Chapter 29: Literary Collection

“Did that Wu fellow agree?”

The wealthy merchant respectfully kowtowed, not daring to show any sign of negligence.

“Replying to the Governor, I personally witnessed him revise the outline.”

“And how did he revise it?”

“He altered a few of the original chapters. For example, after Sun Monkey was banished by Tang Seng, he returned to the Huaguo Mountain to live a carefree life and once again assumed the title of the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. 

Only when Tang Seng and his disciples faced a major crisis did they have no choice but to send Zhu Wuneng to humbly invite the Monkey King back…”

Upon hearing this, the eunuchs dressed in Python robes collectively let out a sigh of relief, their expressions relaxing noticeably. Chief Eunuch Huang, seated at the head of the group, even praised his subordinate—a rare gesture.

“Indeed, the child you recommended is capable and resourceful! While we cannot openly reward them, make sure to reward them discreetly.”

The wealthy merchant beamed with joy, kowtowing in gratitude before cautiously withdrawing. The eunuchs in the room exchanged smiles but all turned their attention back to Eunuch Huang, awaiting further instructions from the grand overseer.

It was uncertain whether the emperor’s addiction to alchemical elixirs had caused genuine issues, but his temperament had grown increasingly erratic, and his actions were baffling even to his closest confidants among the eunuchs. 

Today, the high-ranking officials of the Dongchang were not gathered to discuss a significant corruption case involving trade with Japanese pirates but instead were tasked, under strict orders from the Feixuan Zhenjun, with supervising the progress of a manuscript.

The Dongchang’s governor, the commander of the imperial army, and the empire’s most elite and disciplined secret service were all mobilized—just to push for a book update. 

Since the establishment of the secret police system during Emperor Taizong’s reign, there had never been such a ludicrous event in history. However, after months of enduring the emperor’s madness, the eunuchs were too exhausted to find such trivialities surprising anymore.

The Dongchang was renowned for its methods, famed for extracting information even from the dead. Dealing with a mere scholar required no real effort. 

They didn’t even need to resort to torture; a simple burlap sack over the head and a few days in a dark room would suffice. The scholar Wu Chengen wouldn’t just rewrite Three Strikes on the White Bone Demon—he’d probably combine Three Strikes with Three Visits to the Thatched Cottage from Romance of the Three Kingdoms into a crossover epic if they asked.

But the Feixuan Zhenjun had explicitly forbidden them from interfering with Wu Chengen’s creative process. Hence, all harsher methods had to be shelved. 

Left with no choice, the overseers of the Dongchang had to rely on subtler strategies. They sent a spy posing as a book merchant, under the guise of a “devoted fan,” to befriend Wu Chengen. 

Through this ruse, they eventually persuaded him to agree to the crucial plot changes.

Now that the task was complete, they needed higher approval before proceeding further. 

Whether this arrangement satisfied the Feixuan Zhenjun’s vision was something only his closest attendant, Eunuch Huang, could confirm.

Eunuch Huang, however, did not make things difficult. He nodded decisively. “You’ve all done well, and I’m sure His Majesty will commend your efforts. 

However, judging by the outline, it seems Journey to the West still has a long way to go. If there are more incidents like Three Strikes on the White Bone Demon or the banishment of Sun Monkey, what will we do? Today’s method won’t work in the long run!”

The merchant-turned-spy had managed to convince Wu Chengen not through eloquent persuasion but by slapping down a 100-tael silver note. In today’s economy, 100 taels were enough to support the Wu family in comfort for over a year in the Beijing. With such an offer, how could Wu Chengen refuse? It was simply too much to ignore.

But Wu Chengen wasn’t a fool. A “devoted fan” might make one grand gesture for the sake of their obsession, but how many times could they keep throwing money around? Besides, 

Wu Chengen had connections with influential figures like Grand Secretary Li Jurong. If even a hint of this arrangement slipped in conversation, the Dongchang’s covert operations might be completely exposed to the civil officials.

The thought of such humiliation made the eunuchs shudder. The idea of the infamous Dongchang governor—whose name alone was enough to terrify children—leading a group of secret police to hound an obscure writer for novel updates was utterly absurd. 

If word of this got out, the Dongchang’s reputation, built over generations, would be utterly ruined. Past legends like Zheng and Wang Zhi would surely roll in their graves, demoting Eunuch Huang to the ranks of minor lackeys in the underworld.

A thousand-household officer, aware of these concerns, stepped forward and respectfully suggested:

“Eunuch Governor, your guidance is wise. Wu Chengen is a carefree individual and difficult to control. 

If he continues to wander about aimlessly, wouldn’t it delay the updates further? Our people can’t intervene too directly. In my humble opinion, it would be best to find him a quiet position, something that could subtly keep him in check.”

The most difficult people to manage are those who are carefree and at ease; they need to be assigned some responsibility in the class so they can become workhorses who can be controlled.

Eunuch Huang nodded approvingly.

“What you said aligns perfectly with my thoughts. But this matter requires careful consideration. The place we assign him cannot be too far or too close, and it must not raise any suspicion.”

The matter of urging updates was a secret entrusted to them by His Majesty and must not be known to outsiders. If they directly assigned Wu Chengen to a position in the royal or Dongchang’s industries, Li Jurong might immediately smell something suspicious. 

But if they placed him in a business run by someone who wasn’t aware of the details, they would risk attracting unnecessary attention from the imperial army. A position like this required considerable thought.

So, is there a noble family in the Beijing that is well-established, closely connected to the royal family, and capable of easily inserting people at any time? And, at the same time, the head of the family should be somewhat eccentric, unpredictable, and totally oblivious to the movements of the imperial army?

Indeed, the first step in solving a problem is to understand it. Once the issue was clear, Eunuch Huang’s thoughts immediately became clearer:

“I’ve heard that the Duke of Mu’s household has been recruiting scholars for years to transcribe Emperor Taizong’s grand works.” He slowly said, “I think if we use the Dongchang’s connections to request a position in the Duke’s house, it should not be a problem, right?”

As soon as he said this, the room fell silent for a moment. Everyone was caught off guard and didn’t know how to respond.

After a brief pause, the others gradually regained their composure, realizing that, though this suggestion seemed absurd, it actually had some feasibility. However…

The eunuch sitting beside Huang hesitated for a moment before speaking quietly.

“Master, isn’t the Duke of Mu’s son…?”

Isn’t he a bit too eccentric? Normally, it’s fine, but if Wu Chengen gets involved, won’t the entire Dongchang be in an uproar?

In response to this question, Eunuch Huang merely smiled faintly, full of confidence. Based on his brief interactions with the Duke of Mu’s son, while the son’s actions indeed seemed somewhat unreasonable (okay, sometimes more than just a little unreasonable), his loyalty and devotion to the emperor were unquestionable.

If he wasn’t wholeheartedly devoted to the emperor, would he have thought of using a tricky tactic like the Qingci exam?

So, Huang only casually reassured:

“Don’t worry about those trivial matters. The Duke of Mu’s son has some talents that might even surpass yours…”

At this point, Eunuch Huang couldn’t help but reflect: Among the hundreds of eunuchs in the Dongchang, who else could come up with such a brilliant plan? The emperor’s most trusted servants, the palace-born and raised slaves, couldn’t even flatter the emperor as well as an outsider. It was truly laughable! You all eat the emperor’s food, yet do you have any guilt in your hearts?

With this thought, he sighed:

“…What a pity, why does the Duke’s son have to be in the noble circles? The Dongchang truly needs such talents!”
·
Mu Qi suddenly shivered, feeling a chill run up his spine.

He suspiciously looked around but saw nothing unusual, so he carefully shrank his neck to avoid the cold draft at the door.

Sitting opposite him, Gui Zhenchuan and Hai Gangfeng were completely unaware, still deeply analyzing the imperial edicts transcribed by the Duke’s son, mostly concerning the urgent matters of the imperial examination, urging the pavilion to act swiftly.

A few days ago, the situation had changed drastically—Hanlin Academy scholars were dismissed or debased, and the officials from the Ministry of Rites were publicly reprimanded by the Dongchang. 

The literary ministers had been swept away, and the political situation was in turmoil. For the scholars taking the imperial examination, however, the most important factor—the direction of the exams—might change dramatically!

With Feixuan Zhenjun’s suspicion and ruthlessness, how could he hand over the most important talent selection to the civil officials whom he had ruthlessly suppressed several times? This time, the imperial exam would definitely be controlled remotely by him, reviewed thoroughly by him; he might even personally set the exam questions, forcing the scholars to truly appreciate the cultural level of Emperor Zhu’s court.

And what happens then? It’s all over!

Feixuan Zhenjun’s usual style was never reasonable. Even the imperial edicts he issued were vague and unclear, reflecting the deep, mysterious state of mind after studying the Tao Te Ching. 

They were more like riddles than instructions, deliberately confusing. Not even the smartest human models, let alone advanced artificial intelligence, could make sense of them. 

After analyzing them, they would probably be discarded as garbage, with a strict warning to not waste computational resources.

Therefore, the only ones who could understand these edicts and grasp their true meaning were probably just a few high-ranking ministers in the pavilion. 

As the saying goes, “survival of the fittest”—through the cruel and rapid process of natural selection, the hundreds of ministers of Da’an had evolved mentally and were the only ones who could resonate with Feixuan Zhenjun’s thought processes.

In biology, when one organism applies pressure to another, influencing its evolution, this is called co-evolution.

Unfortunately, Gui Zhenchuan hadn’t evolved to that level yet. After reading the edicts, he was completely confused, no matter how much he pondered. 

He could only find another way and specifically ask the Duke of Mu’s son for guidance on the emperor’s poetry and prose, hoping to gain insight into the Zhenjun’s works to understand his state of mind. 

But the truth was, those who had been in the literary world for too long were just too ignorant of the emperor’s general level of literary talent.

When asked, Mu Qi paused for a moment but quickly recalled one of Zhenjun’s great works.

Of course, he had to clarify that despite his poor taste in aesthetics, he wouldn’t stoop to appreciating Zhenjun’s works. 

The only reason he was so familiar with the so-called “imperial poetry and essays” was that Zhenjun often, in his whimsy, would make the noble children recite them at banquets to show off. 

And as the foremost noble family, the Duke of Mu’s house was, of course, unable to escape this torment.

Perhaps this was his punishment for being distracted and chatting during Chinese literature class. If you didn’t want to memorize the “Red Cliff Fu,” “King Teng Pavilion Preface,” or “A Fang Palace Fu,” then you’d end up reciting Feixuan Zhenjun’s works!

Recalling the humiliation he had suffered that day, Mu Qi painfully rolled his eyes and reluctantly recited:

“During the Mid-Autumn family banquet at the palace, the emperor, while gazing at the moon and thinking of his mother, once wrote a poem.” 

The heir apparent recited the past torment expressionlessly: “The content was roughly: ‘As the evening falls, the heavens sorrow and grieve, swallowing the cake, my heart aches. How my heart aches, alas. Alas, today I cannot see my mother…’”

Gui Zhenchuan: ……….

Hai Gangfeng: ……….

In that brief moment, the two cultured men in the room fell silent—especially Mr. Gui, who was likely deeply shocked and regretted bringing up the topic.

—It’s tough on Mr. Gui, poor Mr. Gui! Mr. Gui, being a true man of virtue and a loyal subject, is duty-bound to his monarch; but in the face of such a poem, even Mr. Gui could not swallow it!

After a moment of silence, perhaps realizing the atmosphere was rather insulting to the emperor, Hai Gangfeng awkwardly spoke:

“The emperor’s writing, indeed—indeed, is strong and simple, without ornamentation, truly reflecting the family’s style…”

Before he could finish, Mu Qi suddenly turned to look at him, his expression one of astonishment:

“You, Hai Gangfeng, with your thick eyebrows and large eyes, have you also learned how to flatter like our nobles?!”

Mr. Gangfeng, somewhat overwhelmed, sighed:

“That’s not my opinion. It’s the view of a scholar named Zhang Taiyue, who attended a poetry gathering the other day.”

Mu Qi let out an “Oh,” immediately realizing; at the same time, he couldn’t help but feel a deep admiration—after all, SSR is SSR, a top-tier person whose reputation is well deserved. 

Look at how smooth and subtle his words were, perfectly balancing sincerity and avoiding offense. 

It was truly a masterstroke of emotional intelligence, comparable to the “sacred quality as the beginning” of the Western Jin!

High emotional intelligence: “strong and simple,” “without ornamentation”; low emotional intelligence: “gushing with nonsense,” “shimmering with empty words,” essentially nonsensical.

As for “reflecting the family’s style”—well, the Emperor Gaozu had openly cursed with words like “ass” and “lowly” in his plain spoken imperial edicts!

Such profound and delicate skill in balancing yin and yang, such seamless use of the spring and autumn style, no wonder others could rise to positions like the head of the royal family. 

Mu Qi was utterly impressed.

However, judging by Mr. Gangfeng’s tone, it seemed he was quite familiar with Zhang Taiyue at the poetry gathering? 

Ah, the legendary alliance of the Chinese Sword and the Pillar of Heaven, such a dreamy collaboration was enough to make anyone delight in the spectacle.

Gui Zhenchuan, who knew nothing, merely enjoyed the drama. Upon hearing his friend’s explanation, he became quite curious: “Do they also discuss the emperor’s writings at poetry gatherings? I wonder if the emperor writes poems?”

“The emperor rarely writes poetry, but he has some famous works,” Mu Qi, still preoccupied with the intense clash between SSRs, casually added. 

“I remember, the emperor once wrote a poem for General Mao, who was sent to pacify Annam, with the famous line: ‘The lotus curtain warms the spring night, and I and the general unfasten our battle robes…’”

After reciting this famous piece, Mu Qi suddenly froze.

Realizing belatedly, he turned back to look at the two faces now filled with terror.

“…Did I mix up the words?” he muttered.