Chapter Twenty-Eight: Fury

"You said that Old Huang wants to see me the day after tomorrow?" Zhu Yang, who was packing up in the small courtyard, looked at Jiang Huan, who had suddenly come to visit, and asked.

Jiang Huan braced himself and replied, "Yes, Master Huang said there's something he can't quite figure out and would like to consult you. But the border is in crisis these past two days, and state affairs are pressing. Master Huang can't free himself at the moment. He said he would come to you as soon as things settle down in a couple of days!"

"Strange, we just finished an essay on this topic during the day, and now, come night, there’s a border emergency. What a coincidence!" Zhu Yang sighed, not doubting Jiang Huan’s words in the least. He even thought to himself that heaven must be watching over him.

If war truly broke out at the frontier, then his essay, advocating both for war and for opening (or abolishing) the maritime ban (and thus digging up the ‘ancestral graves’ of the civil officials), might even win the support of some far-sighted ministers—provided, of course, that these insightful officials were among the examiners. Otherwise, it would be all for naught.

"Heh... yes... just a coincidence!" Jiang Huan forced a laugh, uneasy, fearing Zhu Yang might have seen through his lie.

In truth, there was no border crisis—only Lan Yu leading troops to confront the southwestern chieftains. When Jiang Huan reported that Zhu Yang planned to leave the capital, the emperor instructed him to find a way to keep Zhu Yang there, at least until after the imperial proclamation had been posted. Jiang Huan racked his brain for a good excuse, but this fabricated story was all he could come up with.

"Not exactly a lie," Jiang Huan consoled himself, "since Lan Yu’s campaign could be considered a border emergency."

"Alright, I’ll stay a few more days then," Zhu Yang nodded.

Zhu Yang had a deep fondness for Old Huang and his son, especially after the recent rumors incident; had it not been for their help, Zhu Yang would have been stripped and flayed by the emperor long ago.

"I owe them a great debt; it’s only right to say a proper farewell," Zhu Yang murmured, secretly resolving to discreetly warn Old Huang about the impending bloodbath at court next year, and advise him to draw closer to Zhu Yunwen and survive the 'Lan Yu case' before worrying about the future.

As for what came next, Zhu Yang kept it in mind, intending to act after Zhu Yunwen ascended the throne.

…

With Zhu Yang staying, the imperial examination papers were soon being reviewed.

Zhu Yuanzhang summoned three highly respected Hanlin scholars, adding them to himself, Crown Prince Zhu Biao, the six department ministers, and chief examiner Liu Sanwu—making twelve reviewers in all.

The review took place in the Hall of Heavenly Blessings. Except for the emperor and the crown prince, each examiner had a desk, and the papers were passed around in turn, each examiner marking them with one of five symbols: “○”, “△”, “”, “1”, or “×”. The papers with the most “○”s were deemed the best.

Once Liu Sanwu, Shen Jin, and Zhao Mian were seated, they exchanged glances and began the review.

…

The afternoon sun shone brilliantly, but Zhu Yuanzhang’s heart grew ever darker.

Before him lay six answer sheets the crown prince had brought. All six were well-argued essays, rich with apt references from antiquity, from Confucius to Laozi, each citation perfectly chosen.

Yet of these six, five that advocated for rest and recuperation had received “○”, while the one that urged continued war had only received a few “△”. The sixth, which proposed ending the maritime ban, had only a single “○” and a “△”; the rest were “×”.

At first, Zhu Yuanzhang thought it a coincidence. But then, gathering all the papers already reviewed, he compared those of equal quality but different positions, and saw the “○”, “△”, even “×” marks.

His heart sank. How could he not realize what these chief examiners were up to?

“Hmph! What fine ministers I have!” Zhu Yuanzhang ground his teeth, glaring at the reviewers.

In truth, Zhu Yuanzhang had already decided in his heart whether to fight the Mongols in the north or focus on internal recovery. Even if he was uncertain, he would only consult his ministers, not leave such matters to inexperienced scholars. That would be absurd.

The purpose of this essay was to test the candidates’ character: whether they advocated war or peace, as long as they cared for the people and could persuade him with reason, they were talent.

If someone was exceptional enough to propose a solution that balanced both sides, that would be a pleasant surprise.

But these examiners were now manipulating the results, downgrading those who advocated for war simply because their views did not align with their own.

This was not reviewing; it was forming a faction.

Zhu Yuanzhang could already foresee that, once these peace-advocating scholars entered government, the powerful ministers would draw them in, and eventually unite to oppose the court and himself—or, after the crown prince inherited, use his kindness to undermine his power.

He had once destroyed Prime Minister Hu Weiyong to consolidate power, and used the Hu case to eliminate all threats.

Now, these men were using the civil service exams for factional ends. They were crossing his bottom line.

For a moment, Zhu Yuanzhang was burning with murderous intent, but he refrained from acting immediately. He would wait for the right moment.

He looked again at the sixth essay, which advocated ending the maritime ban and boldly argued for invading other nations, using their resources to enrich Ming.

Truth be told, the essay moved him. But the glaring “×”s enraged him.

“This is the one!” Zhu Yuanzhang tapped the table. He would use this essay to catch all these ministers in one fell swoop.

…

Zhu Yuanzhang rose to his feet, looked at the gathered officials, and said with a smile, “I just remembered there are memorials yet to be handled today. You all carry on; I’ll return later. Crown Prince, stay here and observe—see how our pillar ministers review the papers.”

“Yes, Father.”

“We respectfully see Your Majesty off.”

All the officials rose and bowed.

“No need for ceremony. You have worked hard,” Zhu Yuanzhang waved his hand, casting a deep look at the crown prince before turning to leave.

Crown Prince Zhu Biao watched his father’s departing figure, sighing inwardly: Father is truly angry.

“Should I warn them?” Zhu Biao looked at the officials, conflicted.

They thought their actions were hidden, but if not for his slow reviewing pace, wanting to appreciate the fine essays and thus gathering the papers of equal quality together, he might not have noticed their tricks.

“Forget it. Perhaps Zhu Yang was right; I am still too soft-hearted, too deeply influenced by Confucianism,” Zhu Biao sighed, deciding not to interfere.

“I wonder how Zhu Yang’s essay fared?” Having decided to remain uninvolved, Zhu Biao lost interest in reviewing. Instead, he began searching through the stack for Zhu Yang’s paper, curious whether, without knowing the handwriting, a father’s heart might recognize his son’s work.

…

Meanwhile, Zhu Yuanzhang returned to the imperial study, where Jiang Huan was already waiting.

“Did you settle things with Zhu Yang?” Zhu Yuanzhang asked.

“Your Majesty, Young Master Zhu said he would stay a few more days,” Jiang Huan reported truthfully, recounting his conversation with Zhu Yang in full.

“Good, as long as he stays,” Zhu Yuanzhang replied, without any blame.

“Go and handle something for me…” Zhu Yuanzhang gave Jiang Huan instructions.

“At once!” As Jiang Huan listened, his heart tightened, even filling with dread. He seemed to glimpse the day he succeeded the Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, when his predecessor Mao Xiang had not been spared either.