Chapter 102: An Arrow to the Knee

February 15th, the day of the grand court assembly. Empress Wu presided over the session at the Wucheng Hall.

Quance, leading the group of imperial censors on duty, stood in formation. Behind him was Hou Sizhi, gaunt and emaciated to the point of being unrecognizable. Further back stood Fu Youyi, eager and brimming with excitement. This man, stepping past Hou Sizhi, fixed an intense, burning gaze on Quance’s back. Lost in his forward stare, he failed to notice Yan Baili silently watching him from behind, his expression dark and foreboding.

Quance took the lead, standing firmly, exchanging a glance with Hou Sizhi. Hou’s face was ashen, utterly devoid of hope, while Quance’s eyes blazed with determination, a fierce smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. As the saying goes, first courtesy, then force; the highest strategy lies in outwitting the opponent. A contest fought at a distance causes no wounds, no pain. You may choose to ignore me now, but when I strike in close quarters, I hope you will not continue to feign indifference.

The main topic of the court discussion was still the imperial examinations. Li Ruochu reported on the details: this year’s candidates numbered 42,700. Unlike previous years, when most came from Guanlong and Shandong, this time examinees hailed from all across the nation—even from the remote island of Qiongzhou.

Empress Wu nodded faintly, though she was not entirely satisfied with Li Ruochu’s report. “Ministers, are there any other matters concerning the state or the people to report?” Her gaze swept over the censors on duty, lingering briefly on Hou Sizhi.

“I, censor Fu Youyi, have a memorial to present,” Fu Youyi stepped boldly forward, standing in the middle of the hall. “Recently, in the Eastern Capital Luoyang, poetry, rites, and music flourish. The Grand Historian once said, ‘The Book of Songs contains three hundred poems, all expressions of the sages’ earnest aspirations.’ Today, though censor Hou met with setbacks and composed upon the Stone of Three Lives, it is no less remarkable.

“But my words go beyond this. Since Her Majesty’s relocation to the throne, the Eastern Capital has prospered in all trades... The divine dragon has shifted its abode; officials gaze eastward... The sound of pottery flutes rises in the East, and the aristocratic gates of Zhao Commandery crumble... Censor Hou fulfills his long-cherished wish; beauties like jade, swords like rainbows. Her Majesty spreads grace and might, the scholars and commoners rejoice with one heart and voice... The radiant Eastern Capital, blessed by the gods, destined by Heaven, beloved by the people—what more need be said? I, unworthy and incapable, fortunate to witness this flourishing age, cannot contain my humble admiration. I offer my congratulations to Her Majesty.”

Empress Wu smiled softly at this, the corners of her mouth twitching. She looked down upon her ministers with a leisurely tone. “My Eastern Capital has indeed forged such a splendid union. Would you not agree, ministers?”

“The Eastern Capital gathers the will of Heaven from all directions, the hopes of the four seas, all thanks to Her Majesty’s illustrious name. I, your humble servant, offer congratulations,” Wu Chengsi stepped forward first. The ministers, as if hearing a battle cry, surged with compliments one after another.

Even Hou Sizhi, dazed, stepped forward to express thanks.

Li Ruochu, who had just reported on the exams with dry throat, now wore a dark, sullen face as if water could be wrung from it. Not born into the Zhao Commandery Li clan, he had struggled and maneuvered to gain favor through relatives of that clan. With their support, his career advanced smoothly. Now that the Zhao Li family was being manipulated by Fu Youyi in such a manner, how could he remain silent? He studied Fu Youyi’s memorial carefully but could only sigh in resignation. Fu Youyi’s linking of Hou Sizhi’s secret courtship with the Empress’s heavenly mandate and popular will made it impossible to argue.

Li Ruochu recalled the earlier uproar over the pottery flute and the composition on the Stone of Three Lives. He had thought Hou Sizhi nothing more than a deluded fool, but now it was clear this was a well-laid scheme, every piece fitting tightly. He looked at Quance, the head of the censors, steadfast as the eight winds, his gaze dark. For Hou Sizhi’s scheme to have grown this strong was because of this man’s open and covert support. What was his true intention?

Deep in thought, Li Ruochu suddenly felt a prick on his body. Looking up, he saw the Empress’s gaze flash briefly before withdrawing. His mind went blank. Grabbing a colleague, he hurriedly left the seat. “I believe censor Hou’s union, blessed by Her Majesty’s favor, should be formalized by Her Majesty’s decree, making it a celebrated tale.”

Empress Wu forced a smile and waved her hand in refusal. “Enough. Marriage is a matter between two families. Only when both sides agree willingly is it proper. I dare not interfere lest the world accuse me of coercion, which would be unbecoming.”

“My insolent suggestion, may Her Majesty forgive,” Li Ruochu quickly prostrated himself. Summoned to rise by the Empress, he deliberately offered Hou Sizhi a kindly smile. By protocol, the bride Hou sought was Li family’s noble lady, his own grandniece, a genuine junior.

A cold snort interrupted—a voice from next door, Lou Shide, Minister of Summer Affairs. The very man Li Ruochu had grabbed in his haste was this steadfast figure. Li Ruochu lamented quietly, bowing repeatedly in apology. Lou Shide turned away without a word and sat firmly on his bench, unmoved. Having been restrained, he had already made his stance clear and needed not utter any more insincere words.

As the congratulatory voices faded, Hou Sizhi, having gained both benefit and great renown, stepped forward. Quance teased him, “Congratulations, Censor Hou. At last, you need not loosen your belt any further.”

The court officials smiled upon hearing this, but only Fu Youyi laughed heartily. Most others kept forced grins, few daring to speak.

Hou Sizhi was unembarrassed, bowing deeply with a faint smile. “In life, there are few matters worth pursuing without regret. To encounter one is enough. Never mind the loosening of one’s belt—even if it costs ten thousand heads and rivers of blood, it is worth it.”

This brief statement lent the pale specter a touch of worldly warmth. The ministers’ congratulations grew more sincere, their scattered laughter gradually blending into one.

The Zhao Li family had many members in court; news from the Eastern Capital traveled swiftly. The next day, a letter of consent to the marriage, penned by the elder head of the Li clan, was delivered on horseback to Hou Sizhi’s residence. The wedding was set for late spring to early summer, sealing the alliance between two great families.

The Hou family matriarch was overjoyed, boasting to all who would listen. Servants dragged two carts laden with silver and silk through the streets, gathering fine gifts as betrothal presents. Rumor had it that the Yishui Painting Boat Guild had greatly aided the son, setting up incense altars by the Yishui River and offering sacrifices daily. It was all quite endearing.

With Hou Sizhi’s affairs settled, the imperial examinations proceeded. The sheer number of candidates overwhelmed any single examination hall, forcing dispersal across several locations. The Ministry of Rites was short-handed, so scholars from the Hanlin Academy were summoned en masse to serve as examiners. The organization was chaotic. The local Luoyang officials and constables struggled to maintain order, lacking the experience of their Chang’an counterparts in managing large-scale events. Several incidents arose, including one where a candidate’s servant brazenly entered the examination hall to deliver a meal box, an unmonitored farce that caused uproar.

When results were announced, over three thousand candidates passed the provincial exam. Some families rejoiced, others despaired. The Eastern Capital buzzed with excitement for a time, the failed candidates’ last frenzy before dispersing. Once they returned home, calm returned to the city.

Yet, while the Eastern Capital grew quiet, Quance found an arrow lodged in his knee.

His subordinate, censor Yan Baili, submitted a memorial accusing Quance of using his power to cheat during the exams. The document listed forty-five scholars known to fraternize and exchange poetry with him, all successful candidates. “Their brazen conduct, greedy nature, and grand ambitions are evident,” it stated.

The memorial reached the imperial court, but the chancellor remained silent. The original was forwarded to the palace for Empress Wu’s review, who ordered Quance to submit a self-defense memorial.

Quance sat alone in his study, bitterly smiling. Forty-five scholars close to me? I had no idea.

Among the candidates, he was only familiar with Ge Hui. He summoned Ge Hui for questioning but only grew more alarmed. All forty-five were acquaintances of Ge Hui—those who had cheered for him from the second-floor balcony the day he composed his poem. Every one of them passed the exam with outstanding rankings.

Such a grand scheme, ensuring so many passed only to frame me?

Quance’s heart tightened in dread. This was no ordinary plot. Whose wrath had he incurred this time?