Rise of the Poor

Chapter 431: Roll Call

Oh—Li Mo had hurried back from the Western Garden, claiming there was urgent business. And now he was summoning everyone from the Hanlin Academy. If it wasn’t something concerning the Jiajing Emperor himself, then what else could it possibly be?That thought alone stirred a faint ripple of curiosity.

Zhu Ping’an followed Yuan Wei and Zhang Juzheng as they made their way toward the main hall. Along the path, Zhang Siwei still hadn’t let go of the “Thick Black Theory” Zhu Ping’an had mentioned earlier. He leaned over, quietly nudging Zhu Ping’an’s arm, and whispered with a conspiratorial grin, “Zihou, when you’ve some free time to organize what you just said about the Thick Black Theory into a volume. This foolish elder brother will treat you to a good round of wine.”

“Sure,” Zhu Ping’an nodded readily, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “That’s hardly difficult.”

Ahead of them, Yuan Wei heard this and snorted coldly, the sound sharp and deliberate. His prejudice against Zhu Ping’an’s so-called Thick Black Theory ran deep. In his eyes, it was nothing but a doctrine that taught people how to commit evil. And as the saying went—hate the house, and you hate the crow perched upon it—he already found Zhu Ping’an displeasing to look at. Naturally, anything Zhu Ping’an said was intolerable to him. More than that, Zhu Ping’an’s ideas nearly overturned everything Yuan Wei believed to be orthodox and proper.

By the time they reached the hall, they found that most of the Hanlin scholars had already arrived—naturally, only those with official rank.

“All right. Nearly everyone is here,” Li Mo said, giving a brief nod once Zhu Ping’an and the others had taken their places. “I’ll not waste words. Spring orioles sing, all things revive, and vitality fills the world. Today, His Majesty observed the flourishing scene and was moved. He has therefore decreed the reopening of a fasting and offering ritual. The Hanlin Academy is to cooperate with Daoist Master Tao—to compose the qingci, and to inscribe plaques and couplets.”

A fasting ritual. Qingci?

The moment Li Mo mentioned that the Jiajing Emperor was holding another ritual, Yuan Wei—standing near the front—was overjoyed. Every such ritual was his stage. Especially the last one, when his qingci—

Remove Ads“At the Luo River, the Dark Tortoise first offers auspicious signs;

Yin counts nine, Yang counts nine—nine times nine makes eighty-one,

Numbers flow into the Dao, the Dao unites with the Primordial Heavenly Venerable,

One sincerity moves the heavens.

At Mount Qi, the crimson phoenix presents twin omens;

The male cries six times, the female cries six—six times six makes thirty-six calls.

The sound reaches the sky;

The heavens give birth to the Jiajing Emperor—

May his lifespan be boundless.”

—had delighted the emperor beyond measure, earning him thunderous praise and allowing Yuan Wei to bask fully in the limelight.

To hold his head high and breathe freely—this was the moment!

Now that he heard another ritual was to be held, Yuan Wei grew restless. His hands itched, as though already grasping his brush. This time, he would make certain someone understood just how formidable he was. Qingci were no crude patchwork poems, no incoherent garbage cobbled together by some so-called “Food School” poet!

It was time to reveal my true strength!

Had Yuan Wei been born in a later age, he might well have torn open his robes on the spot, revealing a red undergarment worn triumphantly on the outside.

After hearing Li Mo’s announcement, Zhu Ping’an was left rather speechless. So that was all it was. Such urgency, such a grand summons—only to help write and decorate for yet another imperial ritual. Truly, this was vintage Jiajing…

Zhang Siwei was mildly surprised, but the others seemed entirely unfazed. Quite a few, like Yuan Wei, were already eager to try their hand.

Going to the Western Garden to write qingci, plaques, and couplets for the emperor was a fine opportunity—one that allowed a man to show his face directly before His Majesty. Naturally, many of the Hanlin scholars were itching to be chosen.

In truth, such tasks could easily have been handled by certain eunuchs with decent calligraphy. But the Jiajing Emperor held eunuchs in utter contempt. In his view, they were filthy and defiled creatures, fit only to scrub latrines and clean chamber pots. As for composing qingci or writing couplets—there was no chance he would let them touch such matters. These rituals were sacred acts of communication with Heaven itself. How could such unclean slaves be allowed to offend the celestial realm?

Thus, whenever a fasting ritual was held, the eunuchs were relegated to trivial errands, while the qingci and inscriptions were entrusted either to the Hanlin Academy or to officials from departments such as the Ministry of Rites.

Li Mo, for his part, detested these rituals from the bottom of his heart. But when the superior liked them, what choice did a subordinate have? He could only assign the work as ordered. Writing the emperor’s qingci and couplets required manpower—but not just anyone would do. The final selection rested with Li Mo himself.

The calligraphy had to be excellent. The qingci had to be masterfully composed.

Li Mo had not been in charge of the Hanlin Academy for very long since his reinstatement. And as Minister of Personnel, his attention was far more focused on the affairs of his own ministry than on the Hanlin scholars. Whose handwriting was best—he honestly wasn’t all that certain.

“Each of you,” Li Mo said after a moment’s thought, “write your name on a sheet of paper.”

The intention was clear: he would judge their calligraphy by their signatures alone.

Remove AdsThe Hanlin scholars all understood at once. When they put brush to paper, every one of them summoned their full strength, pouring their best skill into the simple act of writing their own names.

Once everyone had finished, Li Chunfang helped collect the sheets and presented them to Li Mo. Li Mo examined them one by one, weighing and comparing, before finally beginning to assign those who would go to the Western Garden.

“Yuan Wei.”

The first name Li Mo called was Yuan Wei’s. Pride surged through him. His chest swelled as he shot a sidelong glance at Zhu Ping’an, his expression brimming with smug satisfaction—like a child who had just received a red paper flower at school.

“Li Chunfang.”

Li Mo immediately followed with Li Chunfang’s name. Though he personally disliked qingci, such writings had flourished excessively during this reign, and the names Yuan Wei and Li Chunfang were ones he often heard praised for their skill.

After calling those two, Li Mo paused briefly. The rest of the Hanlin scholars were less familiar to him.

But after a short hesitation, he continued—this time choosing purely by the quality of the calligraphy.

After all, anyone who made it into the Hanlin Academy possessed solid literary talent. Writing qingci would not be beyond them. Thus, Li Mo relied on the signatures alone, selecting those with the strongest hands.

“Lu Zhiming.”

Li Mo flipped through the papers and spoke the first name. The scholar in question could scarcely contain his excitement.

“Liu Du.”

“Zhang Juzheng.”

“Zhang Siwei.”

Name after name was called. After Zhang Siwei’s, Li Mo gathered the remaining papers together and set them aside.

Remove AdsIt seemed that the selection was complete. Those named would be the ones heading to the Western Garden.

Yuan Wei couldn’t help turning his gaze toward Zhu Ping’an, his eyes glittering with smug delight and barely concealed schadenfreude—like a proud peacock encountering a shabby, molting old hen. See? You didn’t make it.

But just as Yuan Wei was savoring his triumph, Li Mo spoke again.

One single sentence—and Yuan Wei’s face instantly turned green.

“And Zhu Ping’an.”

After setting aside the signatures, Li Mo paused, then looked at Zhu Ping’an with a complicated expression before calling his name. In truth, he had resisted the idea. Yet Zhu Ping’an’s handwriting truly was excellent. There were even reports that his qingci during the metropolitan examination had been quite good. Moreover, the image of Zhu Ping’an reading so intently earlier that morning had left an impression on Li Mo. Though he still disliked this young man of the “Little Yan Clique,” he could not deny a faint, reluctant appreciation for his diligence.

In the end, weighing matters from an objective and responsible standpoint, Li Mo suppressed his personal distaste—and added Zhu Ping’an’s name to the list.