Chapter Sixty: The First Major Examination

That night, Su Youcai informed Su Lu that his successor for the teaching position had been found.

The clan school never truly lacked teachers; the senior students who had dropped out from Taiping Academy had all failed the county-level exam for scholars. This time, only Chun Ge'er passed, while the other three returned home, idle and unemployed. The career options for failed scholars were extremely limited; unless they lowered their pride, teaching was the only path available.

As for government-run community schools, only those with a scholar’s status could be hired, and the community school at Erlangtan was already taken by Scholar Cheng. That was why the Su family needed to establish their own clan school.

It was a buyer’s market, so the old clan leader didn’t raise the wage even by a penny, and quickly secured a candidate.

After Qingming Festival, the new teacher arrived, and Su Youcai tidied up and formally left his post. The old man only then learned of his resignation, so furious he lost his appetite for several meals in a row, leaving Su Tai deeply distressed and convinced his cooking was to blame.

But Su Youcai had acted first and informed later; the matter was settled, and the old man could do nothing but vent his anger day after day.

Su Youcai wasted no time and went to town the next day to look for work.

Such direct, efficient, and well-planned actions were entirely unlike Youcai’s usual indecisive manner, causing Su Lu to suspect his motives weren’t pure.

Wait, wasn’t he just suspicious of someone else’s motives?

Nevertheless, he had no time to play detective, for his first monthly exam was fast approaching.

A few days before the exam, the atmosphere in the classroom became tense. The usual laughter vanished, and even the notorious “Cheng Thirty-Thousand” had no time to mock Su Lu’s bottom-three group; everyone was focused on preparing, feeling once again the pressure reminiscent of the entrance exams.

Mr. Zhang became unusually busy, meticulously correcting every student’s daily composition, marking every error in grammar or reasoning.

It was a demanding task, but Mr. Zhang always returned the marked papers promptly, never delaying, and performed his duties with exemplary diligence.

Seeing his teacher so exhausted, Su Lu didn’t want to add to his burden and asked to pause their extra tutoring for the time being.

Unexpectedly, Mr. Zhang rebuked him: “Of all the students in the class, I worry most about you. Your only path now is diligent study and practice! Increase your daily essays to three, not one less. Bring them to me at noon, and I’ll review them with you face-to-face; if we don’t finish, we’ll continue after school!”

Faced with such responsibility, what could Su Lu do? He could only desperately sharpen his skills, hoping to exceed his limits in the exam.

~~

On the fifteenth day of the third month, spring rain fell like oil, pomegranate flowers burned bright as fire, distant mountains wore a smoky blue, nearby waters shimmered with mist. Taiping Academy, nestled amidst the rain-soaked landscape, was as beautiful as a painting.

The students sat upright in the lecture hall, but their minds were not on the scenery outside. They waited only for the teacher to distribute the exam papers.

Today’s monthly exam was not only the first major assessment since they enrolled, but also the academy’s inaugural test after its reforms. The administration took it seriously, even changing the proctor to someone the students had never seen before.

The proctor announced the rules: the exam would last all morning, divided into two sessions—the first on classical texts and interpretation, the second on composition.

The first session lasted six quarters. Upon receiving the papers, they found twenty classical text questions and ten interpretation questions—a considerable volume, but not difficult for the students present. The purpose was to ensure they reviewed the classics and Zhu Xi’s commentaries, so correct answers didn’t earn extra points, but mistakes would cost them.

Su Lu breezed through the first session, finishing early and checking his answers twice. As a student with a severe “subject bias,” he couldn’t afford to make mistakes in his strengths.

After a brief rest, the second session began: composition. Only one question, limited to five hundred characters, but the time was extended to a full hour—this was the real challenge.

Su Lu glanced at the topic: “The people may be made to follow, but not to understand.” From the Analects, Chapter Taibo.

From a content perspective, it was a simple question. In format, it was a “double-panel” topic—two parallel clauses, requiring both sides to be addressed in the essay, a classic question type, especially since the semester had only just begun. The examiners wouldn’t dare go wild yet.

But knowing the principal’s temperament, staying within bounds was impossible. The difficulty lay in the two lines themselves, which were tricky to handle.

The challenge wasn’t in punctuation—there was only one way to punctuate in Ming Dynasty texts. In fact, before Liang Qichao, there wasn’t and couldn’t be another method.

The real challenge was in interpreting the two sentences. Since the Han and Tang dynasties, scholars have debated their meaning, generally falling into two camps: “deceiving the people” versus “the people’s ignorance.” The former interprets as “misleading the masses,” the latter as “the people are naturally ignorant.”

For eight-legged essays, Zhu Xi’s commentary is the authority. Su Lu recalled: “The people may be led to follow, as it is in accordance with reason, but cannot be made to understand the underlying reasons.”

That is, “The people can be guided to follow the natural principles, but cannot be made to comprehend the deeper rationale behind them.”

Zhu Xi also cited Cheng Yi: “When the sage teaches, it is not that he does not wish everyone to understand, but understanding is not easy. Making them follow is easier than making them understand.” This explained both clauses, emphasizing the “people’s ignorance” view and criticizing the “deceiving the people” view.

Students often fall into the trap of drifting between these interpretations, starting with Zhu Xi’s “people’s ignorance,” but sliding toward “deceiving the people,” thus contradicting Zhu Xi.

But with Su Lu’s policy essay approach, this problem didn’t arise.

He first used the “question breakdown method” to identify the keywords: “people,” “follow,” and “understand,” making clear the core thesis must revolve around the dialectical relationship between making the people follow and making them understand.

After a moment’s thought, Su Lu decided to use both direct and indirect argumentation.

He couldn’t yet express his thoughts fully in classical language, so he drafted in a mix of vernacular and semi-classical prose:

“The nature of the people is constant; guide them and they walk the right path. Understanding is difficult, but compliance brings stability.”

After breaking down the question, the rest followed naturally. Su Lu continued:

“The daily life of the people is mostly knowing the ‘what’ not the ‘why.’ The sage leads the people with the Way, not unwilling for them to understand, but understanding is not easily attained. It is easier to educate by making them follow than by making them understand.”

Next came the opening argument. Following the theme and the perspective of the sages, he stated the central thesis:

“The people follow their nature, not straying from the norm, which is only natural. With laws and punishment, they avoid crime but feel no shame; with virtue and ritual, they learn shame and self-restraint. Is this not guiding the people to the right path? Because understanding is hard, wisdom differs, the sage does not force deep comprehension, but guides with the Way.”

With the opening finished, he moved to the eight-legged essay’s argumentation, starting with “what it is”:

“Doing good brings blessings; doing evil brings disaster. The people’s inclination to goodness is like a river running to the sea, ceaseless day and night, hence they can be guided by the right way. Those in power need only ensure the people are not confused, not require complete understanding. The essence of true understanding is only grasped by the most intelligent; it need not be forced upon all.”

Then the “middle argument,” deepening with “why”:

“The virtue of the gentleman is like the wind; that of the commoner like the grass—when the wind passes, the grass bends. The grass moves not because it recognizes the wind, but because the wind acts naturally. Actions leave no trace, habits are not consciously examined; those who follow the Way all their lives without knowing its principle are many. The masses follow the Way, not out of total ignorance, but their knowledge need not be forced or made explicit.”

Then the “final argument,” expanding on “what to do” and “what to be aware of”:

“When the sage teaches, it is not that he does not wish all to understand, but understanding does not guarantee action, and action does not guarantee understanding. Guiding them to follow, practice arises naturally; the gentleman’s way is broad yet subtle. Even the simplest can be made to understand, but at the highest level, even the sage cannot know all. The ultimate Way is hard to know, so it is unnecessary to force complete understanding upon the people.”

Finally, the conclusion, tying back to the opening:

“Those who follow act according to natural principles; those who do not understand find peace in daily routines.

The sage’s governance is essentially like this; it is the essential doctrine of ancient rule.”

Su Lu finished, quickly reread his work, feeling that as a policy essay it could earn a high score. But he wasn’t done yet; he carefully revised every word, converting the semi-vernacular draft into proper classical language suitable for the eight-legged essay.

Only then did he neatly copy it onto the exam paper.

He had just written the final character when the sound of the cloud gong rang out in the courtyard.

Su Lu hurriedly set down his brush, gently blew the ink dry, and when the examiner came to collect the papers, he handed his exam respectfully.

Once the proctor left the hall, the students burst forth with renewed energy.

Some discussed their approaches to the essay, others speculated about their scores.

There were even those planning where to spend the afternoon, for today was a rest day—the academy was on holiday!

Actually, the academy was a bit unfair, placing the exam on a day off, so boarders couldn’t go home, only wander the town.

Li Qiyu, beaming with joy, quickly packed his bag and urged Su Lu, “Come on, I’ll treat you at Sweetwater Café—they’ve got a new menu I hear!”

“Yes, ‘Crimson Cherry Nectar,’ and it’s outrageously expensive.” Su Lu replied naturally, for he had guided its formulation and personally set the price.

He hadn’t visited Sweetwater Café lately—busy with exam prep, and had no idea how this “most expensive item ever” was selling.

“No matter the price, today’s on me!” Li Qiyu slapped his wallet, full of bravado. “Not just a drink, I’ll treat you to dinner too!”

“Do I get a share?” Su Dandan asked coolly.

“Of course, the three brothers can’t do without one!” Li Qiyu’s generosity impressed Su Lu and his brothers.

This was the first time since the semester began that this penny-pincher had offered to treat.

As the three left the hall chatting and laughing, Cheng Thirty-Thousand finally sneered:

“Hmph, now you’re lively after the exam!”

“Wait till the results are posted tomorrow; let’s see if you can still laugh!”

“I wish I could try ‘Crimson Cherry Nectar’…” Bucktooth Cheng Wanfan swallowed, “Big brother…”

“Big brother nothing! I’d rather die of thirst than drink their water!” Pockmarked Cheng Wantang declared, furious at how his aunt kept getting more entangled with the Su family.

“Right—definitely not because we can’t afford it,” effeminate Cheng Wanzhou stamped his foot.

“Well, actually, we really can’t afford it,” Cheng Wantang admitted, ever the honest one.

P.S. There, that’s how an eight-legged essay is written—demonstrated only this once. Though it’s just a draft, it squeezed my brain dry…

Rest assured, I won’t write so detailed in the future. Before the book goes on sale, let me indulge one last time. Sob, maybe I’ll get scolded again—begging for monthly votes to comfort me…