Where was Shuang’an Prefecture?
Shuang’an Prefecture was just south of Quanzhou Prefecture, right next door. The Prefectural Administrator of Shuang’an Prefecture was at this very moment serving as Chief Examiner for the prefecture examination in the examination hall.
These students ought to have been bent over their desks in the examination hall, brushes moving with urgency. Instead, they sat in the wine house, pushing cups back and forth.
In an instant, the delicacies on the table lost their appeal, the cassia wine and pepper spirits their fragrance. They had meant to drink away their troubles in fine spirits — and yet the Hejian scholar had tossed this particular piece of powder into the mix, and now they sat one and all in glum despondency.
To sit for an examination under the hands of a Zhuangyuan who had achieved the Triple First — how rare an opportunity that was.
Bear in mind that those who served as Zhuangyuan were assigned to the Hanlin Academy, and each year during the spring examination, the court would regularly select compilers and editors from the Hanlin Academy to serve as one of the eighteen associate examiners. In other words, when a Zhuangyuan served as examiner, he started as an associate examiner at the metropolitan examination, at the very least.
Of all the scholars in the realm, perhaps one in ten who passed the three stages of the children’s examinations became licensed scholars; those who passed the autumn provincial examination and became qualified to sit for the spring metropolitan examination numbered perhaps one in a hundred.
Had Pei Shaohuai not been posted to southern Fujian, how many scholars in Quanzhou Prefecture would ever have had the chance to sit for examinations under him?
Pei Shaohuai, posted to the Hanlin Academy, would hardly be without influence in the presence of the Education Superintendent.
As things stood, it was as though a fine delicacy had been set right before them, and they themselves had kicked it away.
The Hejian scholar, not understanding why everyone had suddenly fallen silent and stopped raising their cups — assuming that his remark about “what extraordinary fortune it would be to study under Pei the Elder” had stung them — poured their cups full and said in consolation, “There is truly no need to trouble yourselves over this.”
He paused, then continued, “Since all of you are registered in Quanzhou, you never had the opportunity to study under Pei the Elder to begin with — so given that you never had the chance, why add to your sorrows? Drink, drink…”
If the Hejian scholar had said nothing, it would have been fine enough; but this remark, once spoken, left them without even the faintest appetite.
When one’s intestines were already twisted with regret, how could one eat?
In the main hall of the wine house, many people settled their accounts and left at once, their expressions downcast and their steps hurried — some did not even wait for their change. The other diners, uninvolved in the matter, simply enjoyed it as spectacle — a bit of entertainment, a lively tale to carry away, something to talk about. They ate their fill, then went off elsewhere to tell others, the story spreading ten to a hundred, a hundred to a thousand, until before long it was everywhere.
Not long after, the wine party in the private room also broke up.
In a narrow lane, Yan Chengzhao leaned at his ease against the green stone wall, his embroidered spring saber tucked under his arm. The “Hejian scholar” came trotting over and reported to him, “Chief, just as you instructed, it’s all been taken care of.”
“Well performed,” said Yan Chengzhao by way of praise.
“Chief, does that mean I could be a covert operative from now on?”
“Recite a couple of lines of verse for me to hear.”
“The moon is round as a great flat cake, its light shines down on all under heaven’s wake. Chief, I even made it rhyme.”
Yan Chengzhao’s brow creased. “You had best continue training your rooftop running and wall-scaling with me,” he said. “As for the scholar-operative business — forget it.” He himself could not compose verse, but he could still tell good from bad.
He had been willing to go to this trouble partly because garrison duties at Jiahemao were light and the naval patrol fleet had yet to arrive, leaving him with both the leisure and the inclination.
And partly, Yan Chengzhao had few people he was close to. Ever since the incident on Ceng Island with the “truly round and bright,” Pei Shaohuai had become the one person who had ever spoken words of frank contempt to him. These students of Quanzhou Prefecture looking down on Pei Shaohuai — was that not the same as looking down on him, Yan Chengzhao? Pei Shaohuai himself could let it pass, but Yan Chengzhao could not stand by and watch. Besides, the days remaining for the two of them to work together in this place were likely not many — it was high time he spread Pei Zhuangyuan’s name a little further.
——
Ten thousand li of distant mountains, a thousand li of roads — yet one must start from a small examination table in a single county.
No matter how illustrious one’s reputation, how exceptional one’s talent, whether one chose the path of official service or the path of letters — everything had to begin from that small examination desk at the county and prefecture level.
From the raised platform, Pei Shaohuai took in the full range of candidates below.
Some were thoroughly prepared, composing their answers with calm ease — for them, the short passage questions of the Primary Examination presented no difficulty. Others were scholars from farming households who, perhaps because they valued this opportunity so deeply, found their brushes hesitating, and did not fully settle into their rhythm until midday.
The last light of the setting sun faded, and the Primary Examination ended.
Behind the screen, in the main hall, the roughly sealed examination papers were stacked neatly on the long writing tables. The room was thick with the rich scent of fresh ink, and the vermillion in the several small dishes on the low table had not yet been ground smooth and mixed with water.
The five county magistrates from Quanzhou’s subordinate counties stood in careful attendance, waiting for Pei Shaohuai to give instructions. One stepped forward and said, “For this round of marking, what standard should we use to determine which papers to pass and which to reject? We ask the Chief Examiner to select a model paper, so that we may compare against it when making our selections.”
The number of passes in the prefecture examination was not explicitly stipulated by the court — it was generally one in three out of ten, though more or less was entirely at the Chief Examiner’s discretion.
A “model paper” meant first selecting from among all the papers a single entry that was neither outstanding nor poor, to serve as the benchmark standard for passing: those above it would be passed, those below it would be rejected.
Pei Shaohuai had already selected his model paper, but was not in a hurry to reveal it. Today’s marking was less about the model paper than about how many names these county officials below him had tucked away in their minds.
He smiled and said, “There is no hurry to select the model paper.” He settled into the high chair and looked out at the assembled men. “Gentlemen, you have all been residing in the examination hall since five or six days ago, and throughout that time there has been no shortage of runners delivering official reports. I would like to ask — how many of those reports that arrived before the prefecture examination were actually letters of recommendation… or perhaps I should call them what they are — letters of advocacy.”
A “letter of advocacy,” as the name implied, was a letter of recommendation — submitted in the name of “recommending talent for the nation’s benefit,” with instructions to the county magistrate to show special consideration during marking toward a particular family’s particular son or nephew, and help him pass the prefecture examination.
Ten years of painstaking study meant nothing against a single letter of recommendation.
The children’s examinations were not nearly as rigorously monitored as the autumn or spring examinations; the examiners wielded great power and could easily manipulate results. As a consequence, this practice had grown ever more brazen.
Some went further still, using the pretext of submitting official business reports to send in communications — but when opened, they were full of personal matters.
For example: “I humbly report to Your Honor: this subordinate, of limited talent and overstepping his bounds, ventures to recommend several candidates, in accordance with the tradition of recommending talent. There is a certain grand-uncle’s son-in-law by marriage, whose name is such-and-such… I beg Your Honor’s gracious consideration.”
The moment Pei Shaohuai spoke these words, the faces of all the county magistrates below him changed abruptly. Composing themselves with some effort, the Anxi County Magistrate stepped forward and said, “As an official in one’s post, handling the affairs of a locality, there will always be some human considerations involved.”
“That one must understand human considerations in serving as an official — that much is true,” Pei Shaohuai said sternly. “But in my presence, the path of the examinations can only be a matter of learning and merit. It cannot be exchanged as a favor, and it certainly cannot be bought and sold as a title.”
If even the examinations could become a matter of human consideration, what in this world could not?
“To put it plainly in one sentence: once you have taken this seat, do not speak of human considerations. If you wish to speak of them, do not take this seat.” Pei Shaohuai laid down his ruling and continued, “I care nothing for however many names you carry in your heads — I only care whether the papers that come before me meet the required standard. If they fall short, it is a problem with the papers; if the standard is not the issue, then the problem lies with the examiner. Those who have lost even the ability to evaluate an essay would do well to go back and hone themselves further.”
That one quiet remark, delivered without particular force, was enough to make them tremble inwardly. The county magistrates serving under Quanzhou Prefecture were either those who had remained in post without being implicated in the Xie Jia affair, or those newly transferred from elsewhere — they all had some competence about them and were not the kind who failed to understand what was being said.
After finishing this speech, Pei Shaohuai pushed the model paper forward to the long writing table and said, “If there are no objections, proceed to your marking.”
“Your subordinates receive your command.”
In this way, the papers that came before Pei Shaohuai held the standard they ought to have held. Though what needed to be done had been done as well as he could manage, a persistent, inexpressible melancholy still hung over Pei Shaohuai’s heart.
——
Vermillion brush strokes fell and fell behind the screen; the tea on the table slowly grew cold.
Even in an “ordinary” prefecture examination, there was no shortage of essays with both fine meaning and fine craft. Some essays had language that was a touch raw, yet the thought behind them was outstanding enough to outweigh their shortcomings.
Past the third watch of the night, Pei Shaohuai was still marking with full attention.
The lamplight had grown somewhat dim. Pei Shaohuai took up the oil flask and added fuel to the lamp. He watched the slightly yellow and turbid oil rise, bit by bit, above the dwindling wick. The flame, from a single dim point, grew back into a full glow. The oil spattered a few sparks, which were extinguished before they even reached the ground.
As the flame brightened, Pei Shaohuai’s shadow on the wall became clear and distinct — hair in a formal cap, long sleeves, tall and straight.
The last few drops of oil fell; the wick bobbed with the oil’s surface a few times, the wavering light drawing Pei Shaohuai back from his thoughts.
He was not yet thirty in years, but these two small examinations had made him realize that he had stepped into a new stretch of road. In the past, he had only thought of how to do his own part well, to follow the dictates of his own conscience — but as he had walked further and further along that road, he had come to understand how extraordinarily difficult it was for one lone figure to “follow the dictates of his conscience,” because at every turn and in every place there was always a current flowing against him.
Even with the help of brothers, classmates, and good friends, this force remained fragile.
When the oil ran out, the lamp would go dark.
When the wild goose passes, only its cry remains.
No matter how impartial this prefecture examination he presided over might be, it was no more than the proud, solitary cry of a goose passing through. Once the lamp went dark, the darkness would return as before.
This was the reason he had been unable to shake off his melancholy all night.
And yet — when geese travel together, they ride the wind in formation; when a cold lamp has oil added, it burns bright through the night. Just as he had absorbed his teacher’s perseverance, the resilience of the Southern Hermit, and something of Zhang Lingyi’s smoothness in officialdom — might not these candidates who addressed him as “examination mentor” carry away, thread by thread, some measure of his own convictions?
It was the first time Pei Shaohuai had felt anything like the heart of a teacher.
He opened the window and gazed northward in a daze, unable to guess — had the Emperor issued the edict making him Chief Examiner merely as a way to “keep him in check with an imperial decree”? Or was it to give him more students?
If it was the latter, how could the Emperor be called merely a wise ruler?
——
——
Ten days passed, and all five sessions of the prefecture examination were concluded. Pei Shaohuai’s reputation as a Zhuangyuan had by now spread far and wide with considerable fanfare.
Yan Chengzhao had released the storybooks from the capital, and the storytellers went from one performance to the next, their voices growing hoarse, and still listeners came in an unending stream.
The local people only then learned that this young Prefectural Administrator had lived a history so remarkable — no wonder he had been able to turn things around in Fujian.
The candidates from Shuang’an Prefecture had barely left the examination hall when they were met by horse-drawn carriages sent by their clans to collect them. When they alighted, they found their clans had arranged a celebratory banquet.
The candidates were bewildered, their expressions dazed — the examination had only just finished, had it not? The prefecture examination’s long roll had not yet been posted. Why was there a banquet already?
It was only amid a chorus of “congratulations, students of the Zhuangyuan” that they gradually understood — it was the reflected glory of the Chief Examiner they were basking in. Never mind whether they had actually been selected and become licentiates — simply having sat for this particular prefecture examination was already something worthwhile in itself.
Soon after, the county and prefecture examination questions that Pei Shaohuai had composed were printed and distributed by bookshops, and scholars throughout the city were discussing and deliberating over them, pondering what purpose the Prefectural Administrator had in setting these particular questions.
When they discovered that “The Master said, not so” was a warning to them to follow the natural order of things and not to worship spirits and ghosts, nor to flatter those in power — that “the clan praises him for his filial piety; the villagers praise him for his brotherly deference” was a warning to scholars that while living amid the common world they must begin with the common world, cultivating their personal virtue, rather than striving from the outset for the lofty title of “sage and scholar-official” — and that “he who acts for the sake of profit will invite much resentment” was, using Xie Jia as a concrete example, a warning to all not to forsake righteousness in the pursuit of profit, lest they bring upon themselves the resentment of the multitude and endanger themselves — every one of the questions was tailored to the local circumstances.
Reflecting back on everything Pei Shaohuai had done during these three years, people only then understood, belatedly, how thoroughly upright and honorable this young Prefectural Administrator truly was.
The ones most delighted were the Qi clan hall. The clan school “Hall for the Benefit of the People” already bore a plaque with characters written by Prefectural Administrator Pei, which had been brilliant enough on its own. Now that they knew he was a Zhuangyuan, it shone with a few more degrees of luster.
The elder who presided over the seventeen-patriarch genealogical plaque smiled and urged the younger generation, “You must study diligently and make this academy the foremost school in southern Fujian — only then can you do justice to what the Prefectural Administrator has written for us.”
——
With only two or three days remaining until the posting of the results, a small commotion broke out at the examination hall.
It was not a rush to see the posted results — rather, a clamor for a supplementary sitting to allow missed candidates to be recorded.
It was not uncommon for the children’s examinations to hold a supplementary sitting, usually out of consideration for candidates from distant places who had traveled a long way and, through some delay of a day or two, had missed the examination date — it would be a genuine pity to let all that journey go to waste.
The candidates now demanding a supplementary sitting had not missed the examination due to delays — they had not registered in the first place, by their own choice. Now they regretted it. The louder Pei Shaohuai’s name was sung, the more deeply they regretted.
Yet their regret was not truly for themselves — it was for “a man of such learning as myself, having missed this chance to be recommended by the Zhuangyuan and reach the highest offices.”
Pei Shaohuai was inside the screen marking papers. Standing watch outside was Associate Magistrate Li, who had in him the clean directness of a Shanxi man. He called out in a ringing voice, “You are making a scene here — let this official ask you plainly: why do you want a supplementary sitting?”
Some said it was to carry forward the learning of past ages; others said plainly it was to seize a good opportunity to enter official service.
Associate Magistrate Li, upon hearing this, gave a dismissive laugh and said, “If it is for the sake of learning, it makes no difference who serves as examiner — a person of genuine learning will always shine brightly. What kind of student goes about picking his examiner? And if it is for the sake of becoming an official…”
Associate Magistrate Li laughed louder still, making no effort at all to conceal the contempt he felt, and said with open scorn, “If you cannot even figure out why the Prefectural Administrator is serving as Chief Examiner, what sort of official career are you dreaming of? What court do you think you can work in? The gate I am guarding is not a place where you come to recite verse and drink wine.”
“In learning, you know a few characters and think yourselves great talents — no humility. In character, you come to sit for the examinations not on the straight and proper path, always looking for shortcuts — no integrity.” Associate Magistrate Li gave a contemptuous sniff. “The supplementary sitting records missed talent — it is not for dredging mud from murky water.”
Mud cannot be made to stick to a wall.
“The lot of you, clear out at once — if you carry on like this…” It would not be merely missing this one prefecture examination.
Once the troublemakers had dispersed, Associate Magistrate Li gave a quiet laugh to himself, saying in a low voice, “If they had kept on, this official would have had quite a few more things to say, and rather less politely.”