Chapter 2: Prince Linchuan, An Shi

Prince Linchuan Wang Anshi?
Isn't this the renowned upright official from later generations, the famous Northern Song prime minister who led the reform movement?
No, this is the first month of the second year of the Qingli era. Wang Anshi only just passed the imperial examination this year and started his official career. At this time, he should be, like himself, a scholar in Bianjing preparing for the provincial exam.

The imperial examination system of the Northern Song differed greatly from the worn-out system of the Ming and Qing dynasties. The difficulty of participating in the provincial exam was not that great.
To qualify for the provincial exam, one only needed to pass the prefectural exam, gaining the status of a junior scholar eligible to take the provincial test in Bianjing.
Scholars studying in Bianjing could also obtain junior scholar status by passing the Imperial Academy’s exams, which was often even easier than the regional exams.
Therefore, junior scholars varied widely in ability. There were true talents like Wang Anshi, and also mediocrities like Su Ze.

In the Northern Song, being a junior scholar was not very valuable, and sometimes even holding the title of jinshi (advanced scholar) was of little worth. After passing the jinshi exam, one had to wait for an official position to become vacant before taking office. This was unlike the Ming and Qing, where passing the provincial exam could open the door to officialdom.

Why did Wang Anshi seek him out?
Recalling, Su Ze suddenly remembered it was his own careless words that brought trouble.
At a banquet for peers at the Hundred Flowers Pavilion, Su Ze had openly criticized the rising young scholars of Bianjing, including Wang Anshi, who was known as a prodigy from a young age and already famous throughout the capital.
Su Ze had dismissed Wang Anshi as pedantic, stuck in classical prose with no originality in his scholarship.
Little did he know that Wang Anshi was precisely such a pedant, and upon hearing Su Ze’s remarks, he came early that morning to his neighborhood, wanting to seek instruction in learning.

Su Ze felt a chill run down his spine.

In later generations, Wang Anshi was known primarily as a statesman and reformer. A few knew him as one of the Eight Great Prose Masters of the Tang and Song dynasties, an advocate of classical prose.
But Su Ze, a struggling writer with a passion for history, knew that Wang Anshi himself was also a genius scholar.
If not a prodigy, he wouldn’t have passed the jinshi exam at the age of twenty-two, ranking fourth overall!
What level was Su Ze’s own loose tongue to dare judge the learned men of the realm?
Yet Su Ze thought again – outside stood Wang Anshi, one of the Eight Great Prose Masters of the Tang and Song dynasties!
If he could get Wang Anshi to write something for him, wouldn’t that help gather the literary aura needed for Peach Blossom Spring?

He hurriedly donned a light robe, carefully concealed the Peach Blossom Spring Record close to his body, and called out the door:
“Master Wang, please wait a moment. I shall receive you once I have finished washing up!”

After a hurried wash, Su Ze stepped out of his small courtyard and opened the gate to find a young man standing straight and tall.
This was Wang Anshi?
He was not tall but had a proud nose, tightly closed lips, a resolute jaw, and a lean face marked by unusually large ears.
Yet all these features were dominated by a pair of bright, penetrating eyes.
Anyone who met Wang Anshi would be drawn to those eyes.
Su Ze recalled later records describing Wang Anshi as “ox-eyed” — “with eyes like a bull and a head like a tiger, his gaze sharp as an arrow.”
Of course, that was after Wang Anshi became prime minister. Now, he was still a junior scholar awaiting the provincial exam, yet his gaze was already keener and clearer than others’.

Wang Anshi was also appraising Su Ze.
The Su family hailed originally from Bashu, but had lived in Bianjing since the beginning of the dynasty.
Su Ze was fortunate to have good looks; taller than the average Bashu native, pale as jade, he was somewhat well-known among the young scholars of Bianjing and often invited to banquets.
Yet Su Ze knew he was merely a decorative pillow — many of those inviting him treated him as a source of amusement, waiting for him to utter some extravagant nonsense after drinking, to become the evening’s joke.

Good looks always invited special attention, and Wang Anshi was no exception. Just as he was about to speak, a commotion arose outside the lane.
Immediately, Su Ze heard the shrill cry of a small animal, and a flash of red darted into his room.
A group of short-sleeved constables wielding nets rushed to Su Ze’s door.
The leader, a round-faced middle-aged constable, pointed at Su Ze’s house and shouted:
“It ran into that house! Quick, pursue!”

As the constables prepared to storm the yard, Wang Anshi stepped forward, blocking their way.
“You are constables of the Kaifeng Prefecture. Do you have a search warrant?”

A search warrant, or “tongbang,” was necessary because the capital was full of powerful figures. To prevent constables from accidentally offending the elite, they had to carry a document signed by the prefect to enter and search a residence. Without it, the search was considered illegal.

The constables clearly had no warrant. The round-faced leader, flustered, said:
“We’re helping Princess Fukan search for her lost mink! The princess’s newly hired Rouge Snow has gone missing. Do you dare bear the consequences?”

In most places, the constables would have barged in by now.
But Kaifeng was a city teeming with hidden talents. Both Wang Anshi and Su Ze were striking figures; the constables dared not offend them rashly.
So the leader only argued verbally, making no move to enter.

Wang Anshi took a half step back and said:
“The house owner is here. This is the residence of a junior scholar preparing for this year’s provincial exam. If you disturb his books and hinder Master Su’s studies, you would be ruining great talent’s future.”
“You may enter with only one of your men, but do not ransack the place.”

The round-faced constable glanced at his men, unwilling to quarrel further with Wang Anshi, and said:
“Then we’ll follow the young master’s orders and send just one man in to search.”

Su Ze led the way, opening his door. The constable entered and looked around, finding nothing.
Su Ze noticed a clump of orange-red fur on the beam but, wary of the constables’ rough manner, kept silent.

At that moment, another constable outside shouted:
“Captain Sun, there’s something over there!”

The round-faced Captain Sun immediately grabbed his net and rushed out, cursing, as he charged toward the neighboring house.

Once the noisy constables had gone some distance away, Su Ze sincerely bowed to Wang Anshi:
“Thank you, Master Wang, for your assistance.”

Su Ze knew full well that Wang Anshi had greatly helped him.
The constables of Kaifeng were far from the people’s servants of later eras. As early as the Tang dynasty, city thugs were recruited as unofficial enforcers to maintain order by force.
The Song dynasty constables were no better. Just now, these men had used the “door storming” tactic.

“Door storming” meant forcibly entering a citizen’s home under official pretenses, rummaging through their belongings, and by the time they finished, valuable items would often be stolen by the constables themselves.

The story of Princess Fukan’s lost mink had spread through Bianjing in recent days, and many citizens had been victims of such raids. Su Ze had heard the rumors.

If not for Wang Anshi’s quick wit and thorough knowledge of official regulations, which restrained these constables from acting recklessly, Su Ze’s meager possessions would surely have been plundered clean.