Chapter 368: Fairness

The Han house's mandate is exhausted… is it not?

It was not a question to be debated at all, but an incontrovertible conclusion laid before you, demanding that you elaborate upon it and supply the full evidence.

The quick-witted, seeing this topic, instantly realized:

"The King of Wei has stopped pretending altogether!"

But on second thought, Diwu Lun had never pretended either — ever since the military proclamations and manifestos at Hongmen, he had absolutely refused to speak of Han. The world might denounce Diwu Lun for disloyalty to the Xin dynasty of Wang Mang, but they could not use the Han house to reproach him with a single word.

Now, the State of Wei had already gone to war with two Han regimes and fallen out completely with the Northern Han. Though he had not yet declared himself emperor, the King of Wei's intent — those who understood, understood.

And once this topic appeared, even those who did not understand now understood.

There was some restlessness, of course. After all, since the fall of Wang Mang's Xin, the cry that "men's hearts long for Han" had been shouted for over half a year, and those slow of mind had not yet turned the corner.

But this time, not a single person dared to abandon the examination. Those who came to take it were all willing to throw in their lot with the new regime, and they ought to have had this awareness long ago. What was more, the military officers behind them and the civil clerks before them, mostly drawn from the King of Wei's old followers, were all watching them with keen interest.

If anyone dared to fling down his brush and walk out, it would be tantamount to openly admitting he was a Han restorationist — the consequences were unthinkable.

Those whose bodies were in the Wei camp but whose hearts remained with Han would surely struggle and agonize, but Cheng Gong had no such tangled thoughts.

Be it Han, Xin, or Wei — any court that let him and his disciples live good days was a good court!

Cheng Gong pondered for at least a full double-hour. Only then did he roll up his sleeve, dip his humble brush in ink, and slowly set it to the page.

Though his features could be called ugly, his calligraphy was superb. It was a pity his learning was not outstanding, and his literary talent was quite ordinary; he could only write slowly and deliberately, drawing on many years of experience and reflection.

Cheng Gong had lived through the darkness of the late Han, and later trekked from Langya to Chang'an. With all he had seen and encountered along the way, at least his words had substance.

The others also began to write, one after another: the faint whisper of brush tips gliding across bamboo slips, the rustling scrape of knives paring and polishing, along with breathing, sighs, and coughing — at least no one was writing while weeping for the Great Han.

Within the four halls of the Imperial Academy, over two thousand scholars and students were racking their brains, from every conceivable angle and posture, to argue that the Han house's mandate was exhausted. What a rare and magnificent spectacle!

The chief examiner, Wang Long, making his rounds outside the examination hall, saw precisely this scene and nodded slightly.

"This kills many birds with one stone. It is also laying the groundwork of public opinion for the day His Majesty formally declares himself emperor!"

…

The policy essay required about five hundred characters. Limited by length, one could not write too much, but the degree of racking one's brains was, if anything, greater than yesterday's.

When Cheng Gong walked out of the examination hall and raised his head, he felt his neck was about to snap. The sky was still overcast and gloomy, just like his disciples' expressions.

They had not done well on the exam. Thinking about it, that made sense: a bunch of "small-town youths" from Wugong Village, the oldest thirty, the youngest sixteen, who had almost never left their hometown. The freshest knowledge they had ever encountered in their lives was what Cheng Gong had brought them.

Yet Cheng Gong was no renowned classicist himself. A teacher's caliber determines his disciples' ceiling. They had worn the same few books threadbare, never gaining access to a broader world.

If you asked them to do the work of a petty clerk, an accountant, or a field official, they might perform very well. But to suddenly discuss a great question like a dynasty's mandate — that was truly asking too much of them.

Thinking of this, Cheng Gong felt deep regret. He was ordinarily cautious and spoke little of current politics. If only he had discussed such things more with his disciples.

The seemingly simple policy essay was in fact a test of literary style, historical learning, political acumen, and even political stance — things that Cheng Gong, even if he held nothing back, simply could not teach them.

Now he could only continue to console his disciples: "It's fine, as long as you didn't write 'the Han house's mandate is not yet exhausted.'"

Everyone laughed. Country folk they might be, but they were not that stupid.

The dust had settled. The results would not be posted until the tenth day of the third month. Some disciples, feeling there was no hope, planned to head home early to tend the farm work, but Cheng Gong kept them back, saying they had agreed to go together into the city of Chang'an to have a look.

Leaving the Imperial Academy dormitories and heading north for six or seven li, it was all outer wards and village lanes beyond the city wall. Though the trees had mostly been cut down, the roads were open and passable, and there were still quite a few travelers.

The great city was majestic. They entered through the Fupen Gate in the south wall, and at last could take in the sights and scenes of the capital.

It was only a pity that it was nothing like the Chang'an Cheng Gong had seen in years past — prosperous and wealthy, its men and women elegant, distinct from every quarter, its traveling scholars rivaling dukes and marquises. The capital was greatly withered; even the carts and horses on the roads were far more battered than before. The King of Wei had no need to deliberately promote frugality — the great chaos had just ended, everyone was very poor, and even the residents of Shangguan Ward and the northern mansion-gates had to worry about food.

But at the very least, order was being restored, and hope was sprouting.

Hengmen Avenue was the widest street the disciples had ever seen in their lives, able to accommodate over ten horse-drawn carriages side by side.

The road surface was no longer packed yellow earth, but an imperial way paved with stone slabs, bearing two deep wheel-ruts.

At this moment, the evening sun was sinking into dusk, like a red glow spilling over the city. The repaired towers of Weiyang Palace were grand and imposing; on the tower roof, the azure dragon bared fangs and claws, its aura swallowing mountains and rivers.

Seeing this sight, some among the disciples were so moved that they wept, only managing to choke out that, had it not been for their teacher's instruction and encouragement, they could never have summoned the courage to leave their village lanes and come witness the towering splendor of Chang'an.

It was the end of the workday. The dusk drum beat, the great gates swung open, and the carriages and horses of ministers, having concluded the court session, filed out from the eastern gate-tower.

"I've heard people say that if you pass the examination and are selected, the ten people from the top three grades, plus the Law Clarification subject — three hundred and sixty in all — may enter the palace through the eastern gate-tower and have an audience with the King of Wei."

One day, the scholars chosen this time might also become members of the court.

It was only a pity that, in their hearts, the disciples all knew how they had really done on the exam. With the drumbeats, the earlier dream of rising to the upper ranks in one leap came to an end.

Gazing at the Azure Dragon Tower from afar — that was the closest they would ever come in this life to the highest clouds of the ninth heaven. They could only hate that, upon returning home, they would face the mockery of idle men who thought they had made the trip for nothing.

Cheng Gong also knew that even he himself was not at all confident of making the list, but he still said to his disciples: "I have heard that the King of Wei is diligent. He should still be in the palace at this hour. Though we cannot have an audience, let us bow to him from afar here!"

He led his disciples in a deep, prolonged bow. This gesture was wholly sincere.

No matter the outcome, Cheng Gong had to thank the King of Wei for giving them this chance to dream!

…

Diwu Lun was indeed in the palace, listening with keen interest as Wang Long reported on the previous day's examination proceedings.

As the first-ever civil service examination, the entire process had been plagued by unexpected incidents. The examinees had been flustered and frantic, and the government offices had been caught off guard as well.

Only Diwu Lun, the person with the most experience, observed it all from on high, as if it were an anthropological experiment, finding it quite amusing.

In the end, he declared shamelessly: "At least it concluded smoothly. You must summarize carefully what was lacking, so that we can improve it next time."

The three hundred and sixty scholars recruited this time could temporarily ease the urgent need for personnel. The next large-scale civil service examination would probably have to wait until after the north was unified. By then, the scale would be larger, the scope broader, and the challenges facing the government offices even more formidable. Organizing the examination itself was a test of the court.

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Returning to the exam topics, they were all deliberately designed by Diwu Lun.

"The questions on the classics, concerning the Analects and the Classic of Filial Piety, were nothing but free points."

Since they are called "elementary learning," they are the foundation of literacy, knowledge recited from childhood schooling onward. If someone could not even answer these correctly, it showed their cultural level was indeed nothing special, that they had merely made up the numbers all along — eliminating them was no loss.

There was only one question beyond the syllabus, drawn from Yang Xiong's work Model Sayings. Diwu Lun dared say that there were not ten complete copies of this book under heaven, and five of those were stored in the palace — it was exceedingly rare. It was deliberately meant to split the scores, purely so that after the exam, the learning of Master Yang would flourish, and scholars would copy Yang Xiong's works, ideally driving the price of bamboo slips in Chang'an sky-high — at which point the newly made paper could be launched at just the right time.

The common-knowledge questions were also free points in Diwu Lun's view. The previous winter, many scholars had gone hungry. If they did not even understand how winter wheat was planted and eaten, or had no interest in learning about farming beforehand for the exam's sake, they probably could not do a good job as a grassroots official either.

The mathematics questions were the key to separating the scores. The four problems increased in difficulty step by step, testing accumulated knowledge over time, absolutely not something that could be done by cramming at the last minute. Some people could discourse eloquently on the classics, yet could not even solve the second problem, "Grain and Millet."

"If they cannot even serve properly as grain officials, what use are they?"

But the most critical part was still the policy essay, worth thirty points.

The political leanings of the examinees, and their grasp of current affairs — this essay alone could sort them out.

"These policy essays shall be reviewed personally by Wenshan and the Palace Gentlemen. Weed out the majority, then present the three hundred or so outstanding ones for me to see."

Diwu Lun very much hoped a few famous pieces would emerge among them, to serve as perfect-score model essays. He would then have Wang Long, Feng Yan, and others adept at composition write several more model essays, disseminate them across the realm, and have officials widely copy, discuss, and study them — unifying thought and understanding…

For this examination, candidates first registered with their local government offices and obtained travel permits to come take the test. Upon entering the Imperial Academy, they registered again, filling in great detail — even their native place, their teachers, and what their ancestors for three generations did, all had to be included.

This was not for political vetting, but because Diwu Lun wanted to conduct a small survey of the candidates' backgrounds.

Now, Director of Rectitude Huang Chang and Embroidered Uniform Commandant Zhang Yu brought these collated records before Diwu Lun.

After reading them, Diwu Lun laughed: "Disciples of the Imperial Academy Erudites make up more than half — over a thousand people. As expected, those near the pagoda get the moonlight first."

"Next are the sons of the scholarly circles of the Five Tombs, studying under various private schools — also close to a thousand. Their backgrounds are uneven: many rich, few poor."

And those outside the establishment with no teacher, even impoverished youths like the Han Chancellor Kuang Heng, numbered only a few hundred.

Huang Chang asked: "Your Highness, which group do you think will have the most selected?"

Need he even ask? Of course it was the several dozen from the Linqu Township community school. Starting several years ago, Diwu Lun had them taught material much like the exam content — not only the classics and commentaries, but also history and mathematics. They were usually herded out to the fields and field ridges for lessons, and their assessments took a similar form.

Zhu Di was one of the standouts. His junior schoolmates might not be good at other things, but they were most practiced at this kind of exam. To spread the new-style community schools, they still had to rely on exam results to force the issue.

"Second should be the sons of the Five Tombs scholarly circles."

Diwu Lun understood this group. Their thinking was livelier than the rigid Imperial Academy students; they cared about current politics and often voiced criticisms. Most importantly, their families were well-off, and their essays — ah, how splendidly written they were.

"Third would be the disciples of the Imperial Academy Erudites."

As the holders of the greatest educational resources, even though their scripture debates had gone down a dead end, their learning ability was not poor. If nothing else, on that policy essay — Imperial Academy students who had once wept to heaven for Wang Mang and submitted countless panegyrics to him — they would surely write something florid and ornate.

Diwu Lun sighed: "And the group with the lowest selection rate will be the poor students outside the establishment with no teachers."

This time, Diwu Lun did not test the Five Classics' orthodox interpretations, which greatly lowered the threshold — a rare opportunity for poor students.

But even if they could stand on the same starting line as their competitors on the classics questions, and not fall behind in general knowledge and mathematics, the policy essay question would still trip up many poor scholars.

To argue that the Han house's mandate was exhausted, and exactly why it was exhausted — this was not something one could master just by writing a few letters for people in the countryside.

As the grading results were sent one after another to Weiyang Palace, Diwu Lun's judgment proved basically correct. Many poor students, on the policy essay section, wrote in crude language and showed narrow insight — nearly a total wipeout, too painful to behold…

The examination process was fair.

But everything before the examination — this world — was unfair.

Never mind the imperial clan disciples from the Linqu Township community school: what they studied closely matched the exam content, giving them a natural head start over others — it was as if Diwu Lun had opened a back door for them.

"And the Erudites' disciples and the Five Tombs scholars, by advantage of family background and teachers, can ordinarily read Jia Yi's essays and study the Grand Historian's discourses — steeped in them by ear and eye."

"Poor students in the countryside, wanting books, cannot even bore a hole in the wall to steal light for reading. They cannot even possess the Analects or the Classic of Filial Piety, and can only hear them recited orally by their teachers. Some, in the gaps between, still have to farm, or keep accounts for others to supplement the family income."

What were these? These were educational resources!

Diwu Lun dared assert: of these several hundred poor scholars, if even one in ten were selected, that would be good. And the ratio would only grow lower and lower in the future.

Aside from those unwilling to bend the knee, once the Erudites' disciples and Five Tombs scholars figured out the exam rules, they would adjust accordingly. In the future, academies specifically targeting the exams might gradually appear.

But those outside the establishment with no teachers, suffering from blocked channels of information, could only grope their way alone. Unless they were truly heaven-sent geniuses, able to close the gap through their own acuity and effort, otherwise…

"When they step into the examination hall and raise their heads, they will find that others, pushed by teachers, supported by families, have long stood ahead, having pulled many body-lengths in front of them." Diwu Lun sighed inwardly.

However, he was a man who valued fairness, so he decided to also give those who could not pass the examination a chance.

Some people are no good at exams, yet may stand out in practical work. Moreover, those who could bear the financial pressure and travel so far to take the exam had already demonstrated their political stance. How could such scholars be sent back empty-handed?

"Issue an edict: all who persisted through the entire examination, even if they did not make the list, may be issued travel tallies. If they are willing, they may go to a military camp near their home district to enlist, serving as clerical assistant officers in the army."

The State of Wei was still in a period of military governance; the camps urgently needed people who could read, write, and do arithmetic. If some were unwilling to bow for five pecks of rice, let them be — otherwise many scholars would see it as an insult, which would be counterproductive.

But for poor scholars from the countryside, this was literally life-saving grain.

"I am very hungry."

Diwu Lun was hungry too. Patting his belly, he said: "The big fish must be kept, but the little fish and shrimp must all go into my basket as well!"

……

PS: Chapter 2 at 18:00, Chapter 3 at 23:00.