Chapter 367: Small-Town Exam Grinder

From Wugong to Chang'an, a short journey of just over a hundred li — not far, really; a post rider could cover it in a single day, and any military intelligence from Right Fufeng could swiftly reach the ears of the King of Wei.

Yet not near, either: Cheng Gong, leading his disciples, took a full several days to walk it.

At night they rested in post stations; the station-level posts, abandoned during the chaos, were gradually restored after the start of spring, and with the King of Wei having put great effort into sending Deng Ye and others to suppress bandits, as long as one traveled in a sizable group, there was generally no trouble.

The lodgings, however, left much to be desired — they could only sleep in the station courtyard, because the rooms inside were reserved for passing officials and soldiers.

Still, at least there were walls to block the wind and eaves to keep off the rain, far better than when Cheng Gong slept in a pigsty as a boy.

He and his disciples never forgot to recite the classics at every moment.

"Rude, what of it?" Lying on a straw mat, Cheng Gong, moved by the scene, posed this line.

The disciples immediately responded: "The Master said, 'When a gentleman dwells there, what rudeness can there be?'"

Cheng Gong smiled: "And the line before that?"

"'The Master wished to dwell among the Nine Yi.'"

"Which chapter is it from?"

"'Zihan,' the ninth."

The first half of the night passed in their recitation, and when morning came, many rose and continued reading in their spare moments. Those who had copied out the full text of the Analects were exceedingly few; they could only share a scroll among several people, in scattered fragments — but no matter, Cheng Gong himself was their textbook! In these times, teaching relied heavily on oral transmission; the prerequisite for becoming a master was a prodigious memory.

When they set out again, it was still a journey of discoursing on the classics and chanting verse, pausing now and then by the Wei River to cook, wash, and bathe.

Cheng Gong's youngest disciple, just sixteen, had never in his life left Wugong County. Now, deeply moved, he said: "'In late spring, when the spring garments are finished, with five or six capped men and six or seven boys, bathing in the Yi, enjoying the breeze at the Rain Altar, and returning home singing' — is this not exactly such a scene?"

Cheng Gong counted; the numbers were indeed about right.

This cheerful mood turned to awe when they caught sight of Chang'an's walls. Few of the disciples had ever visited the capital; all were stunned by its immense splendor. But Cheng Gong sighed inwardly: "It has withered greatly, far from what it was in times of peace."

Yet at least, under the King of Wei's control, order had been restored — infinitely better than his hometown of Langya, which, after being ravaged by the Red Eyebrows, still languished in utter misery.

Two days remained before the first day of the third month. The disciples, full of anticipation, wished to enter the city, but at the gate they suffered a most stinging humiliation.

Because their Right Fufeng accent was too thick, when the eldest disciple haltingly asked the Wei gate guard whether a pass was needed to enter the city, the guard could not understand him. Seeing them travel-worn, many with holes in their shoes, he took them for refugees and called out: "Refugees seeking registration, sign up at the city gate; someone will then take you to a resting place. Once there are enough people, you'll be taken together to Shanglin County to settle and farm."

To be mistaken for refugees — what a disgrace! The disciples, furious, were about to argue, but Cheng Gong, caught between tears and laughter, stepped forward himself. Only after he made clear inquiries did he learn that those taking the Shece examination need not enter the city at all, but should go directly to the Imperial Academy south of the walls.

"The Imperial Academy…"

Cheng Gong understood. He led his disciples south along the city wall.

The closer they drew to the southern outskirts, the more silent Cheng Gong became. Years ago, after leaving Langya and journeying circuitously into the Pass, Cheng Gong had brought a personal letter from his master, Master Xu, to pay a visit to a senior student at the Imperial Academy, hoping to audit lectures there — but he had met only with humiliation.

"The Imperial Academy admits a fixed quota of ten students per commandery each year, recommended by the commandery. Otherwise, one must have a recognized master's lineage, or family wealth. Do you have any of these?"

Did he have any?

Cheng Gong was utterly destitute; apart from a heart devoted to learning, he had nothing. He lowered his head and said he did not wish to take anyone's quota, only to stand and listen to a few lectures, to hear the learning of the sages — and was roundly mocked for it.

Only then did he learn that the Imperial Academy was long riddled with entrenched factions; the Erudites hoarded their knowledge jealously, and apart from their formally admitted disciples, no one else was permitted to receive instruction.

He had slunk away in disgrace back then. Now, years later, the Imperial Academy had thrown open its gates to him — and to his disciples?

Household registers were in chaos, and the Han-era tallies and passes had largely fallen into disuse. Now, under the King of Wei's rule, people from any commandery, wherever they went, had to obtain an identity document called a "letter of introduction" from the local authorities, stamped with a seal to be valid.

Only after handing this over were they allowed inside. Behind Cheng Gong, his disciples let out one gasp of naive wonder after another.

Thanks to Wang Mang, the Imperial Academy's buildings, whether near or far, were all connected by covered walkways with eaves above, so that students' feet stayed dry in the rain and their heads un-scorched in the summer heat. If one could study here, how infinitely better it would be than under that great locust tree in Wugong.

"If only we could hear the Master teach here!" The disciples' eyes were full of longing.

When old Wang Mang expanded the Imperial Academy, he built "ten thousand bays" of dormitories for the students — enough to house ten thousand. During the wars, they had briefly served as barracks; now the troops had withdrawn, and examinees from all quarters were arriving.

Only, the once lush trees had been chopped down for firewood by the people of Chang'an during the last bitter winter, and many door panels had been pried off as well. No matter — as long as there was space to set down a writing desk, it would do.

After they moved into the student dormitory, they found it covered in a thick layer of dust, who knew how long unswept; they had to do the cleaning themselves.

"Master, I've found the name register of the dormitory's previous occupant."

While clearing beneath a bed, one disciple discovered a fine item. He pulled it out, blew off the dust, and read aloud the name on it: "Former dormitory occupant, Caiyang County, Baisui Township, Front Line… Liu Jiao?"

…

Over the next two days, more and more examinees arrived at the Imperial Academy — some riding up gracefully on tall horses, others traveling together in uniform plain robes, with attendant bookboys carrying full sets of gear behind them.

Han Confucians placed enormous weight on master lineages and family traditions. The King of Wei's Shece examination attracted few lone wolves; whether they were Erudite disciples from the official schools or scholars from private academies, they generally moved as groups — either none came, or a whole crowd came at once. Cases like Cheng Gong, where the master personally led his disciples to take the exam, were far from rare.

After each school settled into its assigned quarters, they could hardly avoid visiting their neighbors to discuss their respective scholarly pedigrees.

"We are the heirs of the 'Lesser Xiahou Shangshu,' the preeminent school of the age, with over a thousand disciples, several hundred of them here in the Guanzhong region."

"The Lesser Xiahou itself branched from our 'Greater Xiahou Shangshu'; our school participated in the Stone Canal Pavilion Conference!"

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"The Greater Xiahou in turn branched from our 'Ouyang Shangshu'; we are the true orthodox line of the Shangshu, the preeminent school since the time of Emperor Wu of Han."

"Hahaha, gentlemen, dispute no further. We are disciples of Master Fu of Henei, a hundred strong entering the capital this time. Master Fu is the direct heir of the orthodox Shangshu tradition of Fu Sheng from the early Han!"

The various Shangshu heirs spent a long while tracing their lineages, and only when disciples of the "Ancient Text Shangshu" emerged did they all turn their fire on them in unison: "Forged canon! Heresy!"

Much like the Shangshu, the Odes, the Rites, and the Spring and Autumn Annals also saw their various schools vying for brilliance. After the great chaos at the end of Wang Mang's reign, they had not gathered together like this in a very long time.

"This is the world of scholars — flaunting seniority, honoring old ties, debating the classics at the drop of a hat, discoursing on millions of words of family traditions and master lineages." Cheng Gong did not join in. His master, Master Xu, did not belong to any of the three great schools of the Spring and Autumn Annals; he transmitted only the canon, not the commentaries, and lacked even the standing to speak with the academic cliques. Cheng Gong was already his master's prized disciple, yet he could not even earn the qualification to set foot inside the Imperial Academy for a look…

Cheng Gong shut the dormitory door and found that his disciples had grown somewhat anxious from the disturbance.

Some, having seen the prosperity of Chang'an's outskirts and then the illustrious family backgrounds of the other disciples, felt ashamed of their own shabbiness.

Others, hearing the students outside discussing master lineages as though speaking the ancient tongues of Yin and Zhou, and realizing they could not understand a word of it, suddenly fell into a panic.

"Let them debate," Cheng Gong said with a smile. "The King of Wei's edict stated clearly: for this examination in classical arts, only the elementary learning will be tested, not the Five Classics!"

In his heart, Cheng Gong was endlessly grateful to the King of Wei. Were it not for this unique Shece examination…

"I, Cheng Gong, a rustic little scholar, and my disciples of humble origin — we would never in this life have been able to come to the august Imperial Academy and stand as equals, vying for supremacy, against the orthodox heirs of the Five Classics!"

…

The Imperial Academy comprised five building complexes. The central one was called the Biyong, encircled by water; south of the water was the Chengjun, north was the Shangxiang, east was the Dongxu, and west was the Guzong.

Apart from the Biyong, the other four were requisitioned by the King of Wei as examination venues. Officials were sent a day in advance to inform the students of their assigned venues. The King of Wei had originally wanted to completely scramble the assignments by surname stroke order, but considering that this was the first selection of scholars, and both examinees and organizers were in a flurry with rules still imperfect, for ease of administration they were assigned to examination halls by native region instead.

"The numbers are far smaller than expected."

As one of the imperially appointed chief examiners, Superintendent of Ceremonies Wang Long had gone over the roster repeatedly these past few days. Barely over two thousand had come in total — far short of the three or four thousand expected. He frowned. "Most of the Erudite disciples in the capital are sitting the exam. Can the resistance from the private academies of the Five Tombs really be this strong?"

By now Wang Long had also more or less figured out his junior fellow's temperament: intense in both love and hate. For instance, toward his old teacher Yang Xiong, to whom he owed a debt of gratitude, he defended him in every possible way and would not rest until he had raised Yang Ziyun onto a sacred altar.

But toward those who defied him, the King of Wei would say nothing openly — yet just as he had passed through Chang'an five times without entering, harshly teaching the capital's people a lesson, these private-academy disciples, following their teachers in a moment of impulse, might well end up barred for life, never able to hold office again…

"It is not entirely that."

Junior Preceptor Du Lin said carefully, "Many have also been delayed on the road. Those who have arrived are mostly men from the Five Tombs and Chang'an; the furthest is Fu Zhan of Henei, who got word in advance and arranged carriages to enter the capital. Beyond that, many scholars from Hedong and You Fufeng have yet to arrive — but His Majesty will not allow the exam deadline to be pushed back."

As the two spoke, a line of carriages under heavy escort also entered the Imperial Academy — all armored palace guards, with Embroidered Uniform Guard Zhang Yu accompanying them. The basket after basket they carried held the examination questions!

These were only the three subjects being tested together today: the Classics, mathematics, and general knowledge. At least the two of them had taken part in setting the questions and knew something of their content. As for tomorrow's "policy essay," the King of Wei would decide that personally — no one knew what sort of question Diwu Lun would devise to torment the examinees…

Wang Long and Du Lin exchanged a glance and saluted the approaching Grand Preceptor Zhang Zhan. As the official in charge of culture and education, he had just been to the palace for an audience with Diwu Lun.

"Grand Preceptor, does His Majesty have any oral instructions?"

Zhang Zhan, his face as stern as ever, said, "His Majesty said only this: in this examination, there is but one key point."

"Fairness. Fairness. And fairness!"

"Two words — His Majesty said them three times."

Filial piety and righteousness were the bedrock of Diwu Lun's public image. Constrained by that, he could hardly openly recruit men who "took payment and slept with their elder brother's wife." In other areas he might overlook private morals, but the selection examination was different — credibility and impartiality mattered above all.

"Therefore, it must be repeatedly warned: any candidate who cheats shall be expelled on the spot and barred forever from appointment!"

"And any proctoring official or grader who shows favoritism or commits fraud shall be severely punished under the harshest statutes!"

Putting Zhang Zhan in charge of culture and education had turned out to be exactly the right move. Though he had been an amiable soft touch when governing a commandery, once he took up education he became dignified, stern, and a stickler for ritual — every move he made followed fixed rules.

That said, Zhang Zhan's original thinking had been to first emulate the "righteous schools" Diwu Lun had established in his home region and promote elementary education. Even if, as Diwu Lun demanded, mathematics and general knowledge were to be added to the beginner curriculum, he could accept that — after all, Zhang Zhan was no pure classicist.

Then, step by step, build up the commandery schools, and finally seek to restore the Imperial Academy and even the examination-by-lot system.

But Diwu Lun had done the opposite, deciding to use the final examination to retroactively influence the emphasis of the realm's culture and education. He even predicted, "Once the world knows that policy essays, mathematics, and general knowledge are all criteria for selecting officials, people will naturally pay them attention in ordinary times."

Zhang Zhan could not out-argue him and only sighed inwardly, "I can only hope this marks the beginning of the state's revival of culture and learning!"

As they spoke, an official reported that the water clock showed the hour of Yuzhong had arrived!

"Beat the drums."

"Begin the examination!"

…

The deep roll of drums resounded through the Imperial Academy, spreading across all four halls: Chengjun, Shangxiang, Dongxu, and Guzong.

Cheng Gong and his disciples were in the Shangxiang Hall; the examination room was a lecture hall where Imperial Academy students had once attended classes — there had been no time to build dedicated examination chambers, after all.

Though during the chaos of war the Imperial Academy had been stormed by mutinous soldiers, its desks smashed and burned for firewood, Diwu Lun had spent heavily this time to ensure that every examinee at least had a writing desk and a rush mat — many of them brought out from the palace, yet another point worthy of the scholars' hymns of praise.

Each examination room held twenty or thirty people, with two officials drawn from Weiyang Palace standing watch, one at the front and one at the rear. The one at the front, in a black robe and xiezhi cap, wore a faint smile; the one at the rear wore a sword, his gaze cold and piercing.

"I hear the one standing at the rear is a battle overseer — the kind the King of Wei stations in every unit of his army, specifically to execute soldiers who turn and flee."

"Then what are they doing here?"

"Seems they're here to catch cheats and fraudsters."

These words sent a triple shudder through the examinees, and at the same time someone rose angrily. "Does the King of Wei take us for thieves?"

That Confucian scholar felt insulted and actually slammed the desk and walked out, abandoning the exam before it had even begun. Outside the door he ran into several like-minded companions — in Han times, Confucian scholars with strong personalities were hardly rare.

But if one wished to enter the system, one had to bow to the system's rules, did one not? Most people still submitted and adapted to such regulations. Fairness, for the majority, was a good thing.

The drums beat, signaling that Yuzhong had arrived — roughly nine in the morning by later reckoning. The examination lasted three shichen in total, from Yuzhong through Rizhong to Rizhi, equivalent to six hours, and would end at Bushi, by which time everyone's stomachs would be growling.

Brush, ink, and knife-and-scraper were to be brought by the candidates themselves, but the three blank bamboo slips for the exam were already laid out before them. Where could one find tens of thousands of blank bamboo slips? They could only draw the surplus slips from the offices of the Three Excellencies and Nine Ministers as an emergency measure.

Having been through this, Diwu Lun had learned his lesson the hard way and already resolved that before next year's examination-by-lot began, he would develop mature paper — not just the pitifully inadequate private paper used at court…

When the exam began, the questions were distributed to the clerks in each of the several dozen examination rooms, who then copied them onto the notice boards hung on the walls for the examinees to see.

The Classics questions were no different from the Imperial Academy's examination-by-lot. In the past, these had been held by scholarly faction: difficult questions were written on bamboo slips, and examinees chose one slip at random and answered the question written on it, with the academic officials grading them accordingly.

Now, the questions were publicly displayed for all to see, and everyone bent over their bamboo slips to write out their answers.

There were four Classics questions, each worth ten points. Two dealt with the Analects, one with the Classic of Filial Piety — one had to supply the missing context based on the key phrase, and then provide an explication.

This was what Cheng Gong taught his disciples every day; answering them was quite effortless.

But when he looked at the fourth question, he froze!

"Practice, oh practice — if practicing what is wrong can overcome what is right, how much more can practicing what is right overcome what is wrong! Alas! Let the scholar simply discern what is right and hold to it."

What? What was this?

The style closely resembled the Analects, but Cheng Gong was certain: Confucius and his disciples had absolutely never uttered this line!

Could this be some Analects school's family teaching or master's tradition concerning "learning and constantly practicing it"? Cheng Gong was stuck.

"Didn't they say they wouldn't test the Five Classics or family and master traditions — only elementary learning?"

Whispered mutterings arose in the examination room. Cheng Gong raised his head and saw that all the scholars had fallen into the same bewilderment; no one could figure out which classic this came from.

"No talking to one another," the proctoring official barked, standing with hands clasped behind his back. When someone boldly stood to ask, he offered no explanation.

"So it is not just me who does not know."

This discovery, after Cheng Gong had already sunk into despair, startled him and then let him breathe a sigh of relief. Since no one knew, it did not matter.

Unable even to identify the source, and with no one having read it, they could naturally only fabricate something and cobble together a few of their own thoughts.

Some simply left it blank, but there were also those who, utterly unable to recall where the line came from, broke down sobbing — and were promptly "invited" out of the examination room by the military officer at the rear.

If you cannot bear even a trifling matter, what sort of official would you make? The King of Wei had no use for people who beat their chests and wailed at the first setback.

Cheng Gong swallowed hard. His disciples were faring no better: some looked left and right in confusion, some had hands trembling as they gripped their brushes, and some clutched desperately at their own scalps.

The drums beat once every half shichen. When they beat for the fourth time, the chief examiner began announcing the mathematics questions.

There were only four, each worth five points.

The first was "field measurement" — calculating the area of farmland, something every official who governed the people had to do every year.

"A field is twelve bu wide and fourteen bu long. What is its area?"

They were required not only to give the answer, but also the steps to solve it. This was simple multiplication, easy enough to calculate.

The next three were "Grain" — calculating harvest yield; "Labor Estimates" — calculating the work area for repairing city walls; and the last was, unexpectedly, the extremely difficult "Equations" from the Nine Chapters.

The problems grew harder as they went on. Cheng Gong could only barely solve "Labor Estimates," and failed to solve "Equations" at all.

Looking around the examination hall, he saw no shortage of people scratching their heads in frustration. Cheng Gong sighed inwardly with worry — his disciples could probably only manage two of the problems.

When the drum had sounded twice more and only half a shichen remained, the general knowledge question was finally revealed: one question, ten points.

Diwu Lun did not, in fact, pose some obscure question like "postpartum care for sows." He simply asked the students to write down the entire process of winter wheat, from planting to harvesting to processing and eating it…

After kneeling and sitting without pause for three shichen, Cheng Gong's hand was already very sore. Some scholars in the hall, tormented by the difficult problems of the first two subjects, were nearly at the breaking point; by the last question, they could no longer even lift their brushes.

They had never seen such a terrifying examination. What were the old Shece tests compared to this? They would never forget this for the rest of their lives.

Cheng Gong had done physical labor since childhood and was in good health, so he actually finished a quarter-hour early. He even had time to blow the ink dry on his bamboo slips. Checking once more, if he found any mistakes or omissions, he could scrape the characters off with a knife and rewrite them — one of the advantages of using bamboo slips as examination materials.

When the final drumbeat sounded, the proctors began coming around to collect the papers. Someone who had not finished writing lost all composure and broke down on the spot, begging to be given just a moment more…

"The King has decreed: not even an extra moment!"

A civil official frowned and demanded the bamboo slips. One examinee, in desperation, suddenly grabbed the scraping knife from his desk — no one knew if he meant to stab someone else or himself!

Everyone cried out in alarm. At that moment, a military clerk who had been kneeling at the back of the hall stepped forward in a few strides, struck the man's wrist with his scabbard to knock the weapon from his hand, then wrenched his arm back and marched him out.

This was only a small interlude. Cheng Gong did not know what fate awaited that man; he only cared about his own disciples.

After gathering his dozen or so disciples together, the group carried their brushes and ink back to the dormitory. As they walked, the youngest disciple — the one who had earlier said with such longing, "Breezes on the Rain Altar, singing on the way home" — even began to wipe away tears, choking out that he had failed to answer several questions and brought shame to his teacher.

Cheng Gong turned around and looked at his weeping beloved student, and at the rest of his disciples, heads bowed and morale utterly gone. They truly looked like a brood of chicks that had eagerly left home, only to be drenched by the rain.

He knew what they were grieving. This trip to Chang'an and the Imperial Academy over the past few days had let these disciples — destined to spend their whole lives in the tiny backwater village of Wugong — brush against an opportunity that could change their lives.

Such an opportunity should have been absolutely impossible, but the King of Wei had thrown open the gates of the Imperial Academy and official careers to everyone.

What came next was simply whether you could seize that chance.

Cheng Gong was the same. When he agonized over a difficult problem, he too would think of his own leaky thatched hut, his patched and repatched cloth blanket, his wife's worried face as she looked at the empty rice jar, and the constant insecurity of bandits passing through in times of war.

In a chaotic age, to seek an official post in the State of Wei — the most stable place now — and gain protection for himself and his family was, without doubt, the most secure iron rice bowl.

But could they truly cross that threshold and ascend into the hall?

"Of course you can."

Cheng Gong did not know whether he and his disciples could cross that barrier. He could only smile now and continue to encourage them: "Tomorrow, isn't there still the policy essay subject? Do your best!"

His hand rested gently on the young disciple's topknot, just as an old hen shelters her chicks with her wings.

"When all this is over, whether we succeed or not, I will take you all into Chang'an, to see the Weiyang Palace gates!"

…

Yesterday, Cheng Gong had clumsily used feigned confidence to rally his disciples, and at least managed to persuade a few whose minds had collapsed and who had already decided to give up and go straight back home.

Five or six capped youths, six or seven boys, followed their impoverished teacher, wearing the one set of clothes they owned without patches, and once more summoned their courage to come to the Shangxiang Hall.

They found that several fewer people had come to take the exam today — some had been expelled for cheating or breaking down, others had retreated, unable to accept the single extremely difficult problem each in classics and mathematics from the day before.

Some were still debating which classic yesterday's classics question had come from. Cheng Gong paid no attention to the voices around him. When he closed his eyes, all he saw was his wife silently preparing his traveling pack, and it made his nose sting.

Only when the drumbeat sounded again did he open his eyes, filled with fighting spirit!

The examiner in black robes and a black cap entered. One could see surprise on his face, but also excitement.

Today's policy essay topic had been personally set by the King of Wei! It was a prompt-based essay!

A few characters were written on the notice board, making everyone hold their breath!

"'The Han Clan's Fortune Has Run Out'!?"

…

PS: Bonus chapter tomorrow.