Chapter 28: Deceiving Superiors and Deluding Subordinates

Magistrate Tang conversed with Fan Jin, taking care not to neglect Zhang Jingzhai. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, however, his attention returned to Fan Jin. The Magistrate first offered high praise for Fan Jin’s literary compositions before asking, "Do you intend to sit for the imperial examinations next spring?"

Fan Jin replied, "Scholar Zhou has indicated that my writing has reached a sufficient level of proficiency, and I am determined to seize the moment and give it my all in the metropolitan examination."

It could not be helped; in the eyes of others, he was already over fifty, a man with one foot in the grave. One might encounter someone who would ask him, "Lian Po is aged, but can he still eat?" In the original account, Fan Jin had stated in his examination registration that he was thirty, while in truth, he was already fifty-four. This meant that Fan Jin would be fifty-eight when he finally sat for the metropolitan examination.

Following that, he would pass the examinations and enter officialdom. Within a few short years, his career soared, eventually reaching the fourth-rank official position of Provincial Education Commissioner of Shandong. Were it anyone else, already past fifty, who would be foolish enough to observe three years of mourning for a mother before attempting the imperial examinations? While feudal mourning rites dictated that one must mourn parents for three years—during which one could not hold office, participate in exams, marry, attend festivities, or indulge in banquets—in an era of decaying traditions and morals, one faced the reality of encroaching old age against the allure of fame and fortune. Thus, Fan Jin’s act of mourning for his mother undoubtedly earned him immense prestige. Otherwise, he would never have secured such a coveted and prestigious post as an imperial censor upon entering the government.

"Excellent!" Magistrate Tang exclaimed. "It is rare to find such ambition in you!"

Fan Jin offered a modest, "I am ashamed."

Before long, a servant arrived to announce that a banquet had been prepared. Intending to welcome his guests, Magistrate Tang led the way. "The kitchen is modest, and the banquet is simple; there are only a few small dishes. Please, consider this a casual meal."

The table was set with eight delicacies: chicken skin soup with sour bamboo shoots, braised goose webs, ham-stewed pork knuckle, roasted venison, fermented rice steamed duck, sugar-steamed cream custard, lotus leaf soup, and bean curd rolls. There was no beef, as the imperial court had repeatedly banned the slaughter of draft cattle, and it rarely appeared on formal tables.

But in private?

To say nothing of others, ever since Fan Jin passed the provincial examination, he could have beef whenever he pleased, with little effort. Cattle and sheep merchants in the market always found ways to deliver beef to his estate, claiming it was from cattle that had died of illness or suffered broken legs. Often, for the gentry and the powerful, the ban on slaughtering draft cattle was a mere formality. After all, did the masters ever have to slaughter the cattle themselves? Those truly constrained by the ban were always the lower classes; the privileged always broke the rules.

Of course, the common folk did not need to know this. Ordinary people and the privileged rarely intersected, existing on two parallel lines that never met. The more this remained the case, the more stable the society and the easier it was to govern. As for those in the martial world who would casually demand half a jin of beef and a pot of wine, those in the know understood: you were lucky if they served you pork.

Naturally, anything could be done in private, provided it was not displayed in the open. Just as with the table Magistrate Tang had set—though not extravagant, it was exquisite. For a moment, even those who had already dined felt their appetites stirred.

In the midst of their conversation, a servant entered and whispered a few words to the Magistrate. Magistrate Tang set down his spoon and chopsticks, saying apologetically, "There is a piece of official business outside that requires an immediate response. I shall return shortly."

A moment later, Fan Jin, Zhang, and Zhou heard the Magistrate instruct someone to "just leave it there," after which silence followed. Shortly after, the Magistrate returned, offering his apologies for the interruption.

At the table, Magistrate Tang tapped his white porcelain wine cup and looked at Zhang Jingzhai. "Brother Zhang, you have served in office; I have a matter I must consult you on."

Zhang Jingzhai, hearing this, was flattered and replied, "Please speak, Uncle." This was the first time he had received such courtesy from Magistrate Tang. Though thick-skinned, he knew the Magistrate had previously held him in contempt and had never bothered to hide his distaste.

Magistrate Tang dismissed the attendants, and once the servants had left, he lowered his voice and spoke slowly. "It concerns the prohibition on the slaughter of draft cattle!"

No sooner had the words left Magistrate Tang's lips than Zhang Jingzhai jumped up as if his seat were on fire. Fan Jin’s eyes twitched, but his expression remained calm. In official matters such as these, one was expected to observe more and speak less, accumulating experience for one's own future career.

Magistrate Tang pressed the squire back into his seat. "At this point, I will not hide anything from you, Brother Zhang." The Magistrate paced back and forth for a moment before continuing, "A few relatives from my hometown sent me fifty jin of beef and asked an old artisan to plead on their behalf. They claim that if the ban on slaughtering draft cattle is strictly enforced, they will have nothing to eat. They begged me to be lenient, to raise my hand and 'deceive those above while shielding those below.' Tell me, Brother Zhang, is this something that can be done, or should it be left alone?"

Zhang Jingzhai was shocked. "Old Uncle, you must never say such things!"

Fan Jin also chimed in to persuade him, "Brother Zhang is right."

"Why?" Magistrate Tang asked, startled. "It is only a small gift; surely it would cause no harm?"

How many corrupt officials there were in the world, vines clinging to melons, melons clinging to vines. Fan Jin said urgently, "Alas, Master, do you not understand? The crux of the matter does not lie there."

He was well aware that the authorities would not prosecute Magistrate Tang for a few silver coins and some beef. When Ji Xiaolan patrolled Gansu with the Emperor’s imperial sword, unearthing nests of corrupt officials, did it not all end in nothing? "The law does not punish the masses" was never just a hollow phrase.

The officials of Gansu were rotten to the core, yet as Ji Xiaolan investigated, the more he dug, the more officials he caught. He presented over a hundred officials, great and small, to the Emperor, all demanding execution! But in the end? Did the Emperor not have to handle the matter with discretion, grading the officials by degrees of corruption, treating the minor offenders as upright?

Ji Xiaolan’s approach could indeed deter the black hearts of corrupt officials across the land, but if he had truly followed through, the administration of Gansu above the prefecture level would have been wiped clean. Yet, someone had to fill those vacancies! Who could guarantee that the newcomers would not be greedy scoundrels? Those just executed were the fat ducks; the new arrivals were empty-bellied ducks. On what would they feed to fatten themselves? Would it not be by consuming the people? If one were to bring in a new pack of wolves to serve the country and the people, there would have to be some sort of justification!

Zhang Jingzhai, quick-witted, clapped his hands and said, "Old Uncle, you and I are both men of office. Our hearts and minds should be focused solely on the Emperor; what talk of relatives is this? Have you forgotten the cautionary tale of Liu Ji?"