Chapter 359: Welcoming Mathematics into the Imperial Examination System |
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Yan Linghui hadn’t spoken those words lightly.
She had seriously considered why, out of the six classical arts of a Confucian gentleman, only the subject of “Shu” (mathematics) should be reinstated into the imperial exams, rather than restoring all six in full.
The common people were desperately poor, while the gentry were extremely wealthy. For the impoverished, just sending a child to study already consumed all of the family’s savings and energy. They simply couldn’t afford to buy horses and carriages, or learn music, archery…
If the six arts were reinstated in full, children of commoners would stand no chance against the sons of the gentry and the wealthy.
Though her words had finished, the room was plunged into an eerie silence.
Princess Consort Yan Chun, upon hearing his daughter say such things, could hardly stay still—she wanted to step forward and smooth things over for her.
‘Silly girl! The court officials aren’t fools. Do you know why no one has dared to step forward these past one or two months and ask His Majesty to reform the imperial exams and reinstate mathematics?’
The Crown Prince couldn’t just stand by and watch his brother-in-law step on a landmine—especially since the latter had just recently made it onto the emperor’s bad side for stirring up anxiety over state matters. If he stepped forward now, he’d be walking straight into His Majesty’s line of fire!
So the Crown Prince stepped out first, moving closer to his father.
“Your Majesty! I believe the child’s proposal is feasible. In fact, I believe that adding a math section will not hinder the average student from continuing to study the Four Books and Five Classics.”
Yan Linghui blinked in surprise.
She was indeed clever by nature, but she was still very young and inexperienced in the ways of the world. Right now, she could vaguely sense that the Crown Prince’s words carried a hidden meaning—as though he were helping her out—but she still couldn’t figure out exactly what was wrong with her proposal.
But that was fine.
Yan Linghui’s expression remained calm and open.
She had a father! She could always go back and ask him!
Princess Consort Yan Chun, however, quietly drew back her step and lowered her gaze, hiding the gratitude in her eyes.
Her daughter was still too young to understand, but she did.
—Removing the six classical arts from the imperial exam system had been silently endorsed by emperors across dynasties.
Emperors had never feared the proliferation of private academies among the populace. In fact, they were probably the ones who most wished for every citizen to be able to read and write. That’s because they had a full and complete system of indoctrination—embedded in the Confucian classics and historical texts.
The more people read, the more easily they were instilled with loyalty to the emperor and love for the nation.
In contrast, those who read little or not at all were the ones who, when faced with injustice or oppression, would cry out: “Why can’t a commoner become a general or a noble?” Most scholars, however, would reason: “The emperor is good—it’s the treacherous ministers who are to blame. If we eliminate them, the country will thrive again.”
So emperors were eager for people to read books.
But only books. Not to waste time on the six arts of the gentleman. There were only twelve hours in a day—after subtracting time for daily living, the hours left for reading were already few. If those had to be split further to study music, archery, and the like, the effectiveness of indoctrination would drop drastically. That was absolutely unacceptable!
—That was the true policy of “keeping the people ignorant” in the emperor’s eyes.
And for Yan Linghui to propose reintroducing mathematics into the imperial exams—was like plucking a tiger’s whiskers.
Fortunately, the Crown Prince—this middle-aged tiger—had stepped forward in support.
“Your Majesty, this minister once tackled such a math problem.”
The Crown Prince’s posture was relaxed, the corners of his lips lifted slightly. His calm demeanor filled the entire room with his confidence.
—He was confident that even if scholars had slightly less time to be steeped in loyalty and patriotism, he could still maintain control.
“After the floods in Jiangxi, many farmlands were destroyed. Among them, 4,000 qing of land had private owners, and 1,000 qing were newly silted land.”
“The government decreed that land with owners would be sold back at five strings of cash per mu, while the newly formed land would cost ten strings per mu. It was stated that if repurchased before the dike was completed, a 10% discount would be applied. After the dike’s completion, the full price would be charged.”
—The old emperor had known that when a natural disaster struck, people would be forced to sell their land at dirt-cheap prices just to survive. So, a policy was enacted: during times of disaster, the government would buy up the land, and within a certain timeframe, sellers would be allowed to repurchase it at the original price. Or, the government would sell it cheaply to others. This was called the “land redemption price.”
“So then—if you were the Provincial Governor of Jiangxi, and rice in the neighboring province cost forty cash per dou, how much redemption money would you need to buy enough food for Jiangxi’s 5,476,259 disaster victims?”
“Among them, 4,056,812 were adult men, 1,014,204 were women, and 405,243 were the elderly or children. Each adult was to receive half a sheng of rice daily, for four months. The elderly and children received half that amount, for five months.”
“The dike would take at least three months, up to five, to complete. So let’s say five.”
The Crown Prince stood tall and spoke in one continuous breath.
And it had to be spoken that way.
In the twelfth year of Tiantong, spring turned to summer, and heavy rain flooded Jiangxi. The Gan River overflowed. Ganzhou, Ji’an, Linjiang, Ruizhou, Guangxin, Fuzhou, Nanchang, Jiujiang, and Nankang were submerged under floodwaters the likes of which had not been seen for decades—thousands of li turned to ocean.
Crown Prince Gao Xian personally led the disaster relief.
Before the floods, Jiangxi had a population of over 9.12 million. After the floods, 3.65 million people perished, and over 5 million were left as refugees.
The figures he cited came from that very disaster.
And what he hated most—what he could never forget—was this:
“Your Majesty, in the twelfth year of Tiantong, Jiangxi’s Provincial Governor, Zeng Baocheng, though deeply concerned for the people, lacked mathematical knowledge. He personally verified grain numbers and headcounts, inspecting with diligence: how many households in the disaster area, how many acres of land destroyed, how many homes ruined, how many people drowned—all were tallied by his own feet and eyes.”
“But he didn’t understand arithmetic. He only looked at final totals. The purchasing and distribution of relief grain was all left to low-ranking officials.”
“The grain was indeed distributed, under Governor Zeng’s strict supervision, to every last disaster victim—there was no embezzlement.”
“But—when the grain was first purchased, the money didn’t match the quantity needed. There wasn’t enough grain. By the time they went to buy more, prices had risen—to eighty cash per dou. The imperial grain hadn’t arrived yet.”
“As a result, sixteen or seventeen out of every hundred starved to death.”
Those victims hadn’t died in the floods. They hadn’t been failed by idle or corrupt officials. They had died because the province’s highest-ranking official didn’t know math—had never calculated how much grain each victim would need—nor had he detected that subordinates had skimmed funds, leading to a severe shortfall in the first grain purchase.
What kind of absurdity was this?
What kind of laughable, surreal, cruel twist of fate was this?
“Who is to blame for this?”
“Is it the governor, for not being good at math and failing to calculate the needs ahead of time? The corrupt officials who skimmed funds? Or is it the imperial court—for neglecting the value of mathematics and relying solely on an official’s conscience?!”
The Crown Prince had always thought he had moved past it. But today he realized—some things don’t get forgotten. They’re just buried, waiting to rise again.
His voice suddenly rose, almost piercing the heavens—enough to make one’s hair stand on end.
Eastern Palace.
In the crown prince’s study, the Fifth Imperial Grandson, Gao Yao, was rummaging around. “Strange, I remember the travel notes Father was reading should be here.”
He had already searched every spot within his reach. The young prince, who was the same age as Bing Yan, dragged over the ladder in the study and leaned it against the bookshelf, climbing up with great focus.
The ladder creaked and thumped against the floor as he ascended.
“Found it!”
The little prince quickly stuffed the travel notes he wanted into his arms. After a moment’s thought, he grabbed a few more books nearby to read together.
Clamping the books under one arm, and holding the ladder with the other, he cautiously began climbing down.
“Hey!”
“Hey hey hey hey!”
The child’s foot slipped on the ladder. The books in his hand immediately fell, and he flailed, hands grabbing wildly. Luckily, he managed to catch the crossbar in time and regained his footing. The ladder wobbled slightly outward, then slammed back against the bookshelf with a bang.
Thud—
It sounded like something had hit the floor.
Gao Yao looked down. It was a box. He vaguely remembered brushing something down while flailing earlier.
The lock had broken open from the fall, and papers filled with inked characters fluttered into the air and scattered all over the ground.
From outside the door came an anxious cry from a palace servant: “Young Master, did you fall?!”
“I’m fine! Don’t come in!”
The little prince shouted back. After confirming no one would enter, he climbed down the ladder. When only two or three steps remained, he jumped directly onto the floor. He dusted off his robe, then bent down to gather the papers.
“Huh…”
Gao Yao was instinctively drawn to the content. “Father wrote this… ‘How to assist and guide the people’?”
He picked up another: “Civil service examination reform?”
Another one: “How to take power from the aristocrats without mutual destruction?”
“And more…”
As far back as Gao Yao could remember, he’d never seen his father take an interest in state affairs. He only attended court once every ten days or so. Sometimes, when the weather was cold, he wouldn’t go for two straight months.
He had heard palace servants whisper that his father was too careless and unfit to shoulder the responsibilities of a crown prince.
He had seen his father complain about Grandfather being too strict, or gripe about being forced to review memorials instead of going out to enjoy the festivities.
He had even accidentally witnessed his father trying to convince the Emperor to appoint a new crown prince.
His father was sincere. He truly seemed unwilling to be the crown prince.
So why had he written all these things?
Gao Yao sat cross-legged and read the papers one by one, falling into a daze after each. Only when his legs went numb did he come back to his senses, stood up and walked around until the numbness faded, then sat back down to continue reading. Again and again, caught in a cycle he didn’t even realize was repeating.
He only vaguely sensed that his father might be about to return from court, so he quickly tidied the study, restored everything to its original state, and hurriedly slipped away.
Court.
After the Crown Prince finished what he wanted to say, he fell silent.
The other ministers said nothing. The child prodigy examinees said nothing. Even the young Princess Yan, who had proposed incorporating mathematics into the civil service exam, said nothing.
The old Emperor spoke calmly: “As for the matter of examination reform, the Crown Prince shall write a memorial and submit it.”
The Crown Prince bowed. “As you command.”
The Emperor then listened to the other child prodigies’ ideas on reforming the rigid examination system. He selected a few worthwhile suggestions. Although the rest were not adopted, the Ministry of Personnel still recorded their names, and they would be summoned to serve the court upon reaching adulthood.
“Court dismissed!”
Elsewhere, the Princess consort saw her daughter looking listless. Once they reached a quiet spot, she scooped the girl up and asked, “What’s wrong? Not happy?”
Yan Linghui leaned her head against her father’s arm and mumbled, “I lost this time.”
“Hm?” The Princess Consort was puzzled. “When did you lose? Didn’t His Majesty accept your proposal and allow you into the Hanlin Academy?”
Yan Linghui said, “That’s different. He made a suggestion and got in without needing anyone to speak for him. I made a suggestion, and Uncle had to step in to support me. Doesn’t that mean I lost?”
The Princess Consort ruffled her daughter’s hair, amused. “There’s no winning or losing in this. His Majesty asked for suggestions. Yours was to add arithmetic to the exams to promote mental agility. You didn’t know it was a taboo topic. Your uncle did speak up to protect you, but it was also because your suggestion had merit. He just didn’t want a good idea to be discarded over a taboo. Once you become an official, you’ll understand—any policy, once proposed and deemed viable, will attract others to support it, to bolster it and fix its flaws. Officials are never lone wolves.”
Yan Linghui drooped her head and said nothing.
Grown-ups have their logic, but children have their own. In her heart, she still felt like she lost.
But…
Next time, she’d win it back!
Yan Linghui pushed on her father’s arm. “Dad! Put me down. I’m not leaving the palace yet! I’m going to the Royal Library to study!”
The little girl jumped to the ground and ran toward the Royal Library. When she arrived, she found that the rival who had beaten her twice and lost once was already there—carrying a full box of books, writing materials, and even an abacus. He had beaten her there, chosen a desk far from the entrance and close to a window, and was already working on math.
“Drat!”
Yan Linghui’s eyes sharpened. She quickly selected the math books she wanted, rushed to another desk, half annoyed, half impressed—
He’s actually working that hard? Then I’ll work even harder!
She had already mastered square root extraction (solving quadratic roots), cube root extraction (solving cubic roots), flat circle extraction (given a circle’s area, find its circumference), solid circle extraction (given a sphere’s volume, find its diameter), and fractional root extraction (finding the root of a fraction).
Today, she would not go home until she thoroughly conquered tripling progressive root extraction (quartic equations), interval sum method (high-level arithmetic series summation), and arc method (finding the arc length of a segment of a circle)!
Elsewhere.
The Princess Consort, unaware of her daughter’s newfound resolve, was on her way out of the palace. Snow had begun to fall—lighter than willow fluff, heavier than frost.
She stepped slowly across the ground, thinking that by noon, the snow-covered earth would crunch beneath her feet.
Suddenly, she heard voices ahead. Rounding a corner, she saw palace servants standing on tiptoe to help the Crown Prince into a warm, fluffy fox-fur cloak over his golden, dragon-embroidered red robe.
Another servant tucked a hand warmer into the Crown Prince’s arms.
He was holding a bowl of medicine freshly poured from a small earthen pot, drinking it down in gulps. Mid-drink, he choked and began coughing.
A servant hurriedly handed him a handkerchief. The Crown Prince, seemingly used to this, took it and covered his mouth, coughing for a while before continuing to drink the dark, bitter liquid without so much as blinking.
The Princess Consort suddenly remembered something the Princess had once told her—
This younger brother of hers was born weak, with a cold constitution. Each winter it worsened, and the discarded dregs from his medicine could fill basket after basket.
…That’s why he loved eating pickled vegetables and dried cured meats—to dilute the lingering taste of medicine.
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