Chapter 1: The Scholar Who Crossed Into the Song Dynasty

In the first year of Jiayou during the Northern Song, Hejiang County, Luzhou.

This place lies at the confluence of the Yangtze River and Anle Creek; now, with spring waters newly risen, it presents a serene scene of young swallows darting among willow branches and orioles pecking at leaves as they play upon the water.

Two scholars carrying book sacks walked briskly across the stone bridge.

Listening to the sound of the water, one of them shook his head and chanted.

“The Master said by the river.”

“Gulugulugulu.”

The man turned to his companion in surprise; though today’s exam at the county school had concluded and they were free for the Cold Food Festival holiday, good spirits were one thing—mocking the sages was another.

“Why are you staring at me?”

Only then did the two realize something was wrong; they turned together toward Anle Creek.

“Bad! Someone’s fallen in!”

At the shout from the bridge, a fisherman familiar with the water quickly pulled the boy out.

He was a youth of sixteen or seventeen, eyes tightly shut, nose straight and proud, eyebrows like slanted swords piercing his temples, a ring of dried blood staining his bruised forehead.

Yet the two scholars recognized this boy.

“Lu Beigu? I thought he came from Gulin Town upstream on Anle Creek—he always ranked last in the county school. How did he end up in the water?”

In a sea of darkness, Lu Beigu’s modern consciousness began to stir.

He strained to recall what had just happened, but his mind was a blur; all he remembered was himself, a university associate professor, staying up late to write an academic paper, then falling asleep from exhaustion.

Yet when he awoke, he had been transported into the body of a boy in the Northern Song’s Renzong era—same name, same identity.

At that moment, fragments of the original body’s memories flooded into his mind.

After an indeterminate length of time, Lu Beigu slowly opened his eyes.

Above him stretched a clear, unpolluted blue sky; beside him flowed the gentle murmur of water; his body was drenched and icy, the chill seeping deep into his bones.

“He’s awake! He’s awake!” A voice beside him, tinged with relief, rang out.

Lu Beigu turned his head slightly and saw two scholars in blue robes crouching beside him; one held a cloth to his bleeding forehead.

Having absorbed the original body’s memories and emotions, he understood the language of this era.

“Thank heaven you’re awake—how did you fall in?”

Lu Beigu opened his mouth, but his throat felt stuffed with cotton—he could not speak.

“Don’t bother with that now.”

The scholar wiping the blood interrupted his companion, his tone urgent.

“The County Magistrate is presiding over today’s final exam before the county test—we must get you to the county school at once!”

“Exactly! If you don’t take the exam, you’ll lose your eligibility for the county test!”

Hearing the words “county test,” Lu Beigu’s mind instantly flooded with a reflexive dread.

The original body was a poor youth from Gulin Town; he had done passably well in private school, but after entering the county school, he could not keep up with his peers. His family scrimped and saved, borrowing money to fund his studies, hoping he might pass the county test and enter the prefectural school.

Yet no matter how hard he tried, his grades remained at the bottom of the class—he had no chance of passing this year’s county test.

Unable to face his family’s hopeful expectations, he had drowned himself in despair.

But none of that mattered to Lu Beigu, who had just arrived here; what he wanted now was a hot bath and clean clothes, to avoid becoming a Daomeichuanyuezhe who died of a cold.

Yet his throat was too blocked to voice his thoughts!

At that moment, the two loyal classmates, without hesitation, each took one of his arms and hoisted him onto their shoulders, dragging him toward the county school.

Both were strong young men; as they carried him along, they continued chatting.

“Sigh, I wonder what the policy essay topic will be today.”

“This new County Magistrate Li just arrived—who knows what he wants to test?”

“This is Magistrate Li’s first exam—he’ll be watching closely. Let’s make a good impression.”

“True. In our dynasty, the imperial examination’s civil service track places the highest value on policy essays. And the county test is coming soon—whether we enter the prefectural school depends entirely on the Magistrate’s favor.”

As the sun warmed his body and dispelled the chill, Lu Beigu’s thoughts grew clearer.

Two paths lay before him: one, to abandon the exam, rest up, then go to the school dormitory for a bath and fresh clothes; the other, to attend the exam as he was—soaked, but the test was important and wouldn’t take long.

He had intended to choose the first path—but for some reason, a line from a funny video he’d once watched flashed into his mind.

“Liberal arts students used to have an advantage in employment, but not anymore.”

“When did that happen?”

“In the Song Dynasty.”

In this Song Dynasty, scholar-officials held extremely high social status; or, to use a phrase not yet coined, “All professions are lowly, except scholarship.”

This was the golden age for scholars!

For him personally, if he missed this exam and lost his eligibility for the county test, upward mobility would become impossible.

And unlike the poetry or scriptural memorization exams, the policy essay required no deep knowledge of Song-era Confucian texts—he simply had to write a classical Chinese argument in response to the prompt.

As a modern top-tier liberal arts scholar, this was no challenge for him.

The original body feared policy essays—he did not.

And wasn’t there a saying?

“Well, since I’m here…”

Inside the county school examination hall, voices buzzed loudly; students gathered in small groups, whispering about possible essay topics.

As Lu Beigu was escorted in by the two scholars, many turned to stare.

“Isn’t that Lu Beigu? What happened to him?” someone whispered.

“Looks like he fell in the water,” another murmured.

“His disheveled state is bad luck—don’t let it affect our performance.”

At that moment, a scoff came from behind.

Lu Beigu didn’t need to turn—he knew it was the wealthy students of the county school.

According to the original body’s memories, these boys delighted in bullying poor scholars, led especially by He Cong, who ranked first in the school and whose family owned Hejiang County’s most luxurious tavern.

“Brother Lu, with that wound on your forehead—did you hang yourself from the rafters and stab yourself with needles until you damaged your brain?” He Cong’s voice came from behind. “Too bad policy essays aren’t like poetry—no shortcuts here.”

In fact, the original body’s decision to end his life that day stemmed partly from his terror of the policy essay.

After the Qingli Reforms, the Song Dynasty established a two-tier education system—county school and prefectural school—to qualify for the imperial examinations, one had to pass the county test and enter the prefectural school; otherwise, one could not sit for the prefectural test.

The Qingli Reforms had changed the exam content: from emphasizing poetry and verse to prioritizing policy essays, and requiring candidates to demonstrate personal understanding of the classics.

This major overhaul was unfriendly to someone like the original body—a small-town exam-taker.

The reason was simple: poetry and verse could be prepared with templates, since they followed fixed rhyme schemes and themes.

But policy essays tested a student’s insight into current affairs—in this era of extreme information isolation, how could a poor youth who’d never even visited the prefectural capital possibly write a decent one?

Wealthy students, by contrast, had broader horizons; their families often had retired or serving officials, so they absorbed political insights by osmosis—something a poor scholar could never match.

Thus, every policy essay exam was agony for the original body; the post-exam critiques were public executions, leaving him humiliated and furious—until fear became absolute.

But Lu Beigu heard these words without a flicker of emotion, and chose not to respond.

Arriving at his seat, he took a deep breath and instantly entered exam mode.

As a modern top-tier liberal arts scholar, he possessed deep knowledge of Song Dynasty history, politics, philosophy, and economics—he was confident he could handle any topic.

At that moment, accompanied by the county school’s headmaster, assistant head, and instructors, the County Magistrate Li Pan entered the examination hall.

——————

① County test: colloquial term for the selection exam held within county schools established after the Qingli Reforms. It was not a formal imperial examination, but an internal assessment to select candidates for admission into prefectural schools, required for schools with over two hundred students.

② Prefectural test, also called the “Jie Shi” or “Autumn Exam,” was typically overseen by the state’s Assistant Prefect for the Jinshi track and the Registrar for other tracks. Those who passed were called juren and qualified to sit for the Ministry of Rites examination—the first formal step toward becoming a jinshi.

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(End of Chapter)