The next morning at dawn.

The sun rose, and the morning drums on the Chengtian Gate struck right on time. As the ninth beat faded, the echoes, wrapped in golden morning light, slowly drifted down.

Carriages and merchants waiting outside the city poured in one after another. Inside the inner city, the breakfast stalls were already bustling with steam and the sound of vendors calling out. Although it was early, the entire imperial city was vibrant and full of life—a true image of a prosperous age of peace and harmony.

Ye Mian and Ruan Yunsheng, having patronized a local stall and finished two bowls of freshly pan-fried donkey meat dumplings, rubbed their bellies and made their leisurely way to the Ministry of Rites.

The Ministry of Rites’ Department of Ceremonies was already busy early in the morning. In the main hall, several clerks were working non-stop, sweat beading on their foreheads.

Ye Mian received his credentials according to regulations and paid the six hundred wen processing fee. A minor official handed him a wax-sealed envelope. Ye Mian opened it on the spot to inspect his official decree and appointment documents, pressed his fingerprint onto the receipt, and then took the voucher to the Bureau of Personnel to collect his official uniform.

The uniform for a shuchang (a probationary Hanlin academician) lacked even an official rank badge. It was a simple round-collared robe with plain white fabric on the front and a single dark cyan border at the hem. It looked very simple and understated.

Ye Mian wasn’t very satisfied, pouting as he complained, “Even the minor, rankless officials have a magpie badge on their clothes.”

Ruan Yunsheng saw what he was thinking, grabbed his head, and forced him to look at a large poster on the wall, reading it out for him, character by character: “Those who alter their official uniforms without authorization shall be fined—six—months—of—salary!”

Ye Mian: “!!”

The Bureau of Personnel had a changing room, and Ye Mian went in to change into his uniform. When he walked out, an older official’s eyes lit up immediately.

He pointed at Ye Mian excitedly and shouted to his colleagues: “Look at this! Those old bookworms in the Hanlin Academy accused us a few years ago, saying our shuchang uniforms looked like mourning clothes! Today, let them open their eyes—is it that our clothes are ugly, or is it that they themselves are just too unsightly to wear them well?”

As soon as he said this, the officials of the Bureau of Personnel all turned to look at Ye Mian, offering praise and agreement one after another, feeling quite vindicated.

Ye Mian wasn’t shy about being stared at; he turned in circles, striking poses for them.

Ruan Yunsheng, standing to the side, inwardly muttered that it was obviously because their design was ugly; that particular uniform had been mocked for years. Ye Mian looked good in it simply because he was extremely handsome; let alone mourning clothes, even if he were wrapped in a tattered rag, he would still look like a beauty in the moonlight.

The Great Wen Dynasty’s evaluation for selecting officials and choosing probationary academicians relied first and foremost on “Body, Writing, Research, and Judgment.”

“Body” referred to physical appearance and demeanor. Ye Mian’s “Body” rating was “Grade A, Superior.”

In the nearly hundred years since the founding of the Great Wen, those who achieved a “Grade A” in body evaluation were extremely rare; most were rated C or D. “Grade A, Standard” and “Grade A, Bottom” were very scarce, with only about sixty or seventy people having achieved them total.

But “Grade A, Superior”? Only two people had ever achieved it. The last one to receive the “Superior” rating was Ye Mian’s own older brother.

Ye Mian spent half an hour finishing his business at the Ministry of Rites. Before the two of them could even step out of the gates, they heard a commotion outside. Ye Mian loved excitement and was always the first to dive into a crowd; he grabbed Ruan Yunsheng and rushed out to “eat melon” (watch the drama). Ruan Yunsheng, caught off guard, was yanked so hard he nearly fell face-first.

“Ancestors preserve me—”

“Look! It’s over at the Ministry of Personnel!” Ye Mian excitedly dragged Ruan Yunsheng over, fighting through the crowd to secure the best viewing spot. Because of their overlapping duties, the Ministry of Personnel and the Ministry of Rites had been located next to each other for centuries.

“I, Liu Xinchang, a scholar of the 17th year of Kangwen, demand an audience with Chief Zhao of the Bureau of Selection!”

“I, Liu Xinchang, a scholar of the 17th year of Kangwen, demand an audience with Chief Zhao of the Bureau of Selection!”

The disgruntled scholar’s voice grew higher and more agitated. Although it was late March in the capital and not hot, his neck was drenched in sweat. The area was full of government offices, and the commotion drew many officials to stop and watch.

A clerk from the Ministry of Personnel trotted out and scolded, “Scholar Liu, behave yourself! If you keep causing trouble like this, I will call the City Guard to take you away!”

“Then take me away!”

The scholar was flushed with excitement, taking a step forward. “If you don’t take me today, I will go to the Censorate to report your Ministry’s Bureau of Selection for dereliction of duty and favoritism!”

The clerk, long accustomed to such scenes, calmly signaled a minor official nearby, who immediately ran toward the City Guard office on the next street. An elderly official with a long white beard sighed and tried to comfort the scholar: “Young man, government positions are limited. You must be patient…”

The scholar’s face was full of tragic bitterness. “Old sir, I have waited for seven full years! Forget about permanent posts or empty titles; I haven’t even had a turn at a temporary assignment! For the last two years, I have come to this Bureau of Selection every two weeks to ask, and every time they give me a slip saying ‘waiting for a vacancy’ or ‘no position currently available.’ How long am I supposed to wait?”

The old official shook his head with a low sigh, “Still, you shouldn’t lose your composure and ruin your future.”

“I… I don’t want to…”

Hearing the scholar’s voice choke with sobs, Ye Mian couldn’t bear to watch the scene any longer. Ruan Yunsheng pulled him out of the crowd, and they went to a teahouse nearby.

It was a beautiful day, the sunlight gentle and soft. They didn’t take a private room in the back but sat by a bright window on the second floor. The carved wooden window was half-open, looking down onto Baoyuan Street, the busiest and most bustling in the capital. The blue-stone road was crowded with carriages and horses, and the smell of spring crabapple flowers from flower peddlers mixed with the sweet scent of steamed cakes from the street corner.

Ye Mian leaned against the window frame and asked Ruan Yunsheng, “Is the backlog of government vacancies really that dire?”

“It’s more serious than what you saw today.” Ruan Yunsheng poured him a cup of hot tea and explained slowly. “The imperial court currently has over 14,000 civil and military officials—3,000 in the capital and over 10,000 in the provinces. Do you know how many unemployed officials are registered waiting for vacancies?”

Ye Mian shook his head.

“Also over 10,000.”

“That many!” Ye Mian was shocked.

“Every month when the Ministry of Personnel posts vacancies, there’s a scene like this. Forget a scholar from the provinces—even jinshi (doctoral degree holders) without great talent or someone behind them pulling strings might wait a year or two.”

Ye Mian hurriedly asked, “What about us in the Hanlin Academy?”

Ruan Yunsheng slowly shook his head. “The Hanlin Academy is a place of prestige, but actual power and vacancies are very limited. An editor waits nine years to become a lecturer, and a proofreader waits nine years to become a drafter. If one cannot be promoted and transferred to the Six Ministries or Nine Courts, they spend their whole life just circling the inkstone.”

Ye Mian thought for a moment and said, “It’s still easier than waiting for those ordinary scholars and jinshi.”

The top three of the jinshi list go directly to the Hanlin Academy, while those in the second and third tiers must pass a competitive examination to become shujishi—”intern” academicians—who are essentially the best talent selected by the imperial examinations. Naturally, the Ministry of Personnel considers these officials first.

Ruan Yunsheng sighed, “In these years, there are more monks than porridge in the capital; how could it be easy? Tomorrow, when you go to the Hanlin Academy to sign in, you’ll see. There are many gray-haired old officials who have wasted half their lives there.”

Ye Mian, being clever, caught the implication and raised an eyebrow: “They don’t want to be transferred to the provinces?”

“Naturally, they don’t.” Ruan Yunsheng snorted. “Toiling in the capital for years is a bitter life, but one is closest to imperial power. Even if it’s an invisible bait, they are willing to be hooked.”

Ye Mian frowned. “But if no one appreciates or promotes them for decades, that’s a terrible waste of their own lives. Decades of hard study, only to earn an annual salary of less than 100 taels, while trying to support a family in the capital…”

Living in the capital is expensive; that salary wouldn’t even cover daily costs. Hanlin officials don’t have real power, and they never get a share of the “ice gifts” or “charcoal gifts” (bribes/bonuses).

Ruan Yunsheng laughed softly. “They have their own calculations; they are perfectly happy to suffer. Furthermore, having been in the capital for years, they are held up as ‘disciples of the Emperor’ and consider themselves ‘pure stream’ officials. They look down on local officials as ‘vulgar.’ If they were transferred far away to a poor post, they’d lose their literary gatherings and scholarly associations—that would really be the end of them.”

“Well then!” Ye Mian wasn’t the type to worry about outsiders. “I’ll just peacefully study in the Hanlin Academy. In three years, I’ll finish my tenure. I have no patience for staying in that place to rewrite books and play with ink; it’s simply boring!”

Ruan Yunsheng nodded, “My father and brother think the same. I’ve been in the Hanlin Academy for over half a month, and observing coldly, some people there are already going mad. You’d better stay out of their sight.”

Ye Mian didn’t care. “Why would I provoke them for no reason?”

Ruan Yunsheng gave him a meaningful look. Afraid that saying too much would ruin Ye Mian’s enthusiasm for entering the Hanlin Academy, he didn’t explain further, just offering a vague piece of advice: “Serving in the court isn’t like studying in the Imperial Academy. Interests come first, and everyone hides their own schemes. You should restrain your personality; don’t be so warm and talkative with everyone you meet.”

Ruan Yunsheng was truly worried about him. As Mian-ge’er grew older, his appearance became even more outstanding than his brother’s, yet his personality was the exact opposite.

The “Duanhua Prince” (Ye Jing) had always had a cold, thin temperament, with frost between his brows, scaring ordinary people away. Ye Mian, however, was incredibly lively and open; after three sentences with anyone, they were “old friends,” and by the next meeting, he’d be throwing his arm around their neck. If he was in a good mood, he’d even run up to a stray dog he recognized on the street to ask if it had eaten yet. Last summer, when he was chased for three blocks by a pregnant mother dog, he certainly hadn’t been innocent!

Seeing Ruan Yunsheng’s worried expression, Ye Mian quickly gave his word, “I know what I’m doing. I definitely won’t be as reckless as I was in the Imperial Academy.”

Ruan Yunsheng didn’t nag any further. He picked up a piece of pine-nut cake with his chopsticks, intending to feed it to Ye Mian, but suddenly, as if thinking of something, his hand paused. He looked at Ye Mian with a gloomy expression.

“I forgot; he doesn’t allow you to eat food from outside.”

Ye Mian: “…”

“In the last two days, you’ve stuffed quite a lot in your mouth while with me—mutton-fat chive pancakes, steamed crab, donkey meat dumplings, fried radish cakes, marinated pig’s trotters…”

Ruan Yunsheng counted them off one by one on his fingers, then said anxiously, “When he returns to the capital tomorrow, he won’t come looking for trouble with me, will he?”

Ye Mian suddenly straightened his back, his voice rising to a high pitch, “Ridiculous! Why would I be afraid of him?”

The sound startled a magpie perched on the teahouse railing, causing it to fly off and knock into a string of copper bells hanging from the eaves, which rang out with a chime.

After shouting, Ye Mian nonchalantly placed the salted green plum he had just picked up back onto the fruit plate and pushed it further away.

Ruan Yunsheng watched him with a smirk, not saying a word.

Embarrassed that his bluff had been called by his friend, Ye Mian gritted his teeth inwardly. Zhuang Xu, that big jerk! When they first got together, he coaxed him by saying he wanted to be a “good older brother”—but not long after they started seeing each other, he began acting like a “little dad” to him. In the last year, it had been endless; he acted more like his grandfather, keeping him as restricted as a three-year-old grandson…

Now, even his own father was afraid of Zhuang Xu, as if he were seeing Ye Mian’s grandfather. The generational hierarchy was finally perfectly aligned!