Chapter 369: I Passed!

The ten-day grading period swiftly drew to a close. The results were largely settled, differing little from expectations: poor scholars were few and far between, while the scholars of the Five Tombs and the disciples of the Imperial Academy had won a sweeping victory.

But when it came to deciding the top ten of the First Rank, the King of Wei still exercised his authority.

"This Du Du of Meiyang, ranked first..."

Diwu Lun looked toward Du Lin, one of the chief examiners. Du Lin hurriedly explained, "We merely share a surname; he has no connection to me."

Only after asking did Diwu Lun learn that Du Du was a descendant of the renowned Han minister Du Yannian — of the very family that produced the Greater Du Code and the Lesser Du Code.

Though only eighteen, this young man was broadly learned and well-read, careless of minor proprieties, and one of the very few who had answered all four questions on the classics perfectly.

"He's actually read the Model Sayings?" Diwu Lun was taken aback. He had set that question casually just before the exam date. That Du Du's household could obtain the posthumous works of Yang Xiong, which had not circulated widely, and study such esoteric knowledge — he was indeed remarkably erudite.

Coupled with the fact that Du Du had answered flawlessly on mathematics and general knowledge, he had pulled far ahead of the others in score.

But what truly placed him at the top was an essay that even Wang Long praised without reserve.

"Among all the candidates' essays, Du Du's prose alone is supreme."

Wang Long declared it had the spirit of Jia Yi's "The Faults of Qin." It far exceeded the required five hundred characters, flowing grandly to nearly a thousand words, and the calligraphy was exceptionally fine.

Du Du's ancestors for several generations had been high officials of the Han, so he was naturally well-versed in Han history. His essay recounted in detail the bitter tale of the common people's seven perils and seven deaths since the reigns of Emperors Yuan and Cheng, fiercely condemning the abuse of maternal relatives and the muddled misrule. Thereafter, whether it was Wang Mang's reforms or the various Han restorations, all had driven the world further into chaos, utterly exhausting the last remnants of Han favor — until the King of Wei rose suddenly and remade heaven and earth.

"The realm churned in turmoil, the many Xia states dimmed and dwindled. The heroes fought together, none knowing right from wrong. Then came the sage king, imposing in his might, bearing the sign of the one who meets the road, possessed of a peerless bearing. He received his mandate from August Heaven, and gained aid from the numinous gods. He established his title as the State of Wei, raised his banners and commanded the four directions. His first-counsel ministers devised strategies and produced marvels; his raging brigades were like tigers, like hornless dragons. Wherever the army pointed, none did not collapse. Truly, even the burning of the fish or the slicing of the serpent cannot compare to this..."

After this torrent of lavish praise, Wang Long assigned it a top score.

Though Diwu Lun was not particularly fond of such florid, ornate prose, it was undeniably the aesthetic of the age. Since the man was a descendant of one of the eleven meritorious ministers of the Han's Qilin Pavilion, and yet took the lead in denouncing the exhaustion of Han virtue, it made for a fine propaganda point. So Diwu Lun gave a stroke of his brush and approved Du Du as the first name on the First Rank.

As for second place, to everyone's surprise, it was the son of the Henei great scholar Fu Zhan — named Fu Long, courtesy name Bowen.

Diwu Lun had heard from Huang Chang of Fu Zhan's deeds. When Ma Yuan attacked, this local powerholder in Henei had adopted a strategy of non-resistance, spending his days leading a group of disciples in studying the Book of Documents and the Five Classics. He disbanded his troops and distributed army provisions to refugees, winning himself a fine reputation.

After entering the city, Ma Yuan had not mistreated Fu Zhan. During his inspection tour of Henei, Diwu Lun had even honored him as commandery Elder. But as a remnant of the Xin Dynasty who had actively participated in Wang Mang's reforms, Fu Zhan could hardly seek office in the State of Wei. Yet when Fu Zhan learned that Diwu Lun was holding the examination, he immediately sent his son, at his own expense and from hundreds of li away, leading over a hundred disciples to participate — giving the King of Wei ample face.

Fu Long's answers in every subject were without fault, and his essay was replete with classical allusions. Compared to Du Du's ornate rhetoric, Diwu Lun actually preferred this man, and he had no objection to the chief examiners' decision.

"The Fu clan's tradition of the Book of Documents has a worthy successor," Diwu Lun remarked, his words heavy with meaning.

Looking further down, Diwu Lun burst out laughing. "The third-place candidate got third place?"

It was a boy from the Linqu Township charity school, named Di San Kui, only seventeen years old. Diwu Lun knew exactly what the chief examiners meant by deliberately raising him to third place. He was not about to accept the favor, and so he set a rule on the spot.

"Sons of imperial in-laws and the royal clan may sit the examination, but they may not be ranked among the top three."

Diwu Lun could guarantee the fairness of the examination process itself, but after that, the candidates' rankings and selections were all tools for him to manage public opinion. Under the King of Wei's statecraft, there was never any fairness to speak of.

After bumping his little relative down to fifth place, Diwu Lun continued looking. The top ten were almost entirely monopolized by scholars with backgrounds and family traditions of learning. These people's ability to study and take exams was truly formidable. The education accumulated over generations was no empty boast — this was a fact Diwu Lun had to accept when employing men.

"Where is the highest-ranked poor scholar?"

Diwu Lun did not find him until he reached the forties.

Huang Chang reported the findings of his investigation into this man: "This person is named Cheng Gong, courtesy name Shaozi. I hear he is from Langya. In his youth he worked as a swineherd, gathering firewood to pay for his studies. Later, fleeing the disaster of the Red Eyebrows, he went to Wugong County in Right Fufeng to teach the children of the countryside. This time he brought over ten disciples with him to the capital to sit the exam."

This background rather surprised Diwu Lun — a true example of knowledge changing one's fate. He had the man's bamboo slips brought over and glanced at his answers. They were adequate: correct where they should be, stuck where it was difficult, but he had still done his best to fill the allotted space.

What truly caught Diwu Lun's eye, however, was Cheng Gong's policy essay.

Cheng Gong's education must have been incomplete: he understood the classics but not the commentaries, and he had never had the chance to study the works of Han-era fu poets. Thus his policy essay had none of Du Du's ornate rhetoric, nor could it cite the ancient canons like Fu Long's. It could be called plain and unadorned.

Yet it was written with great earnestness, beginning with the strange phenomena he had witnessed in the world at the end of Han and continuing through the chaos of recent years. It was not the attitude of a lofty scholar chanting about past and present, but a level gaze lamenting the hardships of the common people. At the very end, the essay's gratitude toward the King of Wei for giving poor scholars and wild folk like them a chance overflowed from the bamboo slips.

"Good."

That was how Diwu Lun judged the essay — good because its feeling was genuine and its intent sincere.

Incidentally, Diwu Lun liked the man's name.

"Cheng Gong... Success!"

He also needed a representative figure ranked in the top ten, to give poor scholars outside the court the courage and motivation to embrace the new regime.

But the real reason the King of Wei took a fancy to Cheng Gong was this...

"Even if this man becomes an official, he should still be able to speak properly with the common people — to say things ordinary folk can understand!"

The day for posting the results was the eleventh of the third month. The location chosen was in front of the Imperial Academy's Pi Yong hall, where a circular wall surrounded a pool of water, over ten feet high, with eaves above and open ground all around — perfect for displaying the lists.

Just past the pingdan hour, the candidates still lodging at the Imperial Academy were too anxious to sleep and had gathered here early to wait, all waiting together for the results to be announced, their words full of tension and excitement.

The night air was chill, yet surging with emotion.

Cheng Gong, too, pressed in among them with his disciples, having changed into clothes without patches. He had even gritted his teeth and bought new clothes for a few disciples whose garments were torn. Fearing they might be separated in the crowd, he had them hold each other's hands.

It was not only crowded inside the Imperial Academy, but outside as well. The examination was the biggest event in Chang'an that month, and residents from the wards beyond the walls had come to join the excitement, the onlookers forming a solid wall.

As the sky brightened at dawn and the morning bell rang, carriages from the Ministry of Ceremonies arrived at the Imperial Academy. Soldiers parted the pressing crowd and advanced, beginning to brush on rice paste in order to post the announcement lists.

The first to go up were the Third Rank, with two hundred names, and the Second Rank, with one hundred — the names written densely packed.

An official struck the gong he carried and announced loudly: "The Second and Third Ranks are not ordered by merit, but arranged by place of origin. There are too many names to read aloud; look for yourselves."

In the end, some rejoiced and some grieved. A single narrow list bore too much bitterness. Some candidates wished they could sharpen their heads and bore their way in; some, finding their names missing, looked up to heaven with long sighs; still others, having passed the exam, were wild with joy, rushing about to share the news...

Yet there were also those who clearly saw their names but were quite disappointed, for their hopes had not been merely to serve as a hundred-bushel clerk in some local commandery or county, or as a two-hundred-bushel errand-runner and retainer in the offices of the Three Excellencies and Nine Ministers. They had wanted to rank among the Palace Gentlemen and squeeze their way into the center of power.

Cheng Gong was somewhat short and could not see the front. It was his disciples who had the idea: the tallest senior disciple hoisted the youngest apprentice up to ride on his shoulders.

The little disciple's eyes darted about, searching name after name until his vision blurred.

He first looked at the Second Rank, and his heart immediately sank by half. Of their group — "five or six capped men, six or seven boys" — not a single one was listed, not even their teacher, Cheng Gong.

Follow the public account: Book Friends Base Camp, follow and receive cash and coins!

Then he examined the Third Rank, looking and looking until his eyes ached, and at last he spotted one!

"Right Fufeng, Wugong County, Ren Hong... That's me, it's me! Master, I made the Third Rank!"

Most of the places on the Second and Third Ranks were occupied by sons of the scholarly elite and great families of the Five Tombs, and by disciples of the Imperial Academy's Erudites. The atmosphere around them was jubilant, but Cheng Gong felt rather dejected. Out of more than ten people, only the youngest disciple had made the list — a fact that was at once heartening and bitterly poignant.

"Do not be hasty," he said, his voice somewhat hoarse. "Is there not still the First Rank?"

They waited until after the morning meal before the First Rank was formally posted. This time the Minister of Ceremonies, Wang Long, came in person. He entered the Pi Yong hall, but instead of hanging up a notice, he had five ropes strung between the Second and Third Rank lists.

The crowd was dumbfounded, looking at one another in bewilderment. Wang Long, however, after paying his respects within the Pi Yong to the portrait of Confucius, proceeded to write the names one by one on apricot-wood plaques according to the list. Each plaque had a hook; as soon as one was written, it was sent out and hung on a rope. This, and only this, was the true First Rank!

"First Class, fiftieth place: Baling, XX!"

And the several officials standing before the list would loudly call out that person's name.

So it went, over and over — each time an apricot-wood placard was sent out and its name shouted, the crowd watching the list roared in approval, while the successful candidate, face flushed crimson, would step forward and, guided by the officials, walk with head high and chest out into the Circular Moat Academy.

The clamor was even greater than before, a din of voices like a cauldron boiling over, like a fire alarm, like disorderly troops storming a city, like evening crows returning to the woods!

But for Cheng Gong's disciples, hope grew ever dimmer. Cheng Gong had once allowed himself to hope he might place in the First Class, but the fortieth, thirtieth, and twentieth places all passed without his name. The heart in his chest sank heavier and heavier, and he could only console himself with a bitter smile.

"Well, at least we haven't been completely wiped out."

So long as a single disciple passed the exam, this battle of theirs could not be counted a loss.

What was more, just as the edict the officials had proclaimed two days earlier said, even those who did not make the list would receive transfer tallies and could enlist in the army as clerical aides — at least a bowl of rice to hold. As the King of Wei had promised: "Even in these chaotic times, this King will never let a single scholar go hungry!"

Just then, another apricot-wood placard was sent out.

"First Class, tenth place: Youfufeng, Wugong County — Cheng Gong!"

"Cheng Gong? Who is Cheng Gong?"

Cheng Gong's mind exploded; a buzzing filled his ears. All he saw were countless people twisting their heads, searching for this unfamiliar, rarely seen surname. He, too, turned his head instinctively — and saw his disciples weeping with joy.

They were shouting and yelling, crowding around him, afraid others might not know that Cheng Gong was their teacher. A teacher rejoices in his disciples' achievements, and they, too, were bursting with pride that their master had placed so high!

Cheng Gong's legs went weak; he could not move them. He could only let his disciples shove and push him forward, all the way out of the crowd and before the official calling the names.

"You are Cheng Shaozi?"

"I am indeed Cheng Gong…" he murmured, not knowing where to put his hands.

Cheng Gong's apricot-wood placard was already hung high at the head of the First Class list. The official smiled and beckoned him over: "First enter the Circular Moat Academy to meet the Director of Ceremonies, pay your respects to Confucius, and tomorrow follow the Director through the Blue Dragon Gate into Weiyang Palace for an audience with the King!"

…

Today, Wang Long led the fifty men of the First Class into the Circular Moat Academy, where together they bowed before the portrait of Confucius, then bowed three times toward Weiyang Palace in gratitude to the King of Wei. That man called Cheng Gong, the "swineherd pauper-scholar," still could not contain his emotion and burst into tears.

Unlike the old officials who held sinecures and did nothing, these three-hundred-odd scholars, having passed through layer upon layer of selection, would feel a genuine sense of identification with and gratitude toward the King of Wei.

The King of Wei would grant them boundless glory: from the Imperial Academy they would ride on horseback to the Eastern Gate of Weiyang Palace to be viewed and celebrated by the common people, then enter Weiyang together to attend the congratulatory feast the King of Wei had prepared for them.

After that would come several months of concentrated study and training, absorbing the King of Wei's ideas and cultivating loyalty to him. The two hundred men of the Third Class would be sent to the commanderies and counties as hundred-bushel clerks; the hundred men of the Second Class would remain to handle affairs in the offices of the Three Excellencies and Nine Ministers; the men of the First Class would serve as Palace Gentlemen, attending upon the King of Wei at his side… This was only the beginning of their official careers, and they would enjoy far better prospects than the old officials.

Thinking of that scene, Wang Long felt almost intoxicated. He longed to see the King of Wei govern the realm together with the scholars. This open policy-question examination was truly an idea of genius.

Yet Wang Long also had a regret. He pointed at his subordinate Ban Biao, whom he greatly admired, and sighed: "With Shupi's family learning and historical insight, his breadth of scholarship and lofty talent — had you taken my advice and sat the policy exam, you would certainly have placed in the top three!"

Ban Biao cupped his hands with calm composure: "I am already Secretary to the Director of Ceremonies. How dare I contend for a place with the other scholars?"

Wang Long nodded. Ban Biao had been busy all along sorting books and records. Time and again Wang Long had wanted to recommend him to the King of Wei, but each time Ban Biao had politely declined, saying plainly that he only wished to bury his head in the archives, do solid scholarship, and one day continue the Grand Scribe's Records.

Wang Long merely said, "Du Du's prose style may be fine, and Fu Long's grasp of classical allusions clear, but I truly would like to read a policy essay written by Shupi!"

These words were spoken offhand, but unexpectedly they stirred the competitive fire deep in Ban Biao's heart.

You want to read it? Then I'll let you read it!

After returning to his official residence in Chang'an, Ban Biao shut the door tight, spread out a blank bamboo slip, let his brush drink its fill of ink, and let his heart brim over with the fury he had stored up against the King of Wei.

"The policy examination was originally the Han house's method of selecting scholars, discussing the writings of the sages and the Way of Heaven and man, in order to seek the means of governing the realm."

"Yet Diwu Lun has exploited it to carry out deceitful schemes, openly having the scholars argue in the policy exam that Han virtue is exhausted."

"The candidates, their hearts set on office and emolument, were deluded and lost their wits; and with Wei soldiers standing by, blades bared, to coerce them on the spot, they had no choice but to slander the Han house against their consciences. Alas! These are hard times indeed."

That being the case, he, Ban Biao, would also fight for his own convictions.

Had the King of Wei not had so many trash essays written arguing that "the Han house's allotted span of fortune is exhausted," intending to spread them far and wide among scholarly circles? Then Ban Biao, as a hidden partisan of Han restoration, at this moment when ten thousand horses stood mute, would strike back — and rouse those slumbering scholars!

"Han virtue inherits from Yao; it bears the talisman of a numinous mandate. The rise of a true king's line is never something that can be achieved through fraud, as Diwu Lun attempts!"

Ban Biao opened his eyes wide. In righteous indignation, he let brush and ink fly, writing upon the bamboo slip the title of this mighty essay:

"Discourse on the Mandate of Kings!"

…

PS: Chapter 3 at 23:00.