Chapter 61: Jinling City (30)
Lin Zikui had heard people say that the Prince Regent’s name was Xiao Fu, and that he was the son of Duke Chang. A few days ago at Prince Shuo’s residence, besides the Minister of Revenue inquiring about his marital status, Lin Zikui also noticed a few lords asking Duke Chang whether his son, Xiao Fu, had taken a wife.
Duke Chang waved him off right then: “His marriage isn’t something his mother and I can decide. If you’re that eager, why don’t you raise the matter in court tomorrow? Ask him directly.”
He silenced the man on the spot—he didn’t dare speak another word.
Lin Zikui’s only connection to the Prince Regent was a few brief words exchanged in that fleeting moment.
The Prince Regent also bore the surname Xiao and had served on the battlefield with distinguished military achievements. It was only now, belatedly, that Lin Zikui thought of this, his gaze drifting toward the boots of the man seated.
But the Prince Regent didn’t say a word. He merely sat there calmly, exuding an innate, imposing pressure.
It was the eunuch who spoke first.
“For today’s palace examination, no loud talking or whispering. No cheating or collusion. Violators will be expelled from Fengtian Hall, flogged thirty times, and permanently barred from government service. Do the examinees understand?”
All examinees responded in unison, “Understood.”
Then came the voice of the young emperor—too childish to carry much authority—as he sat on the raised throne: “Today’s exam, I will ask you two policy questions.”
Lin Zikui found the voice oddly familiar, but young boys’ voices often sounded alike, so he never imagined that this child had once been sent to him for academic assessment.
Standing in the second row, still with his head lowered, Lin Zikui went unnoticed by the young emperor.
“Examinees, listen to the question,” said Yuwen Xuan. “Mencius said, ‘The people are the most important; the state comes next; the ruler is the least.’ What does this mean to you? Speak freely—do not hold back.”
As soon as the question was asked, the massive Fengtian Hall fell into complete silence. This was the kind of question where a single misstep could ruin a person’s entire future.
Who would have expected that an eight-year-old emperor would pose such a heavy, philosophical question during the palace exam?
Soon enough, a bold student stepped forward to answer: “The student believes that a ruler should protect the people, love them, win them over, care for them, develop them, nurture them, and benefit them. If there are no harvests, how can there be people? And if there are no people, how can there be a ruler?”
The young emperor nodded subtly in approval. Xiao Fu rested his fingers lightly on the armrest without speaking, his gaze sweeping toward Lin Zikui—who, as instructed, had yet to raise his head. If he had, he would have seen that Xiao Fu wore a ceremonial crown one rank below the emperor’s, its beaded curtain concealing most of his face.
There were many talented candidates among this year’s batch of new scholars. The young emperor had personally reviewed their exam papers. When he nodded, Liang Gonggong would circle the names with his brush.
Another examinee spoke: “A ruler must act with compassion when enforcing laws. Governing the world should be as simple as holding it in the palm of one’s hand.”
“‘Heaven sees through the eyes of the people; Heaven hears through the ears of the people.’ Heaven is the people, the people are Heaven, and the ruler is Heaven’s son—thus, the son of all the people.”
“If the Son of Heaven is not benevolent, he cannot protect the realm. If feudal lords are not benevolent, they cannot safeguard the state. If ministers are not benevolent, they cannot guard the ancestral temples. If commoners lack virtue, they cannot preserve even their own bodies.”
Amidst this chorus of voices echoing similar ideals and repeating Mencius’s teachings, a new voice rang out—gentle, yet startlingly composed.
“The student believes that ‘the people are most important’ refers to the people after they have been properly educated.”
A hush fell over Fengtian Hall. Everyone cautiously turned toward the source of the voice.
It came from a candidate in the second row.
How dare he!
Liang Gonggong narrowed his eyes and counted the position, then found the name on the roster.
This was the new Huiyuan, Lin Zikui.
He leaned over and whispered something into the Prince Regent’s ear. Xiao Fu gave a slight cough and said quietly, “I know.”
His voice was soft, but Lin Zikui faintly caught something familiar and twitched his ear slightly.
On the dragon throne, the young emperor glanced at his royal father and saw a slight smile of approval on his face—though it wasn’t quite the familiar smile he knew. There was something unreadable about it.
The young emperor asked, “What does the examinee mean by that?”
Lin Zikui never lifted his head. Bowing slightly, he responded: “Replying to Your Majesty, the words of the Second Sage speak truth. The root is the people; the branch is the ruler. There’s nothing wrong with that. But since ancient times, inferiors have not been permitted to challenge their superiors. Confucius once said: ‘It is beautiful, but not completely good’; and ‘The ruler commands with propriety, the subject serves with loyalty.’ A ruler’s authority must not be undermined. If ‘the people are most important,’ then surely it refers to those who have been educated and guided by the state. Under Heaven, where then would the ‘lowborn’ place themselves?”
The young emperor stared at him silently.
Such bold and sobering words—how many dared to say them out loud?
Xiao Fu looked at Lin Zikui, who kept his head lowered and his back slightly hunched. He knew Lin Zikui must have been terribly nervous. If he had said those words to a ruler like Emperor Wen Tai, his head would’ve rolled by now. Lin Zikui had always been forthright, and now that trait nearly spelled disaster.
Lin Zikui continued, “This student also believes, ‘If a ruler delights in music, let the people share in it; if a ruler loves beauty, let the people share in it; if a ruler craves wealth, let the people share in it; if a ruler desires profit, let the people share in it…’ If a ruler can truly act by the principle of ‘do not impose upon others what you do not wish for yourself,’ and share both the joys and hardships of the people, then the ideal of a benevolent reign—the so-called ‘people first, ruler last’—would no longer be an empty phrase.”
These words gave the young emperor a graceful way out. His voice betrayed no emotion as he asked, “Does any other examinee wish to object?”
Inwardly, the students were cursing—how could anyone refute that? With everything already said to such a degree, any rebuttal would sound empty and forced. Thankfully, Lin Zikui had spoken last; otherwise, no one else would have dared say a word.
After glancing around the room, the young emperor asked the second palace exam question:
“Why do you all seek official titles and honors?”
The hall once again sank into absolute silence. The emperor might as well have asked a pointless question. Everyone had spent ten grueling years buried in books for that black-tasseled hat, for that golden mansion, for the robes of office and the respect of the people.
Answering this one well wasn’t going to be easy.
One examinee replied, “When poor, I cultivate personal virtue; when successful, I assist the world. Only after gaining success and a title can I help the people.”
“Receiving the emperor’s salary means serving the emperor loyally. I seek honors to devote myself to His Majesty!”
“While I live, I hope my parents and loved ones may find peace and comfort. I study for the people of the world—and for my family.”
Another candidate quoted: “How I wish for ten thousand great halls to house all the cold and destitute of the world, shielding them from wind and rain as safely as a mountain.”
Lin Zikui, standing in the second row, still remained silent.
He didn’t know if his earlier remarks had angered the emperor, but judging by his voice, the boy hadn’t seemed upset. Lin Zikui had always valued honesty over flowery words, though his bluntness had often brought him trouble.
Still, Lin Zikui could feel it—those seated high above, the emperor and the Prince Regent, seemed to be watching him.
A gaze, faint yet undeniable, fell from above and landed squarely on his head.
So Lin Zikui raised his voice and answered: “The world is unjust, and the bureaucracy is corrupt. This student seeks a title to uphold the moral order of Heaven and Earth, to safeguard the livelihood of the people. Yet the world remains unfair. The people suffer. Justice is still denied to countless souls!”
Lin Zikui knew that if he didn’t speak out, he would be drowned by the tide. He spoke without guilt, upright and righteous, his voice ringing like a bell through the hall.
In this palace, truth was rarely spoken.
Only these newly appointed scholars still held a shred of fiery conviction.
The young emperor turned his head and asked Liang Gonggong, “Liang Gonggong, what is this candidate’s name?”
Liang Gonggong replied, “The newly crowned Huiyuan, Lin Zikui.”
“Lin Zikui,” the young emperor lowered his gaze, “do you have evidence for what you said? Do you carry some grievance you wish to voice? What injustice are you referring to?”
“…I do.” Lin Zikui recalled Grand Secretary Xu, who had been beheaded, rumored to have been turned into a mutilated corpse. He remembered Xu Zhuojun, executed at the Meridian Gate. Tang Mengyang, who vanished without a trace. Xu’s faction, stripped of office and cast out…
All of them had been condemned as guilty.
But did the death of a few corrupt officials mean the bureaucracy had been cleansed?
Lin Zikui kept his eyes lowered and stood tall. “This student indeed has a grievance. In the fourth year of Emperor Wen Tai’s reign, during the metropolitan exam, my classmate—a recommended scholar from Suzhou, Huang Zong—was wrongfully imprisoned for reciting a poem in public and was poisoned to death in the Shuntian Prefecture. That same year, dozens, even hundreds, of scholars disappeared and have never been found.”
The young emperor slammed the table. “Who dared commit such atrocities?”
“Xu Zhuojun, nephew of Xu Hui.”
Yuwen Xuan’s expression shifted instantly. His eyes involuntarily flicked toward his father.
But the Prince Regent’s face remained unreadable, dark and impassive.
The entire court knew the young emperor was Xu Hui’s maternal grandson. It was the Grand Empress Dowager and the Prince Regent who had deemed him capable enough for the throne and issued the decree that placed him there.
But the true power of the Yan Dynasty still lay with Prince Regent Xiao Fu!
And now Lin Zikui had, right here in the palace exam, brought up the very matter the young emperor most dreaded, the memory he had tried so hard to bury. Yuwen Xuan had no idea how much he regretted asking Lin Zikui about his grievances.
The atmosphere in Fengtian Hall grew oppressive and strange. It was only when the Prince Regent gave a light cough that the suffocating silence finally broke.
Lin Zikui’s ear twitched again.
That cough sounded incredibly familiar—so familiar that he instinctively wanted to look up and confirm it.
Yuwen Xuan withdrew his gaze from his royal father and forced himself to speak, voice strained: “You accuse Xu Zhuojun of conspiring with the Shuntian Prefect. Are your claims true and without fabrication?”
“This student swears every word is true.”
The young emperor said, “If so, then Xu Zhuojun, the Xu faction, and that year’s Shuntian Prefect—whether by execution or dismissal—have all paid their price. You now stand in the imperial palace, taking part in the palace examination. What grievance remains?”
“This student has no grievance of his own—the injustice belongs to the souls beneath the earth. I speak for them. I would rather die speaking than live in silence. Oh boundless Heavens, why have you been so cruel to us?”
Silence fell again, heavy and long.
“You’ve brought formal charges, I will have the Court of Judicial Review investigate and uncover the truth. As for my policy question—are there any other examinees who wish to respond?”
Another candidate spoke up.
The atmosphere slowly shifted back to normal.
Then, Liang Gonggong’s voice rang through the great hall: “The palace examination is concluded. Examinees, you may now leave—”
All the tribute scholars bowed in unison once again. “Long live His Majesty! Long live, long live, for ten thousand years! Long live the Prince Regent! Long live, long live, for a thousand years!”
Only now did Lin Zikui realize his mouth was parched and his tongue dry. That palace examination just now had drained every last bit of strength from him. His legs felt weak beneath him, and he could barely stay on his feet.
He couldn’t stop thinking about that persistent, yet unrevealed, cough—unable to help himself, Lin Zikui quietly lifted his head.
Through the thin veil of Ai Dai, beneath the beaded imperial crown, a clear and strikingly handsome side profile fell into his view.
Squeezed and jostled by the crowd of tribute scholars exiting Fengtian Hall, Lin Zikui couldn’t believe his eyes. Forgetting the rules of decorum, he turned his head back to confirm. Xiao Zhaoling was looking at him. That gaze—those eyes outlined like brush strokes of ink—seemed to curl ever so slightly in his direction.
There he stood atop the grand, cold, solemn hall, an untouchable figure seated in power and majesty. He was lofty, distant, commanding. Nothing like the “wife” Lin Zikui knew—the one who loved indecent jokes, who slept curled beside him, who let Lin Zikui feed him his favorite foods, and who once washed his feet.
But that face, that face—
How could there possibly be two people in the world who looked so alike?
It wasn’t possible—unless…
Xiao Zhaoling was—
The Prince Regent, Xiao Fu.
Xiao Fu…
Xiao Zhaoling…
Lin Zikui’s lips parted slightly. The two names slipped from his lips in a dazed whisper.
It was absurd. Unreal.
Swept along in the throng of over three hundred scholars, Lin Zikui staggered out of Fengtian Hall. It was already noon, and the blazing sunlight shone down fiercely. The suspended sun in the sky gleamed harshly before his eyes, blinding him.mHis mind went blank. His vision spun. Unable to keep his balance, Lin Zikui collapsed to the ground.
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