Chapter 93: Under the East Wall of the Ministry of Rites (Requesting First Subscription)

Jia Mu and the others had not yet recovered from the shocking power of Jia Cong’s blade.

Then Jia Cong said, “Grandmother, that Wang boy sneaked into the inner courtyard with Yuanyang Sister—yet the gatekeeper old women saw nothing. What if he had disturbed the sisters in the garden?”

The consequences would be unthinkable. Such negligent servants must be severely punished; the inner courtyard needs alert, capable attendants from now on.”

Jia Mu glared at Jia Cong. The birthday gift he’d given her yesterday had originally earned her face, and she’d even felt a touch of joy—until that miserable business with Wang Zhangshi occurred.

Today was even more outrageous: someone had sneaked into the inner courtyard to cause trouble for him, only to be humiliated by this boy himself, even drawing a blade.

He’d also made Prince Wang Ziteng look foolish during his birthday visit, turning family affairs into an embarrassing spectacle. Seeing her second daughter-in-law’s red-rimmed eyes, Jia Mu grew irritable.

How could this brat cause so much chaos? Yet these past two days, she could find not a single fault in Jia Cong—only a stifled rage inside her.

When he mentioned the gatekeeper old women’s negligence, she realized how terrifying it could have been—if an outsider had breached the inner courtyard and harmed her precious granddaughters, their reputations would be ruined!

So she channeled all her pent-up fury into action, ordering Yuanyang to identify the old women on duty at the second gate, drag them outside Rongqing Hall, and beat them twenty strokes each before exiling them to a farm outside the city.

Jia Cong bowed to Jia Mu, saying he had already arranged to meet his classmates to view the yuan shi results posted at the Ministry of Rites, then turned and left.

As he walked away, he still carried the gleaming waist blade, making Jia Mu and Lady Wang’s eyelids twitch.

Jia Cong tried pushing forward to get closer to the east wall where the results were posted, but the crowd was too thick—he barely took a few steps before his chest pressed against the backs of others.

…

In the imperial capital, the provincial and metropolitan examination results were posted at the Confucian Temple in the eastern city, but the yuan shi results were posted on the east wall of the southern courtyard of the Ministry of Rites.

Compared to the modern image of a thousand soldiers crossing a single plank, this was even more terrifying.

So he abandoned pushing forward and found a slightly less crowded corner to wait.

Because of the incident with Wang Yi, Jia Cong missed his appointed time with Cai Xiaoyu, Cui An, and Liu Xiao—and when he arrived, he could not find them anywhere.

Along the eastern side of the Ministry of Rites’ southern courtyard stretched a long wall, with a wide, level open space before it capable of holding over a thousand people, where the Ministry often held ceremonial processions for foreign envoys.

Because the space was spacious and the wall flat and sun-facing, it had long served as the official posting site for the yuan shi results.

Over a hundred years ago, when the Mongol Yuan ravaged the north, Han civilians fled south to defend their nation, gathering the finest scholars of the northern literati in the south to escape the war—thus preserving the Han scholarly tradition from barbarian slaughter, even allowing it to flourish more vigorously.

In Yongzhou’s yuan shi, fewer than a handful of candidates out of a hundred passed; the autumn and spring examinations that followed were even more fiercely competitive.

Though he could not see the list from where he stood, Jia Cong was not anxious—the yuan shi had been over for many days; whether he passed or failed was already decided, and there was no need to rush.

Yongzhou was the most culturally vibrant region in the north; this year’s yuan shi drew thousands of candidates, yet according to annual quotas assigned by prefectures and counties, only two hundred would ultimately be admitted.

The imperial examination path had always been hierarchical and pyramid-shaped: from yuan shi to the metropolitan examination, fewer and fewer qualified candidates remained, and those who made the golden list were chosen from among ten thousand.

The yuan shi was the gateway to the Great Zhou’s imperial examinations—only after passing could one proceed to the provincial, metropolitan, and even palace examinations.

Though the yuan shi had already eliminated candidates through the county and prefectural exams, the base number of applicants remained enormous.

After the Great Zhou’s founding, southern scholarly traditions had grown even stronger than previous dynasties; some of their light had spread northward, further invigorating northern education.

By the time Jia Cong reached the east wall of the Ministry of Rites’ southern courtyard, the place was already packed with people.

Then a gong sounded from beneath the east wall, one strike after another—the posting was about to begin.

The dense crowd surged like a tide, thousands of voices buzzing with excitement and tension, their clamor so great it startled birds overhead into flight.

This grand spectacle of the result posting opened Jia Cong’s eyes—he even felt his own nervousness fade.

All things are lowly; only learning is exalted.

The thousands of candidates present—boys who had studied since childhood, youths who had endured years of hardship, elders who refused to give up despite white hair—all their years of effort came down to this moment.

Many candidates stood solemnly, murmuring prayers as if beseeching heaven and gods to grant them names on the list.

At that moment, several Ministry of Rites attendants in red robes and blue vests emerged—after the gongs ceased, one carried a paste bucket and brush, two held red silk scrolls, and four armed imperial guards followed to protect them.

Hundreds of yamen runners from Qinian Prefecture and Zhen’an Prefecture had already been deployed along the east wall, holding water-and-fire staves to maintain order.

A full company of elite cavalry from the imperial guard had also been stationed around the Ministry of Rites—after all, with thousands gathered, any disturbance could have dire consequences.

The attendants climbed ladders, smeared rice paste onto the east wall, and began posting the lists, starting from the lowest-ranked names and moving upward.

Jia Cong stood far from the wall; he could only see the attendants posting the list, but could not read a single character on it.

When the first scroll was posted, the crowd surged forward like a tide; over a hundred runners held their water-and-fire staves across the front, each drenched in sweat from holding back the throng.

Someone in the crowd spotted his name and screamed in ecstatic joy: “I passed! Ancestors, protect me! I passed!”

Soon, more and more voices erupted in triumphant cries across the crowd, while others around them gazed with envy at the lucky few.

But many more found no name on the first scroll.

Though three more scrolls remained to be posted, their anxiety was plain to see.

Then the attendants posted the second scroll—and the same scene repeated: more joy, more sorrow.

The entire crowd split into two worlds: some ecstatic, some lamenting, some with ashen faces, some brimming with confidence.

At that moment, Jia Cong heard a familiar voice nearby cry: “I passed! I’m ranked one hundred and two!”

He turned toward the voice and saw a candidate shouting excitedly—it was Cui An—and beside him, the two figures were unmistakably Cai Xiaoyu and Liu Xiao.

Jia Cong called out to Cui An several times, but his voice was swallowed by the roaring crowd—he could not be heard, for the attendants were now posting the third scroll.

Cheers rose and fell in the crowd, louder and more intense than those from the first two scrolls.

Candidates appearing on the second scroll were among the top hundred in this Yongzhou yuan shi, the elite whose essays and scholarship stood above all others.

Candidates always clustered by hometown and classmates; the more from one’s own group who passed, and the higher their rankings, the greater the honor and prestige before other groups.

The fierce factional struggles in court today—over regional loyalties, political views, old versus new—had not arisen overnight; their seeds had already sprouted in the early stages of the examination path.

Those who made the second scroll often held influence and literary reputation within their hometown cliques and peer circles.

These men came to the posting accompanied by friends and companions.

When a name appeared on the second scroll, the cheers naturally far surpassed those from the earlier ones.

Until the first three scrolls were posted, Jia Cong still did not know whether his name had appeared—he was too far away to see anything clearly.

Finally, the top scroll of the Yongzhou yuan shi was posted on the east wall of the Ministry of Rites’ southern courtyard, and countless burning gazes fixed upon it.

(End of Chapter)