Chapter 601: What Leads One to Face the Heavens?

Divine Capital, Examination Hall, March 27, dawn.

Last night brought another spring rain; the air carried a crisp, moist chill.

A faint dawn had begun to tint the eastern sky, gilding the eaves of the Examination Hall's corner towers, casting a magnificent silhouette against the ink-blue heavens.

Beyond the Examination Hall, the vast expanse of Divine Capital lay still—save for the distant murmur of the Eastern Market, the entire metropolis remained slumbering like a dormant beast.

Yet within the Examination Hall, the densely packed examination cells already glowed with flickering candlelight, distant yet brilliant, like a constellation scattered across an endless night.

Compared to previous days, more patrol clerks now patrolled each corridor, their purpose: to prevent candle fires…

Since the spring examination opened in the fifteenth year of Emperor Jia Zhao, on this same hour before the exam's commencement, most candidates had still been asleep in their cells.

But today was different: March 27 marked the final day of the three-part policy essay examination, the very end of the metropolitan examination.

At sunset today, the spring examination would draw to a close.

For every candidate, today was the final sprint along their path to ascending the clouds.

Each day during the spring examination, the court provided each candidate with only one white candle—this was not due to imperial stinginess.

Each year, no fewer than three thousand candidates entered the examination; even one candle per person per day for nine days amounted to tens of thousands of candles, a staggering waste.

Moreover, the cells were packed tightly; multiple candles lit at night posed a grave fire hazard. Thus, for safety's sake, the court discouraged candidates from burning candles daily.

Yet outright prohibition was impractical, so candidates were permitted to bring limited candles—leading some to cheat by sealing notes inside wax.

Therefore, every candle brought into the hall was inspected and snapped by clerks—nearly without exception.

Broken candles burned poorly; to meet candidates' needs for overnight drafting during the final days, the Examination Hall sold limited quantities of candles.

Of course, the Examination Hall's candles and meals were exorbitantly priced—but by the final two days of the examination, even the most expensive candles sold out instantly…

…

This year's primary policy essay question was excessively profound and grand, rendering the four subsidiary questions derived from it nearly impossible to tackle.

Since the policy questions opened on March 24, only a few candidates, after prolonged deliberation, had begun writing their essays immediately.

Most candidates spent half the day in agonizing thought, only beginning to write by afternoon—or even night.

A few with limited talent didn't clarify their thoughts until the next morning, then wrote hesitantly and awkwardly.

As the final night of the three examinations neared, many students burned the midnight oil, sleepless and exhausted, revising drafts endlessly, striving for perfection.

Yet such a scene was hardly surprising: among the three thousand candidates, fewer than one in a hundred would be listed among the successful.

Since the imperial examinations began at the provincial level, they were always meant for a select few; for most candidates, their participation was merely ceremonial.

How many scholars exhausted themselves for nine days within the Examination Hall, only to lose out due to inferior talent, willpower, or diligence—left with nothing but self-pity?

…

Jia Cong had begun drafting on the first day of the third examination, completing his rough draft that same day; after reviewing his thoughts that evening, he extinguished his candle and slept early.

The next day, he spent the entire day meticulously refining his draft, revising it multiple times, even filling the backs of his rough sheets with notes.

Only when he was certain the final draft was flawless, with no errors or omissions, did he find the night wind cold and the moon risen in the east.

He carefully folded his draft and placed it beneath his bedding, then gently stored the blank official answer sheets in his examination box before lying down to rest.

He awoke before the fifth watch, refreshed and alert, warmed his dried rations over the stove, and ate his breakfast with care.

He placed the small red-clay teapot gifted by Lin Lin Daiyu on the cell's small stove, adding fresh Siam tribute tea.

As the fifth watch began, the eastern sky brightened with spring chill, the stove glowed red, and the water boiled, the tea steeped.

He poured a full cup of fragrant tea; as it entered his mouth, warmth spread through his body, his mind cleared, his spirit surged.

He retrieved yesterday's draft, ground ink, spread paper, and meticulously transcribed the five policy essay answers onto the official sheets.

…

Years ago, Jia Cong's calligraphy couplet, pasted by his wet nurse Aunt Zhao on his family's door, had been spotted by a guest of Prince Prince Kangshun, launching his prominence within the Jia household.

Over the years, whether studying or serving in office, he never ceased refining his calligraphy; his brushwork had grown increasingly masterful.

Years immersed in calligraphy had forged deep, solid foundations; his writing flowed swiftly, far beyond ordinary men.

From the dim dawn until full daylight, he completed transcribing all five policy essay answers in just one hour.

On the pristine white answer sheets, each line of his elegant, precise script appeared as if carved by chisel and axe—neat, exquisite, pleasing to the eye.

Yet even the most brilliant calligraphy would rarely be seen; in the end, it would become a dusty scroll, stored in some forgotten corner of the Examination Hall's archives.

After the metropolitan examination ended, all candidates' papers were sent to the Ministry of Rites' Copying Office before being distributed to graders.

There, clerks copied every word of each paper in red ink; chief and assistant graders reviewed only the copies, while the originals were sealed and preserved separately.

This was to prevent graders from recognizing candidates' handwriting and committing fraud.

Jia Cong reviewed his transcribed answer sheet once more, confirmed no errors remained, then neatly stored his draft and official paper, and finally relaxed…

At this hour, many candidates still struggled in thought; most had just begun transcribing their official answers.

Occasionally, cries echoed through the corridors—likely from candidates who had made a mistake or smudged their answer sheets.

Such errors did not invalidate the paper, but during copying, the clerks would note "unclean surface," and graders would deduct points accordingly.

…

When the sun reached its zenith, Jia Cong resumed heating his dried rations and ate his lunch with focus.

Yet most candidates in their cells still wrote furiously…

Just as the fourth watch began, the clear chime of the cloud gong echoed through every corridor.

Some candidates sighed in relief; others tightened their focus, racing against time to finish transcribing.

For the gong's chime at the fourth watch signaled that the three-part policy examination had only one hour remaining.

And the Emperor Jia Zhao fifteenth year metropolitan examination would end one hour from now…

After the gong faded, Jia Cong heard a chorus of bright, lively bells ringing from nearby corridors—joyful, spirited, filled with release…

For after the fourth watch on the final day, candidates were permitted to submit their papers.

Though this year's policy questions were harder than ever, among the three thousand candidates, there were never lacking those of exceptional talent.

Some strained their minds, struggling for words; others wrote fluently, pouring forth thousands of characters.

Candidates like Jia Cong, who had prepared their answers in advance, were not rare among the thousands in the hall.

Yet Jia Cong did not rush to submit; the examination rules clearly stated that candidates must remain in the hall until the Wen Hua Bell rang to signal the end.

Even if he submitted early, he would still have to wait in his cell until the hall opened.

Time passed slowly until the fifth watch and three-quarters, when Jia Cong finally pulled the bell cord in his cell. Soon, two clerks accompanied by a laborer arrived at his cell to collect his papers.

Collection was a critical stage; to prevent paper-switching fraud during submission,

each collection required two official clerks present simultaneously, monitoring each other.

Both candidate and clerks must sign the register, then stamp the corners of the official paper and draft.

If a paper was damaged or lost, the register allowed cross-checking to trace responsibility—minor offenders were exiled; major ones executed.

Immediately after collecting a candidate's papers, the clerks delivered them to the Examination Hall's Sealing Officer.

The Sealing Officer stamped the folded corner bearing the candidate's name, then sealed the paper.

Then, the sealed papers were sent to the Copying Officer, whose red-ink copies contained only the paper's number—no personal information remained.

The entire process was tightly regulated; any error would implicate the officials involved…

…

After Jia Cong submitted his paper, ten or so cells ahead, Lin Zhaohe, the provincial top scorer from Hangzhou Prefecture, also rang the Success Bell.

Farther away, Wu Liang, his plump face weary from nine days of examination, stared after the departing clerks, his eyes gleaming with anxiety and hope.

!

After submitting his paper, Jia Cong bundled his belongings. A few quarters of an hour later, the Wen Hua Bell finally rang.

The thunderous bell echoed from the Examination Hall, audible across half of Divine Capital—the Emperor Jia Zhao fifteenth year metropolitan examination had officially ended.

As Jia Cong exited the corridor with the crowd, passing Lin Zhaohe, he did not recognize this candidate who had once visited to present his credentials.

In daily life, beyond his duties at the yamen and the Firearms Bureau workshop, he stayed at home and rarely went out.

Thus, candidates like Lin Zhaohe, commoners without rank, did not recognize the famed Lord Weiyuan Marquis.

Jia Cong flowed with the stream of candidates out the Examination Hall's main gate; the nearby streets were already lined with carriages, awaiting families and friends.

Zhou Yan emerged from the Examination Hall, dejected and dispirited, when he heard someone call his name behind him; he turned, searching the exiting candidates.

He saw Wu Liang's plump, smiling face waving at him: "Brother Bao Kun, I'm here!"

Zhou Yan's eyes brightened slightly; he halted to wait. Wu Liang hurried over and said: "The other day we made plans—why did you break them? I waited in vain."

"How did you fare this time? Do you have a chance of passing?"

Zhou Yan pulled Wu Liang aside a few steps, glanced at the crowd pouring from the hall, and sighed, low: "I thought we'd seized our chance—but at the last moment, things changed."

"This year's policy questions were obscure and brutal. Truly a misstep—a misstep…"

Hearing this, Wu Liang's heart sank.

Seeing Zhou Yan's desolate expression, he knew at once: this examination had gone poorly for him—likely a failure…

The words he had meant to speak died on his tongue.

To now mention that he had been unable to warn him of Chief Examiner Huang Huang Hongcang's sudden change—

would only add to his distress, invite complications, and serve no purpose. Why stir such trouble?

…

The two walked together for a while, when Zhou Yan suddenly remembered something and asked: "Xiwen, I recall you admired Master Xu's advice and bought the collection he recommended."

"Now that the chief examiner has been replaced by Master Xu, did his guidance help you in this exam?"

Wu Liang's face stiffened slightly; he hurriedly replied: "I followed your advice and bought his collection, but I merely read it out of interest…"

Seeing Zhou Yan's haggard face, Wu Liang sighed inwardly and said: "The primary policy question was exceedingly difficult; many candidates vented their frustration as they left."

"I barely finished mine. Now that we're out, whether we've succeeded or not—only Heaven knows."

Zhou Yan sighed again, and Wu Liang said, "When we left the examination compound, I didn't see Yi Chun brother at all—he's a top scholar in talent; he must have done better than you all."

"When we have time tomorrow, let's three of us make a plan to gather and drink properly. Nine days cooped up in the examination cell—I'm practically rotten all over. I need to go home and wash up right away. Brothers, we'll meet again soon."

Zhou Yan gave a weak smile; Wu Liang spoke the truth. Every candidate who sat the exam for nine days in the cell came out filthy and disheveled.

He waved goodbye to Wu Liang, then hired a carriage and returned to his lodging.

Wu Liang watched Zhou Yan's carriage disappear into the distance and unconsciously exhaled a sigh of relief, then hurried back to Hongxiang Inn.

…

Jia Cong stepped out of the examination compound and saw Jiang Liu standing by the roadside, with two carriages beside him.

Seeing Jia Cong emerge, Jiang Liu hurried forward, smiling: "Cong Sanye, you're out!"

"After noon today, the eldest miss and the household young ladies had us prepare the carriages and wait at the compound gate to bring you home."

Jia Cong noticed that besides Jiang Liu, the steward from the eastern mansion stood nearby with several young servants.

They saw Jia Cong's disheveled hair but radiant spirit—though somewhat disheveled, no candidate who emerged from the examination compound looked any cleaner.

Everyone quickly stepped forward to take his belongings, when another man stepped down from the second carriage—it was Jia Zheng, which surprised Jia Cong.

Jia Zheng smiled: "I just finished my duties at this hour, so I came by to see how you fared in the spring examination, Cong-ge."

Jia Cong knew Jia Zheng's "just finished duties" was merely an excuse—he held a deep obsession with the imperial examinations and truly cared about his performance.

Jia Cong smiled: "You've gone out of your way to come, Master—I'm not worthy. Rest assured, everything went well."

Hearing "well," and seeing Jia Cong's bright expression, Jia Zheng knew he had performed excellently, and could not help feeling pleased.

He laughed: "Good, good! Our Lady Rongguo Mansion has finally produced a scion who rose through the imperial examination path—truly the ancestors' blessing!"

Jia Zheng praised Jia Cong a few more times; had they not been on a public street, he might have shouted to the whole world that Lady Rongguo Mansion had produced a Rank Jinshi.

…

As all candidates exited the examination compound, this spring examination—so pivotal to the empire—entered its next phase.

The true bustle within the compound had only just begun.

Starting tonight, the sixty sealing officials already gathered at the compound would systematically seal and stamp the over three thousand exam papers—tens of thousands of official scripts.

After noon tomorrow, the Ministry of Rites would deploy clerks to transcribe all sealed papers in red ink.

The screening and elimination of spring examination candidates would begin with the transcription process…

Before transcription, the copyists would conduct thorough inspections of each official script.

They checked whether the answers violated taboos, whether the candidates boasted of their family status, whether the word count met regulations, whether the script contained overstepping language, and whether the draft papers were complete.

If even one violation was found, the official script would be immediately disqualified—even if the candidate's essay was brilliant beyond measure.

When candidates finished their nine-day spring examination and stepped out of the compound gate, none could truly relax.

From the closing of the metropolitan examination to the final posting of the list and the calling of names, a month would pass—awaiting them would be greater torment, longer waiting, even unknown upheavals…

(End of Chapter)