Chapter 2891: Equivalent Education Exam (1)

In the early morning, cooking smoke rose lazily from the tile-roofed houses of Changwai Village. Tan Shuangxi pushed open his door and took a deep breath of the salt-tinged sea breeze. It was the third month of his leave, and he had grown accustomed to waking without the bugle call.

"Shuangxi, why are you up so early?" His mother was feeding the chickens in the courtyard. She smiled when she saw him emerge. "Why not sleep a little longer? You're on leave, after all."

"Force of habit. I wake up at the same time every day." Tan Shuangxi smiled back, scooped a basin of water from the vat, and began washing up.

His house sat at the east end of the village—three tile-roofed rooms his parents had built over the past few years with the military pay he sent home. White walls, black tiles, a fence of fast-growing timber. The courtyard was small, swept clean, every basket and pole in its place. His younger brother Shuangqing was mending salt baskets, while his father sat in a bamboo chair, sorting out the carrying pole and hemp ropes used for hauling salt. They were not a salt-making household, but they lived close to the salt fields and took odd jobs there during the peak drying season.

"Exam today?" His father looked up without pausing his work. "Got everything you need?"

"All ready." Tan Shuangxi dried his face with a towel. "I'll skip breakfast and head out early—the sooner I leave, the sooner I arrive. I'll grab something to eat on the way."

"What's the rush?" His mother ducked into the kitchen and came back out carrying a coarse earthenware bowl. "What decent food can you buy on the road? Roasted sweet potatoes again! They give you heartburn—and this exam takes brainwork. I made you rice noodles. Eat first. How can you take an exam on an empty stomach?"

Tan Shuangxi couldn't refuse her. He smiled and sat down to eat. The rice noodles were not only topped with sauce but had an egg tucked underneath. He knew this was his mother's way of showing love. A warmth rose in his chest, and without another word he devoured the meal.

"For lunch I've packed you rice cakes and boiled eggs—don't forget to eat them. And when you're thirsty, buy yourself a soda. Don't just drink herbal tea all day—it's not as if we can't afford it..."

His mother rattled on with instructions as Tan Shuangxi accepted the still-warm rice cakes, wrapped them in oil paper, and tucked them into his military shoulder bag. The bag was army-issued, several years old, its edges worn white, but scrubbed spotless.

"Soda's too cloying—herbal tea hits the spot!" Tan Shuangxi wiped his mouth, then noticed his father still fussing with his equipment and found himself saying, "Dad, you really shouldn't go haul salt anymore. Each load is two hundred jin, and you carry dozens of loads a day—it'll ruin your back..."

"Money is money." His father ran the hemp rope through his fingers, testing it for wear. "Ten days of hauling buys a few dollars, and dollars don't sprout from the ground. Roofs leak, fields need seed, and there's still you to settle." The rope was frayed in one spot; he frowned and set it aside for splicing.

Seeing Tan Shuangxi about to argue again, his father waved him off. "Your brother's engagement is settled now. The bride price is paid, but when the new daughter-in-law comes through the door, we'll need to fix up a room for Shuangqing—and besides, there's you, too!"

A few days earlier, his brother Tan Shuangqing had formally become engaged to Hou Baihua. The sixty-dollar bride price had come from Tan Shuangxi's own pocket, yet the family ledgers still ran thin. Years of renting and buying land to expand production had stretched them; more land required more hands, and hired workers swallowed silver by the day.

Tan Shuangxi was about to press the point when a shout came from outside.

"Brother Tan!"

It was Caiwang. "Heard you've got an exam today? Go for it! Pass and you'll be an officer!"

"Bless you for saying so." Tan Shuangxi laughed, then noticed Caiwang also carried a pole and hemp rope. "You're going salt-hauling too?"

"Yeah, the salt fields have lots of work lately, and there's not much doing in the fields right now. Going to haul for a few days and earn some spending money."

Tan Shuangxi gave him a light punch on the shoulder. "Don't overdo it just because you're young. Take care of your body."

"Don't worry, I know! I still need to find a wife!" Caiwang's spirits were far better than when Tan Shuangxi had first come home on leave. "Brother Tan, if you really become an officer, our village will have some real face!"

Tan Shuangxi quickly waved his hands. "Nothing's certain yet. Let's get through the exam first."

After watching Caiwang walk away, he changed into his faded old regular uniform and gave his stationery one final check.

"Do your best." His father patted his shoulder. "Our family's been farmers and salt-workers for generations—never produced a scholar. The fact that you can read and write, even take an exam, is already an honor to our ancestors. Passing would be wonderful, but if you don't, it's no disaster. If you can't become an officer, you'll come home after your service and farm the land—make a living just the same."

His mother wiped away tears nearby. "That's right—staying safe is what matters most. These two years you've been off fighting, your mother hasn't had a single peaceful night's sleep."

"What are you carrying on for?" His father scowled at her. "Shuangxi is going to take an exam, not go to war."

A sour ache rose in Tan Shuangxi's chest. He nodded, shouldered his bag, and walked out the door.

The village road was paved with gravel and reasonably smooth. Quite a few households were already up—cooking breakfast, feeding livestock, preparing to head to the fields. Everyone greeted Tan Shuangxi with a smile.

"Shuangxi, off to your exam?"

"Do your best!"

"Our village is counting on you to make something of yourself!"

"Shuangxi, is it true the Senate personally wrote the questions?"

"Is the exam hard?"

"If you pass, does that mean you get to be a Chief?"

Tan Shuangxi didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "It's just a standard academic exam—reading, writing, arithmetic, plus some general knowledge. If I pass, I can apply to become a candidate officer. Becoming a Chief is still a long way off."

From the village to the light rail station was a little over a mile and a half. Tan Shuangxi walked briskly and arrived in less than half an hour. Quite a few people were already waiting on the platform, most heading to Bairen for work or errands.

The train pulled in. The steam locomotive hissed white vapor and clanked to a halt. Tan Shuangxi boarded with the flow of passengers and found a window seat.

The train pulled away, and the landscape streamed past the window. Rice paddies, salt flats, fishing villages, factory chimneys. Five years ago this had been a desolate fringe of empire, its people scratching at the dirt for enough to eat. Now the paddies lay green and level, children in blue cotton uniforms walked to school along gravel lanes, and a clinic flag hung outside every other village. The changes in Lingao were no longer promises; they were what passed outside the glass.

After an hour's ride, Bairen Town arrived. Tan Shuangxi stepped off the train and followed the crowd out of the station. The prep school was not far—a fifteen-minute walk.

He arrived early; only a few people were in the classroom. Tan Shuangxi found a window seat, pulled out his textbook from his shoulder bag, and did some last-minute review. Through the window he could see the Wenlan River, its waters shimmering gold in the morning light. Across the river, the factory district's chimneys had already begun smoking.

"Shuangxi, here this early?" A familiar voice came from the doorway.

Tan Shuangxi looked up and saw his prep school classmate Li Chenggang walk in carrying a cloth bundle. Li Chenggang worked at a factory and was seven or eight years older. Despite the age gap, the two got along well and were the closest of friends in the prep class.

He worked as a factory technician and wanted to qualify for technician training the following year. But that training required a Class A equivalent education certificate, and the lack of one had blocked him for years. Gritting his teeth, he had enrolled in prep school, seven or eight years older than most of his classmates, trading sleep and family time for vocabulary drills and arithmetic.

"Couldn't sleep, so I figured I'd come early and review a bit more." Tan Shuangxi closed his book and greeted him with a smile.

Li Chenggang sat down beside him and pulled a pickled-vegetable flatbread from his bundle. "Here—bought it on the way."

"How could I take your flatbread?" He quickly waved his hands. "I've already eaten breakfast. You work at the factory, you burn more energy—save it for later."

A pickled-vegetable flatbread was no small thing in Lingao. Wheat flour had to come by ship from the mainland, and its price on the market made even a single flatbread a gesture of real generosity.

"Could you go over quadratic equations with me again? I still can't wrap my head around them. You've studied harder than anyone these past few months—you'll be fine for sure."

"I wish that were true." Tan Shuangxi spoke honestly. "I went through all the math word problems again last night, and I still don't feel confident."

"If even you say that, then I'm even more lost..." Li Chenggang sighed. "Looks like becoming a technician will have to wait again."

"Don't lose heart. The exam won't be too difficult," Tan Shuangxi consoled him. "Didn't the instructor say the Class B diploma mainly tests basic reading, writing, and arithmetic, plus some general knowledge and current affairs? Come on, let me walk you through the equations first."

Tan Shuangxi kept his doubts to himself. For three months he had risen before dawn, reviewed for an hour by lamplight, then taken a horse cart to the prep school. Mornings went to language and math, afternoons to general knowledge and current affairs, evenings to homework that often outlasted the oil in his lamp. The village young men teased him for studying "harder than fighting a war." He only smiled and said nothing.

A commander's rank, he knew, was not a prize but a burden. The book Li Anze had pressed into his hands before dying—The Cultivation of a Commander's Qualities—he had read it until the pages went soft at the corners, margins crowded with his own notes. A commander, it said, needed courage and experience, but also knowledge and vision. Five years of war had given him more than enough of the first two. Knowledge and vision were what he still had to earn.

He was far from the only one. Some students had rented cheap rooms near the school, studying by streetlight, bolting down cold meals, treating sleep and the latrine as their only interruptions.

Everyone pushed so hard because the Class A equivalent education exam came only once every six months. Each opportunity was precious. This was especially true for him.

The students trickled in until the class was full. Instructor Wang from the prep school walked in carrying a leather briefcase—he would use the last half-day to go over key problems with the class.

Instructor Wang was in his fifties, and the moment he opened his mouth, out poured the archaic cadence of classical Chinese—utterly at odds with the cadre uniform he wore. Yet his teaching was remarkably clear and practical, distilling complex concepts into plain terms in just a few strokes.

He took his place behind the lectern, cleared his throat, and opened his dog-eared lesson plan.

"Listen well, all of you. The Class A equivalent education exam prizes above all else the practical." He picked up a piece of chalk and wrote "Applied Problems" on the blackboard. "What does 'practical' mean? It means the ability to solve real-world problems. This is the fundamental difference between your education and regular elementary schooling. In elementary courses, the focus is on 'theory'—on 'why.' Your focus is on 'how.' When solving problems or writing essays in the exam, you must keep this in mind at all times!"

He paused, noting the dawning comprehension on his students' faces, and continued. "Let me give you an example. Two years ago, the comprehensive humanities and politics paper contained a question: 'Discuss the Maniao Salt Affairs Reform.' The key word was 'reform.' What is reform? It is not tearing everything down and starting over—it is 'correcting the abuses, removing the old.'" He wrote the characters for "abuse" and "old" on the board and circled them. "When the Senate reformed salt policy, it did not abolish the salt fields. It corrected the abuses of exploitation and removed the old methods. How was it reformed? Why was it reformed? What specific measures addressed which problems, and why did they work? When you answer, you must adhere closely to this essential point."

Instructor Wang moved through past exam questions as if he had written them himself, pinning each one to the board and dissecting it without a wasted word. Tan Shuangxi leaned forward, afraid to blink.

A student raised his hand. "Teacher, what about the essay..."

"The essay too must be practical." Instructor Wang set down the chalk and leaned both hands on the lectern. "Do not pontificate on grand principles. Whether you come from the military, from farming, or from factory work—write what you have seen with your own eyes and done with your own hands. Write about how Chengmai was transformed from barren flats to fertile fields. Write about how bandit suppression rescued people from misery. True events, genuine feeling, real work—these are worth far more than a string of empty words."

He surveyed the classroom, his gaze settling on Tan Shuangxi. "Student Tan, you've served in the army for five years. Have you ever thought about why you fight?"

Tan Shuangxi started, rose to his feet, and answered, "To protect my home and keep the peace."

"That is precisely a good essay." Instructor Wang nodded. "Start from yourself, and expand outward—from the small to the great, from the near to the far. The Senate often speaks of 'serving the people.' These two words, 'the people'—they are yourself, your parents, your neighbors, your comrades. Do you understand?"

He then went on to explain exam techniques point by point, leaving time for questions. The morning shrank beneath the press of chalk and voices, and then the dismissal bell rang outside the window. Instructor Wang closed his lesson plan and, for once, allowed himself a faint smile. "This afternoon is the exam. Ask nothing more of yourselves than a clear conscience. The fact that you are all sitting here already puts you ahead of countless others in this world. Class dismissed."

(End of chapter)