After the palace examination concluded and the papers were sealed, it was already quarter past the Hour of the Dog. The Paper Custodian Officials gathered all the papers and delivered them to the Eastern Pavilion.

The Eastern Pavilion blazed with light, where the Examination Readers had long been waiting.

The Examination Readers held high office — only serving ministers could be appointed to the role — which in itself reflected that the palace examination was designed to select talent for governance, not merely to reward fine literary composition.

For this year’s palace examination, Grand Secretary Lou served as the Presiding Official, Grand Secretary Shen served as Chief Examination Reader, and more than a dozen others served as Examination Readers, drawn from the heads of the Six Ministries, the Censorate, the Office of Transmission, the Court of Judicial Review, the Household Administration Bureau, and the Hanlin Academy.

Grand Secretary Lou cupped his hands in a bow and said, “I thank Grand Secretary Shen and all the gentlemen for your efforts.” With that, the all-night reading began.

Time was short. Tonight and tomorrow, the papers would be read and preliminarily sorted into first, second, and third tier. The day after, Grand Secretary Shen would determine the top ten papers at the Hall of Literary Brilliance. Following that, the papers would be submitted to the Emperor for his personal review and final ranking, then the Inner Transmission Ceremony at the Palace of Heavenly Purity, and finally the Grand Transmission Ceremony at the Hall of Supreme Harmony.

All of it in no more than three days — a swift and decisive undertaking.

The Examination Readers were men of high rank, every one a jinshi by background, seasoned by years in government affairs, and so the task of judging essays came to them with practiced ease. They were each required to read carefully through every paper assigned to them, grade the papers, and recommend first-tier papers to the Hall of Literary Brilliance as candidates for first rank.

Grand Secretary Shen, as Chief Examination Reader, was required to read all three hundred and three papers in their entirety. From his own favored selections and the first-tier recommendations submitted by the others, he would choose ten papers, consult with the Grand Secretary Lou, and then deliver them to the Imperial Study.

Through the night, lamp wicks burned down and burned again; the rustle of turning pages never ceased in the Eastern Pavilion.

Who ranked higher and who lower — each Reader held his own views and standards. Candidates whose political views aligned with a Reader’s were easily recommended; those who held contrary opinions tended to fare poorly.

Pei Shaohuai’s paper made its way into the hands of the Right Chancellor of Transmission, Master Yu.

Master Yu read it once and could not help but read it again. The Office of Transmission was responsible for receiving memorials and petitions from officials and subjects across the realm, reporting military situations and disaster conditions from every region. As its head, he could naturally recognize the deep and sincere concern for the people running through every line.

Though he was delighted by the essay’s insights, he found himself in a difficult position — the paper verged on remonstrance, speaking boldly and directly in its criticism of the court’s governance, which made it stand apart from all the other palace examination essays in a rather conspicuous way.

To stand apart could mean to stand out. But it could equally mean to step out of line.

Master Yu reflected for a moment, then finally set down his brush and wrote: “That this paper speaks freely and without constraint within the confines of the palace examination is no small thing. It speaks boldly, upholds loyalty, and preserves the forthright spirit of a true scholar — this is a rare and precious quality. Recommended as a first-tier paper.”

On the whole, his recommendation would still need to pass before Grand Secretary Shen’s review at the Hall of Literary Brilliance, so he had not given it excessive thought.

Master Yu’s recommendation carried some private calculation as well. This young scholar was principled and dared to speak plainly — precisely the sort of person suited to the Office of Transmission’s work of receiving petitions and presenting memorials. He was a promising talent. So long as he was recommended, even if the paper did not make the final top ten, the scholar would at least rank high on the golden register and remain in the capital without concern.

The afternoon of the day following the palace examination, at the Hall of Literary Brilliance, Grand Secretary Shen held his brush at full arm’s length and could not bring himself to set it down. Ink hung trembling at the tip, on the verge of dropping.

The preliminary reading was complete. More than thirty papers lay spread across Grand Secretary Shen’s desk, yet only ten could be forwarded.

The difficulty was not how to select ten papers. The difficulty was how to handle the one “remonstrance paper” now in his hands.

Grand Secretary Shen had just presided over the metropolitan examination, so even without removing the sealed paper sleeve, he could recognize from the writing style whose hand this was. Based on his understanding of the Emperor, direct remonstrance was not in itself a serious problem, and the essay’s views were quite consistent with the Emperor’s own thinking — he could simply have listed this paper as a first-rank candidate without further deliberation.

What gave Grand Secretary Shen pause was the writing style, which struck him as strangely familiar — the primary and secondary points organized with great clarity, the surface roughness masking careful detail beneath, the sharp edge concealed rather than displayed. During the metropolitan examination, he had only suspected as much; after learning that Pei Shaohuai had once traveled and studied in the Jiangnan region, that suspicion had drawn close to certainty.

Pei Shaohuai must have received instruction from Grand Secretary Zou.

The phrase “received instruction” was enough to mark this young scholar as belonging to a particular faction.

Grand Secretary Shen calculated internally: if he were to list Pei Shaohuai’s paper directly as a first-rank candidate, or include it among the ten to be forwarded, what would happen when it reached Grand Secretary Lou? And what when it was placed before the Emperor?

He recalled that Grand Secretary Lou had already mentioned the name Xie Yingsheng to him on two separate occasions, each time in passing. Xie Yingsheng had placed fifth in the metropolitan examination, and his scholarship was thoroughly grounded. He also recalled a piece of court gossip making the rounds of late: “The Hanlin brims with men of the Ji River; half the court officials hail from Hexi.” Grand Secretary Lou and Xie Yingsheng both happened to be from Hexi.

Having weighed all of this, Grand Secretary Shen arrived at a decision. He broke the sealed sleeves of the thirty papers, cross-referenced them with the metropolitan examination rankings, selected ten papers, arranged them in order, attached the list of names, and summoned the Supervising Official. He said: “These are the candidate papers for the first rank and the top seven of the second rank. Send them to the Hall of Military Brilliance for Grand Secretary Lou’s review.”

“Yes, sir.”

On the morning of the third day, after the early court session, the time arrived in the Imperial Study — the south gallery on the eastern side of the Palace of Heavenly Purity — for the Emperor to personally determine the final ranking of the top three.

As a rule, to express the harmony and trust between ruler and ministers, the Emperor would only make slight adjustments to the top three rankings, and at most would elevate someone from the top seven of the second rank into the first rank.

Each paper bore a different hand, and each had its merits. The Emperor spent half an hour reading through them all. Grand Secretary Shen waited below in silence, prepared to answer any question the Emperor might put to him about any paper.

Whatever was asked, he could speak to it with precision.

The Emperor’s face revealed no pleasure or displeasure. In an even tone, he asked: “Where is Pei Shaohuai’s palace examination paper?”

When he heard the Emperor address him by name rather than as “Metropolitan Examination Head Scholar,” Grand Secretary Shen knew the matter was half-settled — this meant the Emperor’s impression of Pei Shaohuai did not rest solely on that distinction.

He stepped forward half a pace and bowed. “Though this young man performed well in the metropolitan examination, his palace examination paper has an obvious flaw. I have placed him at eighth in the second rank.” This placed him just outside the top ten papers.

“He is, after all, the metropolitan examination’s head scholar. Bring his paper — I will read it myself,” the Emperor said.

“As Your Majesty commands.”

Sandalwood incense drifted in curling wisps. The Emperor took a quarter of an hour to read Pei Shaohuai’s paper and gave a slight nod partway through. Then he turned to Grand Secretary Shen and asked: “What is the flaw you spoke of?”

Grand Secretary Shen delivered the answer he had prepared: “In this minister’s view, the wording is excessively blunt and direct.”

The Emperor neither agreed nor disagreed, but instead read aloud a passage from the paper: “In governing officials: those who pursued the imperial examinations for personal gain should find it difficult to enter office; those who drag their feet under strict oversight should find it difficult to maintain their footing; those who accumulate no traceable record of good governance should find it difficult to rise; those who commit corruption and accept bribes should find it impossible to escape punishment.”

When he finished reading, he said: “Prudence, strictness, clarity, and law — these four principles are ones that even men who have served in court for many years may not be able to articulate completely or put fully into practice. Yet a scholar, within the confines of a palace examination, in a single day, in a handful of sentences, has set them out clearly. As long as such views serve the nation and the people well, what is wrong with speaking them plainly?”

Grand Secretary Shen replied: “This minister’s eyes were clouded. I beg Your Majesty’s forgiveness.”

The Emperor had no intention of punishment, and simply said: “This essay is grounded, candid, unafraid of what must be said, and penetrating in its insights. It shall be selected as the head of the first rank.” With that, he took up his brush and wrote at the top of the paper: “Imperially designated — First Place, First Rank.”

Grand Secretary Shen felt quietly pleased, though he allowed nothing to show, and offered a careful question about how to adjust the order of the remaining papers.

The Emperor picked up the paper belonging to the talent from Hexi, Xie Yingsheng, and asked: “Why was this paper nominated as the head of the first rank?”

Grand Secretary Shen replied: “This young man’s thoughts run deep, and his calligraphy is graceful and refined — the appearance of the paper might add to his credit.”

The Emperor shook his head and said: “We judge by the writing, not by the calligraphy.” The essay, not the brushwork.

The Emperor then continued: “His thinking runs deep, yet his proposed measures fall short. Very well — place this paper at eighth in the second rank. The order of the remaining papers need not be changed.”

And with that, the top three of the first rank and the top seven of the second rank were essentially settled.

The Emperor picked up Pei Shaohuai’s essay and said, reflectively: “This young man’s writing is detailed yet comprehensive. It always gives me a sense of having encountered it somewhere before.”

Since the Emperor had raised it first, Grand Secretary Shen offered his own conjecture plainly: “In this minister’s view, the style somewhat resembles Grand Secretary Zou’s writing from years past — perhaps three or four parts similar.”

The Emperor paused ever so slightly. A fleeting look of guilt crossed his face and was immediately suppressed. He confirmed Grand Secretary Shen’s conjecture, saying: “There are indeed a few points of resemblance.” That sense of familiarity had come from exactly those few points.

That afternoon, scholars across the various guild halls throughout the capital craned their necks in anticipation.

The Grand Transmission Ceremony would not be held until tomorrow, but today’s “Minor Transmission Ceremony” was equally worth awaiting — to be included in it meant one had placed in the top ten of the golden register.

The Minor Transmission Ceremony was a preliminary summons: the Ministry of Rites would bring the top ten candidates into the palace for a brief audience with the Emperor, a short face-to-face meeting akin to a small interview.

Such things happened in the Minor Transmission Ceremony as this: a candidate with fine features and no wife to his name might be shifted from second place to third, or a candidate whose bearing was unimpressive and carriage undignified, finding no favor with the Son of Heaven, might be removed from the first rank or even from the top ten altogether.

At the Jingchuan Earl’s residence, Lin Shi rose early and urged her son to put on his tribute scholar’s robes, straightening his clothes carefully herself, and had him wait in the main hall for a Ministry of Rites official to arrive and summon him into the palace.

Pei Shaohuai felt a quiet unease inside. Under the usual customs, since he was the head scholar, he ought by right to be among the top ten and would certainly be called for the Minor Transmission Ceremony.

The entire Pei family held the same assumption — Pei Shaohuai had always performed with great consistency.

Only Pei Shaohuai himself knew that his essay had been a direct remonstrance, somewhat out of the ordinary, and the top ten was no sure thing. He had not mentioned this to his family after returning from the palace examination, not wanting to cause them worry.

The result would come soon enough — Pei Shaohuai thought this, and waited quietly.

Three days had passed. His thinking had grown clearer: if given another chance, he would still write the same thing without hesitation. So long as he had not put his family in danger, what was wrong with speaking his mind candidly? If the Emperor truly took exception to it, he would deal with the consequences when they came.

He could not afford to be timid from the outset.

Once set on the path of officialdom, there would be many such choices ahead.

The sound of hooves arrived outside the gates. The Pei family’s servants quickly threw the main doors open. A Ministry of Rites official stepped forward and announced: “By imperial summons — Tribute Scholar Pei Shaohuai, of the Yi-You Year Examination, is to enter the palace for an audience with the Emperor!”

Seeing the joy on his family’s faces, Pei Shaohuai also let out a quiet breath of relief. It seemed, he thought, that the Examination Readers, Grand Secretary Shen, and the Emperor had all shown some measure of tolerance after all — enough to accept the forthright words he had written.

The Emperor resided in the Palace of Heavenly Purity, and so the Minor Transmission Ceremony was held there.

Unlike the solemn grandeur of the Grand Transmission Ceremony, the Minor Transmission Ceremony carried far less sense of pageant — there was no great procession, no music, simply a quiet stillness.

Outside the Palace of Heavenly Purity, Pei Shaohuai came face to face with the other nine tribute scholars. Their ages varied, but each was presentable in appearance — none seemed likely to be removed from the top ten on that account.

He was the youngest of the ten, which made him naturally the most conspicuous.

The ten men introduced themselves to one another.

Before entering the hall for the audience, there was a small ceremony: the court arranged for ten officials who hailed from the same hometown regions as the candidates to present them with embroidered pouches and loyalty-and-filial-piety sashes, symbolizing devotion, honor, and the passing down of official tradition.

As it happened, the official assigned to present the pouch to Pei Shaohuai was none other than Right Chancellor of Transmission Master Yu — a native of Wanping County in the capital.

“I very much agree with your views,” Master Yu said with a smile. He then gave a brief account of his own official position, making his intention to draw in a promising talent clear.

Pei Shaohuai understood at once and replied: “This junior gives his deepest thanks to the Right Chancellor for your recommendation and patronage.”

The Ministry of Rites officials began calling the candidates in. Each person’s time inside was brief, and soon it was Pei Shaohuai’s turn.

Seated on the imperial throne, the Emperor looked down from on high. The moment one stepped inside, one could sense his bearing and presence. Yet when he spoke, his tone was mild and measured, like an elder asking after a younger member of the family. His questions were brief — nothing more than inquiries into one’s home county and age, and a chance to observe one’s appearance and manner.

Pei Shaohuai had, after all, grown up in an earl’s household. This was his first time speaking with the Emperor inside a palace hall. His conduct was proper and unhurried. His palms, it was true, were somewhat damp with sweat, carefully concealed beneath his wide sleeves — yet to all outward appearances, he was calm and composed.

The Emperor asked Pei Shaohuai a few more questions than the others, and seeing his youth, inquired: “Are you betrothed?”

Pei Shaohuai replied that he had a marriage agreement. The Emperor then asked to which family.

“In reply to Your Majesty — the eldest daughter of Vice Minister Yang of the Court of Judicial Review.”

The Emperor stroked his beard and nodded, saying: “Very good.” He then asked with concern: “I dispatched your father to serve in the south. Is there anything your household has been lacking in his absence?”

“This subject is grateful for Your Majesty’s concern. The household is well and without difficulty.”

A Ministry of Rites official came forward and led Pei Shaohuai away. With that, the brief audience came to an end.

The ten candidates knew only that they had placed in the top ten — whether in the first or second rank was still unknown. But this in no way diminished the excitement that was already beginning to stir in them.

Even if one did not achieve the first rank, the top seven of the second rank was no small distinction.

The list of ten names spread rapidly through all the guild halls across the capital. What astonished everyone most was that Xie Yingsheng, the Hexi talent who had been a front-runner for first place, had not even made the top ten.

As for how it would all unfold, tomorrow’s Grand Transmission Ceremony would tell.

Once again, the scholars spent a sleepless night — their excitement simply impossible to contain.