Sima Puhua and Jin Lanting, as high-ranking officials of the Ministry of Rites, naturally traveled together.
Without even needing to glance at Jin Sanlang, Sima Puhua knew that this second-in-command of the ministry would never give him a pleasant look. It was unavoidable—originally, the Ministry of Rites had privately agreed to strongly recommend Jin Lanting as the chief examiner for the next spring imperial examinations. In return, Jin Lanting would ensure that at least one of Sima Puhua’s sons would eventually rise to the position of Chancellor of the Imperial Academy or Vice Minister of Rites. However, as the Ministry of Rites grew increasingly powerful, Sima Puhua’s ambitions had also expanded. Not long ago, he had even managed to forge a connection with the notoriously aloof Zhao Youling of the Central Secretariat. From then on, Sima Puhua had an epiphany—he wanted to redefine the blurred hierarchy between the Minister and Vice Minister of Rites.
What truly solidified his resolve was the unexpected outcome of the “Herald of Autumn” selection on the first day of autumn. Everyone had assumed the honor would be contested between Jin Lanting and Yan Chiji, but almost no one had anticipated Chen Wang’s victory. Before this, Jin Lanting had only been slightly inferior to Chen Wang, but afterward, no one in the court of Liyang believed Jin Sanlang could ever compete with the young guardian Chen for the future position of Chief Grand Councilor.
Today, when the emperor personally praised Chen Wang as “esteemed and virtuous,” it completely extinguished Jin Lanting’s hopes of leading the spring examinations.
Yet, no matter how much Sima Puhua privately relished Jin Lanting’s misfortune, as a soon-to-retire Minister of Rites who had already achieved near-perfect political success, he dared not openly antagonize the man.
After all, Jin Lanting’s aggressive stance toward Northern Liang had earned him praise as “unyielding and principled” when he was in power, but now that he had fallen from grace, opinions were divided. His ingratitude had not gone unnoticed by the capital’s political circles.
With a face full of feigned sympathy, Sima Puhua consoled, “Sanlang, you’ve understood His Majesty’s intentions. It’s not that I don’t want to support you—I simply lack the influence now.”
Jin Lanting smiled faintly. “His Majesty’s wisdom far surpasses that of us mere officials. If the Minister doesn’t mind my overstepping, I do have a list of candidates in mind.”
Sima Puhua feigned surprise. “Oh? Do share, Sanlang.”
Jin Lanting, who had long abandoned his beard as a symbol of his resolve, replied calmly, “For the three chief examiners of the spring examinations, I propose the long-serving Academician of the Hanlin Academy, Minister of Personnel Yin; Grand Scholar of the Dongyuan Pavilion, Yan; and Left Imperial Advisor Chen of the Chancellery. As for the junior examiners, Huangmen Lang Yan Chiji, Song Keli, and the top three scholars of the Xiangfu era’s palace examination—Li Jifu, Gao Tingshu, and Wu Congxian—are all excellent choices.”
Sima Puhua habitually stroked his beard, carefully weighing the pros and cons before nodding. “A flawless selection. Truly worthy of Sanlang.”
Jin Lanting merely smiled, unperturbed.
Sima Puhua stole a sidelong glance at this once-rising star of the capital. What a masterful retreat disguised as an advance!
The old minister, who had previously doubted Jin Lanting’s prospects, suddenly gritted his teeth and whispered, “Sanlang, rest assured—when I retire, it will be your time to rise in the Ministry of Rites.”
Jin Lanting smiled without responding.
Sima Puhua added softly, “Sanlang, my two disappointing sons… I entrust them to your care in the future.”
As they reached an open area, Jin Lanting gazed at the distant palace rooftops and said calmly, “If that day ever comes, it’s not impossible for the Sima family to produce two ministers.”
Understanding the implication, Sima Puhua chuckled knowingly, though he didn’t take it seriously—yet he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope.
—
Qi Yanglong and Huan Wen walked side by side for a while before parting ways—Qi Yanglong heading toward Prince Changshan Zhao Yang, while the straightforward elder Huan Wen approached Chen Wang.
Prince Changshan, still irritated by the blind scholar, was caught off guard when the Chief Grand Councilor approached him. Despite his military achievements surpassing even Yan Zhenchun and Yang Shenxing, the prince still held a measure of reverence for this elder statesman who outranked even Zhang Julu and Huan Wen. The mutual disdain between civil and military officials didn’t apply to everyone.
Qi Yanglong smiled. “Prince Changshan, you shouldn’t have spoken to Lu Xu like that earlier.”
The prince scoffed. “What’s that brat going to do—complain to the emperor? And even if he did, His Majesty wouldn’t bother with such trivial matters.”
Qi Yanglong tapped his chest and sighed. “We scholars… hold grudges tightly.”
Prince Changshan burst into laughter. “Lord Qi, no scholar would ever disparage themselves like that!”
Qi Yanglong quipped, “Then why does the old saying go, ‘A gentleman’s revenge can wait ten years’?”
The prince blinked in realization. “Ah, now I see. We military men settle scores the same day—never let them linger overnight.”
Qi Yanglong sighed unexpectedly. “At the founding of every dynasty, the court thrives with both civil and military brilliance. Yet by its fall, the halls are filled with loudmouthed scholars while the generals cower in silence.”
Prince Changshan frowned. “I thought you were here to defend that Lu brat. Now I’m confused.”
Qi Yanglong smiled. “Before coming to the capital, I didn’t notice it. But now, I realize there are far too few military men like you in court—far too few.”
The prince grew serious. “Speak plainly, Lord Qi. All this circling makes me uneasy. I’d rather you just scold me outright.”
Qi Yanglong shook his head and strode away.
—
The two leaders of the Chancellery, Huan Wen and Chen Wang, walked together. Beyond official duties, they shared little personal rapport.
Huan Wen cut to the chase. “Chen Wang, don’t take offense, but though you and Sun Yin both hail from Northern Liang, I’ve never liked you.”
Chen Wang, unsurprised, replied gently, “Birds of a feather flock together. A straightforward man like you naturally prefers Sun Yin’s company. Someone like me, who conceals emotions and reeks of bureaucracy, lacks the refined spirit to earn your favor. It’s only natural.”
Huan Wen gazed ahead, where Yan Jiexi walked with Han Lin, while Cai Nan deliberately distanced himself from Tang Tieshuang—small scenes rich with political nuance.
Lost in thought, Huan Wen murmured, “All these distinguished men, so busy, so clever, scheming endlessly.”
Chen Wang remained silent.
The elder turned. “Does every dynasty inevitably meet this fate?”
Chen Wang nodded—then shook his head.
The shrewd old man hummed in understanding, needing no explanation.
Clasping his hands behind his back, Huan Wen smiled bitterly. “The world’s cleverest minds are all here. Leaving only the fools… to go there.”
After a pause, he suddenly called Chen Wang’s name.
Chen Wang responded softly, “Speak, Elder.”
Huan Wen smirked. “If—just if—one day, someone needs to speak up for those fools… and I’m already dead… will you say a few words?”
Chen Wang halted, lips pressed tight, offering no immediate answer.
The elder didn’t wait. Strolling onward, he muttered to himself, “How tragic, when the world is left only to us clever men.”
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