Chapter 324: The People Are Most Important, the State Comes Next, the Sovereign Is Least

Gu Yanwu saw that this man was indeed a candidate on his way to the examinations, and his fondness for him grew greatly. He gave his own name in return, and the two returned to Guangzhou city together.

Exchanging a few words along the way, the two discovered that both were members of the Restoration Society, both held the rotten eight-legged essay in utter contempt, both felt deeply disappointed with the Great Ming court, and even their proposals for saving the nation and their governing philosophies were nearly identical. They could not help but feel they had found kindred spirits, and agreed to come together again to Shouxin Pavilion to read the next morning at dawn.

The next day, just as the sky was beginning to lighten, Gu Yanwu hurriedly rose, washed up, and when he reached the ground floor he saw Huang Zongxi already waiting below. The two walked together in conversation, entering Shouxin Pavilion.

The two sat in yesterday's seats and each took up a book to read. Gu Yanwu again chose the *Records of the Foreign Barbarians Beyond the Seas of the August Ming*, while Huang Zongxi selected a copy of Bacon's *Novum Organum*.

The two sat until noon, dizzy with hunger. Inside Shouxin Pavilion, eating was forbidden to protect the books. Fortunately, outside the university there were numerous tea stalls and noodle stalls, bustling like a market, so the two left the pavilion together to get something to eat.

Huang Zongxi's family was hard up, so he had brought dry cakes with him and ordered only a bowl of coarse tea. Though Gu Yanwu came from a wealthy clan in Jiangdong, mindful of his friend's feelings, he ordered only plain noodles and one or two light dishes, inviting his friend to share.

The two ate while exchanging their reading insights from the morning. Both were full of praise for Shouxin Pavilion, and both were filled with great longing for the helmsman as the common folk called him, and King Xia as the scholars called him.

This was not the two flattering for the sake of rank and fame, nor was it gratitude born of getting free books to read.

It was simply that Great Xia's governing philosophy aligned highly with the two men's own proposals.

For instance, both rejected the Cheng-Zhu School of Principle and the eight-legged essay, advocating that scholarship must be "practical and applicable to the world"; both advocated high salaries to foster integrity, strict performance assessments, the elimination of redundant offices, and opposition to factional infighting; both opposed the Three Surcharges and exorbitant levies, advocating light corvée and low taxes, storing wealth among the people; both advocated developing industry and commerce, opposing the stagnant household registration divisions; both upheld the distinction between Chinese and barbarian, resolutely resisting the Jianzhou barbarians, and recovering Liaodong at the earliest opportunity.

Every single one of these items had been accomplished by Great Xia, and accomplished more thoroughly than the two men's own crude theories.

The two found themselves within Great Xia's borders feeling like fish in water. Both were rubbing their hands eagerly, preparing to pass the examinations and then contribute their bricks and tiles to the ideal state of their imaginations.

Just as Gu and Huang were speaking with great enthusiasm, someone nearby interjected with mockery: "Judging by your accents, you two are from the Zhejiang-Zhili region, are you not? Your xiucai titles were earned in the Ming court's examinations, so why have you traveled a thousand li to take the provincial examination in Great Xia? When all is said and done, you seek nothing but rank and profit. Speaking emptily of the rise and fall of the realm—is that not laughable?"

Gu and Huang looked toward the speaker and saw that he too was a Confucian scholar, presumably a local student who resented outsiders taking up examination quotas.

Gu Yanwu smiled and said: "Brother, your words are mistaken. In times of great chaos under heaven, men of insight naturally choose to serve the best ruler, so that they may display their abilities to the fullest."

The local scholar said: "Well said! Since the realm is in great chaos, why don't you, as a scholar of Zhejiang-Zhili, serve in your own region to protect your homes and your country? Coming to take Great Xia's examinations—when it comes down to it, isn't it because you couldn't pass in the north?"

"You!" Huang Zongxi slammed the table and rose, only to be held back by Gu Yanwu, who then said with a solemn expression: "Since the realm is in great chaos, our coming to Great Xia to take the examinations is naturally for the purpose of saving the realm! Since ancient times there has been the fall of a state, and there has been the fall of the world—how do the two differ?

The answer: when the ruling surname changes and the dynastic title is altered, that is called the fall of a state; when benevolence and righteousness are choked off, to the point where beasts are led to devour men, and men will devour one another, that is called the fall of the world.

In former times, when the Mongols replaced the Song, robes and caps were ground into dust and culture was swept to the ground—that was the fall of the world. If the Jianzhou barbarians should pass through the passes, shaving heads and changing clothing, destroying our ethical order, it would be the same.

Now observe Xuan Xia replacing Ming—the surname changes and the dynastic title is altered, but it does no harm to the world. Chinese robes and caps, the way of the sages and worthies—nothing is damaged. Why should it be deeply condemned?

To protect a state—that is the concern of its ruler and ministers, those who eat the meat of office; to protect the world—even the humblest common man bears a share of the responsibility.

The reason we choose where to serve is not to cling to life for the sake of wealth and honor, but truly because we cannot bear to see the world sink into ruin, and wish to preserve culture in an unbroken thread. Taking the special examination and conducting ourselves according to the Way—this does no harm to the great principles of loyalty and righteousness."

"Well said!" Huang Zongxi was stunned for a moment, then applauded: "This discourse on the fall of the state versus the fall of the world—I have heard it for the first time. Truly my mind has been opened!"

The local scholar was left speechless and dumbfounded. After staring blankly for a moment, he rose and slunk away in disgrace.

Gu Yanwu smiled faintly and paid it no mind, continuing to chat and laugh with Huang Zongxi.

People came and went at the tea stall. It happened to be mealtime, and many university students came to eat. When one table sat down, they began discussing law at length, their topics extending from time to time to the School of Principle, the School of Mind, and the imperial court.

Huang Zongxi had not wanted to eavesdrop, but unfortunately the students at that table were arguing loudly over several legal provisions, and since Huang Zongxi was inherently interested in law, he could not help but listen.

One of the students said: "Looking at the ills of the Ming court, the harm lies precisely in factional strife. So the new laws must be established to legislate against factions."

Another student said: "Petty men form factions; gentlemen do not form factions. If that is so, would gentlemen not repeatedly lose to petty men?"

"When the Donglin Faction was first founded, they too compared themselves to gentlemen and spoke grandly of restoration and national salvation. What was the result? Who is a gentleman and who is a petty man—one cannot determine that for oneself."

"Brother Yuanzhong, your 'theory of evil human nature' is coming out again!"

The student addressed as Brother Yuanzhong said: "Fine, then let us not discuss good and evil. Let us instead ask: what does forming a faction even mean? The law must be objective and fair. How do you define who formed a faction and who did not? In the eyes of the eunuch faction, Grand Secretary Ye is still a Donglin man. In the eyes of Zhao Nanxing, he was to his death merely a member of the pure current. Since there is no standard for whether one formed a faction, how can judgment and punishment be decided?"

Another student tried to mediate: "Enough, enough. The constitution only sets principles, not specific provisions. Whether forming a faction violates the law—let us set that aside for now. Settling the principles for civil law and criminal law should take priority."

Huang Zongxi's heart itched unbearably. Unable to restrain himself, he stepped forward with cupped hands and said: "Gentlemen, I am Huang Zongxi of eastern Zhejiang. I happened to overhear your debate on the legal system just now, and I have some humble opinions I would like to put before you for your guidance."

The academic atmosphere within the university was extremely free. The students were long accustomed to the collective model of debate and discussion, so they simply pulled out stools and invited Huang and Gu to join their table.

Brother Yuanzhong introduced himself as Li Shixiong, and the others at the table exchanged names as well, introducing one another in turn.

After the customary pleasantries, Li Shixiong said: "May I ask what guidance Brother Huang has to offer?"

Huang Zongxi rose and said with cupped hands: "I would not presume to offer guidance—merely casting a brick to attract jade. In my humble view, if one is to implement new laws, the first priority is to resolve the debate between rule by men and rule by law."

The so-called "rule by men versus rule by law" was first proposed by Xunzi, whose view was: "Law cannot stand alone, and categories cannot apply themselves. With the right man they endure; without the right man they perish."

In the *Doctrine of the Mean*, Confucius also held a similar view, believing that "governance lies in men."

Put crudely: having good laws is useless—the key is having good men, that is, so-called gentlemen.

This debate topic ultimately came back to the very question Li Shixiong had raised: whether power is born from law, or law is born from power.

Huang Zongxi was, after all, not familiar with Li Shixiong and the others, so he merely raised the question without daring to expound his own heretical views.

But everyone present was intelligent. Since Huang Zongxi had raised this debate topic, they all understood what he meant.

Li Shixiong exchanged glances with his classmates, and they smiled at one another.

"Brother Huang means to say: if one is to legislate, one must establish the law of the realm, not the law of a single house. If one is to implement new laws, one must place imperial power beneath the law, not allow it to transcend the law—am I right?"

On hearing this, Huang Zongxi broke out in a cold sweat. He had never imagined that Li Shixiong would state his views so bluntly. Such words, whether in Great Ming or Great Xia, were the ultimate taboo against imperial authority—as dangerous as cursing Wei Zhongxian in the Tianqi court.

But Huang Zongxi was, after all, young and bold, willing to take responsibility for his actions. After a moment of panic, he stiffened his neck and said: "Correct!"

Li Shixiong smiled and said: "Then may I ask: if the Emperor breaks the law, how is he punished? Who makes the law, and who administers justice?"

Huang Zongxi said: "Strengthen the power of the prime minister, to check imperial power."

"If imperial power overcomes ministerial power—as when the Hongwu Emperor abolished the office of chancellor—what then? If ministerial power becomes uniquely strong—as when Wang Mang usurped the throne—what then?"

Huang Zongxi immediately fell into confusion. Li Shixiong patiently guided him step by step, explaining to Huang Zongxi all the principles Lin Qian had spoken of that day in the Daily Lecture: the separation of the three powers, checks and balances, and the debate between power and law.

At first Huang Zongxi could still offer a rebuttal or two, but the more he listened, the more alarmed he became, until finally it struck him like a thunderbolt from five directions. He slumped down in silence—his reactions exactly matching Li Shixiong's own had been back then.

Seeing this, Li Shixiong, in turn, repeated to Huang Zongxi the words the King had used to comfort him, copying the example.

After hearing it all, Huang Zongxi sighed deeply, rose, and said with cupped hands: "There is always someone better, and always a sky beyond the sky. I am but a latecomer of little learning—today I have been taught a lesson."

Gu Yanwu also rose and said: "To have heard such words, my trip to Guangzhou has not been in vain. Master above, please accept this student's bow!"

Huang Zongxi added: "Please also accept this student's bow!"

Li Shixiong hastily rose and held the two back, laughing: "The two brothers should not bow to me—I am merely parroting another's words."

Gu and Huang exchanged glances, and Huang Zongxi asked: "May I ask which great Confucian of this age spoke these words?"

Gu Yanwu saw that Li Shixiong and the others all had the bearing of scholars and had appeared at a tea stall beside the university—they must be university students. Understanding dawned in his mind, and he murmured: "No wonder everyone says Academy Head Xu's learning spans ancient and modern. Today I have witnessed it—"

Li Shixiong shook his head and said, "The academy head's learning is indeed substantial, but those words were spoken by the King."

Gu Yanwu was slightly taken aback: "The King? King Xia?"

"Exactly. I am ashamed to say that when I first heard these words, my reaction was no different from Brother Huang's—even the words I used to console myself were borrowed directly from the King."

Huang Zongxi's expression turned to shock as he confirmed, "Brother Li means to say that these words were personally imparted to you by the King?"

"Indeed, the King spoke them personally to me and my fellow students." As Li Shixiong finished speaking, he saw the expressions of Gu and Huang shift from shock to deep envy.

A university student nearby said, "The legal system we discuss is no empty talk—once established, it will truly be implemented. This is the graduation project of the College of Law, and we have provisionally named it the Great Xia Code."

"What do you mean? What does 'truly implemented' mean? Decided and then used? Let you gentlemen decide?" Huang Zongxi, forgetting all decorum, fired off four questions in succession.

That student said, "Indeed. The King has said that in drafting this law, we may consult anyone—so long as it is a good law, it may be recorded within. If you two gentlemen have worthy suggestions, we may also incorporate them into the legal provisions."

Gu Yanwu was stunned on the spot, silent and speechless.

Huang Zongxi looked up at the sky, tears silently streaming down his face. In the sixth year of Tianqi, his father Huang Zunsu, then serving as Investigating Censor of the Shandong Circuit, had impeached Wei Zhongxian and his partisans multiple times, and was thrown into the Imperial Prison of the Northern Town Fu Office of the Embroidered Uniform Guard by the eunuch faction under a forged imperial edict, tortured to death—he was one of the "Twelve Gentlemen of Donglin."

Huang Zongxi was sixteen at the time. He witnessed his father's arrest with his own eyes, and three months later received only a decomposed, unrecognizable corpse. This bone-deep hatred had accompanied him to this very day.

After the Chongzhen Emperor ascended the throne, the eunuch faction was investigated and punished, yet many of its members escaped unscathed. This made Huang Zongxi feel even more deeply the darkness of the court and his own powerlessness, his dissatisfaction with the Great Ming reaching its peak.

Now, seeing that Great Xia was willing to entrust legislative power to the young, willing to establish an impartial law for all under heaven—how could he not be stirred?

Combined with everything he had seen and heard since arriving in Guangzhou, he felt that all was brimming with vitality. He could only regret not having been born in Fujian or Guangdong, not having come earlier to the rule of Great Xia to contribute to this age of great governance.

In the days that followed, Gu and Huang came to the university every day—reading in the mornings and afternoons, discussing the new law with Li Shixiong over lunch and dinner, and returning to the inn in the evenings to review the Collected Commentaries on the Four Books. Their days were busy and exhausting, yet deeply fulfilling.

Before long, Gui Zhuang also began accompanying Gu Yanwu to the university daily to study. Gradually, more and more learned men were drawn to the tea stall at the university's west gate, where all spoke freely of great affairs under heaven and criticized the ills of the Great Ming. The academic atmosphere was exceptionally rich.

By day, Li Shixiong led the students of the College of Law in discussing the new law at the tea stall, recording the good ideas proposed by scholars and common folk alike;

by night, he studied at the university how to enable beacon signals to transmit messages at night, so busy he barely touched his pillow.

Meanwhile, reports of victory from Jiangxi continued to pour in. After the fall of Ganzhou, it seemed Jiangxi had no more strongholds left—every day brought news of the front line steadily advancing, of yet another prefecture or county being taken.

Amid all this bustle and prosperity, Great Xia finally welcomed the provincial examination of the second year of Zhongxuan.

Before dawn had even broken, Lin Qian rose full of enthusiasm and dragged Scholar Zhou to inspect the examination grounds.

The Guangzhou examination hall had been demolished during the capital's relocation to make way for the prefectural office, so the provincial examination venue was set in the outskirts beyond Guangzhou's east gate—tables and chairs arranged, sunshades erected, curtains drawn around—and that served as the examination hall.

The conditions looked crude, but compared to the prison-like examination halls of old, they were already quite good.

Around dawn, the candidates gradually arrived at the perimeter of the examination grounds, waiting to be searched before entering.

A soldier holding a tin megaphone shouted, "No bringing food, charcoal, or dry provisions! Lunch will be distributed uniformly by the examination hall! No bringing food—"

Beyond relaxing the eight-legged essay requirements, the Great Xia imperial examinations had made many changes to examination procedures—providing food being one of them.

In examinations of the past, candidates brought their own food, which created opportunities for concealment and hindered searches. Moreover, in the cramped examination cubicles, cooking

and heating food were troublesome affairs—one could only gnaw on dry rations and eat cold meals. Cases of hunger, stomach illness, collapse from sickness, and fires were countless.

Providing food eliminated all these troubles at once—why not do it? What did a meal and a pot of hot water cost?

By sunrise, all candidates had entered the grounds and taken their pre-assigned seats, while examiners moved among them distributing the test papers.

Lin Qian stood due east of the examination grounds at the chief examiner's stall, casually picking up a spare test paper to inspect.

Each test paper consisted of three large sheets of white paper, with the examination questions printed on the back of each sheet.

Lin Qian opened the first sheet and saw the question: "The people are most important; the state comes next; the sovereign is least important."

No punctuation, no punctuation marks, not even a question.

But Lin Qian had studied the examination system after all, and knew that translated into modern terms, this question meant: "Mencius said: 'The people are most important; the state comes next; the sovereign is least important.' Based on the material, establish your argument, choose your own angle, devise your own title, and write an eight-legged essay."

Of course, this was the examination style of Great Xia.

In the context of the Great Ming, choosing one's own angle was impossible—the standard answer had only one angle, and that was Zhu Xi's angle.

Cheng Yi and Zhu Xi's understanding of these words was:

"The people are most important" did not mean the people could override the sovereign, but rather that the sovereign must take the people as his foundation and show compassion for their livelihood.

"The state comes next," because the state is established for the people—without the people, there is no state.

"The sovereign is least important" meant that the sovereign's honor is tied to the will of the people; losing the people means losing the sovereign—not that sovereign power is not exalted.

To use an analogy: the common people are to the sovereign what the plow ox is to the farmer. Lose the plow ox and you cannot till the fields; lose your subjects and you cannot rule. Therefore, one must cherish the people as one cherishes the plow ox at home.

This sounded rather strange, because in essence it was still making excuses for the supremacy of sovereign power.

Of course, this was merely Zhu Xi's personal interpretation—whether Mencius's original intent was truly so could never be known.

Even with such rationalization, Zhu Yuanzhang remained extremely displeased with this entire passage on "the people most important, the sovereign least," and deleted the whole chapter.

Thus, since the founding of the Great Ming, in nearly ninety imperial examinations, not a single one had used "the people most important, the sovereign least" as a question.

Even when the Four Books and Five Classics had been examined to death, and to avoid repeating questions they had to devise obscure, difficult, and bizarre ones—inventing utterly nonsensical questions like "All are words of elegance; Ye Gong asked Confucius about Zilu"—still no one dared to touch the red line of sovereign power.

Since Great Xia was a regime that carried on the past and opened the future, with the intent to succeed the Great Ming and contend for the Mandate of Heaven, politically it naturally had to use

"the people most important, the sovereign least" to establish its own legitimacy.

At the same time, since this question had never been examined before, there were no model essays to copy. Some opportunistic students who only read model essays and never the Four Books had never even heard of this saying.

This examination question was set by Lin Qian himself, and he considered it most fitting for the occasion.

Apart from the eight-legged essay question drawn from the Four Books, the next paper's back bore a question from the Five Classics, likewise requiring an eight-legged essay.

On the back of the third sheet were one each of a discourse, an edict, and a memorial.

This looked like a heavy workload, but in truth the discourse, edict, and memorial were all free points—only the eight-legged essays could separate the wheat from the chaff.

In the Great Ming provincial examinations, the first day had seven eight-legged essay questions requiring seven full essays, making the examination time so tight that candidates could not carefully weigh their words—they could only memorize large quantities of formulaic model essays and force them together during the exam.

Such a heavy workload was meaningless for selecting talent and was pure torture for the grading examiners. As a result, most examiners judged candidates solely on their first eight-legged essay and ignored all the rest—formalism taken to its absolute extreme.

Since the Great Xia examinations existed to select talent, they had to sweep away all these accumulated ills in one stroke.

"Dong!" At the beginning of the mao hour, a bronze gong sounded in the examination grounds, and the candidates were permitted to open their papers, review the questions, and begin answering.

Lin Qian stood outside the curtain with his hands behind his back, eavesdropping. He heard a wave of sharp intakes of breath from within the grounds—clearly the candidates were all startled by this "people most important, sovereign least" question—and unconsciously a slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

In his examination cubicle, the moment Gu Yanwu saw the question, every hair on his body stood on end—this question was truly earth-shattering. But immediately after, he felt a surge of exhilaration. This was the kind of question that could truly stimulate one's thinking and writing—far more meaningful than word games like "sentimental couplets" or "heartless couplets."

He thought for a moment, sorted out his ideas, then wrote on the rough paper the two opening lines: "The common people are the root of rise and fall; official governance is the key to stabilizing the state." Starting from people's livelihood, taxation, and official governance, he discoursed at length on the way of loving the people. This was a pragmatic, moderate style of writing—not offending taboos, yet subtly expressing his viewpoint.

It neither parroted Zhu Xi's views nor denied the supremacy of imperial power that Zhu Xi had proposed.

Not far away in another examination cubicle, Huang Zongxi wrote instead: "The myriad common people stand as masters of heaven and earth; a single surname dwells in the position of vassal and aide." These two lines were far more radical.

His view was that achieving the primacy of the people could not rely on the emperor's conscience—one had to establish rules and restrict imperial power. The conception was profound and the viewpoint incisive, yet it lacked practical measures.

The examinees wrote until noon, and sure enough, someone came to deliver food and drink—each person received one bamboo tube of hot water, a bowl of rice, a portion of mixed tofu, and a portion of mixed bean sprouts.

The dishes were all extremely light and plain, but they were fresh, so the examinees would not get stomach trouble from them.

After the meal, someone came again to refill a bamboo tube with hot water.

In the evening, someone came to collect the papers and let the examinees return to Guangzhou city to lodge. The next day, they would come again to take the policy essay examination.

Daxia's simplified imperial examination only required two days. Compared to the Great Ming provincial examination's nine days and six nights, it greatly reduced the physical and mental torment inflicted on examinees and won unanimous praise.

That very night, the grading work for the first examination session immediately began.

Because the metropolitan examination would follow less than two months after the provincial examination, the grading could not be delayed in the slightest—the examiners could only work hard.

To speed up grading efficiency, apart from the regular imperial examination examiners, Lin Qian also assigned students from Ye Yisun's staff and the College of Letters to help.

All examination papers had names sealed, and a dedicated staff copied them out, making cheating extremely difficult.

In fact, after over a thousand years of development, the imperial examination's anti-cheating system had become extremely advanced. As long as the examiners themselves had no problems, it was nearly impossible to cheat one's way to passing.

Lin Qian personally came to the university late at night to supervise the grading work and requested the examinee roster to verify against.

Provincial examinations were generally held in each province's capital, and out-of-town examinees had to travel to Guangzhou to take the exam. Thus Guangzhou's provincial examination had an extremely large number of candidates—locals and out-of-towners combined, nearly two thousand in total.

Lin Qian flipped through the examinee roster and indeed spotted two familiar names in it.

Gu Yanwu and Huang Zongxi—these two were known to later generations as thinkers, not noted for practical action. Little did people know that this was because the Great Ming buried talent, leaving heroes with no place to exercise their abilities, so they could only write books and air their grievances.

In history, Gu Yanwu's *Record of the Benefits and Harms of the World's Commanderies and States* was written after personally traveling to Shandong, Hebei, Shanxi, Shaanxi, the Nine Borders, and other places. He recorded the geography, military defense, taxation, water conservancy, and agricultural conditions of every location, and also summarized the gains and losses of governance in each prefecture and county.

Over the Great Ming's two hundred-plus years, countless Yellow Registers and Fish-Scale Maps had been compiled, yet even by the dynasty's fall they had failed to determine how much land and population the powerful families had concealed. Astonishingly, a few decades after the dynasty's fall, Gu Yanwu basically sorted it all out.

To write this book, he spent twenty or thirty years in total. To use an inappropriate analogy, it was like a nationwide data census sustained by one man's strength alone.

This was not something that could be accomplished through sheer perseverance and grinding hard work alone. It required cross-verification of multiple documentary sources, chronological alignment, regional comparison, and on-site investigative research—it required plain statistics and social survey methods.

For an ordinary commoner to accomplish this could be called defying heaven.

As it happened, what Daxia most urgently needed to update was official performance assessment, and official performance assessment had to be based on statistics—and a statistics talent had delivered himself right to their doorstep.

As for the other one, Huang Zongxi, his work *Waiting for the Dawn* designed a set of institutions for a near-modern state, already bearing the shadow of early Enlightenment thought. Even into the late Qing, the reformists used this book as an ideological weapon—which shows how advanced it was.

Of course, the book also had many limitations. But if Daxia wanted to initiate reform and restrict imperial power in the future, Huang Zongxi would definitely be the best candidate—even if the man himself died, his thought would still be the best weapon for the reformist faction.

Seeing that two of the three great thinkers of the late Ming and early Qing had already been gathered, Lin Qian carefully searched for the name "Wang Fuzhi," but unfortunately did not find it.

Lin Qian put down the roster and said to the examiner: "Give me the papers of candidate number two hundred ten in the Earth section and candidate number thirty-five in the Profound section."

These two examination numbers belonged to Gu and Huang. Because the papers had names sealed and the roster was the only copy in Lin Qian's hands, the examiners did not know whose papers these two were.

The two examination papers handed to Lin Qian had handwriting in red—these were the versions copied by scribes, called "vermilion papers." The examinees' original versions were written in normal black ink and were called "ink papers."

When examiners graded papers, they only looked at the vermilion papers. The ink papers were all sealed away and only retrieved when special verification was needed.

On the upper right corner of both papers, there were also stamps made by the examiners. Gu Yanwu's paper had a circle marked on it, while Huang Zongxi's paper had a triangle drawn on it.

Lin Qian pointed at the stamp and asked: "What does this symbol mean?"

The examiner said: "These two papers have already been graded. A circle means best, a triangle means second best."

Lin Qian had read an entire volume of model examination essays and could judge the quality of eight-legged essays. After reading through both, he felt the two essays were excellently written—far better than most of the nonsense examination essays by more than a small margin—and did not understand why one was rated best and the other second best.

The examiner pointed at Huang Zongxi's paper and explained: "This paper's literary style and exposition of the classics are both excellent, but its viewpoint is too extreme, so his score was lowered by one rank."

Saying the viewpoint was too extreme was already very euphemistic. Huang Zongxi's essay proposed restricting imperial power, which violated a great taboo. Under Ming court rule, such a paper would not merely have been lowered one rank—even arresting the examinee and punishing him would not have been excessive.

However, the examiner was also well aware of Lin Qian's temperament. Only lowering the grade by one rank both reflected the king's love of talent and demonstrated the examiner's protectiveness toward the king—no matter how one looked at it, it could not be wrong.

Lin Qian read Huang Zongxi's essay through once more and said: "Change it back. You must dare to let people speak."

"Yes." The examiner brought over the vermilion brush and changed Huang Zongxi's triangle to a circle.

The examiner returned to his original position. The room was filled with the rustling sound of papers being flipped through. From time to time, good papers drew the examiners together to admire them, and inferior works were picked out for everyone to mock together.

Lin Qian looked at the busy scene and sighed inwardly: "The heroes of the world can now fully display their talents!"

Yahei

Pink Round

Pen