Writing memorials required writing; writing letters required writing too. The provincial graduate had written memorials, and he had also set up a stall on the street, making a living by writing family letters, banners, couplets, and the like for others. Hadn't Fang Guancheng once made a living helping people interpret characters at Eastern Splendor Gate?
Yin, the Tenth Prince, loved befriending extraordinary people. If he had not introduced Zhang Mingde to Yinsi, and if Zhang Mingde had not spoken those words about "destiny," perhaps Yinsi would never have joined the struggle for the throne.
The Great Qing Code did not stipulate that beggars could not take the imperial examinations, but it clearly decreed that those who opposed proper rites—such as sorcerers and cult leaders—were guilty. Those who spread heretical books, beguiled the public, incited rebellion through letters and proclamations, printed or distributed rebellious materials without authorization, or preached rebellion in public places were all guilty. Naturally, such people could not take the examinations. Yet Fang Guancheng's problem was not his identity as a fortune-teller. He was a survivor of the Literary Inquisition; had he not been so young, he should have been exiled to the Amur River.
Fear of the Literary Inquisition made officials tremble whenever they wrote memorials, terrified that they too might commit a taboo like "The pure breeze cannot read; why does it keep flipping through books?" Thus arose the "tradition" of having aides write memorials for them.
The provincial graduate was the only surviving member of his family. If anything went wrong, the young prince could push all responsibility onto him.
"Paying a call at one's gate" was a ceremony popular among Qing officials. One needed someone to make an introduction, then present the person being visited with a "disciple's calling card" and offer "respect money,"