Chapter 710: Northwest Covered with Smoke of War, While Peace Prevails in the Capital (Part 4)

As was the case in previous years, the city of Tai’an was now welcoming the most opportune and unrepeatable event of the first month of the year: the “Flourishing of Literary Elegance.”

All of a sudden, recommendation letters and scrolls filled the skies.

The imperial examination system originated in the Great Feng Dynasty, flourished in the Western Chu Dynasty, and reached its zenith in the Liyang Dynasty. In Western Chu, the examination subjects were extremely elaborate. After reforms in Liyang, the Jinshi degree became the most valued, and under a certain ruler, the Jinshi examinations gradually emphasized policy questions. Initially, there was even a clamor over whether the Chief Minister neglected scholarly pursuits in favor of practical achievements. The number of successful Jinshi candidates increased steadily—from only three or four during the Great Feng era, to twenty or thirty in Western Chu, to over a hundred in the later Yonghui period, and finally to an unprecedented two hundred in the first year of Xiangfu. With the rise of the imperial examination system, many candidates from distant provinces flooded into Tai’an to take the exams and remained there afterward. This gave rise to two notable phenomena: the “General Ranking” and the “Provincial Scrolls,” which naturally drew the literary and bureaucratic circles closer together.

The Jinshi examinations in Liyang were held in the first month and the results were announced in the second month. While only a few candidates managed to “leap over the dragon gate,” the vast majority were not so naive as to think their failure marked the end of their journey. Most could not afford the immense costs of returning home, so they remained in the capital. Those with connections sought out relatives or fellow townspeople, while those without had to stay in temples or Daoist monasteries. During this time, besides continuing their studies, they also had to learn how to submit their best writings to high-ranking officials or literary elders for appraisal, or directly to officials in the Ministry of Rites other than the chief examiners. This gave rise to sayings such as “The Prime Minister’s gatekeeper holds the rank of seventh grade” and “It is easier to meet the King of Hell than to deal with his minions.”

This year, in the second year of Xiangfu, the busiest seventh-grade gatekeepers were spinning like tops, but with a twist. The residence of Yin Maochun, who had presided over several examinations after the Old Man Tantan (Tantan Weng) and was now known as the “Heavenly Official,” was naturally bustling with visitors—nothing unusual there. The The Song Family (Song Family), which had produced father and son scholars, was quiet, which was also not surprising. What was unusual was that this year, the residences receiving the most recommendation scrolls were not those of Chancellor Qi Yanglong, the great Confucian master Yao Bai Feng, or the esteemed official Yan Jie Xi, who held both royal and academic titles. Instead, the scrolls were flooding the homes of two young officials: the newly appointed Deputy Minister of Rites, Jin Lanting, rumored to be the next chief examiner, and the new Right Sacrificial Official of the National Academy, Sun Yin.

It was said that the number of recommendation scrolls received by these two officials could fill dozens of large baskets!

The two most prominent officials in Liyang displayed vastly different attitudes. Despite his heavy workload, Jin Lanting made every effort to meet with all the candidates. Even those who could not squeeze into his mansion to meet him in person received a carefully written reply. He never treated these responses carelessly, often working through the night to personally receive candidates or review their poetry and essays. Some particularly fine works were even shared among the “Eight Talents of the Capital,” helping to enhance the candidates’ reputations. Thus, everyone was deeply grateful to him. In contrast, Sun Yin, the Sacrificial Official, appeared unusually cold and distant. He accepted the recommendation scrolls but did not meet with anyone in the first ten days of the first month. Only a handful of responses were sent out, and they were perfunctory at best. However, Sun Yin had recently delivered an astonishing lecture at the National Academy, a debate that had stunned the entire court and earned him a resounding victory.

Even when he scrawled the words “nonsense” in bold ink on a reply letter, the recipient still cherished it and shamelessly used it to promote himself, becoming the subject of much laughter throughout Tai’an.

In just a few years, from a humble official’s residence to a Sacrificial Official’s mansion, and then to a Deputy Minister’s home, how far was it from the title of “Minister’s Mansion”?

After seeing off the other seven members of the “Eight Talents of the Capital,” Jin Lanting walked alone through the corridor. He knew that a mountain of recommendation scrolls awaited him on his desk. He also knew that until the official examinations began, that pile would only grow higher. The Ministry of Rites was indeed the driest of the Six Ministries, but once one reached the rank of Deputy Minister, even a dry office could yield subtle gains—though these gains were far more concealed than gold and silver. Jin Lanting stopped beside a corridor pillar, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply, his face filled with ecstasy.

“O Tai’an, how can you not make me, Jin Sanlang, feel elated?”

After a long while, he opened his eyes, his gaze burning with ambition, and whispered only to himself: “Chancellor, I will surpass you!”

※※※

The small house where Sun Yin now lived was rented. When he first rented it, he was merely a minor official in the Menxia Province. Even the rent of ten taels per month had been reduced only after much pleading with the merchant. After Sun Yin’s reputation rose, the merchant eagerly offered to give the house to the Right Sacrificial Official, but Sun Yin refused, only changing the payment from quarterly to annual. Today, Sun Yin was leaving the house. Through the crack in the door, he saw a dozen or so people still waiting outside like fools, so he slipped out through the back door. But he was still intercepted by a young scholar in tattered clothes. Sun Yin was blocked, and the scholar, with a strong accent from the old Western Shu region, introduced himself and bowed deeply, offering a bundle of papers—perhaps several poems, or perhaps a long fu.

Sun Yin asked indifferently, “Have you shown this to Minister Jin?”

The scholar’s face flushed red, stammering. Clearly, he had submitted his work to Jin’s mansion and had probably received a polite but indifferent response. Now he was trying his luck at Sun Yin’s more formidable doorstep. Sun Yin fumbled around and pulled out some loose silver coins, opened his palm, and asked, “I haven’t liked anything this entire month. What you have in your hands is almost certainly not worth my time to even criticize. High officials in the capital all cherish their reputations. When they encounter someone like you, they might just pinch their noses and give you some money to get rid of you. So, do you want me to give you silver so you can pay off your overdue rent and have a few decent meals, or do you insist that I look at your work?”

The young scholar from Western Shu, plain-faced and unremarkable, shook his head. “I don’t want money. I only want the Sacrificial Official to take a serious look at my poetry.”

Sun Yin put the silver back, took the neatly written stack of poems, held one corner with two fingers of his left hand, and flipped through seven or eight pages with his right, seemingly indifferent. Then, as the scholar with frostbitten hands was about to take the papers, Sun Yin suddenly let go. The poems fluttered to the ground. Looking at the startled scholar, Sun Yin unexpectedly took out a small piece of silver and casually tossed it to the ground. As he passed the Western Shu scholar, he sneered, “I won’t pick up that silver coin because, to me, it’s not worth mentioning. Your poems, to you, should be the same—they’re simply not worth anything.”

And with that, Sun Yin strode away.

After walking a long distance, Sun Yin turned back to look at the man.

The thin scholar was squatting on the ground, picking up the pages one by one.

Sun Yin saw the man raise his arm and wipe his face.

Sun Yin sighed and slowly walked toward a distant mansion.

When he arrived, the notoriously difficult gatekeeper, who was known to be hard to please in the capital, did not stop him at all. In fact, he even smiled genuinely, which clearly went beyond the simple reason of Sun Yin being the second-in-command of the National Academy.

Without needing a guide, Sun Yin found the Old Man Tantan (Tantan Weng), who was sipping wine with peanuts in his study, and without saying a word, poured himself a drink.

Huan Wen laughed, “When the locust flowers bloom yellow, the candidates grow busy. When spring comes and the grass turns green, it’s your turn to be busy. Get used to it. When you reach my age, you won’t be busy anymore.”

After drinking several bowls of wine, Sun Yin suddenly picked up a pair of chopsticks and lightly tapped the edge of his bowl, murmuring softly, “On a snowy night in the capital, fingers freeze; in a broken temple, beggars snore like thunder. Behind red gates and high walls, spring is warm; in purple robes and white beards, old nobles sleep soundly. Close your eyes and beg for nothing…”

As Sun Yin continued his long recitation, Huan Wen listened for a long time, his bowl of wine halfway to his lips but never reaching it. Finally, he couldn’t help but laugh and scold, “What nonsense is this!”

Sun Yin stopped and fell silent.

Huan Wen took a sip of wine and said softly, “Still, there’s a bit of meaning in it.”

Sun Yin said calmly, “It was borrowed with a small piece of silver. Borrowed—I couldn’t afford to buy it.”

How perceptive and seasoned was the Old Man Tantan? He simply took another leisurely sip of wine, making a series of Tsk tsk sounds, whether from the spiciness of the wine or something else, no one could tell.

Sun Yin asked, “No more wine?”

Huan Wen rolled his eyes, “Young men shouldn’t drink to drown sorrows. You don’t know what real sorrow is at your age. Only when you’re seventy or eighty, tired of life, should you drink to break your heart.”

Sun Yin glared, “Don’t speak in riddles. Say it plainly!”

Huan Wen slammed his empty bowl onto the table and glared back, “You don’t understand what I’m saying? No more wine for you to mooch!”

Sun Yin slumped back into his chair.

Huan Wen roared, “If it weren’t for the fact that you finally remembered to secure your first month’s salary while you still had a title, and changed the payment to the merchant from quarterly to annually, you wouldn’t even get those few bowls of wine, and this door wouldn’t even open to you!”

Huan Wen was truly furious now, pointing his finger at Sun Yin, the youngest Right Sacrificial Official in the history of the National Academy, and shouting, “You’ve lost your mind! Talking about the Northern Yan and Liyang as opposing forces in a military campaign—what nonsense! What a joke!”

Huan Wen grabbed the wine bowl on the table and hurled it, not caring that it struck Sun Yin’s forehead and caused blood to flow. He roared, “Fine! Fine! The nation is in peril, and the warriors do not fear death, nor do the scholars fear losing their reputations! Fine! One inch of land costs one inch of blood! The Northern Yan is knocking at the gates, heading straight for Tai’an! As if only you, Sun Yin of Beiliang, understand military strategy and the tides of history!”

Sun Yin simply closed his eyes, neither fighting back nor speaking.

The more indifferent and lifeless Sun Yin became, the angrier Huan Wen grew. He slammed the table hard, “Do you think the Crown Prince sitting on the meditation cushion back then was a fool? Do you think Chancellor Qi Yanglong was a fool?!”

Huan Wen practically screamed, “Do you think I, Huan Wen, am a fool?! Damn it all!”

Sun Yin replied coldly, “Apologies. My mother is long dead.”

“Damn your grandfather!”

“My grandfather is dead too.”

“I don’t care if your ancestors for eighteen generations are dead or alive!”

Sun Yin fell silent completely.

Huan Wen calmed down slightly, his expression sorrowful, his hands trembling slightly. He spoke softly, “Bi Yan’er never bent the rules in his entire life. Before his death, he made an exception only once—for you, you bastard.”

Sun Yin’s expression remained blank, “At the National Academy, so many learned scholars believed that the thirty thousand iron cavalry of Beiliang should die without a trace, even thinking that the deaths of millions of Beiliang civilians were of no consequence.”

“When Yan Zhenshun died, they were indifferent. When Zhang Julu died, they were delighted.”

“These people believe that if they were Yan Zhenshun, they could easily defeat Xie Xichui’s cavalry. They believe that if they were Zhang Julu, they could unify the world.”

“These people are all scholars.”

Sun Yin lowered his head, covering his face with his hands, his voice choked, “When I was young, I barely managed to attend a private school. My teacher was a scholar from the Spring and Autumn era who had somehow remained in Beiliang during the Hongjia migration. I remember how he liked to half-read, half-sing the Ballad of Everlasting Sorrow with us. Before I left Lingshou, I saw my teacher for the last time. He said he never expected that the sounds of reading in Beiliang would be the same as those in his hometown. So he said that it would be fine for him to be buried in Beiliang after his death.”

“In this Tai’an of the scholars, how peaceful it is.”

“I don’t want to see such peace. I, Sun Yin, want to return to my hometown, even if it means seeing the smoke of war rising there.”

Huan Wen muttered to himself, “Sun Yin, if you want to return to Beiliang, I won’t stop you. But I hope you understand that the Tai’an you see—the scholars’ Tai’an—is not the true Tai’an, nor is it the Tai’an of everyone.”

“This city has had my mentor, Zhang Julu, Xun Ping, Yan Zhenshun, and even me, Huan Wen, still alive. There are many people you don’t know.”

“Xu Xiao, Li Dangxin, Cao Changqing, Yang Taishui—once, they were all here, so full of vigor and pride, and each of them could say with a clear conscience, ‘I have no regrets.’”

“If you return to Beiliang, you may become an official, a strategist, or even die on the battlefield with no regrets. But if you do not give up today, one day, at some moment, you will have the chance to say to another young man, ‘In Tai’an, there was me, Sun Yin. In this world, there was me, Sun Yin!’”

※※※

In a quiet courtyard within a narrow alley, a woman sat quietly on the threshold of the inner courtyard. The outer gate was open, and she gazed out.

As if waiting for someone to return home.

Occasionally, she would hear the distant cries of vendors selling candied hawthorns, but perhaps because the alley was too small, she never saw the vendors carrying their sticks pass by her door.

She placed a hand on her abdomen and spoke softly, “At the border, both you and the child are doing well.”

But we both miss you very much.