precinct.
To the scholars’ surprise, the eunuchs did not take them straight to the examination hall. Instead, they were led to a sowhat lower but still imposing palace hall. Above its entrance hung a plaque inscribed with four large characters: “Hall of Zhenkunda.”
At first, Zhu Ping’an and his companions exchanged puzzled glances. Why had they been brought here? But soon the truth beca clear.
Bathing and changing.
The hall, though modest in height, was vast within. Steam drifted gently in the air; great wooden tubs of hot water had been prepared behind curtains, each space screened for privacy. One after another, the scholars filed inside to bathe and change into clean garnts.
This ritual carried two purposes. Firstly, it was a gesture of reverence to the emperor—especially as the Jiajing Emperor was at that ti fervently devoted to Daoist alchemy and the pursuit of immortality. Ordinary mortals must not pollute the sacred atmosphere. Secondly, it served as a thod of inspection. By bathing unclothed, the scholars were stripped of any chance to conceal prohibited items, while their garnts and belongings were searched outside. Any contraband would be confiscated and only returned after the palace examination concluded.
When Zhu Ping’an erged, refreshed yet apprehensive, he found that his brush, ink, and inkstone had been withheld. However, the ginseng that Li Shu had thoughtfully arranged to send to him—delivered by her maid Baozi—was permitted. Classified as food rather than a tool, it was allowed to accompany him into the exam.
Once they had completed their bathing, the eunuchs once more led them southward. Near the southern gate of the garden stood a row of straight lodgings, before which waited more than a dozen officials in formal robes. Judging by their attire, they were mbers of the Ministry of Rites and the Court of State Ceremonials.
The eunuchs presented the scholars to these officials with a brief word, then withdrew, sweeping their dust-whisks as they departed.
From this point, the matter lay with the Ministry of Rites. Nas were called, discipline emphasized, exhortations delivered. Nearly half an hour passed before the scholars were marshaled once more and led toward their destination: the Hall of Taixu, the site of this imperial palace examination.
The hall stood in the northern section of the Western Garden, not far from the Northern Sea. By the ti they arrived, the sun had already risen, its golden rays spilling over the tiled rooftops. The officials arranged the scholars in the open space before the hall, where they stood in stiff ranks, waiting in reverent silence for the emperor’s decree.
“Summon the tribute scholars of the Jiajing Xinhai Grace Examination to audience!”
The cry resounded from within the hall, echoing with ritual gravity.
In ordered formation, Zhu Ping’an and the others followed the Ministry officials through the doors, their footsteps synchronized, hearts trembling.
Inside, the Hall of Taixu was already lined with officials. Robes of scarlet, blue, and green filled the chamber, each embroidered with birds and beasts, each pair of eyes sharp, appraising. They regarded the four hundred scholars as one might scrutinize a younger generation, asuring their worth.
“All ministers bow before the Son of Heaven! Long live the Emperor—ten thousand years, ten thousand tis ten thousand years!”
Together, Zhu Ping’an and the rest prostrated themselves before the emperor seated high upon the dragon throne. Five bows, three full prostrations—the ritual prescribed for this most sacred of occasions. Their foreheads pressed against the floor, their bodies bent in reverence.
“Rise.”
The voice rolled across the chamber, stern and heavy with authority.
It was the Jiajing Emperor himself. Many scholars, trembling with excitent, found their bodies quaking uncontrollably at the sound. So even required a nudge from their neighbors before they scrambled awkwardly to their feet.
Zhu Ping’an seized this mont to steal a glance upward. The emperor sat upon the dragon throne, his fra sowhat thin, yet the aura he radiated was overwhelming. His dragon robe shimred, and the sheer weight of his presence was such that one dared not et his gaze. He was like a coiled dragon itself, majestic and terrible.
“This is a grace examination, decreed by Heaven’s auspices. May you not disappoint Our expectations.”
The emperor’s words were few, yet each syllable carried divine weight. It was a command, a reminder that this examination was not rely an academic test, but a matter of Heaven’s will and the people’s fate.
When he finished, he gave a slight nod to Huang Jin, the attendant standing at his side. Huang Jin imdiately stepped forward, lifting an apricot-yellow silk scroll from the imperial desk and, with utmost reverence, carried it down to the waiting officials. The recipient—a middle-aged minister, head of the Court of State Ceremonials—knelt as he accepted the scroll.
This man was the Examination Promulgator, entrusted to present the very questions of the examination. He carried the scroll to the east side of the imperial desk, where, under the watchful eyes of the Grand Secretariat, it was opened.
At that mont, drums thundered, and whips cracked in ceremonial proclamation.
Once more, Zhu Ping’an and the rest bowed deeply, offering the full three-prostration, nine-bow rite.
The emperor, his duty fulfilled, departed the hall. He had more pressing matters—a furnace of alchemical elixirs awaited his hand. Why linger here when ministers were paid well to handle such tasks?
As he withdrew, a number of high ministers also excused themselves. A dozen remained, including Yan Song, though Xu Jie and the other examiners of the previous sessions had pointedly stayed away, no doubt to avoid suspicion.
When order was restored, the officials seated the scholars according to their ranking from the tropolitan exam. Those with odd numbers were placed along the eastern side of the hall, those with even numbers on the western side. Desks and chairs had already been neatly arranged in anticipation.
Thus, Zhu Ping’an and Ouyang Zishi found themselves seated directly opposite one another at the very front, the first positions on each side, glaring across the hall like rival generals on opposing fields.
But Zhu Ping’an was in poor condition. The repeated bows and prostrations had left him pale and faint, his body swaying with exhaustion. His thin face looked drawn and weary, as though a single breath might topple him. Ouyang Zishi, who had been watching him intently, allowed the faintest curl of a smile to lift his lips. You—like this—how could you possibly compete with ?
“On this day of the palace examination,” an official of the Ministry of Rites declared, “you shall be provided with one breakfast, one midday al, and tea served twice. The rules of the palace examination are strict—see that you abide by them. Do not fail His Majesty’s expectations!”
With these final words, the exam papers were distributed.
Zhu Ping’an accepted his with trembling hands. He rubbed his temple, hoping to drive away the dizziness brought on by fatigue, then slowly unfolded the snow-white sheet of fine xuan paper. The faint fragrance of sandalwood drifted upward, delicate and dignified.
At last, the questions themselves revealed their solemn form before his eyes.
User Comments
0 comments from readers