Chapter 326: The Metropolitan Examination in Letters

The eighth year of Chongzhen, third month, ninth day, early morning.

At this hour the sun had not yet fully risen, and the air carried a chill. A great crowd of scholars gathered before the gate of the Shuntian Examination Hall in the capital, anxiously awaiting entry to the triennial metropolitan examination.

Even shivering from the cold, many scholars remained intensely nervous; some even forgot the temperature around them, clutching books and silently reciting.

Yet among the many scholars hurrying to the examination, there was no shortage of young men who were already learned and confident. Xia Wanchun and Qu Changwen each stood with hands clasped behind their backs at the very front, watching the rest of the anxious crowd and chuckling without pause.

"Those who don't study diligently in ordinary times—what use is this sort of behavior when the metropolitan examination draws near? They might as well go home and farm." Qu Changwen clearly looked down on these scholars, saying this with a cold sneer.

Xia Wanchun, who had a strong sense of justice in his heart, said: "Brother Changwen's words are mistaken. Scholars under heaven are one family. Since they have come here, all serve the state—how can you tell them to go home and farm?"

"Haha, I was only speaking casually." Having spent so much time together day and night, Qu Changwen naturally knew Xia Wanchun's thoughts, and shook his head, saying: "I simply can't stand these people of no learning wanting to enter officialdom. Just venting a little."

Xia Wanchun nodded. Though he said nothing more, his expression showed he neither agreed nor disagreed.

Most of the scholars who had come to the capital harbored thoughts of merely trying their luck or slipping through the cracks. They had even heard that some had bribed Li Wenxuan, the Minister of Rites, or that others who were relatives of sitting officials had already obtained so-called "answers."

Just as the two were lost in their own thoughts, the tightly shut main gate of the Shuntian Examination Hall was pushed open from within—it was the eunuch Li Fengxiang of the Directorate of Ceremonial, walking out with several fellow Hanlin examiners.

Li Fengxiang first cast a sidelong glance at the scholars outside, then spoke unhurriedly: "Ahem, I am the chief official of the transcription office personally appointed by His Majesty. It's about to begin—all of you, go in."

The scholars hurriedly nodded, leaving their books in the hands of the examination hall attendants, then filed in one after another. Once through the gate, a group of eunuchs and hall personnel were already there conducting body searches according to regulations, precisely to prevent examinees from "concealing materials."

The so-called "concealing materials" meant carrying examination answers or outlines on one's person—in plain terms, the cheating practice of bringing crib notes to the exam. After passing the body searches one by one, the scholars entered the examination hall in batches.

Beside the Mingyuan Tower in the examination hall stood an ancient locust tree from the Yuan dynasty. Legend had it that this was a place where literary radiance shot toward the Dipper and Ox constellations, so people of the time also called it the "Wenchang Locust," long renowned as the capital's famous tree.

The roots of this Wenchang Locust grew on the east side of the road, while its trunk curved westward, so its crown spread over the west side of the road, growing in the shape of a reclining dragon. It was said that this tree was connected to the literary fortune of examinees.

Examinees coming to the Shuntian Examination Hall for the metropolitan examination over the years would all, without exception, pay homage to it to leap the dragon gate. Even Xia Wanchun and Qu Changwen could not exempt themselves from this custom, both sincerely paying their respects.

The examinations at the hall also brought prosperity to the nearby alleys. For instance, there appeared "Brush Handle Alley," a street selling brushes and paper, and "Carp Alley," a street of guildhall-style lodgings. Because examinees mostly rode donkeys to the capital for the examinations, the common name "Donkey Hoof Alley" also emerged.

Among these, Carp Alley was originally a small lane first called "Old Man Alley." Poor scholars from humble families made up the vast majority of those coming to the capital, and they generally rode donkeys and stayed at Donkey Hoof Alley.

Legend had it that once, during a metropolitan examination, a poor examinee with no money walked to the capital and could only stay at an old man's home in Old Man Alley. Three days before the examination, rain suddenly fell, turning the alley ground into a river, and a great carp appeared. Later, this poor examinee actually placed first and became the "Zhuangyuan."

From then on, Old Man Alley's fame soared. Thereafter examinees flocked to stay at Old Man Alley, hoping to borrow its luck and pass high, and the alley was renamed "Carp Alley," carrying the meaning of a carp leaping over the dragon gate.

Now, in this nineteenth year of Chongzhen, after deliberation at court and the successive issuance of relevant policies, many privately established guildhall-style lodgings were forcibly ordered by the Troops and Horses Office and the Shuntian Prefectural Office to relocate to the southern city. Consequently, many new guildhalls appeared around the Xuanwu and Chongwen areas.

Unlike their predecessors, these newly appeared guildhalls were mostly government-run, providing lodging, meals, and some financial support to scholars coming for the examinations—equivalent to the court subsidizing education.

In the Zhigong Hall of the examination compound, Ni Yuanlu, Fang Fengnian, Feng Quan, and Zhang Ruitu—the four chief examiners personally appointed by the Chongzhen Emperor—had long since taken their seats. The dozen or so assistant examiners had also arranged their desks and chairs and taken their places by rank, the entire scene exceptionally solemn.

Watching the examinees come to pay homage to the locust tree, the four chief examiners conferred briefly. Finally, Zhang Ruitu rose and pointed to a small room at the side, saying gravely: "I am the chief examiner for this metropolitan examination appointed by Your Majesty. Before the examination begins, I have some words to remind you all."

"For this metropolitan examination, the established rules are as before: the drum sounds as the command, and incense marks the time."

"You scholars are all still young, with many opportunities ahead. Do not lose much for little, do not take reckless risks, and fall into an abyss of irredeemable ruin." Having said this, Zhang Ruitu thought to himself that he had done his utmost in good conscience, coughed a few times, and continued:

"I hereby declare this spring examination officially begun. Go take your seats and sit for the exam!"

The scholars bowed and saluted in unison, shouting: "Your students understand."

As the words fell, the scholars began taking their seats according to the previously assigned places and sessions. In their examination cubicles, officials of the hall had long since prepared all the necessary examination implements.

There wasn't much: one examination cubicle, a basin of charcoal fire, and a candle—that was all. For the next three days, they would eat and sleep within these tiny cubicles.

Xia Wanchun bid farewell to Qu Changwen, found his own cubicle, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door to enter. Seeing the sparseness of the arrangement inside, he sighed, shook his head, and sat down to begin reviewing the paper.

He had barely looked at it a few times when he suddenly heard footsteps outside the cubicle—it was a young eunuch from the transcription office who came over and firmly locked his cubicle from the outside with a padlock.

This was also to prevent examinees from exchanging answers with one another, which would prevent the examination from truly and clearly reflecting each person's genuine ability. According to the rules, the metropolitan examination originally required examinees to be locked in continuously for over ten days.

Once an examinee went in, one examination paper would certainly be finished in as little as two or three hours, or at most five or six. At that point, the examinee had no books to read, and unlike modern times, no phones to play games on—so what did they do?

Nothing but sleep and stare blankly into space.

Historically, the examination hall was repaired every year, and during the Yongle, Jiajing, and Wanli reigns it underwent complete overhauls from top to bottom. Yet fires continued to break out endlessly. One major reason was that idle examinees carelessly knocked over candles or charcoal braziers, causing disastrous conflagrations.

Although large water vats were placed everywhere outside the examination hall, at this point in time, once a fire started it was very difficult to extinguish. Moreover, the hall had over nine thousand examination cubicles, and not every one was constantly watched—once a fire broke out, it was hard to learn of it in time.

Furthermore, making scholars live in cramped prison-like conditions for half a month for a single examination was hardly humane.

Therefore, one of the greater reforms of this metropolitan examination was that the three sessions, each lasting three days, would allow scholars to return home afterward to rest and prepare for several days before coming back for the next session.

This both ensured the scholars had ample energy to face the examination and minimized the danger of fire.

For you must know, once the examination hall caught fire, the cost of rebuilding—several hundred thousand to nearly a million taels of silver—was the least of it. Far more serious were the casualties and the destruction of books, whose value could never be compensated.