At the end of the Xiangfu first year, the first snow arrived abruptly. When it finally snowed, it snowed heavily in thick, feather-like flakes. Compared to previous years, however, it was said that this year the scenic spots for viewing snow both inside and outside of Tai’an City had seen a decrease of seventy to eighty percent in visitors, which likely meant that elderly vendors selling wine at scattered stalls would earn significantly less small change.
There were countless Zhang Mansions in the capital, yet one stood out as unique. Whether local officials came to the capital or scholars from distant lands arrived for study, when they casually asked the locals where the Zhang Mansion was, the latter would not bother to ask which Zhang official’s residence they were referring to, but would instead give a direct answer.
Even with heavy snowfall and snow piling up on the imperial roads too thick to be completely swept away, the morning court session still proceeded as usual. At such a sensitive time when the Crown Prince was overseeing the state affairs, who among the officials would dare to arrive late?
Yet today, one person was missing from the temple hall, and his absence shocked everyone, causing them to lose focus. Even the Crown Prince overseeing the state seemed momentarily dazed.
This man, who had for the first time in his life skipped the morning court session without asking for leave, seemed to be delivering a simple message to the Crown Prince and the entire court: I simply choose not to come today.
The Crown Prince feigned ignorance, neither sending a senior eunuch to inquire about his well-being nor flying into a rage. Even Bai Guo, the Minister of Rites known for his tendency to either exaggerate small matters or downplay major ones, acted as though nothing had happened.
Some officials wanted to seize the opportunity to make an issue of it, but after hesitating for a long time, they still dared not speak.
Even Jin Sanlang had chosen to keep his mouth shut today.
The official whose absence made the entire court gathering feel unlike a proper court session was none other than the current Chief Minister, Zhang Julu.
Zhang Julu had not skipped the morning court due to illness. After donning his first-grade purple robe for court, he simply decided he no longer felt like attending, and so he did not go.
The old man, whose temples were already flecked with gray, had sat beneath the eaves since early morning, without changing into more comfortable and warmer clothing. The old family steward had brought over a simple bamboo-woven brazier, repeatedly adding charcoal to keep it burning.
Throughout his life, aside from a few rare occasions when his closest friend, the candid old man Tan Tan Weng, had dragged him into drinking a couple of cups, Zhang Julu had practically never touched alcohol. He always insisted that drinking led to mistakes. Yet today, with nothing to do and seemingly even less to do in the days ahead, he still had no thought of drinking. Around noon, he ate some coarse pastries made at home and continued flipping through the nameless poetry anthology he had compiled himself.
Zhang Julu’s extraordinary administrative abilities were beyond dispute. Even his former powerful political rivals, who had once been capable of challenging him, would not have denied it. However, though Zhang Julu had risen from the ranks of the Hanlin Academy, aside from his early essays—some of which displayed a certain spark of talent—his later writings, whether memorials or responses, were always plain and unremarkable. Over the years, not a single literary masterpiece had emerged from his pen, nor had he ever publicly praised any particular literary figure or offered insightful commentary on a celebrated piece of writing.
To outsiders, it seemed as though the Chief Minister had a natural aversion to writing. In truth, only Huan Wen knew that his old friend Zhang Julu, while not overly fond of literary embellishment, still cherished many fine literary works by scholars. He especially loved memorable lines, whether frontier poetry, poems of courtly longing, or reflective verses. Even memorial essays and prose were to his taste. He collected them all into his self-edited poetry anthology. For example, the mourning essay by the scholar Ouyang of Shangyin Academy for his father, the Proclamation (proclamation) written by Zhao Changling himself during the Siege of Xilebi against the Kingdom of Chu, and so on. Zhang Julu would often take these out for a read. Included were lines such as Huanglongshi’s: *”A thousand li along the straight Yellow River, sorrowful mists rise into dark clouds of gloom,”* and the verse by a poet once criticized by the literary world as a flatterer of Xu and Liang: *”Beyond the world’s sight, no war remains; the might of arms melts into sun and moonlight.”* Also included was a famous line from a Palace Lament (palace lament) poem of a previous dynasty: *”Others cannot see—perhaps they’d laugh—but I wear the fashions of the late Tianbao era.”* In particular, Xu Xiaoxiong had many entries among the over three hundred selections, even including a few poems that Xu Fengnian had obviously purchased at great cost.
This, perhaps, was what people meant by the magnanimity of a prime minister.
Suddenly, the old steward hurried up the steps and whispered, “My Lord, the Young Master has arrived at the gate.”
Zhang Julu was slightly puzzled but said nothing. Although he was a father who inspired fear and respect from his sons and daughters-in-law, he was not so cold-hearted as to forbid his children from visiting. However, his eldest and second sons were both rather timid and somewhat bookish by nature. After marrying into families of modest status, his daughters-in-law, aside from the blessing of giving him grandchildren, would never dare to come here and make themselves uncomfortable. His youngest son, Zhang Bianguan, was the odd one out among the three sons. The most stubborn of them all, he had grown estranged from the Zhang household, with a relationship so strained that it seemed father and son might never reconcile.
For Zhang Bianguan to actually walk into this mansion was truly an unprecedented event. Although Zhang Julu’s expression remained unchanged, he instinctively glanced several times toward the courtyard gate.
Even a tiger does not devour its own cubs. How many fathers truly despise their sons from the depths of their hearts?
Zhang Bianguan entered the courtyard in his usual careless manner, running in with a peculiar item in his hand—an uncommon small copper-covered bamboo brazier popular in the countryside of Jiangnan. It contained charcoal covered with ash, used for warmth. Elderly people often carried such devices when walking outdoors or chatting at home during winter. The Zhang family’s ancestral home was south of the Guangling River, and during his years of diligent study before achieving success in the imperial examinations, Zhang Julu had often used such a device. It was more economical in terms of charcoal usage compared to a large brazier, making it affordable even for poor families. After he became famous in the capital, only his grandfather, who had moved to Tai’an to retire, occasionally used it. No one knew where Zhang Bianguan had found such an outdated and unremarkable item today.
Zhang Bianguan asked the steward for some fresh charcoal, which he poured into the small brazier. He then scooped some ash from the large bamboo brazier at Zhang Julu’s feet, crouched on the ground, fiddled with it for a while, and then handed it to his father. Zhang Julu hesitated for a moment before accepting it and placing it on his lap. With one hand holding his book and the other holding the brazier, he felt a little more warmth.
Zhang Bianguan then asked the steward for a small stool and began to grumble, “You’re getting on in years, yet you still insist on sitting outside in the snow, reading like some kind of hero…”
The steward smiled knowingly and left. Such words could only be spoken by the Young Master. The other two sons would never dare utter such things. If the Chief Minister showed even a hint of impatience with a sidelong glance, those two sons, who only knew how to bury themselves in the classics, would tremble in fear, feeling as though they were walking on thin ice even in the heat of summer.
Zhang Bianguan poked at the charcoal in the large brazier with tongs and continued, “I’ve heard from the common folk that lately, your words as Chief Minister are losing their weight. Many fifth- and sixth-rank officials now dare to play tricks and give evasive answers. Except for Wang Xionggui’s Ministry of Revenue and the Ministry of Rites, which are still relatively honest, the Ministry of Personnel, the Ministry of War, the Ministry of Works, and the Ministry of Justice have all developed their own ways to resist your policies. Especially the Hanlin Academy and the National Academy—those noble officials and refined scholars—keep producing new poems every few days that subtly criticize current affairs by referencing ancient events. Their words are sharp and deeply cutting. Some even say that the Emperor’s recent imperial inspection tour to the border was originally about rectifying corruption in the two Liaos, but now he’s gone to Jizhou to overturn the Han family case. The implications all point directly at a certain Zhang official in the court.”
Zhang Julu smiled slightly and asked, “Is that all?”
Zhang Bianguan struck the tongs and sneered, “Of course not! If I really wanted to talk about it, even a whole basket wouldn’t be enough!”
Zhang Julu replied calmly, “But didn’t you just say that it’s only low-ranking officials making noise?”
Zhang Bianguan placed both hands over the brazier, not looking up. “Cold winds rise from beneath the earth. If not stopped in time, when evil rains pour from above, will there still be a chance to save anything?”
Zhang Julu, now slightly impatient, said, “Is that all you have to say? If you’re done, you can leave.”
Zhang Bianguan suddenly looked up, his eyes red with anger. “I came here for two things. First, there’s an imperial censor accusing my elder brother of seizing farmland, and my second brother of cheating in the imperial exams. I don’t care what others say about you, the Chief Minister, nor do I have the ability to get involved. But why must they humiliate my two brothers like this? You could stop it. Why do you just endure it silently? Even if… even if the outcome is inevitable, I’m just a piece of useless mud, but couldn’t you at least let my brothers leave with some dignity?”
Zhang Julu said calmly, “Your second brother’s cheating in the imperial exams refers to his improper attainment of the sixth-place ranking, the Yakuai. Although I did not directly instruct anyone, upon closer examination, it is true. At that time, the chief examiner appointed by the Emperor was one of my disciples from the Zhang Study Group. Given your second brother’s mediocre ability in composing essays, passing the provincial exam was not difficult, but achieving the Yakuai ranking was like a dreamer’s fantasy. As for your elder brother’s accusation of seizing farmland…”
Zhang Bianguan shouted, “How could my elder brother, that bookish fool, and my sister-in-law, who wears the same modest but valuable clothes every time she visits the mansion, possibly be involved in seizing land from the people? You, the Chief Minister, have never visited my elder brother’s residence for the sake of your own reputation. But I have visited countless times. I know exactly how hard their life has been!”
Zhang Julu interrupted his youngest son, speaking calmly, “In the eighth year of the Yonghui era, I did indeed purchase three hundred mu of farmland for your elder brother, and the method was not honorable. However, your elder brother has remained unaware of this all along.”
Zhang Bianguan was stunned, and tears immediately welled up in his eyes. He murmured, “Why? Why must you even scheme against your own sons…”
Zhang Julu looked toward the snow-covered courtyard, a vast expanse of white untouched by brooms, likely now knee-deep in snow. He spoke softly, “The so-called ‘Spring of Yonghui’—everyone in the court knows what it truly means. In the future, those who stand side by side in power will mostly come from humble backgrounds.”
Zhang Julu set aside his book, stood up, and held the small brazier in both hands, murmuring, “The old rule that the poor cannot produce noble sons has now been broken. The significance of this is immense, comparable to the rise of powerful clans after the Qin Empire, when wandering scholars established aristocratic families, no longer rootless drifters. Yet for eight hundred years, everyone has seen both the benefits and drawbacks of these aristocratic families. So for the next eight hundred years, will those scholars who have suddenly leapt through the dragon gate reflect upon themselves? And how deeply will they reflect? When a poor man suddenly gains wealth and power, going from a farmer’s hut to the emperor’s court overnight. Do you really think everyone can maintain their original intentions in the corrupting environment of officialdom? Precisely because these men have nothing to lose, once they rise to high positions and choose to do evil, they will have no Bottom line (moral Bottom line).”
Zhang Julu smiled slightly and said, “This gate was opened by me, Zhang Julu. So then, consider me—Zhang Julu, the Chief Minister of a great dynasty, wielding power for twenty years. If even I, with such authority, can fall from grace due to my descendants’ corruption and cheating, can this not serve as a cooling remedy for future humble scholars who rise to power?”
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