Chapter Forty-Nine: The Top Scholar

The day the results of the Provincial Qualifying Exam were announced was one both eagerly awaited and deeply feared by every student who had taken the test. They hoped to secure a passing mark, to step smoothly onto the path of the imperial examinations, and perhaps even embark upon an official career. Yet they dreaded the possibility of not seeing their names on the list, of failing after years of relentless study—such a blow could shatter their confidence, leaving some forever defeated, their lives effectively ruined.

The imperial examination was a merciless endeavor, a battlefield devoid of smoke and bloodshed.

This time, in the Western Circuit of Guangnan, over five hundred candidates took part in the exam held in Guizhou. Nearly a hundred withdrew for various reasons, leaving more than four hundred to vie for just sixty spots. To be selected as one among dozens was a daunting feat.

In truth, the competition in Guangnan was not the fiercest; the harshest battles were fought in other circuits and prefectures, especially in Jiangnan and the capital region. There, students were both numerous and highly learned. Although the number of available places was greater, the competition was even more intense and unforgiving.

Today was the day the results were to be posted in the Western Circuit of Guangnan. The lists were usually placed outside the Examination Hall, but since Guizhou lacked such a facility, the results were displayed outside the Prefectural Yamen.

By now, the candidates had either gathered early outside the Yamen, anxiously awaiting the outcome, or sequestered themselves in teahouses and inns—or even cowered under their quilts, sending servants to check the list while they themselves dared not go. Yet from beneath their covers, they would poke out their heads, ears straining and eyes fixed in the direction of the Yamen, as if they possessed supernatural sight and hearing.

“Hanren, I haven’t even had enough sleep... Why did you drag me out here?” Zeng Gongming muttered complaints at Li Sanjian. Zeng was one of those too afraid to face the list himself and had refused to leave his bed until Li Sanjian forcibly pulled him up and hauled him to the Yamen gates, with the help of Zhang the Daoist. Zeng’s portly figure left two long tracks along the road as he was dragged along.

“Give me a break,” Li Sanjian thought to himself. The night before, Zeng had fallen asleep early; even from the next room, Li Sanjian could hear his thunderous snoring.

“All you ever do is sleep. You could sleep yourself to death for all I care,” Li Sanjian grumbled, having been tormented by Zeng’s racket all night, wishing he could shove a rag in his mouth.

Li Sanjian rose up on his toes, peering toward the Yamen gates. It was still too early for the results to be posted. Though the tall main doors stood open and people bustled in and out, the place was unusually busy.

“When will they put up the list?” someone asked.

“How should I know? I’m not an official!”

“But I heard your aunt’s grandson’s brother’s mother’s mother-in-law’s son is the son-in-law of the assistant prefect. You must have news?”

“...”

“Brother, what will you do if you pass?”

“What else? Head to the capital for the next exam, of course.”

“Let’s go together, then.”

“Agreed! I’ll show you around Kaifeng Prefecture when we get there.”

“Oh, come now, as if you’ve ever been to the capital.”

“My grandfather hasn’t been, have you?”

“So... what’s the capital like?”

“I’m telling you, Kaifeng is so vast you can’t even imagine it. The capital has everything. And the people there are like immortals—handsome men, beautiful women...”

“Over a million immortals? Brother, you sure have a lot of them!”

The students, idle and anxious, bantered to distract themselves from their nerves. Li Sanjian listened with a smile, his curiosity about the Song capital suddenly piqued. Since arriving in this world, all he’d heard about the capital was how enormous it was, but he had no notion of its true scale.

Was it really larger than those grand cities of old? He wondered.

Li Sanjian longed to see Kaifeng for himself, but would he have the chance? And what would await him there?

All was uncertain, but the answer would soon be revealed, for at that moment, officials emerged from the Yamen, carrying the list.

A few strikes of the gong and the crowd fell silent.

“From the reign of Yuanfu to Shaosheng, the imperial edict decrees that the qualifying examination shall be held every three years...” An official began to read the announcement slowly, explaining that the authorities of the Western Circuit of Guangnan were selecting scholars on imperial orders, fairly and impartially, with no hint of corruption. He warned those who succeeded not to become complacent but to continue striving for the honor of Lingnan. Those who failed must not lose heart but persevere in their studies and try again in three years.

Every candidate, including Li Sanjian, wished they could throttle the official for his endless speechifying—he had been droning on for ages.

Yet, restless as they were, all the students stood respectfully before the gates, hands clasped, listening attentively, Li Sanjian among them.

This was basic etiquette; to show disrespect was to risk forfeiting one’s hard-won success.

At long last, after more than half an hour, the official finished his admonition and ordered his clerks to paste the results on the wall outside the Yamen.

In an instant, the students surged forward in a frenzy, jostling and pushing, desperate to find their names on the list.

At this moment, Zeng Gongming forgot all his earlier fear and plunged forward, eager to spot his name. But he was too stout and broad, and his small, frail page was of no help. Zeng’s fat rippled like waves as he tried to push through, but he simply couldn’t get close.

“Hanren...” Zeng, nearly floating atop the crowd, turned his sweaty, anxious face toward Li Sanjian, pleading for help.

Li Sanjian was speechless. Zeng had refused to come earlier, yet now he was more anxious than anyone.

What difference would a few more moments make? Li Sanjian hadn’t intended to rush, but seeing Zeng’s pitiful expression, he laughed and said to Shan Kui, “Shan Kui, go on!”

“Don’t worry, master.” Shan Kui, who had served Li Sanjian for some time, spoke almost as well as any other man now. His muscles bulged as he shouted, giving a slight shake of his arms. The crowd cried out as they were pushed aside, a path opening through the throng as if parting the waves.

“There it is! There it is!” Zeng Gongming, sweating profusely, pressed up to the list and finally found his name.

Zeng Gongming was ranked thirty-ninth and had thus passed, becoming a “recommended man,” or, as some called it, a “quasi presented scholar”—the titles were many and varied.

“There it is! Han... Han... Han, you... you...” Before Li Sanjian could approach, Zeng found his name on the list as well, but he stammered so much that he couldn’t get the words out.

“You... you... you...” At last, Zeng blurted out, “You’re the top scorer! My heavens, Hanren, you’re the top scorer! Oh... ha ha ha ha!”

He laughed aloud in delight, as if he himself had come first.

The top scorer—the “jieyuan”—was the candidate who placed first in the qualifying exam.

Generally, the jieyuan had a higher chance of success in the next round, the provincial exam, and their home region would bask in reflected glory if they went on to win further honors.

For a remote place like Lingnan, the emergence of a presented scholar was reason for wild celebration; it was nothing short of earth-shattering.

Still, it was not unheard of for the jieyuan to fail at the next stage, for fate could change in a moment.

Yet even if they were eliminated in the provincial exam, for those from Lingnan, it was not the end of the world. Those who failed could still become officials.

Lingnan, with its miasmas and remoteness, was sparsely populated and harsh, so few scholars were willing to serve there—especially those with higher degrees, who would rather idle in the capital than take up posts in Lingnan.

Thus, both Eastern and Western Guangnan suffered a severe shortage of officials, especially at the county level.

To remedy this, the court relaxed its requirements for appointments, allowing those who had passed the qualifying exam but failed the provincial exam to take up certain posts.

Of course, while such men might serve as county magistrates in Lingnan, their chances of promotion or transfer to the capital were slim; most would spend their careers as minor local officials.

Li Sanjian could scarcely believe what Zeng had told him. He wiped his eyes and saw his own name at the top of the list—there was no mistake.

Li Sanjian: first place in Guizhou’s qualifying exam!

“Wonderful!” Li Sanjian leapt for joy, utterly abandoning his usual composure, hugging Zeng Gongming and jumping up and down with delight.

He had been confident of passing, but never dreamed of taking first place—this was a joy beyond all expectation.

“Master, ha ha, master!” Shan Kui was beaming, grinning as he laughed aloud.

Shan Kui was happier for Li Sanjian’s success than he would have been for his own.

Around them, the other students stared at Li Sanjian with astonishment, scarcely believing their eyes or ears.

That a “barbarian” could become jieyuan—how could they accept it?

Their gazes were full of envy, jealousy, and resentment, but not a trace of genuine happiness for Li Sanjian—only Zeng Gongming, Zhang the Daoist, and Shan Kui rejoiced with him.