Chapter 12: Literary Assessment

The Dao assessment proceeded in rounds of twenty, and by the time all three hundred candidates had been tested, it was already evening. According to the regulations of this imperial examination, the Literary Assessment would be completed the next day.

The night passed without incident; early the next morning, Xiang Weiyuan was led into a grand hall illuminated by bright lamps. Tables, chairs, and the Four Treasures of the Study were already arranged, and just as in the Dao assessment, the moment Xiang Weiyuan entered the hall, he saw his candidate number glowing on one of the tables.

Xiang Weiyuan walked over and sat down, immediately sensing an invisible wall rise around him, sealing out all sound and noise. He could no longer hear the others, and the surrounding scenery grew hazy—even the paper on the adjacent table was indistinct.

The table’s arrangement was simple: a single sheet of white paper lay at the center, a brush rest on the right holding a fine regular-script brush, and in the center, an inkstone and a bowl of clear water. Then, the Daoist’s clear voice sounded beside him, briefly explaining the use of each writing tool. The most remarkable item was the bowl of water: if a character was written incorrectly, one could dip the brush into it to erase the mistake and rewrite.

After explaining the tools, the Daoist’s voice turned stern: “The Literary Assessment begins!”

As the Daoist spoke, dense lines of text spontaneously appeared on the white paper before Xiang Weiyuan. He had already picked up his brush, but upon seeing the test, he froze—the paper held almost no blank space; where was he meant to write his answers?

Xiang Weiyuan steadied himself and read the question carefully. The first question read:

In the thirteenth year of Jingxuan, ( ) blocked Emperor Hui’s carriage and presented the “Eight Strategies for Pacifying Liao.”

A: Zhong Heng B: Ding Shu C: Gongshu Luyuan D: Xianju Daochang

He had never seen such a question format, nor had Zhang Sheng ever mentioned it. Fortunately, the question itself was not difficult—it was a major event in the Tang Annals, and with his solid foundation, Xiang Weiyuan quickly recalled it and marked a check beside D.

The second question followed: In the thirty-fifth year of Mingde, ( ) led eight thousand one hundred armored soldiers and decisively defeated the mountain tribes at Ji, beheading two hundred seventy-three.

A: Mao Gong B: Xu Chu C: Huaihai Master D: Hanikezi

This question posed no challenge to Xiang Weiyuan, who had memorized the Tang Annals backward and forward. He scanned it once, spotted “Xu Chu,” and marked a check beside B. After answering, his heart, which had been pounding, gradually calmed. Though the format was strange, the difficulty was low—if all questions were like this, the Literary Assessment was a gift.

Yet a strange thought suddenly surfaced in Xiang Weiyuan’s mind: What if this question had not tested Xu Chu, but instead asked whether it was the thirty-fourth, thirty-fifth, or thirty-sixth year of Mingde—or worse, whether the number of armored soldiers was eight thousand one or eight thousand two, or whether the beheadings were two hundred seventy-three or seventy-four?

Little Xiang Weiyuan shuddered and swiftly banished the terrifying thought from his mind, then chuckled inwardly, thinking: Who would be so foolish as to set such a ridiculous question?

Xiang Weiyuan gradually calmed and answered fluently. The subsequent questions did not contain anything that caused him alarm.

When he finished one page, he set it aside, and the table spontaneously produced a new sheet of white paper with fresh questions appearing upon it.

Soon, Xiang Weiyuan encountered another unfamiliar question type: In the twenty-first year of Xuanwu, Emperor Taizong of Tang defeated the Northern Liao at ( ), annexing seven thousand li of land and establishing ( ) Province.

This time, there were no A, B, C, or D options—he had to fill in the answers himself.

This battle was the decisive campaign that secured the Tang’s founding: Taizong fought for seven months and finally crushed the Northern Liao at Wuyang, slaying two of their three national masters, and established the Seven Prefectures of Yan Province. Of course, Yan Province today comprises twenty-two prefectures—that was a later development.

Such a major event posed no difficulty for Xiang Weiyuan. He picked up his brush and wrote, each character strong and vigorous. He noticed the brush itself held subtle magic: its strokes could be as fine as hair, even when the characters were the size of a grain of rice. The brushes he had used as a child could not manage such precision—even a bean-sized character would blur into a smudge.

Xiang Weiyuan wrote furiously, and the stack of completed test sheets beside him grew taller. After answering over a dozen pages, the next white paper displayed only a single line, the rest blank:

Discuss Xu Jie’s “Memorial on Recruiting Talent” presented to Emperor Mingzong.

Policy Essay!

Xiang Weiyuan’s spirits instantly lifted—finally, something familiar.

Xu Jie was a renowned chancellor of early Tang who, shortly after Emperor Mingzong ascended the throne, presented the “Memorial on Recruiting Talent,” advocating broader channels and the recruitment of capable men, thereby laying the foundation for a century of prosperity. This question tested the principle of selecting officials: whether virtue or talent should be prioritized.

Xiang Weiyuan pondered briefly, then his brush flew across the paper in swift, flowing strokes. When Zhang Sheng had taught him, he had not only required Xiang Weiyuan to memorize the “Memorial on Recruiting Talent,” but had meticulously dissected each point, explained its real-world impact in historical context, and then forced him to consider how each proposal would have changed under different eras—only after fully answering all these did he deem the lesson complete.

Such questions had no single correct answer; according to Zhang Sheng’s teachings, a qualified response must be grounded in the prevailing historical conditions. Any answer detached from the era’s reality was mere empty talk.

In moments, Xiang Weiyuan had filled the page. He set it aside and turned to the next question:

In the tenth year of Xuanguang, three western Jin prefectures suffered earthquakes; by March, starving peasants rose in rebellion; by May, mountain tribes from the south invaded. General Fan Yuan led fifty thousand troops out of the capital—should he advance west or south?

This question tested whether to deal with external threats before internal unrest—or vice versa—yet there was no definitive answer. Historically, Fan Yuan advanced west to suppress the rebels, beheaded hundreds of thousands, yet the unrest persisted; the mountain tribes seized the opportunity to invade, pressing toward the capital, forcing the Western Jin to sign a humiliating peace treaty. The Western Jin’s strength collapsed, sinking from one of the Three Great Vassals to the weakest among the Nine States.

This question was far more difficult. Xiang Weiyuan paused, drew upon real historical precedents, and began analyzing the pros and cons.

To answer well, one needed more than historical precedent: one had to know the geography of the Western Jin, the character of its rulers and ministers, and the movements of neighboring states—all far beyond Xiang Weiyuan’s current ability. Only a true master of history could answer this well.

Pages filled with writing were set aside one after another; without realizing it, two hours had passed, yet Xiang Weiyuan felt no fatigue. The chair he sat on continuously emitted a faint coolness, keeping his mind clear and his spirit sharp.

When Xiang Weiyuan finished writing on another sheet and placed it aside, no new white paper appeared on the table. He exhaled, returned his brush to the rest, and picked up his completed test to review it once more. Throughout the entire exam, he had not encountered a single question he could not answer. In the policy essays, a few had no definitive answer, but he remembered Zhang Sheng’s advice: ensure internal consistency—and he felt satisfied with his responses.

Judging solely by the policy essays, the questions Zhang Sheng had given Xiang Weiyuan in the past were far more difficult than this exam.

A bell rang—the Literary Assessment ended.

The candidates left their test papers on the tables and filed out of the hall to return to their dormitories for rest.

As Xiang Weiyuan stepped out of the hall, a wave of exhaustion washed over him. Three full hours of the Literary Assessment—even with the magical chair—had drained his spirit. The other candidates, too, were too weary to speak, hurrying back to their rooms. The Martial Assessment began at dawn tomorrow; they must rest well.

(End of Chapter)