Chapter 27: Ten-Day Test

In the days that followed, Lu Beigu rose early each morning to read aloud outside the study hall courtyard.

As morning dew had yet to dry, his quiet recitation mingled with birdsong, echoing through the courtyard.

This diligence gradually spread, drawing several other students to join the morning readings—soon becoming a sight at the county school, even reaching the ears of the school’s headmaster.

“The Master said to Yan Hui: ‘When employed, act; when dismissed, retire. Only I and you possess this!’ Zi Lu asked: ‘If you commanded the three armies, whom would you take with you?’ The Master replied: ‘I would not take one who fights tigers barehanded or fords rivers without fear of death. I would take one who, when faced with danger, is cautious, and who plans carefully to succeed.’”

The headmaster paused on his way to the dining hall to listen closely, recognizing Lu Beigu’s voice—low, yet each word resonant, as if carved from metal and stone.

He remembered this student: he had shone brilliantly in the policy essay exam before Cold Food Festival, yet performed abysmally in all other subjects; now, hearing his recitation, he had clearly developed method. Only someone thoroughly familiar with the text could recite it so smoothly without a single stumble.

The headmaster stroked his beard in thought, then turned and walked inside.

In the morning light, Lu Beigu paced while holding his scroll, utterly absorbed—he did not notice his sleeve caught on a bamboo branch.

Only when he heard a throat-clearing did he realize the headmaster stood three steps away, his blue cotton robe fluttering slightly in the wind.

“Student Lu Beigu greets the headmaster.”

The headmaster took the scroll from Lu Beigu’s hand and noticed dense markings along the bamboo-paper edges—likely for practicing classic-text memorization.

Without expression, he opened the “Weizheng” chapter and suddenly asked: “How do you interpret the passage: ‘Observe what he does’?”

Lu Beigu paused briefly, then replied: “The Master taught us how to observe a man: examine his actions, discern his motives, and understand what brings him joy—then no hidden aspect of his heart remains concealed.”

The headmaster nodded. This was no mere rote memorization—it was a world apart from the boy who, just months ago, could only parrot texts.

He then questioned him on several other points.

Not only passages from the Analects requiring memorization, but also interpretations from the Spring and Autumn Annals and the Book of Rites. Clearly, while Lu Beigu’s recall of the Analects had grown increasingly fluent and his knowledge of the Spring and Autumn Annals had expanded, his grasp of the Book of Rites remained weak.

“What commentaries have you read recently?” the headmaster suddenly asked.

Lu Beigu truthfully listed the books he had studied.

“Reading only the Zhengyi of the Book of Rites is insufficient. Though orthodox, it still differs considerably from current examination content.”

The headmaster placed a hand on his shoulder, feeling the bony frame beneath the coarse hemp fabric, and said: “You won’t have time to study Fang Que’s Essence of the Book of Rites in detail. Later, come to my quarters and take three scrolls of Selected Passages from the Book of Rites. If you have spare time, you may also buy the Essential Notes on the Ink-Issues of the Book of Rites from a bookstore.”

“Yes, thank you, headmaster.”

The old man waved him off and walked away alone.

The Essence of the Book of Rites was a massive prep text, fifty scrolls in total, compiling key passages from the Book of Rites with essential commentaries from successive dynasties, plus “ink-issue problem analyses”—essentially a comprehensive collection of mock exam questions, akin to Five Years of Past Exams, Three Years of Mock Tests.

This massive work had been reprinted multiple times during Emperor Renzong’s reign and was listed by the National Academy and Imperial College as a key recommended text; without months of full-time dedication, it was impossible to master—so Lu Beigu, pressed for time, could not consider it.

Selected Passages from the Book of Rites was its simplified version, containing only frequently tested passages with corresponding ink-issue answer templates—a focused, accelerated method ideal for last-minute improvement.

Of course, such a useful book was extremely expensive on the market.

As for the Essential Notes on the Ink-Issues of the Book of Rites, its content was more advanced and even more costly—it was a collected annotation of past provincial exam ink-issues, typically purchased only by candidates traveling to the capital to sit for the metropolitan examination; Lu Beigu had no need for it yet.

Lu Beigu reopened the Analects; the pages rested on the “Shu’er” chapter.

“He was the sort of man who, when he resolved to learn, forgot his meals, and in his joy forgot his sorrows.”

He shook his head—he hadn’t forgotten meals yet. He needed to head to the dining hall for breakfast. His review of the Analects for the classic-text memorization exam was limited to morning readings and mealtime; all other time was spent grappling with the vast, complex material of the Spring and Autumn Annals and the Book of Rites required for ink-issues.

As for poetry and prose composition—he had not even begun preparing. He hoped to find time to read relevant texts during rest stops on the journey to Chengdu Prefecture.

After breakfast, the morning passed.

When piercing sunlight pierced the window paper, Lu Beigu had sat at his desk for two full hours.

The pages of Selected Passages from the Book of Rites, borrowed from the headmaster, had begun to fray at the edges. He closed the scroll with a soft snap and rubbed his aching temples.

Outside, the students’ chatter reached him—he realized he was late for the lecture hall.

Today was the ten-day test; desks had been arranged for individual seating.

No sooner had Lu Beigu sat down than the headmaster entered with several instructors, carrying exam papers.

“Forty classic-text fill-in-the-blank questions, twenty ink-issue questions.”

The headmaster distributed the yellow hemp-paper scrolls: “Submit your papers at the first hour of noon. Early submission is permitted.”

The ten-day test was a minor exam, meant only to help students gauge their own level; thus, students paid it little heed, treating it as routine, almost numb with repetition.

Lu Beigu unrolled his paper; the scent of ink filled his nose.

The first question was a fill-in-the-blank from the Analects, “Bayi.”

“The Master said: ‘The _ _ _, sorrowful yet not hurtful.’”

This was a gift question—he read the Analects every morning; though not yet memorized backward and forward, even the obscure “Xiangdang” chapter no longer stumped him. He answered without hesitation.

He completed all forty classic-text questions; indeed, two or three were tricky, leaving Lu Beigu uncertain whether his answers were entirely correct—he had not yet memorized the Analects flawlessly.

Overall, however, he could guarantee over ninety percent accuracy—a vast improvement from his previous level.

Of course, the difficulty of county-level classic-text questions paled beside those of the prefectural exam, and even top candidates rarely gained significant advantage on this section.

At the ink-issue section, the first Spring and Autumn Annals question made Lu Beigu pause his brush.

“In the twenty-fourth year of Duke Xi, the Son of Heaven left and resided in Zheng. How should this be recorded?”

Lu Beigu thought, then wrote: “The Son of Heaven is never said to ‘leave.’ To say he ‘left’ is to criticize the king for lacking virtue.” Then he added beneath: “Though he lost his position, he remained within the realm.”

After completing the twenty ink-issue questions, though he did not sweat profusely, it was far more taxing than the Analects fill-in-the-blanks.

“Huh.”

After submitting his paper, Lu Beigu exhaled deeply.

Now came the moment to test the results of his past ten days of study.

With standard answers available and multiple graders present, scoring proceeded rapidly—papers were graded almost immediately after submission.

Before long, rankings and scores were announced.

Everyone already knew each other’s level; thus, when He Cong and others retained their top positions, no one was surprised.

But when a name suddenly entered the top ten, the lecture hall erupted in astonishment.

“—Lu Beigu: Classic-text, Grade B Upper; Ink-issue, Grade B Lower; Ranked Ninth!”

(End of chapter)