Chapter 2892: Equivalent Education Exam (2)

By midday the prep school had been emptied and transformed into the Equivalent Education Examination Center. Cordons strung across the entrance cut it off from the street, and at every doorway stood administrative staff from Fangcaodi alongside police from the Bairen station. A banner hung over the school gate: "Bairen Town Equivalent Education Examination Center No. 3."

Tan Shuangxi stood outside the gate and drew a deep breath. Several dozen candidates had already gathered—men and women, young and old. Most wore faded army uniforms, cadre suits, or work clothes; a few still clung to the loose robes and topknots of the old style. Whatever they wore, they waited in near-silence, their murmured exchanges low and careful, as if the building itself demanded quiet.

The exam was to begin at one o'clock. A large mechanical floor clock had been set at the main entrance to keep the time. When its hands reached twelve-thirty, a staff member wearing an "Invigilator" armband stepped out with the roster in hand, cleared his throat, and announced: "Candidates, attention. Identity verification and admission will now begin. When your name is called, present your identification and enter in order."

A stir ran through the crowd, and everyone pressed forward at once.

"Line up! Maintain order!" The police officers shouted through megaphones, shoving the front ranks back into a rough line.

"Chen Dashuan."

"Here!" The man beside Tan Shuangxi fumbled inside his clothing and pulled out a cloth bundle. He untied the knots with shaking fingers, extracted his documents, and handed them over. The invigilator checked them carefully, then gave him a numbered slip of paper. "Exam Room Three, Seat Six. Sit at your assigned seat after entering. Do not wander about."

"Li Chenggang!"

"Coming, coming!" Li Chenggang called out, jogging up from the back of the crowd. After his identity was verified and he received his number slip, he turned back toward Tan Shuangxi and mouthed the words "good luck," then hurried through the gate.

Tan Shuangxi watched him go. His palms had gone damp. He touched the stationery through the canvas of his shoulder bag, mentally checking each item again—pencils, eraser, ruler, admission ticket.

...

"Tan Shuangxi."

"Here." Tan Shuangxi stepped forward and produced his Military Identity Card and exam admission ticket from his breast pocket. Both documents were carefully wrapped in oil paper, their edges crisp and flat.

The invigilator was a man in his forties with a burn scar on his face—by his bearing, likely a retired soldier. He took the documents, and when he opened the military ID, his hand paused briefly. He looked up at Tan Shuangxi, made a mark on the roster, and returned the documents. "Exam Room Five, Seat Twelve. Go on in."

Tan Shuangxi accepted the number slip, thanked him, and stepped over the high threshold.

The former schoolrooms had been converted into six exam rooms, each with a numbered placard at the door. The blue-brick floors had been swept spotless. He had always come and gone in a hurry and never paid close attention to the surroundings—only now did he notice the jasmine plants in the corner, their small white blossoms giving off a faint, clean scent.

Exam Room Five was at the end of the corridor. When Tan Shuangxi reached the door, another invigilator—this time a young female instructor with closely cropped hair and a stern expression—took his slip, verified it, and pointed inside. "Seat Twelve. Third from the back, window row."

The room seated about thirty. The desks and chairs were new, painted a dark brown, their surfaces smooth and level. Each desk bore an affixed exam number, and a stack of scratch paper sat at the upper right corner—recycled stock from the Lingao Paper Mill, yellowed but even in texture.

Tan Shuangxi found Seat Twelve and sat down, hanging his shoulder bag on the back of the chair. He looked around as candidates filed in—some rubbing their hands nervously, some sitting with eyes closed in concentration, others trying to sneak a last look at cheat sheets before being promptly stopped by the invigilator.

"All study materials are to be placed in the box beside the lectern," the female instructor's voice rang out crisply. "They may be collected after the exam using your admission ticket."

A rustling filled the room as candidates reluctantly surrendered various booklets and notes. Tan Shuangxi pulled out his dog-eared copy of the Equivalent Education (A) Exam Guide and his class notebook, ran his thumb over the cover, and rose to deposit them in the box. Now came the moment of truth.

Returning to his seat, he checked the stationery on his desk: two sharpened pencils, an eraser, a ruler. The pencils were "Wenlan brand," the barrels printed with an image of the Wenlan River.

In the early afternoon, sunlight streamed through the window glass, casting a bright patch on the desk surface. Tan Shuangxi adjusted his posture—military habit made him sit unconsciously straight-backed.

"Candidates, your attention please." An elderly man in his fifties with graying hair rose to his feet. He wore a "modified scholar's robe" with a soft cap and pendant bands, yet on his sleeve was pinned an "Invigilator" armband. He was also an instructor at the prep school and had taught Tan Shuangxi mathematics. It was said he had once been a xiucai—a county-level licentiate.

"I am the chief invigilator for this session. My surname is Zhou." The old instructor's voice was not loud but perfectly clear. "Before distributing the papers, I will reiterate the examination rules."

The room went still. No one coughed. No one shifted in their chair.

"First: no whispering, looking around, or communicating with other candidates during the exam. Second: no passing of any items. Third: if you have a question, raise your hand for assistance—do not leave your seat without permission. Fourth: upon submitting your paper, leave the examination room immediately. Do not linger or converse near the premises. Fifth: papers may not be submitted until one hour after the exam begins."

Instructor Zhou paused, his gaze sweeping the room. "The Class B diploma examination is one of the Senate's avenues for selecting talent. I hope you all cherish this opportunity and conduct yourselves with integrity. Any instance of cheating, upon discovery, will result in immediate disqualification, notification to your work unit, and suspension of examination eligibility for three years!"

The last sentence was delivered with particular weight. Several candidates instinctively hunched their shoulders.

"I will now announce the examination hours: from thirteen hundred to sixteen thirty—three and a half hours in total. You may not leave the room mid-exam. Should a special need arise, you must obtain the invigilator's approval and be accompanied by a staff member." Instructor Zhou glanced at the desk clock that had been brought in—white face, black hands, keeping precise time. "It is now twelve forty-five. Prepare to distribute papers."

Two young invigilators carried up a wooden crate sealed with a paper strip stamped with the red seal of the "Ministry of Culture and Science Examination Board." Instructor Zhou broke the seal in public view and withdrew a thick stack of exam papers.

The papers were enclosed in kraft paper envelopes, each printed with the words: "Equivalent Education (A) Examination — Paper One — Confidential — Do Not Open Before Authorization." Looking at those words, Tan Shuangxi felt a familiar tightening in his chest—the same kind of envelope, the same solemn formality, as the operational orders he had carried in the field.

"Papers will now be distributed. Upon receiving yours, first check for missing pages or damage. Do not open the contents, and do not begin answering." As Instructor Zhou spoke, he personally divided the papers into sets and handed them to the invigilators, who passed them down each row.

When the paper reached Tan Shuangxi's hands, he caught the scent of fresh ink. The envelope was thick and sturdy, its edges cleanly cut. He inspected the envelope for integrity as instructed, then placed it at the upper left corner of his desk and folded his hands on his knees—the standard posture for attending briefings in the army.

"Does everyone have a paper?" Instructor Zhou asked.

The candidates murmured their assent.

"Very well. Now please open the envelopes and remove the exam paper and answer sheet. Note that the exam paper and answer sheet are separate. Answers to multiple-choice and fill-in-the-blank questions must be written in the designated areas on the answer sheet. Essays and short-answer questions are to be written directly on the exam paper."

The sound of tearing envelopes filled the room. Tan Shuangxi carefully slit the seal and drew out the pages within. The exam paper was eight pages in total, printed on high-quality Lingao-made Dowling paper—smooth and white. The cover page bore a formal Song-style inscription:

Equivalent Education (A) Examination — National Unified Paper — Ministry of Culture and Science Examination Board, 1637

Below it, a line of smaller text: "The contents of this paper involve Senate policy and military information. It must be submitted after the exam and may not be removed from the examination room."

Tan Shuangxi scanned the table of contents. The sections matched the prep school's mock exams: Language, Mathematics, General Knowledge, Current Affairs, and finally the Essay. The paper was thick, but his heart settled—every section was ground he had covered.

"You may now begin answering." Instructor Zhou's voice rang out. "Thirteen hundred hours. Start the clock."

Almost simultaneously, the wall clock struck once with a resonant "dong." The room erupted in the rustle of turning pages and the soft scratching of pencils across paper.

Tan Shuangxi did not rush to put pencil to paper. He first skimmed through the entire exam. Most questions were multiple-choice and fill-in-the-blank; only the current affairs, general knowledge, and final essay would demand real writing. He steadied himself and began with the section he trusted most—mathematics.

The essay prompt was "Why I Fight." His heart stirred, but he did not dwell on it. Instead, he turned to the mathematics section and started with the questions he knew best.

Sunlight crept slowly across the desk. Outside the window, coconut palm leaves swayed in the breeze, casting shifting shadows. Tan Shuangxi immersed himself in the questions—calculating swiftly at times, pausing to think at others. When uncertain, he worked through the problem on scratch paper, his handwriting neat, his steps clearly laid out—a habit drilled into him by the unit's clerk: organized work is easy to check.

By the time Tan Shuangxi finished the mathematics section—skipping the problems he couldn't solve—the clock showed only an hour gone. Good progress. He rolled his stiff shoulders and moved on to the Language section.

Vocabulary fill-ins, reading comprehension—these he had drilled repeatedly in the army literacy class and the prep school. When the reading passage turned out to be about the Battle of Chengmai, the corner of his mouth twitched upward—this was a story he knew intimately, having lived it. But the classical Chinese passage, "Memorial to Yueyang Tower," made him frown. The words were beautiful and utterly opaque.

A while later, he moved into the general knowledge and current affairs section. A few questions gave him pause: "The main tributaries of the Pearl River," "Lingao's grain production growth rate over the past three years"... Some were details he hadn't paid enough attention to during review. Following Instructor Wang's method, he skipped them and moved on, planning to return at the end.

In the final hour, Tan Shuangxi began the essay. He stared at the prompt—"Why I Fight"—his pencil hovering over the paper for a long time.

The exam room was quiet, save for the sound of writing and the occasional cough. Outside, the cicadas had begun their drone at some point, shrill and unbroken, yet somehow the noise made the room feel even more still. Tan Shuangxi's thoughts drifted far away—to the earthen ramparts of Chengmai, the deep mountains of Guangxi, the military cemetery in Chaozhou, and back again to his family's courtyard in Maniao Village.

At last, he set pencil to paper.

The first few lines came with difficulty, but after a few sentences the words began to flow. Every character seemed drawn from the depths of his heart—warm, heavy. When the emotion swelled and his eyes grew hot, he blinked hard, drew a deep breath, and pressed on.

As he placed the final period, the wall clock struck four.

With thirty minutes remaining, he seized the time to revisit the few unanswered questions, hazarding his best guesses based on his understanding, then went through the entire paper one more time.

At the bell signaling the end of the exam, Instructor Zhou's voice rose:

"Time is up. All candidates, put down your pencils. Remain in your seats and wait for papers to be collected."

Tan Shuangxi set down his pencil and flexed his aching fingers. The paper was filled to the margins—the essay page especially so. The handwriting was not beautiful, but every stroke was careful and even.

The invigilators began collecting papers. Tan Shuangxi watched his exam paper being gathered and slipped into another envelope, and felt the knot in his chest loosen. Three months of effort, three and a half hours of struggle—all of it had found its resting place in this moment.

"You may now leave. Please maintain silence. Do not discuss the exam questions near the examination room." Having said this, Instructor Zhou led the way out.

Candidates rose one by one—some sighing heavily, some smiling, most expressionless. Tan Shuangxi packed his things, shouldered his bag, and followed the stream out of the room.

The courtyard lay in warm afternoon light, and the jasmine smelled stronger now. He stood under the eaves, looking at the jasmine bushes, and was suddenly reminded of the eve of the Battle of Chengmai—he had stood just like this outside the barracks, gazing up at the stars, not knowing what the next day would bring.

But this time, he knew he had given it everything he had.

"Shuangxi!" Li Chenggang caught up from behind, face bright with relief. "Finally done! Did you finish the essay?"

"Finished." Tan Shuangxi smiled. "And you?"

"Barely scraped together enough words. But I've never been a soldier, so who knows if it makes any sense..." Li Chenggang scratched his head. "Whatever—finishing is victory! Come on, let's eat. My treat!"

"Let me treat you!" Tan Shuangxi laughed. "I've eaten your food enough times these past weeks—I owe you one!"

The two walked side by side out of the courtyard and toward the town. Outside, candidates from other rooms were also emerging, dispersing in twos and threes. In the distance, a factory whistle sounded—long and powerful.

(End of chapter)