After Zheng Xi’s thorough review, when the finalized text was produced, Zhù Ying read it over first herself and thought it had come out with a markedly more “memorial-like” quality. She had brought it to Zheng Xi already prepared to accept guidance and criticism from him. As long as she found his points reasonable, she was willing to make revisions.

The finalized version satisfied both of them adequately. What remained was to submit it and wait for the inevitable wrangling.

Zheng Xi cautioned her: “This is no small matter — there’s no need to push forward aggressively.”

Zhù Ying said: “Understood. The whole point was to make things run more smoothly, not to create headaches. Give it a good fight first. If that doesn’t work, fall back a step. If it truly comes to nothing, waiting for the next opportunity is fine too.” She could tell Zheng Xi was weighing the emperor’s likely reaction, and she had already guessed two-thirds of what was on his mind. Still, life was short, and she had little appetite for waiting.

“Go.”

A junior official’s memorial could not simply be submitted — it had to pass through a filter first. With Zheng Xi’s approval, Zhù Ying was then able to formally submit the memorial.

The court received an untold number of memorials every day, some from able minds, others from muddled ones. To spare the emperor from being vexed by the muddled variety, everything was first sifted through. Even so, memorials were not lightly suppressed, since doing so carried the charge of “blocking the channels of speech.”

After Zhù Ying submitted her memorial, it was not held back. Someone wrote a brief summary note and attached it to the front before forwarding it to the imperial presence. Her rank was really too low — the emperor had to first work through matters of military and state importance before it could come to the turn of a sixth-rank official petitioning for the addition of a single ninth-rank position. When the emperor finally looked it over, certain memories stirred. It had been several years since he had ordered the re-examination of the Court of Judicial Review’s old cases… time waits for no one…

He reflected on the past for a moment, then looked again at the memorial. The matter struck him as a little unusual, yet upon reflection it seemed, perhaps, to have a point.

He thought for a moment and summoned Zheng Xi.

In his heart, Zheng Xi was not without his own desire for some degree of change. He had drawn a line in his mind: a prison warden from the ninth rank — even the lowest rank was still an official, and having a woman serve as one was a bit improper. Being rejected was something he could live with. But adding female prison guards — that, he felt, was not only acceptable but arguably necessary. So his strategy was to let Zhù Ying storm the heavens first, after which he would step in to patch things up, and they would ultimately arrive at an outcome both sides could accept.

Arriving before the emperor, he first performed the proper prostrations. The emperor said nothing, and had a eunuch hand the memorial to Zheng Xi. Zheng Xi opened it, saw it was the one Zhù Ying had written.

Though he already knew every word, he still read it through to the end before speaking: “This little rascal — at it again!”

“Oh?”

Zheng Xi explained: “A young fellow — quick as a monkey, but handles everything with great care and thoroughness.”

“Care and thoroughness?”

Zheng Xi then went through Zhù Ying’s record: the Zhou You case, the Gong Jie case, and her work reviewing old cases. All of these were concluded matters with outcomes the emperor had been pleased with. The emperor grew interested and asked: “Don’t assume that just because he adjudicates well, he handles everything else well too.”

Zheng Xi said: “He handles other things fairly well too.”

“Oh?”

Zheng Xi went on to describe Zhù Ying’s record since taking up her post as deputy judge of the Court of Judicial Review.

Midway through, the emperor asked: “And where does this money come from?”

Zheng Xi said: “She calculated it herself — from savings in purchasing or cuts to various forms of waste.”

The emperor grew more and more interested: “How exactly is it done? Is it actually workable?”

“All workable.”

Because Zhù Ying handled affairs with such attention to detail and thorough planning, and because Zheng Xi himself was clear-headed, the account he gave was coherent and easy to follow. The emperor listened with great pleasure — it was like watching a story unfold toward its natural conclusion, smooth and seamless, with no sudden twists to worry about. In the end he said: “What this person has submitted may indeed be workable. There are still some questions of ritual propriety, but they can be discussed.”

Adding to the roster of officials was a matter that required a formal directive from the Council of State Secretaries. And a ninth-rank position was still an official rank, which meant the Ministry of Personnel would need to be involved in managing it, and salaries would need to be drawn — which implicated the Ministry of Finance and others. Small as it was, it had to pass through these channels.

The emperor wrote a few lines directing the Council of State Secretaries and the Ministry of Personnel to deliberate the matter in detail.

This deliberation promptly grew into a grand affair.

The Council of State Secretaries had many matters to attend to — like the emperor, they dealt with large matters first and small ones later. By the time the memorial reached their hands that day, it was nearly time to leave for the day. Chief Minister Chen and Chief Minister Shi both saw at a glance that this held certain complications, yet an outright refusal did not seem quite right either, since the question of the separation of men and women was genuinely relevant.

Chief Minister Shi said: “This… I doubt it can be resolved quickly.”

Chief Minister Chen heard his tone and understood: he wanted to let this slide into obscurity. A ninth-rank position with a few minor guards attached — a trifle of a thing — simply left to cool on the shelf. If the emperor forgot about it, it would sit there indefinitely. If he remembered, it could be “discussed again.”

Chief Minister Chen glanced at the name on the memorial and said to Chief Minister Shi: “Since His Majesty has issued an edict, we might as well take it up for discussion.”

Chief Minister Shi said: “And how can the Ministry of Personnel manage this alone? The Ministry of Rites will need to be involved, won’t it? If positions are added in the Court of Judicial Review, won’t other departments want the same? What about the Ministry of Punishments? What about prefectural and county courts throughout the empire?”

He was not entirely wrong — not all of this was simply a wish to let the matter slide. For adding an official position, even if the emperor agreed at present, the various ministries still had other work to do. The Ministry of Rites, for example, would need to assign this official a place in the ceremonial standing order.

Chief Minister Chen said: “Today is already late. Let us notify the relevant ministries and have them send someone tomorrow. We’ll discuss it first — and if there are any questions, this Zhù Ying can be summoned to answer them. I see there’s a summary note attached, and it reads reasonably enough.”

Chief Minister Shi said: “All right.”

After all, it was only a ninth-rank position — not a major matter. Chief Minister Shi did not give it much further thought. As for the matter of the prison guards, both of them tacitly ignored it — minor clerks, even less consequential.

The next day, since the relevant parties had already been notified, each ministry dispatched the appropriate personnel. A ninth-rank position, a female one, with reasons that were at least plausible — it was not quite enough for the ministry heads to place at the very top of their agenda. Each ministry sent a department director. They were received by Chief Minister Chen, who encouraged them briefly and said: “Take this matter up among yourselves and arrive at a set of procedures.”

With that, he had them shown to a room together and withdrew — the matter was too small for him to chair in person.

What no one expected was that this group of department directors came to no agreement at all. From the outside it looked simple — “the Ministry of Rites deliberates on ritual matters” — but this was not merely about assigning a place in the standing order. The salary and rank treatment for a ninth-rank official were fixed; but if this official was a woman, standing in the ceremonial line alongside men — was that not improper? Furthermore, a male official could confer titles on his wife and seek honorary appointments for his parents. What happened when a woman held office? This was touching on major ritual matters.

The specialist in charge of such things thought through the details: “Even if we say the separation of men and women applies within the prison, surely the court itself cannot be left without such a separation? And then there is the question of her official robes — how should they be designed?”

The Ministry of Personnel’s position was actually simpler — they were not worrying about questions of gender but rather: “If additional staff are given to the Court of Judicial Review, won’t the other ministries take issue?”

They discussed for an entire day without arriving at a single conclusion. Their views were remarkably consistent: there was something to it, but not much; it was absurd, yet not entirely absurd. If they refused, they had no alternative solution to offer Chief Minister Chen as a substitute. “A set of procedures” — that was what Chief Minister Chen wanted.

Chief Minister Chen did not necessarily need the matter resolved; Zhù Ying did not carry that kind of influence. What he was looking at was that the emperor had not refused, and that Zheng Xi, as the Court’s presiding official, had raised no objection. These department directors were therefore left to think a great deal more than was strictly necessary.

At noon they each went back to their respective offices for lunch, and during the meal the matter spread further. By afternoon, when they resumed the discussion, they were still hovering between yes and no. But word was slowly seeping out.

By the time both chief ministers had finished their major affairs and remembered this one, a day had passed without resolution. Chief Minister Shi said: “You see? If we had simply said yes or no from the start, this would have been settled by now. The trouble is exactly this kind of wishy-washy handling.”

Chief Minister Chen said: “Then what do you say?”

Chief Minister Shi said: “I’m not saying anything.”

He refused to speak again.

The emperor did not ask about it that day, and so the matter was set aside for the time being.

On the third day, by late morning the affair had spread even further. The Office of Imperial Rites heard about it first, and Sixth Young Lord Yang came over first thing in the morning to chat about it at the Court of Judicial Review, stopping Zhù Ying with a grin: “Sanlang, what got you thinking of this? Heh heh!”

Zhù Ying gave him a strange look: “What are you grinning at? Isn’t this how things ought to be?”

Because she was managing the Court’s affairs, the people of the Court had come to see how thoroughly she handled things, and many were now wondering: who would be cut to make room? The prison wardens and guards were especially unsettled.

Old Huang was pushed forward by the clerks again, and quietly asked Zhù Ying: “Are you cutting the men and adding women?”

Zhù Ying said: “Who’s cutting anyone? This is an addition!”

“Oh!” Old Huang understood. An official position — who had ever thought there could be too many people under them? What’s more, with a female ward, there would need to be a female warden to head it.

Old Huang hurried off in a flash to spread the first-hand news.

Officials and clerks of various ministries were also buzzing with discussion. Some thought it was improper to have women serving as officials, but all agreed that female prisoners did indeed need female jailers to watch over them. Others suggested there was no need for official rank at all — a few women assigned to serve as attendants would do. But everyone found themselves admiring the great administrator of the Court of Judicial Review — her attention to detail was truly extraordinary.

……

The lower ranks were chattering merrily, and Zhù Ying had effectively contributed a minor piece of gossip to the entire palace precinct.

The senior figures, however, were taking the matter rather more seriously. The matter had reached the level of the ministers.

Zhong Yi heard word of it and pushed his way in — he had not originally paid it much attention, and had sent a department director. When the director had been tied up for two days, disrupting work at the ministry, Zhong Yi finally inquired, and only then learned that the discussions had run into trouble. He immediately went in person.

With Zhong Yi present from the Ministry of Rites, the Ministry of Personnel needed to send someone of comparable standing — a department director could not be left to face a minister. With two ministers from the Rites and Personnel ministries, the Ministry of Punishments also heard the news and sent someone, since the Ministry of Punishments also handled cases. Even the Imperial Treasury sent a representative, since the new additions involved salaries, and the Ministry of Finance sent one too, since land allotment rules were implicated.

On the Court of Judicial Review’s side, Zheng Xi made his way over to the Council of State Secretaries to “have a look.”

Finally, the Censorate sent a representative as well, since the Censorate maintained what was called a “censorate prison,” which occasionally held prisoners, and though the vast majority were male, there were occasionally female ones. Though the “censorate prison” was merely a term — the Censorate had no prison of its own at present, since their principal function was impeachment — in cases of particularly large scale, or ones in which the emperor required their participation, they would become involved. Cases of such gravity were typically tried by all three judicial offices together, one of which was the Court of Judicial Review, so the “censorate prison” in practice meant the Court’s cells for most purposes.

But this was still the Censorate’s business, and they most certainly had to come and say something. Moreover, as the affair touched on public discourse, the Censorate had a responsibility to look into it.

A group of old men and half-old men gathered together and looked at one another: “What exactly is going on here?”

Female officials — they existed, but they were all confined to the palace.

Now someone was proposing to add a position for a genuine “female official” in the sequence of the hundred officials, to have it formally recorded in the ritual registers and permanently fixed in place — this was astonishing to them all. Even more astonishing was that the emperor had not simply refused outright. They passed the memorial around and read it carefully, each forming their own assessment. For though the memorial was written in very plain language and showed no great literary refinement, it made its point with great clarity and carried a measure of genuine sense. The calligraphy was a clean, upright clerical script — pleasant to look at, and not off-putting.

Among those taking part in the discussions, some were in favor — Zheng Xi, for example. Though his support was hedged, he was the presiding official of the Court of Judicial Review and held that the question of the separation of men and women did genuinely need to be considered. The Censorate was also equivocal — the issue had been raised correctly, they felt, though how to resolve it was still a matter for further deliberation.

Some were opposed, like Zhong Yi. A woman dressing in men’s clothing was either a private amusement or a passing fashion; if recorded by the court historians, it would be classified as “disturbing the order of dress.” A woman performing men’s ritual gestures was even more improper. If a woman held a ninth-rank official position and her husband was a commoner, how would precedence be established? Would that not be turning heaven and earth upside down?

Furthermore, Zhong Yi had a particular dislike of petty clerks, having himself suffered serious losses at their hands. He still harbored the impression that “women are naturally more timid” — might they be more easily manipulated, and more likely to act on private interests to the detriment of their work?

But Zhong Yi was himself stopped short by the “separation of men and women” argument. He said: “Women who commit crimes are rare to begin with! In the cases where there are some, the wives or daughters of existing clerks can be recruited on a temporary basis.” Zheng Xi had a fully adequate counter: “The Court of Judicial Review is within the imperial palace precinct.” The imperial palace precinct and the inner palace were separated by only one wall — to temporarily bring in random outsiders was not acceptable.

Access to both the palace precinct and the inner palace was strictly regulated. Bringing in temporary recruits who might not be trustworthy or familiar with the protocols — if someone smuggled information during a major imperially-designated case, what then?

The senior officials deliberated for an entire day and still reached no conclusion. Just as Chief Minister Shi had said — genuinely complicated. And all of them still had their own major affairs to deal with, so they agreed to reconvene the following afternoon.

The next morning, Zheng Xi called Zhù Ying in and gave her a stern dressing-down: “If there’s still no resolution after the next round of discussions, you’ll go in and argue it out with them yourself!”

Zhù Ying said: “Understood. Set the limits for me — what level of offense is still within bounds?”

Zheng Xi was moved to laughter despite his irritation: “You’re talking about going up against them?”

“It’s an argument — just words!”

“What’s your reading compared to theirs? They could insult you in ways you wouldn’t even recognize as insults!”

“If I don’t recognize it as an insult, I’ll take it as a compliment. But when I insult them, I’ll make sure they understand every word.”

Zheng Xi burst out laughing, and then felt even more annoyed: “Keep talking like that! This whole thing will come to nothing, I won’t lose face again, and I’ll keep you from going out there and making enemies!”

Zhù Ying said: “What undertaking worth doing ever goes without some bumps? Even when I’m out there haggling with traders over prices, it’s like I’m hacking at them with a blade.”

“Mm?”

Zhù Ying smiled: “My Lord, think about it — if we were simply asking to let women become officials, wouldn’t every old man at court be up in arms? But I’m asking for one prison warden. Look — has anyone flatly refused? The few who have — lay out the reasoning, and they start to waver. You see what I’ve chosen here — do I seem like someone without judgment?”

Zheng Xi gave a dismissive snort: “Keep wrangling away with me! Get out!”

Zhù Ying got out.

That afternoon, Zheng Xi attended the deliberations again — and still no settled text was produced. He then suggested to Chief Minister Chen: “Since it was Zhù Ying who submitted this, why not summon her to answer questions? If she can explain it clearly, the matter is settled. If she cannot, we report back to His Majesty — what do you think?”

Chief Minister Chen agreed. Chief Minister Shi said: “Fine — have her come and lay everything out plainly. Haven’t we spent enough time on this?”

……

Out of deference to Zheng Xi, the ministers and ministers of state gathered one final time for this matter, and Zhù Ying was summoned.

For the first time, Zhù Ying formally entered the Council of State Secretaries — slightly more imposing than the Court of Judicial Review, with a few more steps on the stairs. She walked behind Zheng Xi, her body slightly tense. Zheng Xi turned and said: “You actually know how to be nervous?”

“I’m feeling fortunate.”

Zheng Xi smiled and shook his head. Watching Zhù Ying relax, he thought to himself: that posting was well worth it.

Zheng Xi entered first, and Zhù Ying waited outside while those inside exchanged pleasantries for a while. Chief Minister Chen said: “Shall we begin?”

Chief Minister Shi said: “The sooner we conclude, the sooner we can return to peaceful days.”

Zheng Xi said: “Zhù Ying is already waiting outside.”

“Bring her in.”

Outside, Zhù Ying straightened her attire, then walked with measured steps into the Council of State Secretaries under everyone’s gaze.

The Council, the Ministry of Personnel, the Ministry of Rites, the Ministry of Punishments, and the rest had by now formed a very vivid impression of her — she had made their last few days feel like a battle, and all for some unnecessary fuss, hadn’t she?

Zhong Yi, upon seeing Zhù Ying, thought: Oh, it’s her? I assumed it was someone with the same name — I never imagined it was actually this person!

Chief Minister Chen was also quietly struck. He said: “Zhù Ying, this memorial — it was you who submitted it?”

“Yes, Chief Minister.”

“Then speak.”

Zhù Ying said: “Yes.”

She briefly summarized the memorial’s contents, with particular emphasis on “the Court of Judicial Review requires this.” She understood clearly that she could speak of two wardens and eight guards, but she could not make sweeping claims about “all under heaven” — she was not familiar enough with all under heaven to make such guarantees. But the affairs of the Court of Judicial Review — ask anything about them, and she would not be caught off guard. And “the Court of Judicial Review requires this” was sufficient to fix this provision in place permanently, ensuring that from generation to generation, the Court’s prison would always have a female head warden.

Minister Shi said: “Don’t just argue from the Court of Judicial Review’s perspective.”

Zhù Ying silently cursed Minister Shi’s ancestors eight generations back, while her face wore an expression of perfect guilelessness: “This subordinate has served in the Court of Judicial Review since entering government service, so of course my concern is for the Court of Judicial Review. I am a deputy judge of the Court of Judicial Review! If not about the Court, what else would I be speaking of? This memorial was submitted on behalf of the Court’s affairs. In my position, I must do my position’s work well. Other government offices… are not mine to manage, and I have no jurisdiction over them.”

Chief Minister Shi smoothed things over: “Young person — don’t confine your perspective to one place.”

Zhù Ying replied with dutiful humility: “Yes, I have taken note.” Internally she was seething: oh? Do you want me to manage your affairs too? Then give up your position!

Zheng Xi cleared his throat and asked: “Do you have any other arguments?”

In addition to the case precedents cited in the memorial, Zhù Ying was able to raise several more — all instances of male guards committing unlawful acts against female prisoners. At the same time, she brought up a number of wrongful convictions — women falsely charged with murdering their husbands, women falsely accused of adultery, and more. These women were already unjustly imprisoned, and were now being subjected to male guards watching over them — which was deeply inhumane.

Zhong Yi said: “All of these are matters in the localities. What about the Court of Judicial Review’s own prison?”

“Punishments do not apply to the nobility.”

Zheng Xi deliberately said: “Those are convicted officials.”

Zhù Ying said: “Not yet convicted. Once convicted, they’re treated accordingly.”

Zheng Xi knew that Zhong Yi was about to raise the matter of “ritual propriety,” and that on this particular point, the Office of Court Ceremonial was actually more relevant than the Ministry of Rites. But he had deliberately helped draw out the question.

Zhù Ying said: “Benevolence is the love of others. Rightness has its greater and lesser forms; ritual has its substance and its shell. To tolerate a real harm for the sake of a hollow name — this subordinate’s mind cannot make sense of such a thing. Once the decision is made, whether this is done or not, there will always be ways to make the form fit the substance afterward. As for ritual propriety among officials — that too can be thought through further. First the main structure must be nailed into place; within that framework there is room for improvisation. Confucius himself thought this way.”

Chief Minister Chen smiled and said: “That sounds a little like Wang Yunhe.”

He had finally expressed his own view in veiled terms. Chief Minister Shi followed: “It seems His Majesty is also giving this careful thought.”

In their minds, they had already drawn a line: the guards were genuinely necessary. What Zhù Ying had written about prisoners of the fifth rank and above who were permitted to bathe once a month — one could not have male guards going in and out for that. The warden was more uncertain. But it could be discussed — let the Court of Judicial Review and the various ministries and offices wrangle over the details at their leisure. All that was needed from them was one memorial expressing agreement in principle.

Zhù Ying then pushed in firmly: “It’s still better to have a woman as warden too. Otherwise you’d have a man at the top, with nothing but female guards and female prisoners beneath him, and once that door is shut, isn’t that just handing him a meal and letting him pick from the menu? Not that I’d suspect any male warden of being a wicked man by nature — it’s more to protect him from unfounded rumors that he couldn’t refute. Keep clear of the melon patch and the plum orchard, as they say.”

The clarity of the point was hard to argue with. Chief Minister Chen said: “That’s fair.”

Zhong Yi thought about the emperor’s attitude — the emperor had not thrown out the memorial — and grudgingly said: “Ritual propriety must not be violated.”

Zheng Xi said: “Then let them deliberate on what selection criteria would be appropriate.”

The matter had at last been settled in its broad outlines.

But Zhù Ying’s work was not finished. On top of running the Court of Judicial Review’s affairs, she would now need to “deliberate” further with colleagues from the various ministries.

Which meant arguing.

Chief Minister Chen also made a preliminary report to the emperor, and a chief minister’s pen produced something of an entirely different caliber — he kept closely to “benevolence” and “ritual,” while bringing in “the ordered relationship between yin and yang.”

……

Now it was the turn of the department directors, deputies like Zhù Ying, and senior officials of other prefectures to take center stage.

Zhù Ying’s main task was to argue with them.

If Zhù Ying had not had such a good memory, she would have fallen asleep. The “ritual” now being discussed was something she genuinely did not understand. She had assumed that Grand Mentor Wang’s talk of hierarchy and order, of the Three Bonds and Five Constancies, was ritual. It had not occurred to her that the same rank could have further distinctions in official robes — who on earth was supposed to know that?

She asked the Ministry of Rites, thoroughly vexed: “How was I to know that a ninth-rank official was supposed to attend court, and had some kind of formal ceremonial robe?”

A ninth-rank official attending court? She was already sixth rank and still had no such privilege! Nor did she have any right to wear the formal crowns and robes. For a ninth-rank position, a standard official’s garment was already more than enough! Official treatment increased noticeably with rank, and the fifth rank was the major dividing line. Old Wang of the Court, who used to ramble on about retirement pension — those were pure daydreams from the start, since only those of the fifth rank or above were entitled to half-salary after retiring at seventy. Those below had nothing — serve one year and be paid for one year; stop serving, and the income stopped too.

Similarly, it was only at the fifth rank and above that the state would allocate land to you. So people whose livelihoods were failing would sometimes register their fields under Zhù Ying’s name — Jin Daniangzi had never mentioned this when explaining “the life of an official” to her, because Jin Liang himself had not yet reached the fifth rank. And for the average person, rising to the fifth rank was extraordinarily difficult — yet the privileges of the fifth rank were beyond the imagination of most people.

That Zheng Xi was able to bring the entire Court of Judicial Review under his firm control was partly because he had set the example of Old Wang — enough to make many junior officials envious.

The director from the Ministry of Rites said: “She may be ninth rank now, but will she always stay at the ninth rank? She’ll need ceremonial robes eventually, won’t she? What kind of decorum is it to have a woman standing in the ceremonial order, attending court?”

Zhù Ying looked at him in astonishment, then asked the director from the Ministry of Personnel: “What? Does the Ministry of Personnel intend to promote the female official all the way up? Into the Council of State Secretaries?” She pointed to the floor beneath her feet — at that moment they were all in a side hall of the Council.

The director from the Ministry of Personnel said: “Deputy Zhù, please don’t joke about this — it really is a complication.”

Zhù Ying lowered her eyes, thought for a moment, then said: “That’s exactly what we’re here to discuss, isn’t it? Whether or not she gets promoted — isn’t that in the Ministry of Personnel’s hands? Looking at fifty years of Court of Judicial Review records, there’s not a single prison warden who ever made it to deputy judge.”

The director from the Ministry of Personnel said: “That needs to be formally established.”

Zhù Ying was perfectly indifferent, thinking to herself: Go ahead and establish it — if you can actually keep it in check, I’ll admit defeat.

As for the question of dress, Zhù Ying said: “If men’s dress on a woman is too much to stomach, then have her wear women’s dress. But come to think of it, don’t the female officials in the palace have a kind of official garment modeled on men’s style? Something along those lines should do. In all honesty, I am the deputy judge of the Court of Judicial Review, and my concern is only with the Court of Judicial Review’s affairs. You gentlemen have been directed to deliberate this single matter with me — why go out of your way to find problems that don’t yet exist? Is His Majesty now proposing to open the floodgates and let women take office at will? What I submitted was about the Court’s prison, and what His Majesty has directed us to deliberate is that same prison. All we’re arranging right now is one person of ninth rank — how straightforward could it be? Handle it well, file the report, and we’re done. As for those who want to think further ahead — go home and think, and if something truly comes up, you can propose a solution and distinguish yourself. You each have that option.”

The director from the Ministry of Rites said: “Well, that’s not too difficult on its own. It’s just the superiors who’ll be hard to manage.”

Zhù Ying smiled: “Don’t bring it to their attention yourself. If you don’t want something to happen, don’t go stirring them up.”

The director from the Ministry of Rites had been in government longer than Zhù Ying and certainly understood this principle. He thought: that’s not unreasonable. He still glared at Zhù Ying: it’s all your fault for stirring this up in the first place.

But Zhù Ying had a point. The Ministry of Personnel thought: if we just don’t bring up the question of her evaluation criteria, that’s fine.

Then other objections arose: “Men and women are different. Women are not suited for heavy responsibilities, and then there’s the matter of monthly cycles — all very inconvenient!”

Zhù Ying said: “All the better — menstrual blood wards off evil. Prisons are thick with the air of grievance, so it’s just the right thing to counter it.”

Hm — come to think of it, there was actually some tradition behind that.

Then someone said: “For a male official, even a rough one, it doesn’t matter how much he’s knocked around. A woman, though — she’ll be pregnant. What can a pregnant woman do?”

Zhù Ying immediately said: “I’ve seen women go out to the fields at eight months along. I’ve seen women who had their lunch brought out to the field in the morning and gave birth right there in the field by afternoon. I’ve seen women weaving day and night. I’ve seen women supporting entire families with needlework and handcraft — keeping a gambling wastrel of a husband, a bedridden mother-in-law, and everyone else fed.”

“Ah, but this is an official, a clerk — not a village woman.”

Zhù Ying said: “Forgive me. You may not yet have a wife, so you may not be aware. From what I know, once a woman is with child, does she stop attending on her in-laws? Does she stop bending down? Does she stop managing the accounts? Does she stop seeing her husband off in the morning and welcoming him home in the evening? Does she stop making social calls? Does she stop managing the children? Watching over prisoners is not more taxing than waiting on a husband.”

Do not ask, just argue — and the arguing went on for several days.

The debate stretched to the Double Seventh Festival, when Zhang Xiangu, Huajie, and Du Dajie set up an incense table at home for the occasion. It spread until all of the capital knew: the Court of Judicial Review had a deputy judge who had submitted a memorial proposing to replace the male guards in the women’s prison with female ones. Now there was someone with nerve.

In contrast to the wrangling at court, popular opinion was quite receptive: of course women should be guarding women! Having a man watch over the women’s prison was like setting a fox to guard the henhouse.

……

Huajie was deeply anxious — and even more anxious than her were Zhang Xiangu and Zhù Da, who were simply terrified that Zhù Ying might come to harm. They did not understand why submitting a memorial to the court should involve such an enormous fuss. They often chatted with the neighbors and heard stories about officials submitting memorials impeaching each other, and how two people would trade memorials back and forth in long-distance written quarrels. They listened with great interest and sometimes even weighed in with their own opinions.

“Oh, how did it end up landing on our doorstep? Ying, what possessed you to go submitting a memorial?” Zhang Xiangu was thoroughly baffled. Her daughter had been an official for several years now and had never shown any inclination toward memorials. Was this the moment for drawing attention to herself?

Zhù Ying said: “It’ll be fine.”

Huajie felt a pang of regret in her heart: I should have tried to dissuade her at the time.

She carried her worries, burned incense at home for several days, and went to the nunnery to pray.

At the nunnery, however, the place was also buzzing with chatter — word of Zhù Ying’s memorial had made its way even to this Buddhist sanctuary, and in the retelling it had shifted somewhat. People were already saying that Zhù Ying was trying to get women into government.

That was not inaccurate. A prison warden was an official too — petitioning for a female prison warden was, in effect, getting women into government.

Getting into government meant receiving a salary. A group of young nuns talked in low voices about it, and they had an excellent impression of Zhù Ying — she donated money to Cihui Nunnery, and often came to accompany Huajie. When small matters arose at the nunnery, she would quietly sort them out. Whatever else, aside from shameless characters like Fu Xiaoniangzi’s husband, Cihui Nunnery had been genuinely peaceful and calm — not a single thief dared steal within three zhang of the nunnery’s outer walls.

Their murmurings reached Huajie’s ears, and Huajie grew more worried still. She was a little afraid — afraid that the waves would rise too high and crash over Zhù Ying.

She pressed her palms together and bowed three times with all sincerity. In her heart, Huajie prayed: Bodhisattva, if you have any power, lend your help through her hands and let this come to pass.

Having paid her respects, she felt she had entrusted the matter to the right hands. Huajie felt a little better, and went to help in the medicine room. There she ran into Fu Xiaoniangzi.

Fu Xiaoniangzi seemed on the verge of saying something, then stopped herself. Huajie asked: “What’s the matter? Is the little one not feeling well?”

“No,” Fu Xiaoniangzi said quickly, “he’s about the same — just slowly recovering.”

“Then what is it?”

Fu Xiaoniangzi made up her mind and asked: “I’ve heard that Little Magistrate Zhù wants to allow women to become officials?”

This was exactly what Huajie was anxious about, and she quickly said: “The court is still deliberating. And it isn’t entirely what she has proposed — ultimately it must be decided by His Majesty and the chief ministers.”

Fu Xiaoniangzi’s eyes lit up with a sudden brightness: “So there’s a chance it might go through?!”

“I hope it does.”

Fu Xiaoniangzi’s face filled with delight, and she asked with some urgency: “Then — what would one need to do to be selected? Has Little Magistrate Zhù said anything about it at home?” She had heard the young nuns discussing this matter a few days ago and had been moved by it then. A ninth-rank position was still an official position! Even if it wasn’t an official position, a prison guard was still a clerk — the pay, hard to say how much, but there would be something. Even if it was just as a clerk, one man’s clerk’s income in a family was enough to support everyone on tight rations. She was alone with only a son, and if she could be selected, wouldn’t he be able to eat a little more meat? Nursing an illness back to health was all about nourishment!

Huajie had never imagined someone would come seeking connections through her, and she said with a serious expression: “There’s nothing of that sort. For one thing, the matter hasn’t been settled yet. For another, even if it is, it may not fall under her jurisdiction. And even if it does, it still depends on what she decides.” She did not accept this kind of personal appeal.

Fu Xiaoniangzi could see Huajie’s refusal. It was a little embarrassing, but she needed this opportunity too desperately to be concerned about face. She pleaded repeatedly: “Once there’s news, at least let me know.”

Huajie sighed: “All right. Anything more than that I don’t dare promise — this whole affair is so difficult. If it goes through, I wouldn’t dare let anything ruin it in my hands.”

“Just let me know so I don’t miss out.” Fu Xiaoniangzi said.

Huajie, whose spirits had just lightened a little, felt her heart sink again because of this.

When she returned home, she quietly told Zhù Ying: “I’m thinking — if this goes through, there will probably be people coming to ask for favors. You’d best be alert to that. And tell Father and Mother to be careful too — don’t let anyone set a trap for us. For instance, an invitation to drinks. Or a box of pastries with gold and silver hidden inside.”

Zhù Ying said: “The matter isn’t settled yet. Don’t worry — Father and Mother are very careful about these things.”

Even someone as easily swayed as Zhù Da had a constraint holding him in place — Zhù Ying was a woman.

But Zhù Da’s mind was working in another direction. He quietly discussed with Zhang Xiangu: “If Ying’s thing goes through, does that mean it won’t be against the law for a woman to be an official?”

Zhang Xiangu wasn’t entirely sure either. She hoped it was true, though she thought it unlikely. She quietly went to ask Huajie. Huajie quickly explained: “That’s different! Zhù Ying has been hiding who she is. Dry Mother — think about it. This thing isn’t certain yet, and if it were naturally how things were supposed to be, they wouldn’t have been debating it for this many days. There are people who aren’t happy about it, and it’s very possible someone will try to use it to harm Zhù Ying. And even if it goes through, the prison warden is ninth rank — that’s far below where Zhù Ying is.”

Zhang Xiangu immediately tensed: “Understood — not a word!” She went back and whispered with Zhù Da for half the night. After a while, Zhù Da settled down and comforted himself: “We’re already doing quite well as things are.”

Zhang Xiangu said: “Exactly! Caution is never wrong.”

On the other side, Huajie also breathed a small sigh of relief, prayed earnestly before the tablet in her north room, and waited for the outcome.

Zhù Ying threw herself into the debate, arguing with department directors and their equivalents from the various ministries. These directors were each the workhorses of their respective ministries — just like Zhù Ying — and on matters of detail, they sometimes knew more than the ministers themselves. After all the back-and-forth, they finally arrived at a common understanding: the situation in the Court of Judicial Review’s prison was somewhat special, and so it could be treated as a special case to be resolved on its own merits, and discussed only in terms of the Court’s prison.

With that premise in place, other issues followed much more smoothly.

Official robes: women’s dress was acceptable. As a compromise, the style would be based on the palace’s female official robes. For a ninth-rank official, this was essentially the standard of a palace maid. Palace maids within the palace wore skirts, but in certain ceremonial settings some of them also wore something resembling men’s cut, with low-heeled boots in pale soles. Ritual conduct could simply follow that same model. In any case, a ninth-rank prison warden would have no occasion to appear at any major formal event.

As for the guards, those were clerks — the Ministry of Rites happily left that headache to Zhù Ying.

Questions of menstruation and pregnancy were raised no more — if any of them came to the Court of Judicial Review with a swollen belly and made demands, that would be the Court’s problem to deal with.

Salary: issued according to rank. Duties: the standard responsibilities of a prison warden and prison clerks. Rewards and punishments: according to the regulations.

The reason they ultimately compromised was in part because Zhù Ying had kept her focus in exactly the right place — the matter was primarily about affairs within the Court of Judicial Review. She had not expanded it. Whatever the broader public was discussing, it was no concern of the officials in the room. Other officials had no additional responsibility here, and it would not affect them.

Their hesitation and resistance had ultimately come from the sense that having “the hen crowing at dawn” was improper.

So Zhù Ying had drawn her own circle and limited herself first.

The department directors all pushed Zhù Ying to write the final text: openly they said, “You know the full picture best; we each only understand our own piece of it.” In their hearts, none of them were confident this would go well, and they were more than happy to let Zhù Ying carry any responsibility if something went wrong.

Zhù Ying dutifully and carefully produced a summary and wrote the second memorial. Beyond the obligatory praise of imperial virtue, the content had two main parts: one concerning the official position, and one concerning the clerical staff. The section on the official position addressed the prison warden — explaining why at least two were needed, since the prison must always be staffed, requiring shifts. Then there was the treatment of the prison warden — simply the standard ninth-rank treatment, with no special conditions. Then the ritual regulations — following the model of the palace’s female official protocol.

There was one unresolved question: palace female officials had no husbands, or their husbands had died before they entered palace service. An outside prison warden might well have a living husband. What would be the relative standing of a wife in an official position and a husband who was a commoner? Their deliberated answer was: for a ninth-rank prison warden and a commoner husband, mutual equal courtesy would apply.

Then the criteria for selecting an official: clear family background going back three generations, literacy and knowledge of the law. Since there was no precedent, and they were not being asked to adjudicate cases, even those currently unfamiliar with legal provisions could be accepted — as long as they could recite the Analects, and on being selected were required to study the law within a set period; failure to do so would result in dismissal. And most importantly, a guarantor was required: first, parental or spousal consent; second, a letter of recommendation from a local official; and third, three guarantors, all of whom must be members of the scholar-gentry class.

The criteria for the prison guards were even simpler: literacy was sufficient. Family background did not need to be strictly that of commoners — wives, daughters, and sisters of existing clerks were acceptable, as were “the three aunts and six women” of various trades. Likewise, a basic familiarity with legal knowledge was required. Their treatment would be the same as the Court’s existing male guards.

For both the official and the clerks, good health and clear speech were required.

Zhù Ying wrote it all, and the department directors all pushed for her to be the one to write the final memorial. On the surface they said: “You understand the whole picture best — we each only know our own corner.” In their hearts they had little confidence this would succeed and were perfectly happy to leave whatever might go wrong for Zhù Ying to handle on her own.

The memorial was submitted. The emperor read it and found it clear and well-written. Since it was framed as a special arrangement, it also reflected his own benevolence and propriety, so he approved it. It then went down to the Council of State Secretaries, and the procedural steps went quickly. For the guards, the Court of Judicial Review was free to select them themselves, since they were the ones who would use them. For the official position, a department director from the Ministry of Personnel would join the Court of Judicial Review in conducting the selection, since this official’s career would obviously be tied to the Court’s prison. The matter was to be carried out before year’s end.

The Ministry of Personnel dispatched a department director named Yin that very day. At the Court of Judicial Review, Zheng Xi pointed to Zhù Ying: “Satisfied now? One thunderclap out of nowhere, and you’ve actually pulled it off!”

Zhù Ying smiled: “It was you who made it happen. I just had an idea — the credit for getting things done belongs entirely to you.”

Zheng Xi gave a dismissive snort: “Be careful. You and Director Yin must handle everything properly, and you must choose the right people — absolutely no selecting frivolous individuals who would bring trouble on the Court!”

Zhù Ying said: “I already have some ideas. I’m thinking we should first look for people with simple family situations — fewer complications, fewer places for things to go wrong.”

Zheng Xi said: “Good thinking.”

Zhù Ying said: “We can go ahead and post the notice for selecting guards too, can’t we? My thought is — for this first round of eight, there’s no rush to fill all eight at once. First select six from within the capital, since clerks in most offices tend to be from the local area anyway. Leave two spots open to give us room to maneuver. For all of them, we want physically strong women. And we need to post a clear notice within the Court: no bullying, no harassment. The whole point of this was the separation of men and women — if things get messy, haven’t we just created our own headache?”

Zheng Xi said: “Good. Go.”

Zhù Ying went with Director Yin to begin selecting the prison wardens.

The position of prison warden was an official rank, but not one that anyone with genuine ambitions for office would look upon favorably — too low, and promotion from it was not easy. And a female one at that. This gave people even more pause. Director Yin, like Zheng Xi before him, said: “We absolutely cannot select a frivolous person!”

Zhù Ying said: “My thought, Deputy Director, is that since time is short, let us confine the search to those from within the capital.”

Director Yin said: “That won’t do. This is the Court of Judicial Review — His Majesty certainly did not say the applicants must come from the capital.”

“Causing disruption across the entire realm for one single prison warden seems pointless.”

Director Yin said: “We still need to send official correspondence stating clearly a deadline — say, arrive in the capital before October. Old colleague, how can you not understand this at this point? How many women from good families are in a position to be educated? Among those who are educated, how many would be allowed by their families to travel thousands of li to the capital alone to sit an exam, with no guarantee of passing? The difficulties along the way alone — and then there’s the consent documents from parents or husband, and letters of recommendation from local officials. In any case, we’ve issued the official correspondence, and we’re not barring anyone from coming. If they themselves are daunted and don’t apply, that’s not our fault, is it?”

Zhù Ying thought: you people are ruthless.

And she agreed to it.

She let Director Yin draft the official notice — and she said: “The selection process is the Ministry of Personnel’s business. How could we presume to overstep? I submitted the memorial because the Court of Judicial Review was lacking this kind of staff, and I was requesting that the court provide it. I never imagined it would stir up all this controversy. This really is yours to lead.”

Director Yin had no choice but to draft the notice. Zhù Ying read it through — it contained no traps — and so the official correspondence went out to all under heaven.

The selection of guards was even simpler. Zhù Ying drafted a notice and had it posted throughout the capital. Done.

Zhù Ying felt she had been quite restrained, and that this would not cause any great stir. She had only to draft the examination questions and then conduct the face-to-face interviews for the guards. She planned to fill the guard positions before the Mid-Autumn Festival, and then around the beginning of October, jointly conduct the examination with the Ministry of Personnel for the women applying for the warden position. By her estimation, most of the applicants would still be from the capital anyway. As far as she could see, this whole matter could be wrapped up right here in the capital.

What she had not anticipated was that word reached Wang Yunhe, who began to turn it over in his mind. Local government offices had a practice of some thoughtful officials temporarily recruiting a few female attendants for the women’s ward. These women were generally those without stable livelihoods, or simply the wives and daughters of existing guards. But there had never been any fixed allocation. After Zhù Ying’s proposal, Wang Yunhe thought that setting a fixed quota of female guards for the women’s wards actually made a great deal of sense.

His regard for Zhù Ying deepened further. He turned it over a while, and then submitted a memorial himself, requesting that the Prefecture of the Capital likewise add female prison wardens and guards, and that this provision be formally codified in the ritual registers.

Wang Yunhe’s influence was incomparably greater than Zhù Ying’s, and the discussion sparked by his memorial was far more extensive than Zhù Ying’s own, which had been confined to whispers among the court officials and casual conversations over tea in the capital. Because Wang Yunhe’s memorial cited “as proposed by Court of Judicial Review Deputy Judge Zhù Ying,” Zhù Ying’s name began to be noticed and recognized by a number of people.

This was something Zhù Ying had not expected at all.

When she heard that Wang Yunhe had submitted a memorial too, she thought: I need to move faster. I can’t have the one who “first raised the idea” still sitting on her hands when he’s already gotten it done.