Chapter Two: Entering the Imperial College

After their marriage, Liu Xian and his wife lived in very harmonious companionship.

Shangrou, or Ah Luo as she was called, proved to be far more well-read, sensible, and empathetic than he had ever imagined. Every morning, as Liu Xian began his studies, Ah Luo would quietly prepare warm water for his washing and fresh clothes for him to change into. Whenever Liu Xian finished reading certain books and looked at them again the next day, he would find that she had already organized everything impeccably.

Moreover, Ah Luo possessed none of the aloof arrogance typical of a young lady from a prestigious noble family. Perhaps it was due to her endearing appearance, or perhaps because of her worldly sophistication, but within just two or three days, she had blended seamlessly with the household servants and maids. Everyone grew to adore her, and even the Prince of Anle, Liu Xun, would show her a certain degree of respectful deference whenever he saw her.

"The young mistress is practically the reincarnation of the former mistress."

When Liu Xian overheard this praise, he found himself somewhat amused and touched. Compared to his reserved mother, Ah Luo was actually much more lively. Perhaps owing to her youth, she seemed to possess an inexhaustible well of vitality and passion, completely free from the lingering weariness that had weighed upon Zhang Ximiao during her lifetime. Because of her youth, Ah Luo would sometimes even be quite bold, uttering remarks that took him by surprise.

One day, she suddenly asked him, "What is my husband's ambition?"

At that moment, Liu Xian was busy copying the *Nirvana Sutra*, and he answered absentmindedly, "To bring glory to our family lineage, of course."

Ah Luo immediately followed up with, "My husband will be a duke in the future, and on top of that, you wish to bring glory to the family—are you planning to restore our fallen state?"

This remark startled Liu Xian so thoroughly that he nearly jumped out of his seat.

Then, a flash of inspiration struck him. He gazed out the window, pointed toward the sky, and said leisurely, "The might of a single thunderclap can reach even this far!"

This was a classic anecdote from the days when Cao Cao and Liu Liu brewed wine and discussed heroes. As a descendant of the Martial Emperor of Wei, Ah Luo was naturally intimately familiar with it. With a beaming smile, she immediately chimed in, "Today, the only true heroes under heaven are you and Cao Cao—"

Both husband and wife burst into laughter.

Ah Luo brought a pot of fruit wine into the study, then leaned against the edge of the desk to watch her husband copy the scriptures. With the persistence of someone determined to get to the bottom of things, she asked, "So what are my husband's actual plans for the future?"

Knowing that he could not satisfy his wife without giving a proper answer, Liu Xian laid down his brush, turned to look at Ah Luo, and answered earnestly, "My current plan is simply to become the Inspector of a province before I turn thirty."

"An Inspector?" A look of perplexity crossed Ah Luo's eyes. To ordinary commoners, a provincial inspector was undoubtedly an extraordinary and formidable high-ranking official. However, within the current imperial court, the status of an inspector had become rather awkward.

In the original institutional framework of the late Han dynasty, an inspector was the highest military and administrative officer within a province, holding authority over both personnel appointments and troop command. Compared to the later regional governors, the difference lay solely in official rank rather than any fundamental distinction in power.

However, through the successive reforms of the Cao Wei dynasty, although the official rank of an inspector had been elevated to surpass that of commandery administrators and kings' ministers, their most crucial military authority had been stripped away and transferred to regional military commanders and garrison supervisors. Coupled with the state's frequent recent divisions of large provinces and the establishment of vassal states within local territories, the jurisdiction and power of the inspectors were further constrained.

Influenced by all these factors, the post of provincial inspector—which had been that of a powerful regional commander during the Han dynasty—had now degenerated into a purely administrative office. This caused many scholars to prefer serving as minor officials in the vassal states rather than becoming inspectors. Thus, when Liu Xian declared his intention to become an inspector, it undoubtedly ran counter to the prevailing trend among the contemporary aristocracy.

Liu Xian explained to his wife, "My background is sensitive after all, and I do not know how many pairs of eyes are watching me. The slightest carelessness could provoke suspicion from others. Other suspicions might be manageable, but once it touches upon military affairs, it is inevitable that people will associate it with treason. As the saying goes, a gentleman does not stand under a tottering wall. Rather than competing for those lethal positions of power, it is better to first aspire to be a lone-carriage inspector, build up our network of connections, and trust that opportunities to climb higher will present themselves in due course."

Ah Luo pondered this and agreed that it was indeed a down-to-earth choice, yet she remained somewhat dissatisfied. She hoped her husband would possess a grander and more magnanimous vision, one capable of encompassing the sun and moon just like his great-grandfather. Therefore, she murmured softly, "It sounds a bit too petty..."

Hearing this, Liu Xian laughed heartily. He was beginning to understand that the relationship between husband and wife was one of conquest and being conquered—either you conquer her, or she conquers you; in any case, one must never be underestimated.

Although constraints of the current situation prevented Liu Xian from speaking too plainly to his wife, he could still reveal a portion of his breadth of mind. After brief contemplation, he adapted the classic historical allusion of King Zhuang of Chu biding his time and recited a poem:

"Heaven's virtue is distant and enduring, yet human life is so brief!
Before a century has passed, it flickers like a candle in the wind.
Cherished companions are hard to meet, and lofty ambitions are hard to voice.
Once the chest's pent-up feelings burst forth, a wondrous bird soars to the towering peak!"

Within the narrow study, his clear voice rang out. The poem struck Cao Shangrou with an astonishing force, gripping her very soul.

Unwittingly, a desire to measure her own worth against her husband's welled up within Ah Luo's heart.

"His talent is ten times my own," her father's words echoed in her ears, causing her entire body to tense up.

Having finished the poem, Liu Xian turned back to look at his wife and smiled, saying, "Actually, it is far too early to talk about being an inspector. We should be thinking about our entry into the National Academy instead."

***

Following marriage came the entry into officialdom.

In this day and age, entering officialdom for scholars essentially boiled down to two avenues:

One was the Nine-Rank Zhongzheng System, familiar to later generations, where local arbiters evaluated candidates to determine their local social tier, which was then reported to the imperial court to be granted an official post;

The other was the continuation of the Han dynasty's Chaoju System, where candidates were recommended by local administrative chiefs, underwent written examinations, and upon passing, were granted official posts along with corresponding social tiers.

Yet this did not come without a price, and both paths into officialdom had their respective thresholds:

How were local arbiters supposed to understand the scholars? And how were provincial and commandery chiefs supposed to recommend them?

It was impossible for them to investigate every single person individually, so they needed a platform to gather scholars together and observe them over a period of time.

In the provinces and commanderies, this platform took the form of commandery schools or official administrative offices, while in Luoyang, the political center of the entire nation, it was undoubtedly the Imperial Academy.

Established since the reign of Emperor Wu of the Han dynasty, the Imperial Academy was the highest state institution of learning, dedicated to cultivating talent for the nation. Every year, individuals excelling in talent and scholarship were selected from its ranks to enter the palace as officials. By the Wei and Jin dynasties, this system remained in use, though the circumstances differed slightly from the past due to the rise of the Nine-Rank Zhongzheng System.

During the Eastern Han dynasty, the Imperial Academy's official-appointment system had become standardized. Every other year, the emperor would command all students of the academy—whose numbers frequently exceeded ten thousand—to undergo a written examination. The top one hundred candidates were selected, with the top forty designated as Grade-A scholars and appointed as Palace Gentlemen, the middle twenty designated as Grade-B scholars and appointed as Crown Prince's Attendants, and the final forty designated as Grade-C scholars and appointed as Erudite Scholars and Archivists.

However, by the early Cao Wei dynasty, the realm had been devastated and the state was in ruins, with the Imperial Academy unable even to enroll a full complement of students, let alone conduct examinations. It was a time when anyone available had no trouble securing an official post. This situation did not improve until the later years of Emperor Ming of Wei. Even then, due to the existence of the Nine-Rank Zhongzheng System, the examinations had been reduced to pure evaluation and recommendation by the arbiters.

After Sima Yi seized power, out of a desire to counterbalance the aristocracy and consolidate imperial authority, he reinstated the examinations within the Imperial Academy. Yet he dared not suppress the aristocracy too severely, adopting a dual selection strategy where talented individuals were promoted through examinations while those of noble lineage followed the arbiter-evaluation route.

It was not until the second year of Xianning that the reigning emperor issued a decree establishing the National Academy within the Imperial Academy, formally cementing the two pathways into officialdom within the institutional framework:

Descendants of aristocratic families holding official ranks of the fifth grade or above were eligible to enroll in the National Academy. After reaching adulthood and completing a one-year residency, they could enter officialdom without taking examinations;

Meanwhile, ordinary scholars continued to enter the Imperial Academy and take examinations according to the old regulations, though the number of admissions was drastically reduced. While the Eastern Han could select a hundred men a year, Western Jin managed only around thirty annually.

Although the Prince of Anle's estate was ostracized by the capital aristocracy, it remained nominally a first-rank ducal household. Naturally, Liu Xian entered the National Academy upon entering officialdom. Having fulfilled a one-year residency there, he would secure his arbiter-evaluated social tier and step into official service through the proper sequence.

Logically speaking, however, the background of the Prince of Anle's estate was bound to become a heavy drag, and judging by Liu Xian's expectations, none of this would unfold as smoothly as anticipated...

One month after his marriage, on the *wuchen* day of the third month in the eighth year of Taikang, Liu Xian submitted his petition to study at the National Academy. Two days later, he received a reply from Ji Shao, the Director of the National Academy, who presented him with a jade tablet engraved with his name, along with the four characters "Cultivating Talent and Gathering the Wise" inscribed beneath. Armed with this token, Liu Xian could officially enter the National Academy.

Early the next morning, Liu Xian dressed in plain scholarly robes, mounted his horse, strapped a set of Confucian classics to his back, and called out to Xi An and Zhang Gu, embarking on the road toward the Imperial Academy.

The academy was situated south of the city of Luoyang, two li outside the Kaiyang Gate. For Liu Xian, it was a horse ride of about a quarter of an hour. Setting out from the Prince of Anle's estate, he rode west along Jianchun Street for one li, turned south, and continued straight for ten li until the bustling streets of the South Market came into view.

March was already late spring, precisely the most comfortable time of the year. Grass grew luxuriantly by the riverbanks, miscellaneous wildflowers bloomed upon the trees, flocks of warblers flitted about in disorder, and idle folk could be found everywhere along the streets of the South Market.

Unlike the West Market, Gold Market, Horse Market, and other trading quarters of Luoyang, the South Market did not possess such a heavy commercial atmosphere. Because it was frequently frequented by students of the Imperial Academy, the shops here dealt almost exclusively in writing brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones, or operated teahouses and wine taverns, alongside hand-copied books and classics, as well as the newest volumes of poetry circulating through literary circles. Occasionally, fruit growers could be heard hawking peaches, plums, and mulberries along the street, lending the place a distinct air of leisurely comfort.

The three of them dismounted at a small stall to buy three sesame-topped meat pies, eating as they walked southward. Before long, they arrived at the center of the South Market: an expansive bluestone plaza came into view, where over a hundred carriages were parked in neat rows. Directly to the east, a four-pillar white stone gate, four zhang wide and two zhang tall, stood proudly. Upon its lintel, four archaic and vigorous seal-script characters were carved—"Taking the Root to Cultivate the Self."

Beneath the stone gate, scholars passed in an endless stream. Most of them were young and wore smiles upon their faces, for at this very moment, they found themselves within the cultural center of the entire empire.

"Beyond this lies the Imperial Academy." Standing still in the center of the plaza, Liu Xian surveyed the bustling crowd surging back and forth, overcome with emotion. He turned to his two friends with a smile and said, "Do you remember when we were five or six years old and often passed by this place? In the blink of an eye, nearly ten years have flown by, yet we've never stepped inside ourselves. Time truly passes quickly."

Xi An chuckled in response, "Why the sudden sentimentality? Are you worried about your own future prospects?"

"Of course not; I was just lamenting how brief human life really is," Liu Xian said, gazing up at the large characters carved on the stone gate. "Even so, we must stride boldly forward."

Passing through, they entered another vast bluestone plaza, upon which stood a forest of stelae—the historically famous Xiping Stone Classics.

A century ago, the great Confucian scholars of the Han dynasty, wishing to eliminate discrepancies in scriptural interpretations, gathered together to establish the authoritative texts of the Six Classics. With the consent of Emperor Ling of Han, the legendary literary master Cai Yong personally picked up his brush to write down more than two hundred thousand characters of the classics, which were subsequently carved into stone stelae for scholars across the realm to revere and study.

In the century since, having weathered the great fire of Luoyang, the Battle of Guandu, and the Incident at Gaoping Tombs, the masters of Luoyang had changed three times over, yet these stone classics remained right where they were, bearing even the faint scars of scorch marks from raging fires and gashes from swords and blades.

Beyond the forest of scriptural stelae lay the sprawling complex of school buildings belonging to the Imperial Academy.

The current academy occupied sixty mu of land, comprising one hundred and thirty lecture halls, nine hundred inner rooms, and accommodating over three thousand students. The National Academy occupied the northeastern-most corner of the complex, claiming roughly twenty lecture halls and a hundred inner rooms.

Despite occupying less space, the National Academy was fully equipped. While the Imperial Academy boasted nineteen Erudites, the National Academy—though housing only a single Director and one Erudite—retained fifteen teaching assistants, bearing ample witness to the imperial court's high regard.

It was worth noting that as Liu Xian walked in, he noticed the volume of passing students drop off sharply, estimating that fewer than a hundred people were present within the buildings. Yet this was entirely understandable; after all, there were only so many officials above the fifth rank, and entry into the National Academy was essentially equivalent to an exemption from examinations. Nearly all students secured official posts within a year, with a fresh batch cycling out every twelve months, meaning the population could never grow very large.

While Zhang Gu and Xi An headed off for their studies in the Imperial Academy proper, Liu Xian proceeded to report to Ji Shao, the Director of the National Academy.

Ji Shao's office was located at the very front of the National Academy. When Liu Xian arrived, the door stood wide open, revealing a middle-aged Confucian scholar seated before a desk, brush in hand, copying texts with upright posture and a stern expression—precisely Ji Shao himself.

Liu Xian knocked gently on the door.

Ji Shao looked up at him, paused his brush, and said, "Ah, it's you. Come right in."

Liu Xian stepped forward and bowed, offering a greeting: "Director."

The two of them could indeed be considered acquaintances; previously, out of regard for Ruan Xian, Ji Shao had attended both Liu Xian's coming-of-age ceremony and his wedding.

"There's no need for such formality. You are a disciple of my paternal uncle, Lord Ruan the Younger. By generation, I should address you as younger brother, and you should call me older brother."

Contrary to his austere appearance, Ji Shao's tone was exceptionally warm, and he even felt inclined to joke with Liu Xian.

Liu Xian replied, "The Director jests. How would this junior dare to parallel himself with the Que of modern times?"

"The Que of modern times" was the evaluation bestowed upon Ji Shao by his adoptive father, Shan Tao, implying that Ji Shao possessed both moral integrity and talent comparable to Xi Que, the Chief Minister of the State of Jin during the Spring and Autumn period. Faced with this mild and harmless piece of flattery, Ji Shao smiled without pursuing the matter further. Instead, he retrieved the roster and made a checkmark next to Liu Xian's name with a vermilion brush.

Having finished, Ji Shao returned the roster to its place and spoke once more: "Whether one is comparable or not is ultimately hard to say. I've spoken with your uncle; your scholarship is excellent, and placed in this year's cohort of the National Academy, you will undoubtedly rank near the top."

Hearing such praise from Ji Shao, Liu Xian was naturally overjoyed, though modesty required him to demur verbally: "The Director flatters me."

Ji Shao waved a hand with a smile and said, "Don't let it make you arrogant, either. The prevailing academic atmosphere in the National Academy today is sluggish, and even across the entire Imperial Academy, there are very few individuals truly worthy of praise. This isn't because of a lack of youthful prodigies, but rather because they squander their time and eventually fade into mediocrity. Do you understand?"

"Understood; this student will certainly strive to do his best." Liu Xian had caught wind of the academic climate within the National Academy; because the students had no anxieties whatsoever about their career prospects, there was no shortage of those who simply vanished after reporting for duty, only to collect their arbiter-evaluated social tiers straight from home the following year.

Noticing that Liu Xian's expression lacked any pretense, Ji Shao nodded and said, "Instruction here relies mostly on self-study, and there is little strict discipline. If you have questions, you may consult the teaching assistants. Given your caliber, however, you won't actually learn all that much within the National Academy itself. Therefore, whether you attend or not, I won't impose strict requirements. However, both Dr. Xie Heng and I hold lectures—a minor lecture every five days and a major lecture every ten days, both held during the *wei* hour in the afternoon. If you have any interest, you are welcome to attend."

"Understood, this student has made a note of it."

"Then you may go tour the school grounds; I won't keep you any longer."

"I almost forgot one thing." Just as Liu Xian was preparing to take his leave, Ji Shao called him back. "In this cohort of the National Academy, there are a great many sons of dukes and marquises. You would do well to exercise some caution."

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With little stock of saved chapters left, I will be adjusting for a couple of days before returning to a daily output of four thousand characters. Amitabha.