Chapter 218: Some Exams Are Not Really Exams at All

At the beginning of the shen hour, barely five two-hour periods after the exam began, the papers were collected.

Though the questions in this first-ever clerkship examination were novel and eccentric, the volume was indeed not large — five periods were more than enough.

The great gates of the examination hall slowly swung open, and with a drawn-out creaking, as if a floodgate had been released, countless candidates in dark-collared robes surged out.

In an instant, the long street was filled with clamor.

Some walked alone, rubbing their hands, their faces etched with misery as they wrapped their robes tight and hurried away — those, most likely, were the ones convinced they had failed.

But far more gathered in threes and fives, right there under the great locust tree by the examination-hall gate or in the sheltered spots along the street, impatiently forming circles.

— Comparing answers.

Since the Sui and Tang, the content of the civil examinations had undergone all manner of changes, but this custom alone had never altered.

Qian Changle hunched his neck, standing at the very edge of the crowd.

He wore an old scholar's robe, washed and starched so many times it had gone pale, the cuffs frayed at the edges — and worst of all was the smell.

— His homemade Yongchang coal; something in the process had gone wrong, and when burned it gave off a stench far more acrid than the official coal sold by the Fuel Supply Yard.

Watching those scholars in their bright, fine clothes talk with such assurance, Qian Changle instinctively shrank back deeper into the shadows.

But he did not leave. He was desperate to know how he had done.

Like a thief, he fixed his gaze into the distance, pretending to look for someone, lingering at one circle to catch a few sentences, then drifting to another to hear a few more.

The abacus beads in his mind clicked furiously, and his heart swung wildly between hope and dread.

He heard someone say that for the first major question on the law paper — the matter of a mob storming the yamen — the correct charge was spreading rumors to mislead the masses, punishable by decapitation but redeemable by fine.

His heart went cold: It's over — I charged them with rebellion.

That one mistake would cost him ten points.

Then he heard someone say that on the public-administration paper, the question about "clan tax resistance" should be approached through the "village worthies" and supported by "collateral branches and outside surnames," and his heart leaped with joy: I got that one right!

In the end, listening here and there, everyone else's reasoning sounded sound; the only one whose reasoning seemed utterly unsound was himself.

On the classics and arithmetic, Qian Changle was most confident; that logic paper, bizarre at first glance, had become nearly certain once he calmed his mind.

But on the three papers — law, current affairs, and public administration — he had no confidence at all.

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His self-estimated score therefore swung wildly between ninety and one hundred twenty points.

Unawares, the sun sank lower, yet the discussion on the street grew ever more clamorous and heated.

Everyone's conversation, in the end, converged on that most peculiar paper of all — the current-affairs paper.

Qian Changle now listened utterly entranced, even forgetting to work the abacus in his mind.

From the mouths of those richly dressed candidates, an entire "world of officialdom" he had never before known slowly unfurled its curtain before him.

"Say, on that question 'A Defect Close at Hand,' what did you gentlemen write?" A candidate in brocade robes lowered his voice.

"I hesitated long over this one too, and in the end wrote about the contracting-out of the Capital Camps' military supplies." Another candidate, gaunt of face, gave a slight smile and continued: "The matter has more or less come into the open in the capital; writing about it, I wasn't too worried about crossing any taboo."

The brocade-clad gentleman cupped his hands. "Indeed. I knew only that His Majesty had raised the matter, but of the details I am ignorant. Would Brother Li be so generous as to enlighten me?"

That Brother Li laughed heartily, brimming with self-satisfaction, and began: "Gladly, gladly — on this matter I do indeed know a fair bit."

"When the court investigates corruption, in years past they examined only the account ledgers and itemized registers, never inquiring into the actual goods."

"Thus, low-grade corruption merely misappropriates the accounts, while high-grade corruption invariably begins with the materials themselves."

"A single Kaiyuan bow, bow and string together, costs three qian and five fen to produce; one quiver of thirty arrows costs two qian and seven fen."

"The open accounts — no one dares tamper with those. The price recorded is the price, and that's that!"

"But the place where they play their tricks is not in the quoted price — it's in the actual goods! What they report is a horn-and-sinew bow of birchwood; what they actually deliver is nothing but bamboo bows with a coat of lacquer! The profit skimmed from the difference — that is the great abuse!"

"When a single military-supply requisition is settled, several thousand taels of silver on the books end up being fulfilled with just a few hundred taels — the rest can all be divided up and pocketed."

Qian Changle, listening at the side, was utterly stupefied.

So — so that was how corruption could be done?

He thought of the childish trifles he had written on his own paper.

Things like village bullies colluding with local strongmen to seize water sources — though he had experienced them himself, what were they compared to this "high-grade corruption"?

Just then, the brocade-clad gentleman suddenly wrinkled his nose and looked around suspiciously. "Strange — where is that raw-coal stench coming from?"

Qian Changle's heart seized with panic.

He hastily lowered his head, muttering incoherently: "Ah, where has Brother Zhang gone — excuse me, excuse me —"

He fled in disarray from the edge of that circle and burrowed deep into the crowd.

Once his heartbeat had steadied, he was drawn by a burst of coarse, hearty laughter not far away — it came from several candidates of burly build,

clearly from hereditary military households at a glance.

Qian Changle cautiously sidled over, positioning himself downwind.

"What you lot wrote is nothing — I wrote about the abuses in the Capital Camps' drills."

A fat man with a face full of horizontal creases sneered, his expression one of utter disdain: "I wrote it clear on my paper: every guard station's daily inspections, archery practice, and firearms drill — the list of items is endless, and by regulation each consumes gunpowder and arrows."

"But in reality? Who actually trains? The camp soldiers pay 'leisure money' and go off to their own trades. So where do all those saved-up gunpowder and arrows go?"

The fat man gave a sly chuckle, lowered his voice, and made a grabbing gesture: "They're sold off by the Centurions and Chiliarchs — it's called 'eating empty consumption'! Money from both ends!"

Qian Changle's eyes were opened wide.

He had always thought corrupt officials simply took silver to do favors, or directly stretched out their hands for money.

But listening to this fat man talk, he realized he was nothing but a toad at the bottom of a well, unable even to imagine how they pulled it off.

At that moment, a gust of cold wind blew past, and someone beside the fat man seemed to catch a whiff of something too, waving his sleeve in disgust.

Qian Changle's face went pale. Having learned his lesson from before, he dared not linger; hastily pretending to look for someone again, he slunk off dejectedly to the next circle.

This group was refined and cultivated, their voices kept extremely low, as if discussing some secret.

"What you've all written is far too shallow! What I wrote about was the abuse of gift-giving in the capital — elegant bribery."

"Nowadays, capital officials still want hard gold and silver? Still brazenly carry a chest right up to the gate? Vulgar! Utterly vulgar! And far too risky!"

The man pointed toward the Zhengyang Gate direction and said smugly, "In my essay I stated it plainly: nowadays, bribery all goes through antiques, calligraphy, and paintings. Even if it's a forgery, as long as it was bought from one of those particular shops on Zhengyang Gate Avenue and delivered to the residence, then it is an authentic masterpiece!"

"Afterward, the grandees send a household servant to take this 'authentic masterpiece' back to the shop 'on consignment.' The shop deducts a little tea money, and the remaining silver goes clean and spotless into the grandee's pocket."

"The divine dragon shows its head but not its tail. The art of graft these days also strives for the great image being formless!"

A wave of sudden comprehension rippled around him in low exclamations and murmurs of admiration.

Qian Changle stood in the cold wind, listening, and the chill that had been clinging to his body slowly ebbed away.

In its place rose an unprecedented heat and excitement.

He looked at these wealthy young men spouting eloquence, and a thought suddenly sprang to mind:

So all these things — everyone knows about them!

And everyone even dares to speak of them!

In the old days, who would have dared to discuss such things openly in a public place?

But now, His Majesty has actually set such a topic, making everyone under heaven drag these rotten accounts out into the sunlight!

So many people! So many people! All cleverer than him, Qian Changle!

With these clever people speaking so boldly, the state so earnestly seeking good governance, and a sage sovereign so wise and brilliant — how could this realm not improve!

The more Qian Changle thought, the more his heart surged. He felt that even if he failed this examination, just witnessing this scene of ten thousand horses galloping and men speaking out bluntly against the ills of the age — it was worth it!

Only —

His brow suddenly furrowed slightly, and a trace of doubt rose in his heart.

Everyone was talking about great affairs of state and army, secret dealings in officialdom — so why had not a single person mentioned that matter which had happened right under their noses?

Puzzled, he edged closer to a few more circles and listened carefully.

At last, in an inconspicuous corner, he heard a few candidates, whose clothes did not look particularly fine either, discussing this very matter.

"Those patrol guards at the examination cells — their gall is truly heaven-defying, daring to take money even at an exam of this magnitude!"

"What of it? Didn't you hear what they said? That money all has to be passed up level by level to the examiners!"

"So did you write about this current abuse or not?"

"Nonsense! Of course we couldn't write it! There are so many abuses under heaven — is this one trifling matter really needed?"

"But — but the topic clearly says 'abuses personally witnessed in recent days'!" a young candidate protested indignantly, white puffs of breath rising from his reddened, frostbitten nose.

Seeing someone else speak up first, Qian Changle could not help but interject, "Yes, and the topic also said the words 'personally experienced.' This particular abuse — is it not exactly what we have personally experienced in recent days?"

When their words fell, there was a moment of silence, and then an even wider circle of candidates gathered around.

The crowd looked the two of them over, their faces full of mockery.

One candidate, also wearing an old cotton gown but somewhat older in years, rubbed his stiff hands together and cast them a sidelong glance.

"Straight as a bowstring — you die by the roadside; crooked as a hook — you get enfeoffed as a marquis. Young brothers, you mustn't read your books too rigidly."

As he spoke, the white puffs of breath from his mouth came out in cloud after cloud, as if annotating this cold truth.

Another man was far more direct. He wrapped his arms tightly around himself, stepped closer, and lowered his voice: "The principle is sound. But you have to see whether that principle can put a bowl of rice from Shuntian Prefecture in your hands first."

Qian Changle would not accept this. He clenched his fists and said in a deep voice, "His Majesty is vigorously pursuing the new policies. This examination for clerks — is its purpose not precisely to seek the word 'truth'? If we dare not even speak of the real abuses we have personally experienced, how can we serve and do our work, how can we correct the ills of the age?"

He spoke these words earnestly, carrying his most simple and unadorned understanding of the new policies.

Yet his honest words earned only a round of pitying head-shakes.

The scholar who had lectured him earlier tugged at the corner of his mouth and sneered, "No one told you not to speak of 'real abuses.'"

He lifted his chin and gestured around them. "What everyone here has written — the deficits in the grain transport, the rampant spread of illicit salt — which of these is not a real and solid abuse? Which essay's proposed remedy is not more useful than your reforming the patrol guards of one examination hall?"

Another bystander picked up the thread and laughed. "The point is, with so many abuses to write about, why must you insist on writing about this one in particular?"

"This matter implicates the examiners. Who knows whether you might be groundlessly struck from the rolls because of it?"

"Young brother, you must first become this 'clerk' — only then can you go and handle these 'matters.'"

"If you cannot even get through the gates of Shuntian Prefecture, then all those ideas in your belly, all that ability — who will you show them to? Tell them to this north wind?"

These words were fair-minded, unlike the cold mockery of the earlier speakers.

Qian Changle opened his mouth, but truly could find no grounds to refute them.

Seeing him fall silent, the crowd lost interest in lecturing him, turned their heads, and resumed discussing the various abuses of the age.

And Qian Changle stood there blankly for a moment. That fervor of having glimpsed the details of current abuses suddenly dissipated and vanished.

He felt those people were wrong. A scholar ought to possess a sense of righteous integrity. Does righteous integrity shrink from danger and fear hardship?

Should righteous integrity not press forward indomitably?

Yet he also felt that what they said seemed not wrong either. If you cannot even hold your rice bowl steady, then what use is this so-called righteous integrity, apart from moving yourself?

Eighteen-year-old Qian Changle had read some books, but not many, and in the end, he was lost.

Crestfallen, he squeezed out of the crowd and walked all the way home, his mind a tangled mess.

"Straight as a bowstring — you die by the roadside; crooked as a hook — you get enfeoffed as a marquis."

"You must first become this 'clerk' — only then can you go and handle these 'matters.'"

"Ah, you — you're still too young —"

Those words, some mocking, some pitying, some feigning worldly wisdom, were like blunt knives, sawing back and forth across his heart.

He could not think it through.

Why had the "real abuses" he had personally experienced become the most untouchable taboo of all?

Why did those who discoursed so grandly on great affairs of state and army, on the secrets of officialdom, turn a blind eye to the ugliness right before their eyes?

Was the "righteous integrity" he believed in truly nothing but a joke to move himself?

Most importantly, he had a vague, nagging feeling that they might be right.

His score was already low to begin with. Having committed this mistake as well, the odds were nine out of ten that he would not pass this examination.

It's over.

Those two words, like a pair of boulders, pressed down on his chest so heavily he could barely breathe.

He walked without knowing how long, until that familiar little courtyard finally appeared before him.

Qian Changle stopped, drew a deep breath of the icy air, and rubbed his frozen-stiff face hard until a trace of color returned to it — only then did he force out a bright, cheerful smile.

He pushed open the creaking wooden gate.

"Brother, sister-in-law, I'm back."

Inside, when his elder brother Qian Changping and sister-in-law Wang saw him return, joy immediately lit up both their faces.

"Quick, sit down and eat — it's all been kept hot for you." Sister-in-law Wang hurriedly rose and went to the kitchen to bring out the dishes.

The meal was very simple: a dish of pickled radish, a bowl of wild-vegetable gruel, and a scallion-studded egg-and-flour flatbread, carefully pan-fried to a golden crisp.

Now that the exams were over, there was no need to bother with any "Zhuangyuan crown" symbolism.

Better to prepare the egg with a little care, so it would at least be more delicious.

Qian Changle picked up his rice bowl and could not stop his eyes from burning hot.

He dared not weep, afraid it would only worry his brother and sister-in-law; he simply lowered his head and shoveled the gruel from his bowl.

He tasted nothing. His mind was a tangled mess; he merely chewed and swallowed mechanically.

His elder brother and sister-in-law watched him, asked no questions, and just kept piling food into his bowl.

"Eat more. These past two days in the examination hall, you surely haven't eaten well."

Qian Changle answered with a grunt, picked up the egg, and stuffed it into his mouth whole, swallowing it down like a date swallowed whole.

Qian Changping and Wang instantly exchanged a glance; both understood that something seemed amiss.

The meal was finished in silence.

Sister-in-law Wang quietly cleared the bowls and chopsticks, then said to the two of them, "I — I'm feeling a bit tired, so I'll go to bed first. You two brothers have a talk."

With that, she went into the inner room, carefully pulling the door shut behind her.

In the main room, only Qian Changle and his elder brother Qian Changping remained.

The weak flame of the Yongchang coal flickered; its acrid smell filled the whole room.

"The exam — didn't go well?" Qian Changping spoke first.

Qian Changle's shoulders shuddered violently. He could hold it in no longer.

He buried his head in his folded arms, his voice thick with tears, and said dully, "Brother, I — I probably won't pass."

"If you don't pass, then you don't pass," Qian Changping said. "A man lives a whole lifetime — how can everything go as he wishes?"

"But I can't accept it!" Qian Changle jerked his head up, his eyes bloodshot. "I clearly wrote according to the topic's requirements — everything I said was the truth!"

"Why is the truth wrong? Why do those who evade and stay silent get to swagger with pride?!"

His voice grew louder and louder, brimming with grievance and fury, like a wounded beast snarling low.

Qian Changping listened in silence. He did not understand anything about topic requirements or truth versus empty words.

He only looked at this younger brother of his — this brother who had always been full of scholarly spirit and boundless confidence — now in such agony.

He waited until Qian Changle had finished, then slowly began to speak.

"Changle, your brother doesn't understand all the grand principles of you scholars."

"Your brother only knows one thing: when you farm the land, you farm it honestly and solidly — there's no room for fraud or pretense."

He pointed at Qian Changle's chest.

"When you wrote those words, was your heart at ease, or was it panicked?"

Qian Changle froze.

"It was — it was at ease."

"Then that settles it," Qian Changping said. "You did what you felt was right, and you were true to your own heart — so there's nothing to regret. As for how others see it, or whether the court accepts you — that's other people's business."

"But —" Qian Changle still wanted to argue. "But if I can't enter Shuntian Prefecture, then there's nothing I can do at all!"

"How can there be nothing you can do?" Qian Changping countered. "If a true sage-ruler has come again, there will always be chances to do things. And if he is no sage-ruler —"

Qian Changping fell silent for a moment, then spoke. "Then you'd be better off finding a steady, honest trade and doing it solidly. Don't you forget how our family lost its land."

Qian Changle fell utterly silent.

During the Wanli reign, there was a great push for waterworks and land reclamation around the capital.

Their father had read a little and found a copy of the Capital Gazette to study; he said this undertaking held great promise, so he traded the family's dry fields for riverside land and set about converting it to paddy.

A few years later, the various officials were impeached and dismissed; the village elder cut off the water channel, and even though it was riverside land, the water stopped just the same.

Worse still, the village elder claimed their family had led the way in surrendering land to the authorities, doing things that would raise the village's taxes and levies — the worst sort of unfilial wretches.

Hordes of ruffians, bullies, and neighbors harassed them in turn, all under cold, hostile stares.

The family simply could not stay on any longer, and so they had no choice but to sell their fields and move here to Wan County.

A few years later, their father died of pent-up rage, and their mother passed away from illness soon after.

After two funerals, the fields had all been sold out of necessity, and their Qian family had become a poor family.

That was why, deep down, his elder brother had never agreed with his plan to sit the examination for clerkship — he had only given in because he could not dissuade him and was never good with words, so he had not said much.

Qian Changle wanted to argue back, but in the end the words would not come.

Yes —

If a sage-ruler had truly come again, how could things ever have come to this?

He had seen with his own eyes the hopeful atmosphere when the Wanli Emperor and the Tianqi Emperor first ascended the throne — and in the end, had it not all soured?

How could this world be so easy to change?

Qian Changle said dully, "I understand, Brother. You're right. I was too impatient."

He silently rose, walked into his own little room, and crawled into the ice-cold bedding.

In the darkness, at first there was only silent weeping. Gradually, stifled sobs began to rise, and at last, they turned into uncontrollable choking cries.

He knew. He understood.

But in the young man's heart, there was, after all, just that one thing — unwillingness to accept it. Nothing more.

At the same time, inside the brightly lit examination hall, the scene was entirely different.

Dozens of clerks moved busily through the hall, delivering sealed examination papers one batch after another, piling them up into small mountains.

At last, one clerk stepped forward and reported: "Reporting to Sir Ni: of the two thousand four hundred and seventy-two registered candidates, two thousand two hundred and fourteen actually appeared. The papers collected are not one short — all are here."

This Sir Ni was none other than the head of the Clerical Section of the Secretariat, Ni Yuanlu, Junior Compiler Ni.

A mere clerical examination hardly warranted assigning a crowd of Hanlin academicians, Supervising Secretaries, and Bureau Secretaries to serve as proctors.

Still less did it warrant the spectacle, as at the metropolitan examinations, of a host of officials fighting tooth and nail for an examining post.

That a powerful figure from the Secretariat, along with a few of his section members, had come here already counted as an exceedingly high standard.

Ni Yuanlu nodded and said in a clear voice, "You have all worked hard!"

He swept his gaze around the room and raised his voice slightly: "Tonight, we shall finish grading all of these two thousand-odd papers! Tomorrow at noon, the results will be posted at the main gate of the examination hall!"

As his words fell, a clamor broke out at once among the clerks below.

"What? Finish grading in one night?"

"Over two thousand papers!"

"This — how can we possibly manage it in time?"

After a moment, an older clerk finally stepped forward, cupped his hands, and said, "Sir Ni, we will of course obey the order to grade through the night."

"But these two thousand-odd papers are no small matter. Even a full day and night might not suffice to grade them thoroughly. One night — is that not too rushed?"

Ni Yuanlu smiled at this. "Rushed? What is rushed about it!"

He tapped the booklet on the desk and said, "Gentlemen, take a look at the grading rubric you have just received. In particular, look first at the rubric for the first question on the current affairs paper!"

The crowd, half-believing and half-doubting, turned the pages one after another, their eyes converging on the detailed grading criteria.

With a single glance, everyone looked up in astonishment, turning toward Ni Yuanlu on the platform.

There on the grading rubric, unlike elsewhere, a line of large characters had been specially written in vermilion:

— For any paper that does not address the abuses of the cell-patrol guards, do not bother to read the remaining papers in detail. Reject it outright and accept none of them!

"Well?" Ni Yuanlu said loudly. "Of these two thousand-odd papers, first screen them by this question. If even a thousand remain in the end, that would be remarkable!"

"Gentlemen, get to work!"

The crowd's hearts tightened, and they were just about to begin.

Then another person spoke, his voice somewhat hesitant: "Sir, this subordinate ventures a bold question. Perhaps — perhaps some did not refrain from speaking out of fear, but rather the abuses they observed were more profound, more critical than the matter of the cells? This —"

"How should that be handled?"

Ni Yuanlu could not help but sneer at this.

This was an examination to select clerks, not to select juren or jinshi.

Once one took a clerical examination, the path of the regular civil examinations was all but severed.

What man of talent and excellence in the realm, unless truly without any hope, would come to sit for this clerical examination?

Among those who came to take this clerical examination, their observations on current abuses might have some minor merit, but how could there be any talk of "profound" or "critical"?

This first clerical examination appeared to test men, but in truth it did not test men.

After all, no matter how hastily the new policies were implemented, how could they possibly lack these few hundred clerks?

The greater significance of this clerical selection examination, and even next year's clerical selection examination, lay in using the examination questions to signal to the realm the direction of the new policies.

For the regular civil examination questions could not be greatly altered, but altering the questions for the clerical selection examination was simple.

As His Majesty put it, "Those who cannot thrust a blade straight into the present, who look forward and back in hesitation — the new policies will not take them!"

This is what is meant by: to straighten the crooked, one must bend it past the mark; to transform customs and habits, one must use the methods of thunder and lightning!

This was no examination to select scholars — it was an examination to select hearts, to transform customs and habits!

But there was naturally no need to explain this deeper meaning in detail to the clerks before him now.

Ni Yuanlu gathered his thoughts, and his gaze sharpened in an instant. He glared fiercely at the official who had asked the question.

"No more words! Do as you are told!"

The clerks' hearts tightened. Not daring any further dissent, they hurriedly lowered their heads and set to work.

After a hasty, rough screening, the results came out quickly.

But where was this so-called thousand papers?

Out of the two thousand two hundred and fourteen examination papers, those that addressed the abuses of the cell-patrol guards numbered, all told, no more than two hundred and fifty-one.