Chapter Twenty-Five: Difficulties

During the reign of the Yongming Emperor, the management of ordination certificates for monks and Taoists was exceptionally strict, mainly because those who entered religious orders were exempt from taxation. This led many to seek ordination as a means to evade taxes, and the burgeoning numbers of monks and Taoists began to severely impact the court’s revenue. Such was the reason behind the suppression of Buddhism throughout history, and so from the very beginning of the Ming dynasty, the founder enforced stringent controls over ordination certificates. To obtain such a certificate, not only was a complete lineage required, but also an examination. Every year, Taoist scriptures were tested, and only those who passed could hope to receive the certificate. Liaochen accompanied Yunhua to the capital partly for Yunhua’s examination. Those who cultivate the Way are resolute in their spiritual pursuit; mere pleading from disciples cannot sway the outcome.

To take the examination, one must first register. Registration required both the applicant and their master to bring all documents to the Bureau of Rituals for processing. The registration was usually a simple verification of documents, followed by issuing the relevant examination materials—nothing significant. But when Liaochen and Yunhua submitted their ordination certificates and proof of study at the temple, a seventh-rank assistant official entered the Bureau. He took Liaochen’s certificate, glanced at it, and sneered, “Your certificate dates from the Yongle era, yet you look barely twenty. How dare you present this?”

Liaochen’s expression darkened instantly, recognizing trouble—a deliberate provocation. As a fifth-rank Daoist officially appointed by the court to oversee religious affairs, it was impossible for the bureau to be unaware of the facts. This was no accident, but intentional.

“Why should I not present it? Do you mean to say your certificate wasn’t issued by the Ministry of Rites? My age is not something ignorant children can discern,” Liaochen retorted sharply, insulting the official to his face.

The assistant official, likely for the first time insulted in his own bureau, flushed with anger and gritted his teeth, “I believe you’re a fraud; according to the laws of Ming, impersonating a monk with a false certificate is punishable by fifty-nine beatings and exile three thousand li.”

Liaochen chuckled, “True or false, a minor seventh-rank like you is not qualified to know. If you wish to punish me, report to your superiors first—you lack the authority.” He waved his finger dismissively, not taking the man seriously. Liaochen knew the official was but a pawn, sent out precisely because those behind him dared not confront openly; today was merely a test.

The assistant official trembled in rage, “But I have the right to verify the authenticity of documents. I suspect your certificate is problematic and must be confiscated. Is that acceptable?”

Liaochen realized the aim was to prevent him from completing the process by retaining his certificate. “What a clever tactic,” he laughed. “Do as you please. I came to the capital solely to report. That is now done. Secondly, I’m here for my disciple’s certificate. Since you now believe mine is questionable, my disciple need not take the exam. I can leave the capital. Are you sure?” Liaochen turned the tables, preparing to pin a grave accusation on the official. He had entered the capital under secret imperial orders to report to the Ministry of Rites regarding the emperor’s illness. Now, to be driven out by a mere assistant official? What was his game? The implications were terrifying—the current emperor might forgive, but when the crown prince ascended, such a slight would not be forgotten. Even throughout the Ming dynasty, this official would never recover.

Liaochen had set a small trap; now it remained to see if the official dared step into it. Should he accept, death would not be far, and his family might be implicated.

“You… you…” The assistant official was so enraged he could not speak. He longed to say “I’m sure,” but was no fool. Though he did not understand Liaochen’s reasoning, instinct warned him not to utter that affirmation. He was caught in a dilemma, unable to respond.

Liaochen, unwilling to play further with the pawn, declared, “Within three days, have your instigator and superior deliver my certificate and my disciple’s certificate to Baiyun Temple. I have no mood to take the exam after your obstruction; you handle it. Otherwise, I’ll leave the capital as scheduled.”

With these words, Liaochen ignored the fluctuating complexion of the assistant official, took Yunhua’s hand, and exited the Ministry of Rites.

He knew the civil officials would not welcome his arrival, but had not expected such petty and despicable tactics. Since they had abandoned decorum, he would respond in kind.

Back at Baiyun Temple, Liaochen carried on as usual, supervising Yunhua’s daily lessons, spending the rest of his time meditating alone in the quiet chamber. Meanwhile, the assistant official, disheveled and anxious, was explaining the entire incident to his mentor, Minister Tu Yong of the Historical Department. Tu Yong, upon hearing the account, flung his teacup to the floor in fury, “I told you to probe him, not to harass him! How could you be so foolish, handing him leverage for nothing?”

The assistant official paled, “I acted for the integrity of the Dao, not expecting such craftiness from that heretic. I merely made things difficult for him; I am willing to resign for the sake of justice!”

Tu Yong glanced at his student on the floor—both old foxes, he easily saw through the ploy of retreating to advance. The student had acted for Tu Yong’s sake; if he failed to protect him now, who would risk themselves in the future?

Tu Yong hurriedly helped his student up, sighing, “I will consult with the cabinet elders. Go home, and let this matter rest; rest assured.” The assistant official was overjoyed, thinking he had escaped once again, unaware he had left an impression of incompetence and petty scheming in his teacher’s mind.

After taking his leave, Tu Yong paced the hall several times before summoning his attendant, “Help me change; I must visit Elder Li’s residence.”

Evening lights had just begun to illuminate, yet the study in Li Dongyang’s mansion was filled with the highest ministers of the court—a rare gathering of nearly all the civil officials, convened for one reason: Liaochen’s arrival in the capital, bearing a secret imperial order. Now, what should be done about him?

This was no trivial matter. The emperor was gravely ill, with little time left. A desperate man would do anything to survive. Should anyone obstruct him today, the consequences were clear. Even if the emperor’s vengeance were averted for now, the crown prince—the emperor’s own son—would never forgive. The thought of a father’s grievance would linger day and night. No matter how high their positions, once marked by the royal family, few could escape calamity. Yet to do nothing was equally perilous. Should the emperor begin to favor alchemists and mystics, the decades-long effort of the court would be undone.

All present were shrewd veterans, keenly aware of the delicate balance. Thus, none dared take the lead, and the room was steeped in silence. Eventually, as host, Grand Academic Li Dongyang saw that this could not continue and decided to assign the matter.

“Tu Yong, this issue began with you; tell us, what should be done?” Li Dongyang asked.

“The court is led by the cabinet. I defer to the elders’ instructions,” Tu Yong replied, not foolishly, promptly passing the responsibility back.

Li Dongyang was inwardly exasperated, cursing, “Old fox, why are you so obedient to the cabinet only at times like these?” Yet his expression remained unchanged. He smiled, “This is not for personal gain but for the integrity of the court, to prevent corruption by superstition. All present are pillars of the state; how can we think only of ourselves?”

His words were understood by all, for they were educated men, but though the benefits belonged to everyone, the blame would fall on one. Who would bear it? Who dared? Who was willing?

“The emperor is gravely ill; as ministers, we cannot defy him at such a time. Perhaps we should let it go.” A discordant voice sounded in the crowd, provoking anger—who was this? Did he have any sense of the civil officials’ spirit?

Everyone turned, ready to cut him down with their gaze.