The Naive and Senile

"That is impossible!"

Chamberlain Zhu Xi's voice echoed powerfully through the grand hall of the university's main administrative building, startling the birds that had dared to settle upon the intricate archways.

Following the exhaustive Keju examination, a gathering of celebrated scholars and renowned professors has taken place, joined by influential city officials and dignitaries from the Upper Ring. Among this prestigious assembled stood the likes of astrologist Shi Shen, as well as Ba Sing Se's grand Earth Sage Zhu Xi. Representing the highest echelons, select ministers have convened to undertake the lengthy and painstaking process of reviewing each of this year's eight-legged essays.

Their mission is to evaluate the hundreds of essays submitted by hopeful candidates, all striving for the esteemed title of Jinshi, a rank granted only to those who pass the rigorous civil service examination. But only a select few will be deemed worthy, for these chosen candidates must demonstrate an extraordinary command of philosophy, history, and the art of calligraphy. All of which are far beyond the reach of the average scholar. The process is merciless, disregarding both the years of sacrifice and the dreams pinned to this endeavor by countless aspirants, some of whom have staked their livelihoods on achieving this honor.

To safeguard impartiality and combat any hint of corruption, a strict, multi-tiered evaluation system has been employed. All essays are assessed anonymously, with examiners scrutinizing them solely for their content and calligraphic elegance. Until recently, it was customary for the Earth King himself to partake in this assessment, lending his judgment alongside that of the gathered literati.

The task, however, is arduous. A mountain of disregarded parchments grows by the hour, heaped unceremoniously on one side of the hall. Even with the combined scrutiny of over fifty distinguished scholars, including Ba Sing Se's revered Earth Sages, the selection process remains unforgivingly slow, each essay weighed and measured, few deemed worthy of advancement.

Days of meticulous selection wore on. Among the examiners, spirited debates, polite disagreements, and even discussions on the suspected moral character of the anonymous writers ensued. Many had little doubt that the renowned Lady Te Gaogui, the acclaimed beauty possessing both wit and rare talent, would secure the highest rank. Yet, disagreements over the chosen candidates remained fierce. There was no room for error, as each successful candidate stood on the threshold of official appointment, poised to shape Ba Sing Se's administration and perhaps chart a new course for this unsettled realm.

At last, the examiners reached a decision, settling on the top three essays deemed most exemplary. Each brought a unique perspective on governance, with the examiners articulating their reasons for selection. The Earth Sages championed morality, advocating for a benevolent rule inspired by the Analects. While Professor Shi Shen praised scholarly rigor, comparing elegant calligraphy to a constellation expertly charted. The remaining officials focused on law, security, and the practicalities of statecraft.

Initially, the examiners felt content with their selections, confident in the fairness of the blind grading. Yet, when the officials overseeing the Keju examination cross-referenced the identification numbers of each chosen essay, their satisfaction quickly dissolved into shock and dismay. The one most visibly affronted was Zhu Xi, Ba Sing Se's leading Earth Sage.

Since the days of Avatar Kyoshi, Ba Sing Se and Omashu have harbored a quiet but persistent rivalry, particularly in the realm of scholarly achievements. Queen Guo Xun of Omashu has long elevated the wisdom of Earth Sages, attracting hermits and scholars alike to her city. To this day, remnants of that competition persist. In an era fractured by wars between independent states, the notion of open conflict between Ba Sing Se and Omashu is no longer beyond imagination. Though such an outcome remains improbable, the two cities maintain their rivalry through scholarly contests, driven by the pride of Earth Sages from both states.

In Ba Sing Se, the esteemed White Deer Grotto Academy stands as the pinnacle of learning, presided over by Grand Earth Sage Zhu Xi. This venerable institution surpasses even the city's own university in exclusivity, renowned for over eight centuries of instruction in ancient ceremonies and rituals. Yet, for all its prestige, it remains overshadowed by Omashu's illustrious Jixia Academy. The latter being a scholarly powerhouse supported by royal patronage and tracing its history back to the days before the Earth Kingdom was unified under a single dynasty. Omashu, it appears, holds a marginal yet undeniable advantage in attracting the Earth Kingdom's most influential sages. a legacy of the queen's prudent rulership.

Determined to restore Ba Sing Se's legacy and correct the long-standing errors of Earth King Jia Lun, whose policies diminished the influence of Ba Sing Se's Earth Sages, Zhu Xi has committed himself to elevating the Analects to the heart of city governance. His mission aims to instill the tenets of sagely virtue and benevolent rulership at every level of administration.

But harsh reality seldom spares the idealist. Despite years of teaching sagely virtues, none of Zhu Xi's students has succeeded in this year's civil service examination. To add insult to injury, one of the top three candidates, a man whose reputation is as unsavory as it is notorious, has ascended to a place of honor. The grading, impartial and anonymous, revealed its uncomfortable truth only once the results are finalized, much to the Earth Sage's horror.

Shi Shen, the head of astrology, held aloft a parchment belonging to this controversial third-place graduate. In it, the essay extolled the importance of affection for the common people, advocating for a reign of leniency. The writer argued that a ruler who forgoes burdensome taxes and abstains from time-wasting projects can win the loyalty of the masses through the state's absence in their lives, a philosophy verging on libertine.

Ironically, Zhu Xi himself had praised this essay's author, admired its sage-like qualities and even compared it to the writings of ancient Earth Kings who were beloved by their people. But as the identity of the chosen scholars was unveiled, the rigid Earth Sage was struck with mortification, unable to believe the true author of what he had hailed as a masterpiece.

Claiming third place in this year's civil service examination and earning the esteemed title of Tanhua was none other than Ximen Qing, heir to the Upper Ring's Ximen clan.

The revelation felt like a slap across the face to every Earth Sage involved in the grading process. These self-professed wisemen, champions of sagely morality, had unwittingly elevated the most notorious scoundrel of the city solely on the merits of his sagacious writing. Ximen Qing, infamous for his debauchery and flagrant disregard for moral decency, stood as the antithesis of everything they taught. His record is littered with transgressions. From serial philandering to shattering family harmony, he epitomized the very vices that the moralists sought to purge from society. And though Ba Sing Se's Earth Sages had offered their teachings to the heirs of prominent clans, the Ximen family had rebuffed every overture.

"We must remedy this disgrace!" Zhu Xi demanded sharply. "This boy is nothing but a charlatan, twisting the wisdom of the Analects to serve his own lust. Burn this parchment. No Earth King of the past would bestow honors upon a character so morally bankrupt!"

"Yet that is not the rule of our current by-law," countered a minister serving under the Chamberlain of Law Enforcement. "The code punishes treason against the state, but not acts such as infidelity or lechery. The young master of the Ximen clan has earned his third-place ranking by the standards set by the city."

Half of the examiners met this response with strained calm, but a palpable sense of dismay rippled through the other half, their expressions mirroring Zhu Xi's revulsion. For the sages, it was unthinkable that a man with such sordid tendencies could possess both talent and cunning. In most societies, such wanton promiscuity is deemed contemptible. Regardless of creed, social station, or philosophy, those who pursue such depravity are rightly met with disdain.

Yet, Ximen Qing is no ordinary rake. As heir to a powerful family, the Ximen scion enjoys a life of sumptuous excess and the impunity that wealth and influence afford. But worse than his indulgences are the flagrant lack of shame.

"Of all the people to rank among the top three, it had to be him?" Shi Shen struggled to suppress his frustration, regretting the blind grading system that allowed this unprincipled man to advance unchecked. Though the Keju is considered the hardest examination in the world, it does not discriminate against society's most objectionable figures, even those who flaunt their infidelities. Ximen Qing might be despised throughout Ba Sing Se, from the agrarian outskirts to the Upper Ring, yet none could deny his intellectual acumen.

An elderly professor sighed wearily, defeated by the relentless follies of youth. "I thought he was too preoccupied, seducing the wives and daughters of honest men. But who could have foreseen that fortune would smile upon him here as well?"

As with all the spoiled scions of wealth, Ximen Qing are lavished with fine food, silken robes and other indulgences of privilege. Yet even in the highest echelons of society, there are unwritten rules about such shameless womanizing. His infamous preference for married women, especially those who shared harmonious lives with their husbands, had earned him a reputation beyond reproach. Some argued that the recent restrictions on legal concubinage had forced him to pursue such desires through loopholes, while others asserted that such laws had never hindered him in the slightest. Nonetheless, his scholarship and clever maneuvering did well to shield his degeneracy.

"We have sorely underestimated him," Shi Shen conceded with a resigned sigh, rolling up the parchment before any impassioned colleague could hurl it into the flames. "Could we not simply swap him out? What about young Master Pan Yue? His essay ranks fourth, and he is a poet admired by many women in this city. Yet he has remained faithful, a trait worthy of emulation. Surely such integrity deserves higher recognition?"

In previous dynasties, the assembled scholars might have quietly arranged a solution under the discerning eye of an Earth King. But in this era, they are bound by the constraints of law and propriety, unable to indulge such tempting notions. Pan Yue, the young scholar who had ranked just below Ximen Qing, is revered as a paragon of virtue, a man of remarkable talent and solemn devotion. Not only was he a gifted poet, but his handsomeness is said to rival the celebrated beauty of Lady Te Gaogui herself. Some even dared whisper that Pan's features is the more striking of the two.

Yet for the people, his greatest quality lay not in his talent or his looks. It was the unwavering fidelity to a late wife, whom he honored with at least three poems extolling her memory.

After all, she was long dead.

As the room full of examiners continued their deliberations, the city's legal officials reminded them of the binding legal framework, one that dictated that a candidate's moral background should not affect their eligibility for public office. The words struck a painful chord. Past dynasties had long celebrated stories of virtuous peasants who through sheer diligence, had risen to prominence in the civil service. Such individuals became pillars of the Earth Kingdom, bringing reform and prosperity. Yet here, despite the ostensibly meritocratic system, it seemed there remained loopholes, ones wide enough to let in spoiled heirs alongside men of genuine substance.

Seeking to dispel their mounting disappointment, the examiners turned their attention to the essay submitted by Te Gaogui. Known as much for keen intellect as for the striking beauty, Lady Te had written with precision, and all the Earth Sages nodded in tacit approval as Shi Shen reviewed her work. Her essay struck every note of propriety, reflecting the values held dear by the Analects. She even deftly invoked the 'Three Obediences and Four Virtues' and elaborated on the tragic outcomes of past 'female tyrants' who had supposedly defied their roles, underscoring the notion of harmonious family structure and royal court. All of which are concepts the sages found deeply resonant. The parchment lastly included a stirring call for benevolent rulership in times of crisis, aligning her words with the Analects' teachings on compassionate governance.

"At least someone has demonstrated some normality," Zhu Xi remarked, casting a brief and mundane glance at her parchment before setting it carelessly aside.

Although Lady Te's work displayed exceptional intelligence, the Earth Sages themselves showed only faint enthusiasm. After all, the traditional view expects women from noble households to be married off, not to occupy roles within the state bureaucracy. Still, a few legal-minded officials leaned closer, one even picking up Lady Te's parchment to study her arguments in more depth.

Under the system of blind grading, her eight-legged essay naturally claimed the top three ranking. She received the prestigious title of Bangyan. Second place.

"Hold it!" cried one of the elderly Earth Sages, his voice sharp. "It is already an affront to virtue that we allow a scoundrel to ascend so high in the examination ranks. Must we now entertain rebellion against the teachings of the Analects as well?"

The ire of the elder Sage is directed at the identity of the highest-ranking graduate, the Zhuangyuan. This scholar had penned an essay that left an indelible mark on every examiner present. His grasp of philosophy, poetry, and the art of calligraphy was unparalleled, writing treatise on Earth Kingdom governance so nuanced and precise that it surpassed the understanding of most seasoned examiners. The essay did not merely suggest policy but laid out a masterful vision, a blueprint for a kingdom torn asunder by conflict. It moved even the stoic officials present.

While many scholars were captivated by the Zhuangyuan's nuanced grasp of governance and human nature, not everyone shared their enthusiasm. Defenders of sagely wisdom did not resonate with certain aspects of the essay. Social reforms and the question of national unity has always been thorny subjects for the Earth Sages, who felt the young author's vision is too bold for a kingdom steeped in tradition. Some of them even vehemently rejected the essay's implications, calling it an even greater transgression than overlooking Ximen Qing's notorious delinquencies.

"Lady Te Gaogui exemplifies virtues as prescribed by the Analects," declared one indignant moralist. "But how can we elevate a servant of tyranny to the topmost rank when he openly disregards the teachings of the first Earth Sage?"

Despite its unchallenged elegance and masterful discourse, the aspirant put forth ideas that unnerved the Earth Sages. The writing advocates for a centralized, unyielding administration. Initially confusing it as loyalty to sage-like rulers, some wisemen here now interpret this as nothing less than a veiled endorsement of despotism, a radical departure from the championing of benevolent rule instilled by the first Earth Sage.

"Such arrogance," Zhu Xi muttered. "These youth, so quick to bind themselves as mere servants to tyrannical kings. Without benevolence and virtue, how can righteous courtiers and loyal nobles govern the realm for the sovereign?"

"Understanding a pile of books written by an old man is not the only path to wise governance," one official interjected, a slight smile creasing his face. "Unlike Omashu, Ba Sing Se has no decree forbidding the exploration of diverse philosophies, provided they don't disrupt state order. The sagely tradition often speaks to the exalted nature of merit, but it seems convenient when that so-called merit aligns with the ideal of aristocratic eloquence rather than pragmatic service." He paused, gaze fixed on Zhu Xi. "And as for your excellency, how is it that not one of your students from the White Deer Grotto Academy managed to pass this year's civil service examination?"

"You!" The Earth Sage's expression darkened, but recalling the virtues of restraint preached in the Analects, he stifled any further outburst, choosing silence over an undignified response.

"There are also no strictures against unconventional essay content," the official continued, maintaining an air of unruffled composure. "In the days when the Earth Kingdom was a patchwork of quarreling states, philosophies of every school mingled freely, and the civil service examinations is intended to identify talent capable of serving the state. The strongest of those warring entities chose to employ courtiers who offer practical solutions rather than moralists who waste time to explain why the world should imitate the delusions of a naive old man. And before you lecture me on loyalty to despots, may I remind you that some students of sages willingly served the likes of Chin. Even sagely virtues have their limits when applied to human nature."

Zhu Xi glared in frustrated silence. As the grand Earth Sage of Ba Sing Se, he had long fought to elevate his city as the premier destination for sagely scholarship, rivaling Omashu's prestige. Yet his efforts had not borne the recognition he felt was due. For centuries, the Earth Sages had advised rulers, guiding and tempering their authority, but they had never ruled. Their counsel, objections, and pleas for virtue often hung in the balance, subject to the whim of monarchs. Should they displease, the swift blade of the executioner will answer.

"Hmm, it is quite a surprise," astrologist Shi Shen remarked contemplatively. "Te Gaogui of the Te clan was expected to be the brightest young mind in the city. Who would have thought she'd be outmatched by…"

"By a commoner from the agrarian zone?" another voice interjected, unwittingly stirring the underlying resentment among the room of scholars and teachers. The title of Zhuangyuan stood above even the most esteemed scholars, and having someone from humble origins earn it inevitably led many to question their own stature. "Remember, anyone can be a Zhuangyuan if they work hard enough. But I found this gentleman's eight-legged essay still to be rather problematic. Granted, it is at least commendable he didn't mask his true thoughts. Unlike the other two."

Although legal officials from the Upper Ring are less inclined to pass judgment, a number of the Earth Sages voiced their discontent. To them, the Zhuangyuan's essay, while skillfully written, strayed perilously close to a tyrannical philosophy that dismissed their cherished values of benevolent rulership.

In ancient times, this continent had flourished with a sea of philosophies vying for the favor of sovereigns. While the mainstream sagely tradition had ultimately become intrinsic to the culture, other schools of thought had once held sway in the realm. Some argued that rulers should toil as the peasants do, immersed in the labor of the fields to understand their subjects' hardships. Others advocated for a ruler entirely removed from the court's intrigues, detached from worldly affairs and cease wrestling with the natural force of the universe.

Yet, of all competing philosophies, none challenged the Earth Sages so deeply as the ideals of legalism.

This austere philosophy is steeped in cynicism, advising rulers to regard all as potential threats, even their own kin. For generations, the sages had denounced it as antithetical to the values of family and virtuous governance. Though the sagely tradition remained deeply rooted in Earth Kingdom society, dominating most royal courts today, they sensed a troubling shift with the appointment of this Zhuangyuan.

Despite their protests, the scholar who surpassed the prestigious Te Gaogui held his position unchallenged. Most professors, officials, and scholars endorsed his rank, much to the consternation of Zhu Xi.

"Well then, it appears the decision is made," a poet instructor sighed, glancing around the weary faces. Days spent in confined quarters, wading through parchment after parchment, had left everyone drained. "Shall we begin preparations for the graduation ceremony?"

Shi Shen nodded, his face darkening. "The patriarch of Zigan will certainly attend. I doubt he'll be pleased that his child didn't place first."

Unbeknownst to the public, the distinction between Zhuangyuan and second place is immense. Historically, the Zhuangyuan often rose to become powerful ministers who stand close to the monarch, while the Bangyan typically held posts as regional magistrates. Though both roles would be appealing to the commoner, the aristocracy naturally aimed for the highest distinction. And now that Ba Sing Se no longer governed its former provinces beyond its might walls, Lady Te's opportunity is severely curtailed.

"We should keep our distance from the Te family, just in case," a professor cautioned further, which is received with mutual nodding.

The upcoming Keju graduation ceremony would be a grand affair, attended by top officials and military leaders who sought to familiarize themselves with the new cohort of bureaucrats. Prominent families would also be present, though recent policy changes had rendered most their attendance as mere ceremonial, adding more colors to the background.

As for the top graduating scholars:

Third Place, Tanhua – Ximen Qing, the infamous philanderer. Son of a high-ranking admiral and heir to the wealthy Ximen family. Notorious for indulgences and shameless pursuits. Despite the disrepute, he achieved this rank, a feat that few thought possible. If he can redirect the energies toward serving the state, perhaps this reputation for voracity may yet be channeled constructively.

Second Place, Bangyan – Lady Te Gaogui, the peerless beauty of the northern Earth Kingdom. Elegant and refined, she embodies the pinnacle of high culture and scholarly achievement. In a garden of blooming flowers, her grace shines brightest. Should the Te patriarch ever consent to her holding office, Lady Te would surely be a benevolent and wise magistrate.

First Place, Zhuangyuan – A common scholar, earning money by selling drawings and paper with ink.

...

Satchiko's brush wavered, making her script akin to a series of unsteady lines rather than a graceful passage about a king's quiet patience. Her mind wandered as she scratched out the tale of an ancient ruler, who according to legend, stood waiting as an old hermit fished for hours, perhaps with no intention of catching anything at all. Inside the restaurant kitchen, her sister hacked through a mountain of cabbages, while the rest of the staff scurried to prep for the dinner rush, filling the air with the savory perfume of seasoned meats and rich sauces. In this lull between lunch and dinner, the owner had graciously allowed Satchiko to study here, though her brushstrokes barely improved despite the hours spent with Zhu Xi's dense teachings.

The struggle of academia is no stranger to Satchiko, whose heart beat not for ink and paper but for the sturdy metal fan of a warrior. Yet in moments like these, as the warmth of sizzling oil and spiced broth wafted, the pain was soothed, if only slightly. Still, the lofty ideals of the Earth Sages felt alien and pedantic, filling her head with abstractions too hard to pin down. This is troubling, since her preference has also favor kind rulers over tyrants.

"Still wrangling with what that Earth Sage is going on about?" head chef Hu Sihui's voice cut in with a hint of amusement, though his hands were occupied refilling a heavy pot of hoisin sauce, wasting not one ounce of movement. "I'd love to know what those silk-robed sages have to say that takes so much wrangling."

Satchiko attempted to summarize Zhu Xi's latest lecture on family virtues, comparing the ruler's role over his subjects to the head of a family nurturing his kin. The chef only snorted, finding the philosophy overly idealistic.

"When I served in the royal kitchens," Hu Sihui began with pride and lingering frustration. "My dying master taught me the culinary arts that spanned ten dynasties before us. I worked diligently to ensure that the throne can enjoy the greatest dishes that the world have ever seen. Sure, the queen dowager was demanding, but at least she found my work edible enough to be eaten. But where were those so-called benevolence when that effeminate child replaced me with a fop from the west? The newcomer seems to enjoy cooking dishes that are neither appetizing nor pleasant in appearance, even have the audacity to prepare the food into bits to the size of mouse teeth. No self-respecting chef should tolerate that. At least cooking in here, I can do what that child king cannot, make the locals happy."

Satchiko watched as Hu Sihui's cleaver came down hard on a thick slab of meat, almost breaking the chopping board. She felt a bead of sweat trace her temple, grateful that Akahana didn't demonstrate such simmering ire.

"Well, it's good that the common folk get to enjoy your craft, Chef Hu," she offered with a hopeful smile. "People love the food here."

The chef's expression softened, but he sighed while ladling chicken broth into a pot simmering nearby. Although he knew the regulars adored the cooking, it is still a stain that those he originally served never harbor such keen judgement. He chuckled, a low sound laced with irony, musing aloud about monarchs born into a life of privilege. Those above the masses have all the power to shape the world itself yet possess so little understanding of those they ruled.

Just then, the lively kitchen fell quiet as a figure entered the hall, heavy footsteps echoing against the stone floor. A royal guard had arrived, a full suit of brigandine armor gleaming beneath green satin that bore the colors of Ba Sing Se. He surveyed the room, gaze keen and unyielding, as if seeking something beyond the ordinary bustle of the kitchen. The scent of broth and spices was suddenly undercut by the tense stillness his presence cast.

The head chef's face lit up as he recognized the armored figure. "Captain Giyesu! Long time no see!" Hu Sihui greeted with a hearty smile, wiping hands on a cloth as he stepped forward.

As the two exchanged pleasantries, Satchiko leaned over to the barmaid. "Who's he?"

The barmaid lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "They say he's a distant cousin of King Wu himself. Some even think he's secretly Prince Kang, which would make him eligible for the throne! Although, he is the opposite of that flimsy puppet who spends his days singing." She let those words trail off, darting glances around to ensure no one overheard.

Their conversation drew the attention of the elderly Jin, who emerged from the kitchen just as Captain Giyesu unfolded a parchment. The latter cleared his throat, projecting his voice through the bustling kitchen. "By the orders of His Excellency, Grandma Jin and her brigade of cooks are hereby invited to cater this year's civil service exam graduation. Your services will be handsomely compensated by the state." He closed rolled up the parchment soon after speaking, presenting it to the eatery's owner.

Jin's eyes sparkled with satisfaction as she accepted the parchment. "We would be remiss to pass up such an opportunity. It's not the first time we've stepped into the Upper Ring, after all."

Her restaurant is no stranger to high honors, having catered everything from noble weddings to celebrations for the birth of heirs. For Jin, it was the deserved recognition of years spent mastering the culinary arts. The eatery's famed braised Ba Sing Se duck is widely considered the best in the city, and some dared to claim the world too.

Satchiko walked to the kitchen entrance. "Did you hear, Mayumi? You are going to the royal palace. I thought you always wanted to see more of the world outside the island."

"Of course," Mayumi replied, wiping her forehead with a weary smile while chopping cabbages. Perhaps she is simply too tired to care at all.

Around them, the kitchen hummed with energy. Even the waitresses are already murmuring about the silk garments they might wear for the occasion. But not everyone shared their enthusiasm. The youngest chef, an assistant busy extracting meat from a pot of simmering stock, scratched his head in bewilderment. "Why are you ladies so keen on expensive dresses? Aren't they just overpriced fabric? It's like handbags, which are glorified backpacks meant to scam you out of good coin."

Mayumi chuckled, explaining she personally has no interest in the typical accessories. She then delegated the question to the barmaid, who expended herculean effort to quell the young chef's skepticism. Apparently, there is storied importance of a handbag, expounding on how its utility is tied to everything from a lady's sense of self, even associating it to the rise and fall of empires that dictated countless dynastic struggles.

"Oh," the young chef interrupted as the speech wrapped up. "So it's useless."