BEGW C111

Chapter 111

Jiang Yuxun had once believed that Ying Changchuan, born into an aristocratic household, possessed refined tastes and lofty sensibilities.

After several days of utter absurdity, he finally remembered something—

Ying Changchuan had been born at the very end of the previous dynasty, and the most infamous phrase that era left to later generations was “debauched and lawless.”

Ying Changchuan’s father—the former Marquis of Jing of the previous dynasty—had been deeply immersed in wine and lust.

Growing up in such an environment, Ying Changchuan had long since grown accustomed to certain things.

The emperor let out a soft laugh and leaned close to Jiang Yuxun’s ear, enunciating slowly and clearly how he intended to “use power for personal gain” and “harm loyal ministers.”

Inside the dim carriage, Ying Changchuan’s already languid tone grew even more suggestive.

Every word brimmed with danger and entanglement.

By now, he seemed to have gradually grown used to revealing this “unsavory” side of himself before Jiang Yuxun.

…

Dressed in a cyan palace robe and holding a memorial, Zhuang Youli arrived to request an audience. The moment he looked up, he spotted a carriage parked in the open space before the Liuyun Hall.

Why was there a carriage here?

He couldn’t help glancing up at the sky. Then, as if suddenly realizing something, his face filled with alarm. He staggered back half a step, turned around at once, and briskly headed back down the corridor.

The eunuch stationed outside the corridor, seeing him emerge so quickly, leaned forward curiously.

“…Lord Zhuang? What’s the matter?”

Clutching the memorial in his hand, Zhuang Youli said with mild tension,

“Uh… His Majesty and Lord Jiang seem to be occupied at the moment. You should wait here. Unless you’re summoned, absolutely do not go forward.”

It was rare for Zhuang Youli to look this serious.

Seeing this, the eunuchs on duty immediately responded and stood frozen in place, not daring to move an inch.

“Yes, Lord Zhuang. We understand.”

At the same time, they dismissed several junior eunuchs, leaving only a few guards outside the hall.

“That’s good.” Zhuang Youli finally let out a breath.

He slowly loosened his grip on the memorial and lifted his head to look in the direction of Liuyun Hall.

After a moment, he cleared his throat and walked away.

His steps were rather jaunty, carrying a hint of “having done good without seeking credit.”

—As a friend, he really was quite reliable.

A’xun, see how considerate I am.

After several rounds of rain, autumn deepened.

The waters of the Yi River took on a colder, bluish hue.

The common folk living near Zhaodu finally changed into autumn clothes.

Before the season for winter wheat sowing arrived, the first imperial examination since the founding of Great Zhou officially began.

Scattered across the realm, countless examinees unfolded their papers under the supervision of the Xuanyin Guard.

This examination was primarily meant to fill positions in the empire’s newly acquired territories; most posts were minor clerkships.

Yet for the vast majority of families, it was still a rare chance to change one’s fate.

On the day of the examination, towns that were usually lively fell quiet.

Commoners even closed their shops and set aside unfinished work to wait outside the examination halls.

—Even families with no candidates couldn’t help wanting to witness this “carp leaping over the dragon gate” moment.

Within Zhaodu City, the once-quiet Mi family estate had grown lively over the past few months.

Everyone now knew that Princess Lianyi, who had returned to Great Zhou from Zherou, was residing there.

All manner of carriages crowded the Mi residence gates.

Besides old acquaintances of Princess Lianyi, many men and women dressed in foreign styles came and went.

The people of Zhaodu didn’t know what the princess was doing.

But those who had lived near the capital their entire lives, never traveling far, were intensely curious about these foreigners.

As a result, whenever they had free time, they gathered nearby to peer into the residence.

Because of this, even the long street where the Mi estate stood grew bustling.

In the early autumn morning, a thin mist rose through the streets and alleys.

Several men dressed as household clerks walked out of the Mi residence together.

When the foremost clerk reached the gate, he suddenly turned back and said to someone inside,

“…Have you really thought it through? If you miss this opportunity this year, there won’t be another.”

“That’s right. You’ve prepared for so long—are you really not going to sit for the exam?”

The person inside let out a long breath and shook his head with resolve.

“I’ve thought it over. I truly don’t have the aptitude to be an official. My family is all near Zhaodu—it wouldn’t be convenient to move elsewhere with me. Right now, Her Highness is short of hands here. Staying in Zhaodu isn’t a bad thing. Besides…”

Here he scratched his head shyly.

“…I honestly don’t have much confidence in the examination.”

Born and raised in the Mi household, he had long since grown used to life within the estate.

After several days of hesitation, he made this decision.

“…That’s fair!” Another person suddenly turned back and patted his shoulder.

“This is a critical period for establishing the Translation Bureau. If you stay, you might have a great future ahead—who knows, you might even become someone remembered in history.”

The man waved his hands awkwardly.

“I wouldn’t dare, I wouldn’t dare!”

Though his face reddened at their words, his heart swelled with emotion.

What he had said wasn’t a lie—but he had hidden half the truth.

He chose to stay because he genuinely believed in the Translation Bureau’s future.

Though the imperial examination had yet to begin, and the Translation Bureau was barely even an idea—

The voice in his heart told him that the opportunities awaiting Great Zhou would be far greater than anyone imagined.

Besides entering officialdom through examinations, commerce—even working with people from the Western Regions—could all be viable paths.

Each time he thought of this, his heart leapt with excitement.

The sun rose little by little, the mist in the streets gradually dissipating. The examination time was about to arrive.

Seeing his firm resolve, the clerks in front no longer urged him.

They slung their packs over their shoulders and solemnly bowed to their companion.

“Then, Brother Tang, this is farewell!”

Having served the Mi household since childhood, all of them were skilled in writing, arithmetic, and more.

They firmly believed they would succeed. Even if they failed this year, they would learn from it and try again next year.

…After leaving the Mi residence today, they would not return.

The clerk at the gate straightened, returned their salute to companions of half a lifetime, and said,

“Farewell—”

The thick mist had already dispersed without notice.

After brief farewells, the clerks mounted their horses and rode away without looking back.

The sound of hooves awakened the once-quiet street.

Only after watching their figures vanish at the far end did the man turn back into the residence.

He couldn’t help lifting his gaze to the blazing sun overhead. His eyes reddened without him realizing it.

After a few breaths, he finally whispered softly,

“Take care.”

A deep gong sounded, reverberating through all of Zhaodu.

Clad in black robes and soft armor, the Xuanyin Guard rode on horseback to deliver the exam papers.

At that same moment, countless people lowered their pens and solemnly wrote their names upon the papers.

※

Literacy in Great Zhou had not been promoted for long, and most commoners still lacked the education to sit for examinations.

Thus, this round saw relatively few candidates—only tens of thousands nationwide.

In the end, only a few hundred officials would be selected.

—Jiang Yuxun was not in a hurry to fill all grassroots vacancies in the first year, so those who failed would not be overly anxious.

This examination covered a wide range of subjects.

Besides foundational studies, agriculture and geography were also tested.

Most important of all were local customs and current affairs.

These topics had never been formally written about before; candidates were essentially starting from scratch.

In Jiang Yuxun’s view, while the overall results of the first examination were somewhat disappointing,

the backgrounds of the selected talents were remarkably well-balanced.

“Lord Jiang, these are the screened examination papers…”

Xuanyin Guard Commander Qi Pingsha stepped forward carefully and placed the anonymized papers on Jiang Yuxun’s desk.

This examination aimed to select officials who would truly work for the people, so most questions were objective.

Still, Jiang Yuxun had left several subjective questions to identify those with insight.

Seated nearby, Zhuang Youli glanced at the stack and asked curiously,

“How were these papers selected?”

As Jiang Yuxun unrolled one, he replied casually,

“The objective sections were graded by the ministers. These are all papers scoring above eighty-five.”

This was the first examination—Jiang Yuxun never intended to perfect the system immediately. He only wanted to take the step from nothing to something.

Thus, he used a hundred-point scoring system.

“…I see.” Zhuang Youli nodded thoughtfully.

This particular paper tested knowledge of Great Zhou’s national conditions.

In Jiang Yuxun’s view, eloquent answers meant nothing if one didn’t understand the country itself.

Therefore, he ordered all papers scoring above eighty-five—classified as “upper tier”—to be collected for his review.

Great Zhou’s vast territory meant that collecting papers and standardizing grading alone took several months.

Autumn deepened within Xianyou Palace.

Night fell earlier each day.

After exchanging a few words with Zhuang Youli, Jiang Yuxun bent over the desk and began reading.

With a vermilion brush in hand, he read and marked as he went.

It was already late. Zhuang Youli, organizing papers nearby, couldn’t help stifling a yawn.

By candlelight, he glanced at Jiang Yuxun—

The man before him was focused and composed, handling matters with ease.

Beyond growing more mature, his bearing was beginning to resemble His Majesty’s more and more.

In short—his presence had grown increasingly commanding.

…

After the northern war ended, the emperor was no longer as busy as before.

 

By all logic, the task of grading the examination papers should have been carried out by the emperor himself.

Yet to everyone’s astonishment, Ying Changchuan handed full authority over this matter to Jiang Yuxun.

Even the final ranking of the top three was decided by Jiang Yuxun alone.

This move was no different from placing supreme authority directly into Jiang Yuxun’s hands.

From this point on, the grassroots officials of Great Zhou would—without even realizing it—gain an additional, invisible layer of “teacher–disciple” connection to Jiang Yuxun.

“卧榻之侧，岂容他人鼾睡？”

Beside one’s bed, how could another be allowed to snore?

The emperor appeared utterly unconcerned with the matter of distributing power.

Yet this single decision stirred an enormous storm within the Great Zhou court.

After this incident, everyone understood one thing clearly:

The emperor’s trust in Lord Jiang went far beyond mere confidence.

He had practically shared half the dragon couch with him.

Had any other ruler done such a thing, it might have been dismissed.

But this was Ying Changchuan—a monarch infamous for ruling with iron-handed decisiveness.

Whenever this occurred to people, even senior ministers and nobles who stayed far from court and had never personally witnessed Jiang Yuxun and the emperor together couldn’t help but wonder—

Just what kind of relationship did Lord Jiang and His Majesty truly share?

Winter Solstice, Yuyang Palace

The renovation of Yuyang Palace progressed even faster than expected.

By the time of the Winter Solstice, the Lan Pool Hall, used for banquets, had finished restoration and could once again be used.

On that same day, the top one hundred examinees from the imperial examination arrived in Zhaodu, prepared to meet the emperor at Lan Pool Hall.

In addition, all civil and military officials of the capital gathered there as well.

—The imperial decree announcing the administrative reform had already been issued three days earlier.

After today, the “Three Dukes and Nine Ministers” system and the hereditary appointment system would officially become history.

This was a day destined to be remembered.

Winter Solstice brought short days and long nights.

By early evening, darkness had already fallen.

Fine snow drifted down from the sky, soon accumulating into a thin layer on the ground.

Palace lanterns illuminated the wide palace roads, revealing shallow wheel tracks pressed into the snow.

Compared to Xianyou Palace—originally a summer retreat—Yuyang Palace was far more spacious and comfortable.

Taking advantage of the renovations, Ying Changchuan had specifically ordered improvements to the fire walls.

Thus, though Zhaodu lay blanketed in silver after winter set in, Yuyang Palace felt not the slightest chill.

After nearly four years living in a traveling palace, the emperor finally returned to Zhaodu with his court at the onset of early winter.

At this moment, officials who lived outside the palace gathered in small groups, stepping across snow-covered roads toward the imperial grounds.

Not far away, a carriage slowly approached.

As the southern main gate of Yuyang Palace drew near, Jiang Yuxun—seated inside—hesitated, fingers tightening around his robe hem.

After a moment, he lowered his voice and said to the Xuanyin Guard outside,

“Stop the carriage here. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

Zhaodu’s winters were always brutally cold.

As he spoke, he gently breathed warmth into his hands.

“Why go to such trouble, Lord Jiang?” the Xuanyin Guard asked in confusion.

“Didn’t His Majesty grant you permission to ride directly into the palace? It’s freezing outside—walking isn’t convenient.”

Ying Changchuan was never a generous emperor.

Across the entire court, only Jiang Yuxun enjoyed such a privilege.

The guard couldn’t understand why Jiang Yuxun would choose snow and cold over comfort.

“…It’s better to keep a low profile,” Jiang Yuxun replied tactfully.

Everyone knew that only Jiang Yuxun was allowed to enter Yuyang Palace by carriage.

Along the way, all eyes had been fixed on this very carriage, drawing attention wherever it passed.

Though Jiang Yuxun had grown somewhat thick-skinned over the years, he still wasn’t used to being the center of gossip—especially on a day like this.

The Xuanyin Guard didn’t understand, but still obeyed.

“Yes, Lord Jiang.”

Jiang Yuxun finally let out a quiet breath of relief, lifted the curtain, and stepped down.

A sharp wind struck his face, stinging every bit of exposed skin.

Before he could recover, officials swarmed toward him.

“Greetings, Lord Jiang!”

A red-robed official raised his hands in salute.

“On the Winter Solstice, may fortune arrive and longevity follow!”

Before Jiang Yuxun could return the gesture, the man was pushed aside by colleagues.

“Lord Jiang looks as splendid as ever—”

The crowd, tacitly avoiding questions about why he disembarked early, immediately began striking up conversation.

Jiang Yuxun took half a step back, instantly regretting his decision to leave the carriage…

But with no retreat possible, he forced a smile and replied,

“The same to you, gentlemen.”

Even now, Jiang Yuxun still held the title of Attendant-in-Ordinary.

As the emperor’s secretary, he knew most court officials well.

Yet faced with this dense crowd, even someone as seasoned as Jiang Yuxun felt momentarily face-blind.

Snow fell thickly, the wind biting cold.

Seeing a thin layer of snow collecting on Jiang Yuxun’s fox-fur cloak, a socially savvy official suggested,

“Let’s not crowd Lord Jiang. We’ll warm up once we reach Lan Pool Hall.”

The crowd immediately dispersed, echoing approval.

“Quite right!”

“Lord Ren speaks wisely—”

The first official finally seized his chance to say,

“Lord Jiang, you’ve traveled far—truly hard work!”

At this, Jiang Yuxun felt a flash of guilt.

Unlike other ministers who returned home during recess, he had been living inside Yuyang Palace all this time…

Ying Changchuan had even wanted him to stay there and arrive together.

Only after prolonged bargaining had Jiang Yuxun been allowed to leave the palace briefly to keep up appearances.

Remembering this, his expression grew slightly awkward.

Fortunately, the dim palace road concealed it.

“Lord Jiang!” A familiar voice rang out.

Turning, Jiang Yuxun saw Zhuang Yue and Zhuang Youli, father and son, approaching.

Finally—

He breathed a sigh of relief and immediately used “catching up” as an excuse to escape the crowd.

The cold was unmistakable—thin ice had already formed atop the palace’s newly dug lake.

Snow intensified, but Lan Pool Hall lay near the southern side, not far from the gate.

Soon, the group entered the hall.

Rising on a packed-earth platform dusted with snow, Lan Pool Hall resembled a moonlit pavilion—solemn, magnificent, and faintly ethereal.

Only then did Jiang Yuxun realize Ying Changchuan had intentionally added elements reminiscent of Xianyou Palace.

Not only was Lan Pool Hall more beautiful, its warmth had also improved.

Even near the windows, clusters of peonies bloomed in full splendor.

Inside, officials removed their heavy cloaks and changed into ceremonial dress.

…

Less than the time it took a stick of incense remained before the banquet began.

Most officials were already seated.

The moment Jiang Yuxun appeared, the previously noisy hall fell silent.

Every movement stopped. All eyes turned toward him.

An attending eunuch stepped forward, removing Jiang Yuxun’s fox cloak.

Snow slid off, melting into water upon the floor.

Jiang Yuxun spread his sleeves, adjusting his attire as palace maids guided him toward his seat.

After only a few steps, he noticed Zhuang Youli beside him wearing a strange expression.

Officials nearby—who had been sneaking glances—lost all composure, eyes widening in shock.

Some even looked terrified.

Jiang Yuxun halted, lowering his voice.

“What’s wrong?”

Zhuang Youli glanced at him, covering his mouth with his sleeve.

“A’xun… the clothes you’re wearing are even more luxurious than I imagined.”

After speaking, he quietly stepped back a pace, afraid even the snow on his hem might brush Jiang Yuxun’s robes.

The reform decree had already been issued.

Everyone knew that Great Zhou would no longer have the Three Dukes, but instead adopt the Three Departments system:

• Shangshu Province (尚书省) — overseeing administration
• Zhongshu Province (中书省) — handling military and state policy
• Menxia Province (门下省) — remonstration and review

Among them, the Shangshu Province held the greatest power.

And its future head—the Shangshu Ling—was none other than Jiang Yuxun.

He held no title of chancellor, yet wielded a chancellor’s authority.

—From the day the decree was issued, officials who had once hesitated now fully grasped that the emperor intended to elevate Jiang Yuxun, and scrambled to curry favor.

Most crucially, Great Zhou still followed the stipend-rank system inherited from the previous dynasty.

According to the decree, Jiang Yuxun’s salary not only exceeded that of the other two departmental heads—it matched that of a prince of the blood.

Jiang Yuxun himself hadn’t noticed, busy with the examinations.

But Zhuang Youli—highly sensitive to fiscal matters—had realized immediately.

…A prince.

That realization widened his eyes.

Wasn’t Jiang Yuxun’s attire today exactly modeled after princely ceremonial dress?

“Luxurious? Why?” Jiang Yuxun frowned, glancing down at his robe.

He wasn’t wearing his usual official uniform, but a black ceremonial robe.

At this time, Great Zhou still revered black over yellow.

When changing clothes earlier, Jiang Yuxun had questioned it.

Ying Changchuan had casually replied:

“Today is special. As head of the Shangshu Province, you naturally wear the highest-grade ceremonial dress.”

With no precedent for reform, and Ying Changchuan acting far too natural—

Jiang Yuxun, eager to leave, hadn’t thought twice.

…Only now did he realize something was wrong.

Sensing the strange gazes, he turned toward the hall and soon spotted Fei Jinyuan, his former superior.

Now head of the Zhongshu Province.

Fei Jinyuan greeted him with a raised hand—smiling, yet equally stunned.

Seeing Fei Jinyuan dressed in ordinary ceremonial robes, Jiang Yuxun finally understood—

Had Ying Changchuan set him up?!

His attire was… dangerously overstepping bounds.

“His Majesty arrives—!”

The eunuch’s shrill call rang through Lan Pool Hall.

Jiang Yuxun rose instantly, saluting alongside the others.

Incense smoke drifted from a massive gilt Boshan censer, mingling with falling snow, making the hall resemble a jade pool of immortals.

As a minister, Jiang Yuxun should not have raised his head.

…but realizing Ying Changchuan had played a trick, he couldn’t resist glancing up mid-bow.

The kneeling eunuchs withdrew the dragon-screen.

Crowned with hanging beads, the emperor held a golden cup, reclining as he had on the day they first met—watching the court with a half-smile.

He wore black robes embroidered with dragons.

Magnificent beyond measure—and—

the only person in the hall wearing the same colors as Jiang Yuxun.

“Rise.”

Ying Changchuan’s voice fell from above.

Officials straightened—and froze.

Color matching alone would have been enough.

But the cut and design of their ceremonial robes were nearly identical.

Had they known modern terms, one word would have come to mind:

couple outfits.

From the highest seat, the emperor slowly set down his golden cup.

Then—casually—raised a brow at Jiang Yuxun.

In that instant, Jiang Yuxun understood.

Ying Changchuan had more “surprises” prepared for today.

 

• 「卧榻之侧，岂容他人鼾睡？」

  → “Beside one’s bed, how could another be allowed to snore?”

  👉 A classical idiom meaning absolute intolerance of shared power. Using it here highlights how unnatural Ying Changchuan’s trust in Jiang Yuxun appears.

• 「半张龙榻」 (half the dragon couch)

  → A metaphorical way of saying shared imperial authority, not literal seating.

• Three Departments System (三省制)

  → Historically inspired by Tang-era governance; here it signals bureaucratic modernization and decentralization.

• Why black robes matter

  → In early imperial China, black symbolized Heaven and authority. Matching black ceremonial dress between emperor and minister is extremely provocative.