“Spring lingers late, the grasses and trees grow lush and thick; the oriole sings sweetly, gathering mugwort in rrint.” — The Book of Songs
On the first morning after the imperial examination results had been posted, Zhu Ping’an finished his breakfast and mounted his matte-black “Shamate” horse, riding off toward the Ministry of Rites.
This day, the Jiajing Emperor was hosting a banquet at the Ministry—what the legends called the Qionglin Banquet, though a more fitting title might be the Banquet of Imperial Favor and Honor. An emperor’s banquet was, by definition, a bestowal of grace and distinction. For soone like Zhu Ping’an, who had an insatiable appetite and a love for fine dining, this was naturally an event he approached with great enthusiasm.
He had also heard rumors about what had happened in the backyard of the Linhuai Marquis’ residence the previous night. When news reached him that Li Shu had whipped one of the maids, he was hardly surprised. After all, Li Shu’s willful and imperious behavior as a child—yelling at and even striking servants—was hardly uncommon. Everyone had witnessed it firsthand, though she had certainly grown more restrained with age. In this rigidly hierarchical feudal society, one could hardly expect notions of democracy or equality; such concepts simply did not exist here.
Because the Marquise of Linhuai had issued a strict prohibition against gossip, Zhu Ping’an didn’t know the full details of the incident—only vaguely that there had been so poisoning, and that Li Shu had struck the sixth lady’s maid. Still, he could make a reasonable guess: yesterday, when the officers returned from the Imperial Street inspections, Li Shu had demanded that the sixth lady deliver a bowl of sweet soup to her. Apparently, sothing about that bowl had gone wrong, prompting Li Shu to lash out at the maid.
Knowing Li Shu as he did, Zhu Ping’an suspected that this was intentional—a calculated lesson ant for the sixth lady. From the mont Li Shu had requested the sweet soup, he had already anticipated such a result.
Before leaving for the morning, when his little maid brought him breakfast, she also hurriedly handed over a slip of paper, reportedly ant for Wang Xiao’er. Zhu Ping’an had given it a passing glance—but with his near-perfect mory, he had imdiately understood its contents.
It detailed, roughly, how the maid who had been struck was to be dealt with.
Remove AdsAlthough the news of Li Shu striking soone hadn’t surprised him, seeing the instructions on the paper did catch him off guard. Li Shu’s plan for the “involved” maid was sowhat unexpected: she was to be married off to a simple, honest local man. For a maid, such a husband was hardly a bad match. According to the standards of the Li household, even a first-rank maid’s dowry would be substantial. With so effort, the couple would have little to worry about for the rest of their lives.
This side of the cunning and capricious Li Shu was sothing Zhu Ping’an hadn’t anticipated—her capacity for practicality and thoughtfulness, even in such small matters, was surprising.
In recent days, the Shamate black horse seed to have taken a fancy to a certain mare from the Linhuai Marquis’ stables. As Zhu Ping’an led it out the door that morning, the horse was in no mood to cooperate. On the road, it strutted with all the arrogance of a horse owed a dozen mares, stretching its long face upward in indignation.
Spring, it seed, was truly a season for romance. Even this ornery horse had found itself entangled in matters of the heart.
Because of the horse’s obstinate and sluggish behavior, Zhu Ping’an nearly arrived at the Ministry of Rites late. Were it not for the fact that he technically hadn’t missed the appointed hour, he might have seriously considered castrating the creature.
Eating and drinking—this, Zhu Ping’an thought, was perhaps the universal thod for celebration, whether in China or anywhere else in the world.
For the newly minted jinshi gathered at the Ministry, this Banquet of Imperial Favor and Honor was surely the highlight of relaxation after yesterday’s nerve-wracking posting of the imperial examination results. Yesterday had been tense beyond asure; today, there was no need for tension. They could eat, drink, and unwind as they pleased. Despite the banquet’s vast scale and the multitude of attendees, the focus today was squarely on the four hundred newly appointed jinshi.
It was no small feat that the Jiajing Emperor had managed to attend the Western Garden yesterday, so it was unsurprising that he could not be present at the Qionglin Banquet. In fact, his absence made everyone more at ease.
This grand banquet was presided over by Minister of Rites Xu Jie, who, after conveying the Emperor’s edict to hold the feast, extended his congratulations to the new jinshi. The seating arrangents were then set, and the banquet officially comnced.
The top three jinshi—the champion Zhu Ping’an, the second-rank Han Yupeng, and the third-rank Tanghua Lang—shared a single table. All others were arranged five to a table.
The banquet spanned over a hundred tables, with dishes prepared by imperial chefs summoned directly from the palace kitchens. These chefs, serving the Emperor himself, represented the pinnacle of culinary expertise in all of Ming China.
Zhu Ping’an was far from disappointed. Thirty dishes were laid out, featuring beef, lamb, pork, venison, pheasant, chicken, duck, fish, seafood, and vegetables—thirty dishes, a symbolic homage to the Emperor’s thirty years on the throne.
The chefs did not disappoint either. From presentation to flavor and texture, each dish was executed flawlessly, leaving Zhu Ping’an completely satisfied.
As the banquet was in honor of the new jinshi, indulgence in food and drink was the main attraction. Aside from a brief ceremony in which Zhu Ping’an and the other new jinshi offered three respectful cups to senior officials, there was little protocol.
Still, as the champion jinshi, Zhu Ping’an received special attention, with many more toasts dedicated to him.
Among them, Ouyang Zishi took the lead, gathering a small group of newly appointed jinshi with the clear intent to press Zhu Ping’an into drinking, inching toward him with predatory precision.
Remove AdsZhu Ping’an, of course, could read Ouyang Zishi’s intentions at a glance.
Before Ouyang Zishi reached his table, Zhu Ping’an quietly slipped away, carrying his cup to the tables of Zhang Siwei and Wang Shizhen, using the pretext of toasting them to evade the onslaught.
Having heard of Ouyang Zishi’s scheming, Zhang Siwei and Wang Shizhen imdiately recognized the challenge: Ouyang Zishi was blaming Zhu Ping’an for his own failure to attain the champion rank. They cooperated silently, helping Zhu Ping’an keep watch on Ouyang Zishi’s movents.
Thus, a recurring scene unfolded at the banquet: whenever Ouyang Zishi attempted to corner Zhu Ping’an under the guise of a toast, Zhu Ping’an would slip away to another table, cup in hand, without fail.
Each ti, Ouyang Zishi arrived with confidence only to leave frustrated, his resentnt growing: “He stole my championship… and even my woman…”
Seeing the crowd’s admiration for Zhu Ping’an, Ouyang Zishi’s jealousy only deepened. Resigned, he turned to the only solace left: alcohol.
One cup, two cups, three… soon, Ouyang Zishi was thoroughly intoxicated.
He was far from alone. At a celebration marking the pinnacle of their lives, many of the new jinshi had grown red-faced and drunk; at least a dozen had reached the point of inebriation.
Intoxicated, human behavior beca a kaleidoscope of the absurd and amusing. But the Ministry’s officials had prepared carefully: nearly a hundred attendants were on hand to escort any drunk jinshi or official to nearby lodgings to sober up.
Wang Shizhen was promptly “escorted” away, having collapsed after only three cups; Zhang Siwei was slightly tipsy but still able to maintain composure.
Zhu Ping’an, thanks to his self-invented thod of dodging drink, erged unscathed.
Before he could fully relish his luck, he received an invitation—an unmistakable familiar style: a card from the Yan family. Only a few at the banquet had received one alongside him.
Many of the jinshi glanced enviously at Zhu Ping’an’s invitation.
It was customary for the last several banquets: the current grand banquet was the Emperor’s own, a great banquet of imperial favor. After this, a smaller banquet of imperial favor would follow, hosted by the Grand Secretary Yan Song himself.
While the great banquet offered only the prestige of imperial attention, the smaller banquet promised tangible benefits. Should one gain the favor of Grand Secretary Yan, the path of one’s official career could truly beco smooth and unimpeded.
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