Chapter Twenty-Nine: Quarrel

In the evening, Zhu Yuanzhang, who had promised to come, did not show up. Instead, he sent a eunuch to deliver the message that his memorials were not yet fully reviewed.

The examiners paid little heed to this. While the emperor’s word should, in theory, be inviolate, how many rulers truly live up to such a standard? These ministers and scholars from the Hanlin Academy were well accustomed to such things.

When the last trace of daylight was finally swallowed by darkness and the land was plunged into endless night, the officials marking the papers at last put down their brushes and let out a long sigh of relief.

Nearly sixty exam papers had finally been read.

Liu Sanwu, rubbing his weary eyes, turned to the clerk beside him who was organizing the documents. “Set aside the ten best essays among them, and put the others on the list,” he instructed.

According to the usual practice of the palace exam, the first, second, and third places—Zhuangyuan, Bangyan, and Tanhua—must be personally approved and appointed by the emperor, while the remainder are ranked in order.

Selecting the ten best essays was intended to let the emperor choose the top three from among them.

The top three, known as “Jinshi Jidi” or “the three tripods,” would be recognized as the highest achievers. The second rank, comprising about a third of those admitted, would be known as “Jinshi Chushen,” with the leading candidate called Chuanlu. The third rank would make up the remaining two-thirds.

Very soon, the ten papers were selected. Among them, those advocating for warfare and those urging for peace and recuperation were split evenly, though the quality varied. Of the essays on peace and recuperation, only a few were marked with mere triangles; in contrast, several essays on warfare bore slashes, which were particularly conspicuous.

“Wait,” Zhu Biao said, picking up Zhu Yang’s essay. “In my view, both in content and literary merit, this is a strong contender for Zhuangyuan. Why wasn’t he selected?”

“Him?” Liu Sanwu gave a dismissive laugh. “Your Highness may not be aware, but, although this young man’s writing is indeed good, he actually dared to speak recklessly about lifting the maritime prohibition. The maritime ban is a state policy that His Majesty has reiterated again and again. How could he be ignorant of this? As loyal ministers of the Ming, how could we admit someone so ignorant of state policy to the court? Wouldn’t that invite ridicule from the people?”

“Is that so?” Zhu Biao countered. “Allow me to ask you, Scholar Liu: What is the purpose of our imperial examinations? And which law of ours states that one must understand every court policy to become Zhuangyuan?”

“There is no law forbidding those ignorant of state policy from becoming Zhuangyuan,” Minister of Revenue Zhao Mian interjected. “But the purpose of the imperial examinations is to select the most outstanding talents in the land. If a person never even reads the government gazette, how can he claim to be the best?”

Zhao Mian remembered Zhu Yang’s essay vividly. This candidate not only advocated lifting the maritime ban but also championed the vigorous development of commerce and the use of higher commercial taxes to subsidize agriculture.

How could commercial taxes be raised? As Minister of Revenue, Zhao Mian’s household servants had long-standing dealings with merchants, whose yearly tributes rivaled thirty years of his own official salary.

Lately, many merchants had been complaining to him that commercial taxes were already too high and were hoping for further reductions.

As a conscientious minister concerned for the state and the people, Zhao could hardly ignore such requests.

Now, with Zhu Yang calling for higher taxes on commerce, if His Majesty were to see and implement these ideas, how could Zhao’s own coffers remain full? How would he maintain his concubines? How could he buy jewelry to amuse his mistresses?

“Your Highness, please look at the marks on this paper!” Zhao Mian said, holding up Zhu Yang’s essay and pointing at the “o” and “X” on it. “Of the ten examiners, only one gave an ‘o,’ one gave a ‘slash,’ and the rest gave ‘x’ marks. How can we let His Majesty see such a paper? Wouldn’t that sully his eyes?”

“Sully my father’s eyes? In my opinion, it’s your vision that’s clouded!” Zhu Biao retorted. “Our imperial examinations judge content, literary merit, and calligraphy alike. If Zhu Yang’s proposals were implemented, not only would our borders be secured, but the people’s burdens would be greatly eased. You keep invoking state policy, but is every policy beyond question? If so, why do we need reforms year after year?”

In truth, Zhu Biao had found Zhu Yang’s essay distasteful on first reading. It was rife with what he considered unscrupulous suggestions: stirring up strife among the tribes, invading other countries to force their people into mining labor, plundering foreign merchant fleets at sea, flooding other nations’ markets with Ming goods, and so on.

As a crown prince steeped in Confucian values, such actions made him uncomfortable.

Yet, after rereading it several times, Zhu Biao, though unable to fully envision the outcomes, sensed, as a ruler, that these measures would make Ming mightier.

When he later unsealed the author’s name and discovered it was his own son, Zhu Yang, he abandoned all other considerations: regardless of content, the literary artistry alone was worthy. For the examiners to all mark it as “fail”—was that not a slap in his face?

He resolved to push through, even if it meant being unreasonable, and ensure Zhu Yang became Zhuangyuan.

“Your Highness, please be cautious!” Liu Sanwu urged. “His Majesty is both your sovereign and your father. A son should not criticize his father’s faults!”

“A son should not criticize his father?” Zhu Biao laughed coldly. “When I first became crown prince, how did you instruct me?” He pointed at Liu Sanwu. “You told me that for the royal house, one is first a subject and then a son. You said that as crown prince, I must master both the way of a minister and the duty of a son!”

“When I studied at the Hanlin Academy, how did you teach me? Speak!” Zhu Biao demanded furiously.

“Please, Your Highness, calm your anger!” Everyone fell to their knees, heads bowed to the floor.

At that moment, Liu Sanwu wished he could slap himself. He hadn’t expected his words to enrage the usually magnanimous Zhu Biao so deeply, and he now hated Zhu Yang all the more.

“Not going to speak? Then I will!” Zhu Biao continued.

“You told me that, as a subject, I must dare to remonstrate. In the face of my father’s errors, I must have the courage to point them out. But now you tell me a son should not criticize his father’s faults…” Zhu Biao felt a bitter sorrow. When Zhu Yang had berated him and the civil officials at the small villa, he hadn’t taken it to heart—he didn’t think they were as bad as Zhu Yang claimed.

Now he realized how gravely mistaken he had been.

So-called Confucian sayings were always used to instruct others, never to restrain oneself.

Unfortunately, as one of the rulers, he was the one being restrained.

“We are guilty beyond redemption!” Liu Sanwu and the others remained prostrate, admitting fault without resistance.

Zhu Biao sneered, “Whether you deserve death is not my decision to make. You’ve all worked hard enough today; go and rest. Let my father decide the matter of the rankings.”

With these words, Zhu Biao took Zhu Yang’s essay and left.

…

Watching Zhu Biao’s receding figure, Liu Sanwu and his companions rose, exchanging uneasy glances.

“What should we do?” Shen Jin asked, anxiety written on his face. He hadn’t expected the prince’s anger to be so fierce over Zhu Yang’s essay.

“What should we do? We must memorialize His Majesty and have Zhu Yang executed!” Liu Sanwu spat through gritted teeth.

“Yes, kill him! If one essay can so sway the crown prince, what will happen if this man enters court? Will the prince not be led astray? How will we survive then?” Zhao Mian agreed.

“Tomorrow at court, we must rally several censors and see this man put to death!” Liu Sanwu’s malice was palpable; he wished he could flay Zhu Yang alive.

“I’ll do my part as well!” Shen Jin added.

“And I as well…”

“And I…”

For a moment, everyone echoed their intent.

“Gentlemen…” Minister of Justice Yang Jing looked at his impassioned colleagues, wanting to interject, but as the words left his lips, he let them go.

He sighed, shook his head, and walked out of the hall.

Tomorrow, he would not take part.