Apart from the question “The Master said: it is not so,” which was somewhat demanding, the remaining questions were mostly minor topics — conventional in form and moderate in difficulty.

Pei Shaohuai had composed them this way because he found himself thinking back to his old classmate from the prefectural school, Jiang Ziyun.

Students like Jiang Ziyun, who came from farming families, often had limited means and could only afford supplementary texts like Examination Strategy in Ten Subjects and A Reference Anthology for the Second and Third Sessions — materials to broaden their general knowledge.

If Pei Shaohuai were to set questions purely according to his own tastes, drawing on later perspectives and producing nothing but unusually clever and novel topics that departed from the conventions of the imperial examinations — would that not be unfair to those scholars of humble backgrounds who had spent year after year studying nothing but the Four Books, the Five Classics, and the eight-legged essay format?

Pei Shaohuai had walked the entire path of the imperial examinations himself. He acknowledged that the structured composition questions of the examination hall were excessively rigid — especially those topics constructed from arbitrarily spliced and truncated passages, which bordered on the absurd. But to change that state of affairs, the proper sequence was first to change how talent was perceived and valued in the world, and from there to influence the prevailing habits of scholarship — only then, following the momentum of such change, to reform the examination questions themselves.

Moreover, if he were to depart entirely from established conventions, would that not render meaningless all that Master Duan had so earnestly impressed upon them years ago — “county examination minor topics require precision, provincial examination major topics require comprehensiveness, and metropolitan examination policy questions require originality”?

When one holds a public office, one cannot place oneself above the way the world works.

The conventional minor topics were the level measure Pei Shaohuai held for all candidates; “The Master said: it is not so” was the touchstone he held in his palm.

Among the people there was a common saying: “A county official selecting scholars in plain robes is like picking up blades of grass.” It meant that passing the first hurdle of the county examination was as easy as a county magistrate stooping to gather straw.

This was not without basis. “Clear reasoning and fluent writing” was the universally acknowledged standard for passing the main session of the county examination — accessible enough to nearly all.

Once the examination schedule was announced, candidates came to register in a steady stream for the days that followed. From morning to nightfall, the number of registrants had increased by four or five parts in ten compared to previous years — it was a bumper year for candidates.

This was in large measure a reflection of how everything in Shuang’an had been turning toward the better.

The fourteen or fifteen year-old boys were there to test the waters and see where they stood. Those in their twenties were clearly there to compete for a strong result, to have their name appear prominently on the long list, and to prepare for the prefectural and provincial examinations in the fourth and sixth months.

To put it simply: the county examination was easy to pass, but the position of top candidate in the directly governed Shuang’an county examination carried real weight. Claiming it was no easy matter.

The sycophantic Deputy Prefect Qi had been dealt with by Pei Shaohuai long since. The newly appointed Deputy Prefect Li, transferred from Changzhi County in Luan’an Prefecture in Shanxi, was a practical-minded man who managed the many affairs of the examination with experience — from setting up the examination compound to selecting the outer hall officials — and Pei Shaohuai, as chief examiner, was spared from having to expend much energy.

Tong’an County’s county yamen had been converted into the prefectural yamen. The original county yamen of Nan’an County was now used as the examination compound, its interior walls dividing it into three examination halls — front, middle, and rear.

On the ninth day of the second month, at the third watch of the night, Pei Shaohuai rose and made for Nan’an City. Inside the examination compound, the lamps were already lit and bright.

Pei Shaohuai took his seat at the elevated platform in the front courtyard. After more than twenty senior scholars of demonstrated standing bowed in greeting, they began the formal identification roll call — to the repeated cries of “such-and-such vouches for such-and-such,” figure after figure of varying heights filed in and took their numbered seats.

Young men attending the examination hall for the first time, each one clean as a blank sheet of paper — among them, it was hard to tell which was the true plum blossom.

The examination table had seen brushes wielded year after year, and now once again every seat was filled — yet those who held the brush today were not those of years past.

As Pei Shaohuai sat on the elevated platform and looked down at those young, unformed faces below, his eyes were full of his own days spent reading in youth. It was in this moment that he suddenly understood why he had come to meet Master Nanju.

It was not the workings of some vague fate amidst the vastness of the world — it was that Master Nanju had chosen him from among the written pages.

When Master Nanju first looked upon Pei Shaohuai back then, was it not just as he now looked upon the young examination candidates below? The long road of the imperial examinations — when you have walked its full and arduous length, some people end up becoming those who block the road, while others become those who clear it.

The day was clear, and the main session of the examination proceeded without mishap. When sunset came, the drum was beaten and the papers collected.

Because there were so many candidates, the reading of the papers was a heavy undertaking and was arranged for two days hence.

The senior scholars divided the papers among themselves to read. Those essays deemed acceptable were submitted to Pei Shaohuai. Perhaps because “The Master said: it is not so” had been too demanding — the papers with something substantial to say numbered only in the dozens, less than one in five among all the candidates.

Those younger students whose brushwork was still tentative and immature could only follow Zhu Xi’s commentary in their interpretation — a gentleman does not court favor from others, but adheres to the order of Heaven.

There were also students who, having witnessed the transformation in southern Fujian, had glimpsed something of what Pei Shaohuai was after. One student named Qi Quan’an wrote: “…In an age without men of true stature, it is only then that fawning at the feet of those in power passes for the way of things.”

He had, in other words, given concrete shape to “a gentleman does not court favor” — a man of true stature does not fawn upon those who hold influence.

Another student, Chen Shuxin, wrote: “…So vast is the order of Heaven that fawning upon the gods falls short even of fawning upon oneself.” He drew upon the deep-rooted customs of devotion to gods and spirits in Fujian and argued that “people take human words lightly and divine words heavy — to set aside the concerns of the living and go to the spirits instead is to lead the age astray.”

The brushwork and cadence were not the most accomplished, but the insights were sound.

This was the virtue of minor topics: without too many constraints, a candidate who could make a consistent and coherent argument was on solid ground.

After adding his red brush annotations, Pei Shaohuai reached for the next paper. When a lean, vigorous hand appeared on the page before his eyes, his hand paused. The standard court script dominated the examination halls — a hand like this was not commonly seen.

And Pei Shaohuai knew that there was one person who wrote in this style.

He turned to the top of the paper. The name written there was “Bao Yuzhen.”

When Pei Shaohuai read the words “the common people do not know what the order of Heaven is — they follow their hunger and fullness,” and then the argument on the way of governance — that a truly good official does not simply lecture on the order of Heaven at every turn, for if an official cannot feed the people and keep them warm through autumn and winter, what right does he have to reproach the common folk for putting their faith in the Kitchen God — he felt something in him pause, and his gaze returned to the two characters “Yuzhen.”

He opened the register and found the page for Bao Yuzhen. In the column for physical description it read: “Age forty-one, lean of build, bearded…” Pei Shaohuai knew with certainty that this candidate could be none other than his old acquaintance Wang Chu.

He could not fathom how Wang Chu had procured the identity of “Bao Yuzhen” right under his nose.

Not as pleasant-sounding as Wang Chu.

Pei Shaohuai smiled to himself. A man of long-simmering scholarly indignation — years later, coming ashore once more, and still the same disposition as ever. Then he took up his brush and wrote a single large character on the paper: “Rejected.”

Not because Wang Chu’s learning was insufficient, nor because the essay was poorly written. But accepting “Bao Yuzhen” would have been no good for Wang Chu, nor for Pei Shaohuai.

Besides, if Wang Chu truly intended to take a new name and start afresh, to take his chances in officialdom — given his temperament, would he really sit for the examination in Shuang’an and put Pei Shaohuai in a difficult position? And would he really write in such a deliberately recognizable hand?

This was nothing more than using the county examination as a way to say hello to Pei Shaohuai — nothing more than that.

More than ten days later, all five sessions of the examination — the main, first review, second review, and final review — had been completed. The preliminary results list and the full ranked list had both been posted and announced.

Pei Shaohuai had Bao Bantou stand watch beneath the posted lists for several days, and still “Bao Yuzhen” never came to look at the results — which confirmed what Pei Shaohuai had suspected: Wang Chu had sat for the county examination with no intention of being accepted.

The top candidate was taken by Chen Shuxin of the Chen Family. Qi Quan’an placed second. Several candidates whose names had been among the most highly touted beforehand, and whose writing was adorned with florid language, did appear on the list — but ranked outside the top ten.

That Nan’an City’s Chen Family had placed above the Qi Family Hall gave everyone in the Chen Family a great surge of pride, and they celebrated with considerable fanfare.

On the day the papers of the top ten candidates were posted on the side wall of the prefectural yamen, the space outside was packed densely with people, all jostling to look.

Latecoming students were puzzled. “However well-written a county examination paper may be,” they said, “it could never compare to a provincial or metropolitan examination collection in quality — why is everyone crowding and pushing like this to see it?”

Others said, “Besides, it’s not as if they haven’t seen Chen Shuxin’s and Qi Quan’an’s writing before.”

Nobody paid them the slightest attention. Everyone was intent on reading the papers. Those students had no choice but to join the crowd themselves, their curiosity unresolved — and when they saw the vigorous yet graceful vermillion annotations, they suddenly understood: the crowd was not there to read the examination papers at all. They were there to read the Prefect’s comments.

One such comment read: “The gentleman is inwardly upright and outwardly principled — one who may carry forward the flame of the Confucian way, and render the courage of treachery across a thousand ages as nothing.” Though written as an annotation, it could stand alone as a short essay.

And if one thought about it more carefully, every word and phrase revealed itself as a gem — extracting them and refining them slightly, each was a fine angle for breaking open a topic. Small wonder that some readers could be seen mouthing the words silently, committing the annotations to memory on the spot.

“What is the background of this Prefect? This command of the brush is altogether too formidable.”

“Are these truly annotations written extemporaneously in the moment? I feel there are no small number of allusions within them — even if I were to sit and compose deliberately, I might not manage to find allusions this apt.”

“And precisely because that is so — Pei Zhizhou sits in the prefectural yamen, and you stand here asking ‘why’.”

This drew laughter from the surrounding students.

It was also through these annotations that the students came to understand what the Prefect sought in men of talent: inwardly upright, outwardly principled — neither to curry favor nor to practice treachery.

The Prefect had also written: “The common people trust in gods to seek comfort — when an official trusts in gods, he loses himself.” For ordinary people to put their faith in divine spirits was understandable enough; but for a parent official to keep gods and spirits perpetually suspended in his own heart — in that case, the world might just as well keep the empty “god” there, and what need would there be for an official eating from the people’s grain?

It gave much to reflect upon.

With the county examination concluded, Pei Shaohuai was finally able to move out of the examination compound. He had only just returned to his residence with “Bao Yuzhen’s” paper in hand when Yan Chengzhao came over to find him for tea and conversation.

In the study.

Yan Chengzhao picked up the paper on the desk with curiosity and read aloud: “‘Bao Yuzhen’ — sounds rather like a woman’s name.”

Pei Shaohuai had just taken a sip of warm tea and gave a small cough. “It is a paper from an old friend. Commander Yan, have a guess as to who.”

Yan Chengzhao conceded immediately: “Whatever kind of writing it may be, in my eyes it carries the same meaning as ‘wherefore art thou and thus and so.’ I shall not guess.”

“Add a stroke to Wang and it becomes the character for jade; give Zhi two more strokes and a person stands upright.” Pei Shaohuai offered the hint.

Wang Chu had taken the character “Zhen” for “upright,” and by combining it with “Yu” for “jade” he had fashioned himself a name — Pei Shaohuai’s understanding was that Wang Chu wanted to make the character for “upright” stand on its own two feet.

With the hint laid out so plainly, Yan Chengzhao could hardly fail to put it together. He traced the characters with a finger on the tea table and said with an upright expression: “He has managed to stand — only the legs are rather too short.”

Then he added: “Wang Chu is still a better-sounding name.” This left Pei Shaohuai somewhere between laughter and exasperation.

Yan Chengzhao asked: “Shall I find his whereabouts for you?” After the battle of Xundao Island, Pei Shaohuai had made several boat trips to Ceng Island — Yan Chengzhao was aware of this.

“I thank Commander Yan for the kind offer.” Pei Shaohuai knew perfectly well that such a thing would be the simplest matter for the Southern Pacification Office. But between friends, how could one send someone to track down another’s movements? That would only plant a seed of unease in Wang Chu’s heart. Pei Shaohuai said instead: “He has come to Shuang’an — I will simply wait at the ferry crossing for a few days. If we are fated to meet again, we will meet.”

Meanwhile, in a secluded little courtyard tucked away in a corner of the city, Wang Chu was leading a few of his brothers in packing up their belongings.

“Big Brother, are you truly not going to the prefecture office to check the long list before we go?”

They were afraid their Big Brother would leave carrying some regret.

Wang Chu was broad-minded about it, and said with a laugh: “No need. I sat this examination with no intention of being placed on the list.”

He looked out toward the courtyard gate and added: “By sitting for the Shuang’an county examination, I count myself a student of Xiao Pei Zhizhou. That is enough.”