Chapter Twenty-Eight: Ge Jun’s Conduct

The main hall of Taiping Academy was called Daonan Hall.

During the Northern Song dynasty, the Fujian scholar Yang Shi traveled to Luoyang to study under the two Cheng brothers. As he prepared to return south after finishing his studies, Cheng Hao watched him depart and remarked, “My Way now goes south.” Thus, the name “Daonan”—the Way heading south—was born.

Southeast is south, southwest is also south; using the name here was perfectly reasonable.

Inside Daonan Hall, both teachers and students of the academy gathered to review examination papers. In the time it took to eat a meal, they had already graded three hundred and eighty papers.

The answers to the scripture-copying section were fixed: right was right, wrong was wrong. Of course, there were degrees of error—according to the standard, getting an entire sentence wrong was considered a “fallacy,” marked as “yao,” and awarded no points. If there were only some missing or extra characters, it was an “error,” marked as “yi,” with only half the points deducted. Additionally, papers that were messy or showed obvious corrections were ranked lower among those with the same score.

So, after ranking by scores, the top two hundred were selected to advance to the next stage.

When the headmaster Zhu Liu, just past thirty, saw that the paper of the two-hundredth ranked candidate had only one error and one omission—all else correct—he revealed a satisfied smile.

He was younger than all the other teachers at the academy, but none questioned his qualifications, because he wore the blue round-collared robe that marked a successful provincial candidate.

The older teachers, on the other hand, all wore the scholar’s plain robes. According to examination rules, anyone who had passed the provincial exam, no matter how young, ranked above mere scholars.

Moreover, Zhu Liu had passed the provincial exam on his first attempt in the fifth year of the Hongzhi era, becoming a distinguished provincial graduate at age twenty—a rarity across the entire country. His fame spread, and he became an idol to scholars throughout Luzhou, earning considerable renown throughout all of Shu.

It had taken three earnest invitations from the previous headmaster before this renowned Luzhou scholar, who had held his degree for a decade, agreed to take up the post.

“Headmaster, the ranking is complete. Shall we post the results now?” asked Wu, the academy supervisor, respectfully.

“Go ahead, make haste,” Zhu replied with a nod. “While the light is still good, let the children take the second round.”

“Yes, sir.” Wu answered and then distributed the marked papers back to the exam proctors of each group so they could announce the results.

“This batch has a solid foundation. I hope we can select a few excellent talents,” Zhu Liu said to the other teachers with a smile. “Otherwise, we’d be ashamed to send anyone on to higher stages.”

“Indeed, we must make a strong first impression,” the teachers replied with forced smiles. “No wonder the headmaster’s questions were so… original this time. So that was the purpose.”

Zhu Liu’s eyes swept over the group, and he smiled faintly: “I know some of you have complaints about my unorthodox questions. But first, the previous rounds already tested the children’s basic skills. Second, rote memorization alone leads nowhere—only those who are intelligent and adaptable can go far.”

He ended on a firm note: “Besides, all examinees are equally unprepared, so the exam remains fair!”

“Indeed, Headmaster,” the teachers agreed, not daring to object openly. “Students selected this way will surely be more capable.”

Privately, however, they grumbled, feeling the headmaster was capricious and would get them all cursed by angry parents.

~~

When the two examiners returned with the papers, the previously noisy Qian examination hall fell instantly silent.

“Those whose names are called may go home. If you’re not too old, you may try again next year,” the elder examiner announced in a gentle voice, though the atmosphere only grew more tense.

His assistant began to call out names:

“Zhou Baogui from Tucheng.”

“Ma Jizu from Shuiluo.”

“Guo Xianliang from Erhe...”

Each name sounded like a summons from the King of Hell. The examinees who heard their names were devastated—most were in their final year of eligibility, after six or seven years of bitter study, and were now being handed a death sentence.

Many young men collapsed in agony at their desks, unable to move. The examiners changed tactics: “Those whose names were NOT called, pack your things and come with me.”

---

This time, the successful examinees were much more cheerful. Half of the candidates sprang up and quickly gathered before the proctors.

Su Lu was among them. He didn’t spare much sympathy for those left behind, hurrying to leave with the group.

A total of two hundred candidates advanced to the final written round—the “Interpretation of Meaning.” The number of examination rooms was halved, and the exam time was extended to half an hour.

With experience, the examiners dispensed with superfluous instructions and distributed the papers to begin the test.

At the sound of the wooden gong, the exam commenced.

Su Lu quickly scanned the paper—ten questions in all—and broke out in a cold sweat. There weren’t many questions, but each was a real killer.

A normal interpretation question simply required candidates to use Zhu Xi’s annotations to explain the meaning of the text—interpret words, explain sentences, elucidate principles—accurately and impartially. Thus, not only did candidates need to have memorized the “Collected Annotations of Chapters and Sentences,” but also to understand Zhu Xi’s intent, so they could “speak for the sages.”

Personal opinions were forbidden; every sentence had to come from Zhu Xi’s annotations.

Su Lu could just about manage this, but to his shock, this time the questions weren’t mere tests of rote memorization!

Take, for example, question five: “Explain the essence of the phrase ‘the vast, flowing qi’ and the way to cultivate it.”

This question clearly required answers drawn from several chapters. The correct approach was to first use Zhu Xi’s annotation to “Mencius, Gongsun Chou I” to explain the terms, then cite the text of “Mencius” to discuss the nature of qi, followed by Zhu Xi’s commentary in the same chapter to clarify the methods of cultivation and the pitfalls to avoid.

If you answered these four points, you’d get six out of ten. For full marks, you’d need to add two more sentences from Zhu Xi to conclude and elevate your argument.

So the standard answer was: “Zhu Xi says: ‘Vast’ describes a grand and pervasive state; ‘qi’ is the fullness of one’s being. It is born of accumulated righteousness, not something acquired by imitation. One must act without effort, keep the mind unforgetful, and neither neglect nor forcibly promote it. As long as there is not the slightest selfish intent in conflict, it will flow unhindered throughout the world. When aligned with righteousness and the Way, nothing can break it. Thus, qi and the proper order of heaven and earth are interconnected.”

The complete answer drew from two books and four different chapters, demanding a comprehensive understanding. Only through extensive practice could a student master the rules and techniques for such questions!

Su Lu had no idea how others fared, but he himself was utterly flummoxed—he’d never practiced such questions before!

Not only were there none in the practice sets his elder brother had given him, but his father had also confidently asserted that no such composite questions would appear. The academy, looking down on village tutors, had always assumed their teaching was so poor that only rote memorization was tested.

Yet here, written in black and white, was a question that could not be answered by memorization alone!

Though he’d surely memorized every line of the answer, he had no clue how to piece them together correctly.

It was like his high school days in his previous life—he understood class and could do homework, but always got the test questions wrong. If university professors set exams like this, he’d have spent all his money on retakes and gone hungry.

Fortunately, Su Lu was a seasoned veteran of many battles. He wiped the sweat from his brow and forced himself to calm down.

At this stage, panic would do no good—he could only give it his all and hope for the best.

~~

Luckily, there weren’t many such questions. Only at the very last did he encounter another.

It was a debate question: How did Zhu Xi reconcile Mencius’s assertion that “human nature is good” with the “Doctrine of the Mean’s” statement that “nature is what is decreed by Heaven”?

Su Lu didn’t even have time to lament. He quickly focused, planning to cite Mencius’s commentary to highlight “nature is principle,” then use the Doctrine of the Mean to confirm “principle and qi share the same source.”

He figured that these two points should satisfy the requirements. Beyond that, with his current ability, he could only guess.

So, with a sense of grim determination, he answered the final question: “Mencius said: Nature is the principle by which people and things are brought into being...”

When the gong sounded again, the light in the exam room was fading. The elder proctor called out, “Pens down.”

No one dared delay; all stopped writing at once.

---

Su Lu set down his brush, a wry, helpless smile on his face. He had answered every question, but whether they were right or wrong, only Heaven knew.

After a hundred days of feverish study, overcoming every obstacle, he had thought that even if he failed, he would have no regrets. Who would have imagined that his final battle would end in such helplessness? He couldn’t even blame the examiners for going beyond the syllabus, for there had never been a syllabus.

Was this the punishment of the God of Literature for one who sought quick success?

He couldn’t help but sigh to the heavens—only to set off a wave of sobbing in the hall.

At first it sounded like the din of a noodle shop.

The two proctors, as if expecting this, collected the papers in silence and departed, not even announcing when the results would be posted.

With their departure, the examinees gave free rein to their emotions; the crying grew louder, some even bursting into wails and curses:

“Damn it, what kind of rotten questions were those!”

“May your sons and grandsons be born without…”

“Damn your ancestors!” Several young men were utterly undone.

Su Lu, however, was no longer so dejected. When you perform poorly, the one thing you most want to hear is that everyone else did as badly.

This proved everyone found it hard. The exam was about ranking, not absolute scores—being less bad than others was still a victory.

But as he looked around, he saw not everyone was crying—some were smiling, and not just a few.

That meant there were indeed people who could answer such questions. The breath he’d just let out, Su Lu found himself holding again.

The candidates sat in the hall for a long while until academy staff arrived to tell them to wait outside the main gate. The list of those admitted would be posted on the academy wall before dark.

Only then did the examinees rise and file out.

As Su Lu exited, he saw the candidates from the other three exam halls coming out as well. The scenes were much the same—some weeping, some cursing, some walking out with high spirits.

He even overheard a few excitedly saying, “These were excellent questions! Finally, real knowledge and talent are being tested!”

“It should have been like this long ago! Otherwise, only those bookworms who can memorize by rote would benefit.”

Those who had fared poorly felt even worse upon hearing this.

“Truly, people’s joys and sorrows are never the same,” Su Lu sighed quietly.

“How can you say that?” A tall, skinny youth, Su Dan, overheard and retorted, “Their happiness is built on our misery, plain as day.”

His name was Su Dan, son of Su Youpeng, half a year older than Su Lu, and it was his last chance as well...

ps. Every question and answer in these two chapters was newly created by me. I try my best not to copy anything stock or overused, so that knowledgeable readers won’t be thrown by familiar lines. This makes for a more authentic feel. Of course, my skills are limited, and you’re welcome to critique and correct me. And please vote to support! There’s a lot of competition for the new book rankings this time, so I’m counting on my old friends!