Stare.
A thick, suffocating silence settled over Ganlu Hall.
Wei Zheng, Fang Xuanling, and Li Shiji all felt their scalps go numb. It was as if countless invisible needles were stabbing into their backs at the same time.
On the throne, Emperor Li Shimin was staring straight at them without even blinking.
Li Shiji instantly broke out in cold sweat.
His first instinct was to get up and kneel for forgiveness on the spot. He had barely pushed himself halfway out of his seat when Li Shimin casually raised a hand and stopped him before his knees could touch the floor.
"Relax," Li Shimin said, the corners of his mouth curling into a sharp, knowing smile. "I know perfectly well that the ancestral homes of my beloved ministers all happen to lie within the Shandong region. Under such circumstances, it is only natural for one to feel a certain admiration toward those great clans who have turned marriage alliances into an extremely profitable business."
There was no arguing with geography.
Wei Zheng came from Julu Commandery. Fang Xuanling was a man of Linzi and deeply connected to the Qinghe aristocratic circles. Li Shiji hailed from Lihu in Caozhou.
Every single one of them stood firmly within the same sphere of influence as the aristocratic families the light screen had just mocked without mercy.
The moment they heard the Emperor's thinly veiled jab, the three ministers immediately straightened their backs, their expressions turning solemn.
Li Shimin, meanwhile, only smiled more warmly.
"However," he continued leisurely, shifting the topic with practiced ease, "our dear Wei Zheng has just delivered an excellent lecture moments ago. Those above serve as examples for those below. Since that is the case, we must all conduct ourselves with proper caution. Would you not agree?"
The words landed softly, but the meaning underneath was crystal clear.
Li Shimin had made his point.
And he had done so without embarrassing anyone in public.
After all, what was he supposed to do? These ministers were already tied to those powerful clans through marriage. He could hardly command them to divorce their wives right there inside the throne hall, right ?
That was not how a rational government operated.
Besides, Li Shimin could already see the bigger picture clearly enough.
During the current Zhenguan era, these so-called untouchable aristocratic clans were still deeply afraid of him. In front of the imperial court, they behaved as obediently as frightened quails, not daring to make the slightest move out of line.
The heavenly screen had already made the situation obvious.
The real chaos, the truly outrageous political manipulation, would only begin several decades later.
So how exactly did those great aristocratic clans recover and grow into monsters powerful enough to toy with the empire itself?
Li Shimin narrowed his eyes and reread the floating text above.
His attention settled onto two particular phrases.
Forbidden Marriage.
The Imperial Examination.
"I see it now," Li Shimin murmured softly, his mind rapidly connecting the pieces together. "Everyone in the realm is desperate to marry into these so-called 'Forbidden' clans. Once marriage itself becomes restricted, scarcity naturally follows. And scarcity drives value upward."
His fingers lightly tapped against the armrest of the throne.
"With that, the clans accumulate enormous wealth. Then they use generations of inherited education, private libraries, and scholarly influence to monopolize the imperial examinations."
The more he spoke, the colder his smile became.
"And once they dominate the examinations, they dominate official appointments. Fame, influence, political authority. Everything flows right back into their hands."
Having flawlessly deduced the enemy's playbook, the Emperor leaned back.
The ministers, eager to escape the awkward spotlight as quickly as possible, immediately launched into a storm of shameless flattery.
"Your Majesty's insight is truly unmatched! With a single glance, you have already grasped the root of the problem!"
"The Emperor sees through the fog of history itself with divine clarity!"
"We humbly congratulate Your Majesty! By learning from the overturned carts of future generations, the Great Tang can avoid disaster before it even begins. This is a blessing upon the empire!"
The throne hall instantly filled with voices piling praise on top of praise.
Li Shimin nearly rolled his eyes.
He swept his gaze toward Wei Zheng, only to find the old censor still standing there with his neck stiff and his expression full of unbending pride, as if refusing to join the performance no matter what.
Li Shimin could only shake his head.
Forget it, that stubborn donkey was never going to change anyway.
A rather amusing thought suddenly crossed Li Shimin's mind.
He was beginning to suspect that future generations would not remember Wei Zheng for his political achievements at all.
No.
The man would probably go down in history as the greatest professional mood-killer of the Emperor.
When it comes to marrying daughters from those aristocratic clans, this old man conveniently forgets every warning I have ever given, Li Shimin complained inwardly. But the moment I so much as glance at one beautiful noble lady, he immediately charges into the throne hall ready to die in protest.
According to him, he is safeguarding my virtue.
According to me, he simply cannot stand seeing me happy, damn this old boy.
The harem was a minor issue.
There were far more troublesome matters in front of him.
"Enough," the Emperor said at last, his voice cutting cleanly through the flood of flattery filling the hall. "Let us discuss the real problem. The bloated bureaucracy. The excess officials. How exactly are we supposed to deal with this?"
The moment the topic shifted to state affairs, Wei Zheng practically sprang out from his position as though he had been waiting for this exact question all along.
"Your Majesty, an overgrown bureaucracy is a chronic disease that has been festering since the early Han Dynasty. If we truly intend to remove this poison, then we must act decisively. The earlier we slice it out, the better."
Li Shimin slowly nodded.
Li Shimin nodded slightly before turning his gaze toward the other side of the hall, waiting for his two greatest problem-solvers to speak.
Fang Xuanling stepped forward first, carefully choosing his words.
"The future generations describe the Zhuoqian system as nothing more than selling official posts for money. That judgment may be somewhat excessive. However..." He paused briefly. "Men who obtain office through government-backed lending schemes will naturally become obsessed with profit."
He slowly stroked his beard.
"If that pursuit of profit is used to enrich the people, then both the state and the common folk benefit together. But if those men use political authority merely to line their own pockets..." Fang Xuanling's face darkened slightly. "Then they become parasites feeding upon the Great Tang."
The hall fell quiet.
"As for the Shadow Privilege system," Fang Xuanling continued, "the light screen stated that our Tang Dynasty brought this practice to its peak. That alone implies future dynasties eventually restricted or abolished it altogether."
His tone grew increasingly grave.
"We must thoroughly examine the flaws within our current nepotism laws and gradually reform them from the foundation upward."
Several ministers instantly felt their scalps tingle.
Just hearing the proposal was enough to make their heads ache.
Du Ruhui then stepped forward and neatly summarized the matter.
"We must abolish the office-loan system, restrict hereditary privilege, and reform the recommendation system."
Then he calmly added the most crucial point, his eyes swept across the gathered officials.
"But we must do all of this very slowly, step by step. If we flip the table too quickly, the entire bureaucracy will revolt."
Li Shimin slowly nodded.
The more he listened, the heavier the pressure on his shoulders seemed to become.
At last, he let out a long sigh filled with exhaustion.
"A glorious golden age..." Li Shimin murmured softly. "Yet, the total lifespan of the empire cannot even breach three hundred years. Why is that?"
His gaze slowly lifted toward the ceiling of Ganlu Hall.
"Tell me... is the collapse of the Tang truly woven into its very foundations?"
Thousands of miles away in Chengdu, the atmosphere was entirely different.
"A vast empire with territories stretching across the world, yet its fate ends in less than three hundred years..." Liu Bei slowly shook his head. "What an absolute tragedy."
A few broadcasts ago, Liu Bei had been treating the Tang Dynasty like a highly entertaining reality show. Now, the Lord of Shu Han felt a very real, very deep sense of pity.
No matter how one looked at it, the Great Tang and the Great Han were simply too similar.
Both dynasties rose with overwhelming military strength.
Both were later hollowed out from within by eunuchs, imperial relatives, and endless court struggles.
And now, even the sickness destroying the empire was the same.
An oversized bureaucracy.
An endless swarm of officials.
A court that grew fatter while the empire itself slowly bled dry.
The more Liu Bei thought about it, the more the Tang resembled a younger brother following the exact same doomed road as the Han.
How could he not feel sympathy?
After a long silence, Liu Bei finally spoke again.
"The poison created by these aristocratic monopolies It infects the nation for far more than a single century." he said gravely. "And this Tang Dynasty..." He looked toward the light screen overhead. "...seems even more obsessed with noble bloodlines than the Great Han ever was."
The moment those words fell, Zhang Fei burst into loud laughter.
"Ohh, Come on brother, you are being too harsh!" Zhang Fei shouted, grinning from ear to ear. "Think about it from their perspective! Their ancestors were kings, dukes, ministers, and famous generals. How could these noble young masters possibly lower themselves to farming fields or slaughtering dogs like ordinary folk?"
He slapped his thigh and laughed even harder.
"So naturally, the only thing left for them to do is stand around selling marriage alliances while living off the family signboard!"
Several officials nearly choked trying not to laugh.
Even Liu Bei's mouth twitched slightly.
Mi Zhu, meanwhile, calmly folded his sleeves together, his merchant instincts immediately locking onto the core issue.
"They are artificially increasing their own value through scarcity,"
Mi Zhu said flatly. "Once the government restricts marriage, the prestige of those clans rises even higher. It is a brilliant, entirely cynical merchant tactic. They are literally just trading empty brand recognition.
As one of the wealthiest merchants in the realm, Mi Zhu sounded almost professionally unimpressed.
"In the end, they are simply exchanging ancestral reputation for silver."
He paused briefly before adding another sentence.
"So where exactly is the dignity they keep boasting about?"
Pang Tong let out a cold laugh filled with contempt.
No one in the room hated hypocrites more than he did.
"Their so-called honor exists entirely inside their own heads," Pang Tong sneered. "A bunch of useless aristocratic young masters living off ancestral prestige while using their own sisters and daughters like premium trade goods."
The more he spoke, the sharper his tone became.
"Outside the clan gates, they drain the blood and sweat of the common people. Inside the clan compounds, they drain the futures of their own women. And once they enter court, they start draining authority from the Emperor himself."
Pang Tong's eyes narrowed with open disgust.
"They produce nothing, build nothing, and protect nothing. Yet they consume the empire like a swarm of locusts while still pretending they were born superior."
Then he gave a dismissive snort.
"Honestly, how are they any different from that group of smiling backstabbers over in Jiangdong?"
The officials of Shu immediately glanced eastward almost on instinct.
Zhang Fei, meanwhile, was listening with complete admiration written all over his face.
Now this was the true value of education.
When scholars insulted people, even their trash talk sounded sophisticated. Pang Tong's words came out sharp, layered, and polished, as though he were writing an essay instead of cursing someone's ancestors.
Zhang Fei suddenly found himself wondering what would happen if Pang Tong genuinely lost his temper one day.
If Shiyuan ever went all out, could his insults surpass even Kongming's legendary ability to verbally destroy a man on the spot?
Sadly, Kongming himself had no interest in the ongoing comedy show.
Kongming had already slipped into full scholar mode.
While the others argued and laughed, Kongming quietly picked up his brush and began listing the Tang Dynasty's methods of selecting officials onto a fresh sheet of paper.
Recommendation quotas, purchased offices, hereditary privilege.
One after another, he calmly crossed them out.
Finally, only a single term remained untouched.
Imperial Examination.
Kongming stared at the words for a long moment before slowly drawing a thick circle around them.
[Lightscreen]
[It is a well-known historical fact that the Tang Dynasty Imperial Examination did not use anonymous grading.
The names on the test papers were left completely uncovered, while the grading standards themselves were famously subjective.
In many cases, the final score depended entirely on the personal mood and political preferences of the Chief Examiner.
As a result, the aristocratic clans quickly discovered that studying hard was actually the least important part of the examination process.
Over time, they quickly developed a highly efficient, three-step strategy to hack the exam. It was known as Touzhi, Xingjuan, and Wenjuan."
Step One: Touzhi.
Also known as: bribery with extra cultural flavor.
Long before the examination even began, wealthy young masters from the great clans would arrive in the capital with carts full of expensive gifts, rare calligraphy, antique treasures, and enough luxury goods to bankrupt a small county.
Then came the networking phase.
The candidates would enthusiastically visit the mansions of influential ministers, famous scholars, senior officials, and politically connected nobles. Smiles would be exchanged. Poetry would be discussed. Mutual admiration would magically appear out of nowhere.
Naturally, nobody openly called this bribery.
That would sound crude.
The proper term was "forming scholarly connections."
Step Two: Xingjuan. The Portfolio.
Once the front door had been successfully opened through the power of friendship, the candidate would immediately hand over his personal writing collection.
This was essentially the Tang Dynasty version of a luxury resume package.
Poems, essays, political arguments, literary commentary, all carefully compiled into a beautifully bound volume designed to scream: "Please remember my name during grading season."
And of course, candidates from powerful aristocratic clans possessed a terrifying advantage.
If their own writing was mediocre, they simply asked famous uncles, prestigious teachers, talented cousins, or half the clan library to help polish it beforehand.
By the time the portfolio reached the important officials, it practically looked ghostwritten by immortals.
Step Three: Wenjuan. The Follow-up.
This was the final pre-exam reinforcement stage.
Right before the actual examination, the candidates would return to those same mansions carrying even more gifts, even more poetry, and don't forget, kissed up to them even harder.
At this stage, the process no longer resembled an academic examination at all.
It resembled a highly competitive lobbying campaign.
The objective was very straightforward.
Make absolutely certain that the examiners remembered your name before they ever looked at your paper.
By the middle and late Tang Dynasty, the aristocratic clans had already upgraded the system even further.
If your clan was wealthy and influential enough, you unlocked a hidden fourth step.
Nashengjuan.
At this level, even pretending to network became unnecessary.
The candidate no longer needed to personally visit senior officials and scholars carrying gifts like a traveling salesman. Instead, the clan would simply hire a high-level intermediary with the proper political connections to deliver the portfolio directly into the Ministry of Rites.
Straight onto the chief examiner's desk.
Efficient.
Elegant.
Corrupt beyond belief.
With such a heavily pay-to-win system in place, the results of the Imperial Examination became extremely predictable.
The wealthy aristocratic clans crushed ordinary scholars before the examination papers were even opened.
According to the Old Tang History and the New Tang History, among the 830 recorded individuals who successfully passed the highest level of the Imperial Examination, 589 came from major aristocratic clans.
Another 109 belonged to wealthy mid-tier clans.
Only 132 successful candidates came from genuinely poor or common backgrounds.
And the situation becomes even more absurd when specific reign periods are examined.
During the reign of Empress Wu Zetian, there were 55 recorded successful candidates. Among them, 34 belonged to major aristocratic clans, while 21 came from common backgrounds.
The ratio was already terrible, but at least commoners still had a fighting chance.
Then came the reign of Emperor Xuanzong during the peak of the Great Tang.
Among the 30 recorded successful candidates from the early years of his reign, 27 came from aristocratic clans.
Only three were commoners.
At that point, the Imperial Examination no longer looked like a system for selecting talent.
It looked more like an internal recruitment event for the nobility.
The most absurd part came during the sixth year of the Tianbao era, only a short time before the An Lushan Rebellion exploded across the empire.
Emperor Xuanzong suddenly became inspired and announced, "I want to gather all the hidden geniuses in the world!"
He ordered a massive, special open-call examination.
At first glance, this sounded like an excellent idea.
Then Li Linfu entered the story.
As the Tang Dynasty's famously treacherous Prime Minister, Li Linfu immediately stepped forward and bowed.
"Your Majesty," he said with utmost sincerity, "if we simply open the examination to everyone, the capital will instantly fill with weirdos, unruly wanderers, and unwashed peasants from every corner of the empire, public order may suffer terribly."
He then proposed a wonderfully reasonable solution.
Let the local magistrates conduct preliminary screenings first.
Only the very best candidates would be permitted to travel to Chang'an.
The logic sounded flawless.
Emperor Xuanzong immediately approved the proposal and handed full authority over the matter to Li Linfu.
The final result was spectacular.
The local officials, who were already deeply tied to the aristocratic clans, conveniently failed every poor scholar during the pre-screening phase.
Not a single commoner advanced.
The noble clans achieved a perfect one hundred percent pass rate.
Li Linfu then proudly entered the throne hall and congratulated the Emperor with complete confidence.
"Congratulations Your Majesty," he declared, "There is absolutely no hidden talent left in the wild! We caught them all!'
This massive, rigged system is the exact reason why the legendary genre of 'Frontier Poetry' was born.
To put it bluntly, these brilliant young men got completely screwed over in Chang'an and Luoyang. They hit the glass ceiling of the aristocratic networking club and could not break through.
So many of them simply packed their belongings and headed toward the frontier armies instead.
Men such as Cen Shen, Gao Shi, and Wang Changling wandered between distant military camps and barren borderlands, writing magnificent poetry beneath desert winds and lonely moons because the capital had no place for them.
Of course, those were merely the scholars who turned their frustration into literature.
Others chose a far more dangerous path.
Some failed scholars looked at the system, realized the game itself was rigged, and decided that if the empire refused to use them, then perhaps its enemies would.
Yan Zhuang and Gao Shang were among the most famous examples.
After failing to establish themselves in the capital, they traveled north and joined An Lushan's camp.
Within only a few years, both men rose to become key strategists within the rebellion.
Eventually, they returned to Chang'an not as frustrated scholars, but as victorious traitors watching the imperial capital burn before their eyes.
Now, objectively speaking, this insanely competitive networking culture did accidentally create the golden age of Tang literature.
If you wanted to impress a VIP, your poetry had to be flawless.
Absolute perfection.
That pressure cooked up some of the greatest literature in human history.
If a powerful noble liked your poem, congratulations, you basically unlocked the millionaire route overnight.
But it also created a deeply toxic culture of shameless sycophancy. The grind was brutal, and it was humiliating.
For example, the legendary poet Wang Wei desperately needed a recommendation. So he pulled every string he could find, slipped into Princess Yuzhen's private estate, and literally played the lute for her like a professional court entertainer just to get noticed.
And you know what? It worked. She recommended him.
The immortal poet Li Bai did basically the same thing. He wrote an aggressively flattering piece called Ode to the Immortal Yuzhen purely to attract her attention.
And somehow it gets even worse, there was a corrupt official named Yu Di. The historical records are very clear on this point: the man was awful.
He embezzled openly, abused his authority, tortured people for fun, and generally behaved like a final boss in an anti-corruption drama.
But Han Yu, one of the greatest literary figures in Chinese history, desperately needed connections.
So what did he do? He sat down and wrote a long, elegant, beautifully polished essay praising Yu Di as a wise and benevolent official.
That is how strong the networking culture had become. Even literary saints had to put on clown makeup and play the game.
The ultimate, fatal result of this networking culture was hardcore factionalism. The people handing in the portfolios called the VIPs their 'Masters.' The VIPs called the successful candidates their 'Disciples.' It created massive, corrupt political gangs.
And worst of all, the system dragged every ambitious, frustrated intellectual in the empire into Chang'an, squeezed every last drop of hope out of them, then tossed them aside.
Eventually, one failed scholar decided to answer the system with fire.
"His name was Huang Chao."
And he burned the Tang Dynasty to the ground.]
"They can dress it up with all the elegant terminology they want," Zhang Fei said with a loud scoff, "but at the end of the day, this is still just bribery."
He crossed his arms tightly, looking utterly disgusted.
This time, nobody in the Shu Han hall argued with him.
Liu Bei remained silent.
Even Zhuge Liang did not object.
If the earlier practice of submitting poetry collections could still barely be defended as "seeking guidance from respected seniors," then the later Master-and-Disciple culture completely tore away the final disguise.
It was nothing more than political factions recruiting their own people.
Pang Tong tapped his fingers lightly against the table before delivering his conclusion almost immediately.
"This Imperial Examination system is worthless unless the names on the examination papers are hidden."
He gave a cold snort.
"If the examiner already knows who wrote the essay, then the outcome is decided before the brush even touches the paper. At that point, what exactly is being examined?"
Pang Tong shook his head. "It is just the old recommendation system reborn with a fancier title."
Zhuge Liang quietly thought over the problem for a moment.
Then he began counting details on his fingers.
"Hiding the names alone would still be insufficient," he said calmly. "A wealthy candidate and a poor candidate are far too easy to distinguish."
His gaze drifted toward the light screen.
"A young master from a powerful clan would naturally use expensive paper, high-quality ink, and polished calligraphy trained by famous tutors since childhood. Meanwhile, a poor scholar from the countryside might arrive with rough paper, cheap ink, and uneven handwriting."
"The examiners would recognize the difference immediately."
Zhuge Liang slowly folded his sleeves together. "If true fairness is desired, then the court itself must provide identical examination materials for every student. The same paper. The same ink. The same environment."
"And after the examination ends, dedicated clerks must recopy every single paper before the examiners are allowed to read them."
"Only then can the grading become truly anonymous."
Liu Ba immediately joined the discussion.
"That still is not enough," the financial expert added sharply. "The officials supervising the examinations must be completely separated from the officials grading the papers. Otherwise, secret messages and private markings will inevitably spread between them."
Zhang Song tugged thoughtfully at his sparse beard.
"And human bias itself remains a problem," he pointed out. "Even today, scholars endlessly argue over the interpretation of the classics. If an examiner personally dislikes a student's philosophical school, he can still suppress the paper regardless of its quality."
Pang Tong's eyes immediately brightened.
"That problem is simple," he declared. "Use multiple examiners to grade the same copied paper independently, then average the final scores."
But midway through speaking, Pang Tong suddenly froze.
His expression slowly became strange.
Only now was he fully realizing the scale of the monstrous system they had casually designed within a few minutes of discussion.
The government would need enormous examination compounds, endless quantities of standardized materials, countless clerks dedicated solely to recopying examination papers, isolated groups of supervisors and examiners, and multiple layers of grading review to ensure fairness.
The logistics alone were enough to make one's scalp tingle.
After a long silence, Pang Tong finally exhaled.
"Good heavens," he muttered. "A truly fair Imperial Examination system might consume more money than a military campaign."
Even Zhuge Liang quietly nodded.
The cost would be staggering.
Meanwhile, Zhang Fei stared at the glowing light screen overhead before suddenly bursting into laughter.
"You know the system is completely broken when it is literally easier to get a promotion in a rebel warlord's army than it is in the Emperor's capital."
He scratched his beard and grinned.
"Honestly, I cannot decide if the Late Tang Dynasty is just copying the corrupt Wei and Jin dynasties, or if they just went back and plagiarized our Han Dynasty again."