Chapter Fifteen: The Day the Results Are Announced

Each examination district was guarded by armored soldiers, standing at intervals—not merely for show. The grimness between their brows revealed them as seasoned veterans, men who had truly killed before. Should any disturbance arise, it was likely these soldiers would cut down any troublemaking students on the spot. Afterward, they would receive commendation, never blame.

Such incidents had occurred a handful of times in history, spreading enough fear that few dared to risk it anymore.

In truth, even if a candidate managed to evade the soldiers, there were always the gods aloft, patrolling ceaselessly, impossible to deceive.

Nevertheless, by custom, the examiners still made their rounds.

Xu Jing walked softly through each district, every step careful and light. In this examination, clarity of thought was paramount—should the heavy tread of an examiner break a candidate’s concentration, it would be unforgivable. This wasn’t a rule, but a matter of personal conduct; if a boorish examiner arrived, it was a tragedy for the students.

Soon Xu Jing reached the hall where Liu Ping sat. He paused deliberately at Liu Ping’s booth, watching as the young man’s brush danced across the page—a hand as fluid as a dragon weaving clouds, writing with inspired ease, each character brimming with spirit. Xu Jing could not help but marvel: so this was the student Lord Prefect had taken under his wing—truly remarkable.

After a few more lingering glances, Xu Jing departed.

Liu Ping wrote on until midday before finally setting down his brush. By then, most of his paper was complete. He spread the pages across his desk, letting the ink dry, and, feeling a pang of hunger, took out the food his younger sister had prepared and ate.

When he finished, the ink was dry. He resumed writing, and after another hour, at last completed the exam. Then, meticulously, he checked his work for errant words or mistakes in phrasing—rare but perilous, for any such slip would mean a deduction of points.

Such elementary errors were inexcusable.

Satisfied that nothing was amiss, Liu Ping nodded, gathered his papers, and curled up on the cot to sleep.

That afternoon, the examiner made another round. Seeing Liu Ping sleeping, he was startled—had the student finished, or given up entirely? To sleep at such a time?

He dared not disturb him; it was the rule. As an examiner, he could not exchange a single word with candidates. If the gods overheard, even the most trivial remark could mean dismissal from his post.

In silence, he approached, picked up Liu Ping’s paper—his second time seeing it, yet he could not suppress a gasp. Such fine calligraphy, already beginning to show a unique style; though still immature compared to the masters, with such promise, Liu Ping was destined to become a calligrapher of renown in time.

Shaking his head, he read on until the end—only to be amazed again: the paper was already finished!

At this point, most candidates had written just over half, the fastest perhaps two-thirds, and would have to labor by lamplight to finish. Yet Liu Ping was already done?

Collecting himself, the examiner quietly replaced the paper and withdrew.

He did not notice that, after he left, Liu Ping—who had been pretending to doze—finally relaxed and closed his eyes in earnest.

In this world, the ever-watchful gods made examiners destroying papers a rare event, but not unheard of. So a measure of vigilance was only prudent.

The next morning, Liu Ping surveyed the new questions without immediately putting brush to paper. He read them all, front and back.

The central theme was interpretation of the Classics, but as the saying goes, “A thousand readers, a thousand Hamlets”—it was not enough simply to parrot the standard explanations. One had to consider the mind of both the question-setter and the examiner to pass.

This was difficult to divine, but by considering all the questions’ underlying themes, one could glean something.

At the county-level exam, this was not so crucial—impressions might boost one’s score, but true talent would see one through, if perhaps with a lower ranking. But for the provincial-level examination, it became critical; luck was also vital. Even if one was supremely gifted, able to take first place, if one’s approach was off or fortune lacking, passing would be impossible.

But that was for the future. For now, having divined the examiner's intentions, Liu Ping set to work.

On the third day, Liu Ping looked over the essay topic, closed his eyes, and recalled all the fine essays he’d ever read, sifting through his thoughts. Though he remembered them, he could not copy or even closely imitate; originality was essential. If discovered, expulsion was certain.

Besides, the topic was wholly different—there was no way to borrow ideas.

This time, Liu Ping pondered a full hour before opening his eyes.

Five essays were required, all on the Classics, with no constraints of the Eight-Legged Essay, allowing free expression—a boon for Liu Ping.

By noon, he set down his brush, waited for the ink to dry, checked his work closely, and called out, “Someone, I wish to submit my paper.”

The armored soldier nearby looked at him in surprise. Early submission was allowed, but rare—most candidates found three days barely enough, let alone finishing early.

Soon, Deputy Examiner Lin Xiang arrived, marveling, “You’ve finished?”

“I have,” Liu Ping replied.

“Then I’ll collect it.” Lin Xiang didn’t linger, organizing the papers and placing them in a box. “A soldier will escort you out—please walk quietly, so as not to disturb others.”

“I understand,” Liu Ping said.

With his book basket on his back, Liu Ping left the hall. Passing through, several candidates glanced up in astonishment—had he been caught cheating, or had he finished? Most, however, buried their heads in their work, oblivious.

Outside, Liu Ping walked straight to the inn.

Upon seeing the waiter approach, he considered, then ordered, “Bring me five dishes and a soup—three meat, two vegetable, one fish soup, and a large bowl of rice, to my room.”

“Right away, Scholar!” the waiter called with alacrity. For any candidate, those words were a delight to hear.

Shaking his head, Liu Ping went up to the fourth floor and knocked at his room.

“Who is it?” his sister’s voice called from within.

“It’s me.”

Liu Yue opened the door. “Brother, come in and sit.”

Liu Ping entered; Liu Yue quickly took his book basket, set it aside, and poured him a full cup of tea.

He drank it in one gulp, gaze distant, and said nothing more.

His sister, knowing the pressure he faced, asked nothing about the exam.

That night, Wang Hong returned, his face heavy with worry, burdened by the strain.

Three thousand exam papers were gathered and sent for review that very night.

“Master Xu, tomorrow is the day for grading papers—yet you’ve come to work through the night. I truly admire your dedication,” one official said, bowing to Xu Jing.

Xu Jing smiled in return. “Master Mo, you are the same. Diligence in service and loyalty to the court is the duty of all officials.”

“Well said—please, after you,” Master Mo replied quickly.

The two entered together. Inside, many others were already present; as they arrived, greetings were exchanged all around.

“I hadn’t expected to see you all here,” Xu Jing remarked. “Let us begin.”

At his command, the sealed exam papers were opened and the review began.

Three thousand papers, all accumulated together—a staggering number. The results were to be announced fifteen days after the autumn exam, so all must be reviewed in fourteen days—a very tight schedule.

After five days, two thousand five hundred papers were rejected as unqualified.

Fifty were deemed qualified; another four hundred fifty as provisionally qualified.

In the days to come, these five hundred would be further sifted, until only one hundred passed.

“Two thousand five hundred papers, and the Star Lord of Literature has found not one worthy. The selection this year is more meticulous than ever—thanks to your efforts,” Xu Jing said, and the officials all sighed with relief.

With that, most of the work was done.

Deputy Examiner Lin Xiang remarked, “Still, the literary talent this year is astounding. Many papers left me dumbfounded, forcing me to think deeply…”

“Indeed—a sign of the empire’s prosperity, an abundance of talent is only to be expected,” Master Mo replied.

The officials all nodded in agreement.

“Though much is done, we must be even stricter in the final stage—no relaxation!”

“Yes, sir!”

※※※※※※

Fifteen days passed in a flash. Since finishing the exam, Liu Ping had not left the city, waiting for the results to be posted.

As time dragged on, the pressure mounted. At first, he could still go out with Liu Yue, but later, even that held no appeal.

“Brother will surely pass,” Liu Yue said with conviction.

He nodded silently. The sun had not yet risen; outside, a great wall awaited—the announcement would be posted at dawn, deciding their fate.

A sea of heads surged below; all candidates anxiously waited for the results. Only by arriving early could one secure a spot—otherwise, they’d be lost in the crowd.

Wang Hong approached, his face clouded, and sat across from Liu Ping, turning to look down as well. He sighed, “These days, the more I think, the more uneasy I become. After talking with the other candidates, all I can see are the flaws in my essays. At first I thought I had a seventy or eighty percent chance—now, not even fifty.”

“I feel the same,” Liu Ping replied, tapping the table and pouring a cup of tea. Just then, the sound of drums and gongs came from below.

A loud voice called out, “The results are posted!”

The thousands of chattering candidates fell silent in an instant, all eyes fixed on the great red-draped notice board, holding their breath.