Transmigrated to the Northern Song Dynasty as a County Magistrate (GL) - Chapter 15

15: The Absurdity of Official Appointments at the Qiji Office

For now, Tian Qingyi found robes and scholar’s garments the most comfortable to wear. Besides, even wearing a hat felt heavy to her—if she had to style her hair into a high bun like Yun Jingchu and adorn it with hairpins, her neck would probably protest within minutes.

This era lacked washing machines or any modern appliances. If she actually had to do laundry or cook, she probably wouldn’t even know how to start a fire, let alone prepare a meal. The most she could manage was boiling noodles—and even then, she’d likely burn them. Back in the modern world, she’d barely used her own kitchen.

Most days, she either mooched meals off her parents or her sister, or ordered takeout. Her apartment was always a mess, clothes strewn everywhere—a habit her ex-girlfriend had constantly nagged her about. It was only thanks to her mom and ex occasionally cleaning up that the place stayed livable. Thinking of her modern life, her mother, and her ex made her melancholy again.

Luckily, her current circumstances weren’t bad. Though the original body’s identity was complicated, at least it came with privilege. She didn’t have to wash clothes, cook, clean, or even style her own hair. Not that she could if she tried.

This realization made her aware of how spoiled she’d become. Remembering the saying, “It’s easy to go from frugality to luxury, but hard to go back,” she grew wary. After all, she would eventually leave the Jiufang household. If she grew too accustomed to this pampered life, how would she survive outside?

Before she could spiral further, the carriage stopped. She’d arrived just in time at the Qiji Office. The hall, temporarily repurposed for the gathering, was already filled with men dressed like her. A sea of dark robes stretched before her, with only a few empty seats—clearly, most had arrived.

While verifying her identity outside, she spotted a seating chart and was assigned a number. Inside, she located her spot and headed over, oblivious to the gaze lingering on her.

In truth, Shang Yan only glanced at her twice—just enough to confirm she was unharmed—before looking away. To better conceal his identity, he’d long since married and even had children. But since Guihai was a woman, he couldn’t help but worry.

The Qiji Office served as both a gathering place for new scholars and a temporary administrative hub, managed by the top two exam scorers—the top scholar and second-rank scholar, with the former taking the lead. Once attendance was confirmed, the top scholar took the stage, spouting formalities about gratitude to the emperor and self-aggrandizement. He also mentioned the emperor’s gift of 2,000 guan for the Qiji gatherings—effectively funding their future feasts and drinks.

Under the top scholar’s direction, everyone bowed toward the palace in homage, feigning tearful gratitude—except Tian Qingyi and Shang Yan.

Tian Qingyi would’ve preferred the emperor just give her the money outright, while Shang Yan, loyal to the Liao emperor, felt no such reverence for the Song ruler. Any display was purely performative.

Then came the main event: assigning temporary roles for the Qiji Office—oversight officers, secretaries, registrars, protocol masters, and more. Though framed as elections, the top scholar and his inner circle had already decided everything. Refusal wasn’t an option, nor was dissent.

To Tian Qingyi’s surprise, as the selections neared their end, her name was called. After a stunned pause, she mimicked the others, standing to bow. Just like that, she became a miscellaneous officer with no clear duties—a glorified errand runner, as the coming days would prove.

If the Qiji Office were a temporary company, the emperor was its chairman, the top scholar its CEO, the second-rank scholar its managers, and the rest its staff. After the final banquet, everyone would scatter to their posts, and this makeshift institution would dissolve—leaving only a registry as proof it ever existed.

Next came announcements:
1. That afternoon, officials from the Personnel Evaluation Bureau would announce their appointments.
2. Tomorrow morning, all must gather outside the palace for a formal gratitude ceremony.
3. Within three days, everyone must submit their exam rank, name, and hometown to the registrar.
4. From today onward, unless otherwise arranged, everyone must gather at the Qiji Office daily at noon and stay until after dinner. Absences required prior approval from the top scholar—all until the final banquet.

This posed a problem for Tian Qingyi. Accompanying Yun Jingchu on her bridal visit today, leaving midway was already rude. She’d even promised to return promptly. Skipping the Qiji gathering would mean breaking her word and etiquette.

As she agonized, a dozen imperial guards entered, swiftly rearranging tables into large squares. Dragged along by her sleeve, Tian Qingyi snapped back to reality.

The guards finished and resumed their posts. Tian Qingyi had noticed them on her first visit, though fewer in number, assuming they were temporary decorum enforcers. Apparently not.

She couldn’t fathom why this temporary Qiji Office needed guarding. No one lived here, and there were no valuables. What exactly were they protecting?

Soon, restaurant servants entered, setting out bowls, dishes, wine, and seasonal fruits until the tables groaned under the spread.

Having just eaten at the Yun residence, Tian Qingyi now faced another feast. With limited stomach space, she nibbled at the dishes before her, sipping wine sparingly—a stark contrast to her ravenous, wine-guzzling tablemates.

Each large table seated twenty. Tian Qingyi’s group comprised the top ten first-rank scholars and the next ten second-rank scholars, placing her with the top scholar and second-rank scholar.

The top scholar presided at the head, flanked by the second-rank scholar. Tian Qingyi sat directly across from the top scholar. As chatter buzzed around her, the man beside her raised a toast:

“Brother Jiufang, not only are you distinguished in bearing, but your talent is remarkable. May your career soar to great heights.”

This man—Xun Chang, if she recalled—ranked just above her. Around thirty, unremarkable in looks and build, the kind who’d vanish in a crowd.

Tian Qingyi raised her cup. “Brother Xun, your erudition is profound. Passing the exams is like a carp leaping over the dragon gate. I, too, wish you future success.” Flattery wasn’t her forte, but corporate niceties? She could manage those.

“Your auspicious words are appreciated,” Xun Chang beamed. They drained their cups.

With endless wine fueling the revelry, the atmosphere grew boisterous. Yet amid the cheer, Tian Qingyi felt profoundly isolated—these weren’t her friends or family.

Xun Chang proved talkative. Even without prompting, by meal’s end, Tian Qingyi knew more than she needed—he was from Hangzhou, had taken the exams five times before succeeding, came from wealth, had parents, a wife, children, and hoped for a post near home.

He, in turn, probed about her. She stuck to Jiufang Xiyan’s backstory, even injecting melancholy for authenticity, drawing sympathetic glances and unwelcome consolation from others.

Once sufficiently drunk, Xun Chang teased her for eating “barely more than a cat” despite her height. She grimaced, explaining she’d already eaten.

Then Personnel Evaluation officials arrived. Under the top scholar’s lead, they assembled outside for the appointments. First, everyone adjusted their hats, reattaching the side flaps removed for dining.

The official wore crimson robes, a gold-belted sash (higher quality than theirs), and a silver fish pouch—a status symbol the original Jiufang Xiyan’s father had flaunted.

After perfunctory remarks, the official cut to the chase:
– The top scholar was appointed Editorial Director at the Academy of Scholarly Worthies.
– Tian Qingyi: Court Judicial Reviewer, Magistrate of Huating County.
– Xun Chang: Court Judicial Reviewer, Magistrate of Haiyan County.

Wait, are we being assigned to the Court of Judicial Review? Tian Qingyi wondered. Or is the county magistrate title a concurrent post?

This was the best explanation she could muster. The Song bureaucracy’s complexity baffled her. Without the original’s memories, she wouldn’t even know her father and grandfather’s ranks.

The original had known the system was convoluted—split into titular, functional, and temporary posts—and recognized some high-ranking titles. But Court Judicial Reviewer? No clue. Probably low-ranked.

The prospect of working at the Court of Judicial Review unsettled her. She could handle drafting diagrams, even with primitive tools. But solving legal cases? She had zero experience. And what was this Magistrate of Huating County nonsense?

Huating sounded vaguely familiar—somewhere coastal? Her geography knowledge, rusty after a millennium, failed her.

Much later, she heard another familiar name: Shang Yan, appointed Registrar of Haiyan County—a single, concrete post, unlike her dual role. Did that mean she wasn’t staying in the capital?

As the official finished, he instructed them to collect their appointment documents after the final banquet, then departed with his entourage. The top scholar escorted him out while the rest returned to feasting, mingling more freely now.

On the way back, Xun Chang buzzed with excitement. Before she could ask why, he blurted:

“Brother Jiufang! Not only are we classmates and peers, but our posts are neighboring! This is heaven-sent fate. Why not become sworn brothers?”

The trope blindsided her. After a stunned pause, she demurred:

“Sworn brothers must rank as elder and younger. I’m already the younger sibling at home—I’ve no wish to reprise the role. And you hardly seem the type to call me ‘elder.’ Better we remain as we are.”

The proposal had distracted her from Xun Chang’s earlier remark. Now, parsing his words anew, she realized her mistake.

I got it backwards. The Court of Judicial Review was the titular post—she was actually being sent to that county! And her assignment was adjacent to Xun Chang’s!

“Brother Xun speaks wisely. I gratefully accept,” she replied belatedly, masking her unease. What if Huating borders Liao or another hostile territory?

In this unfamiliar Northern Song world, more friends meant more paths. With a free “guide” offering himself, why refuse? She wasn’t that foolish.