Whether at the Imperial or Provincial Examination, the examiners bore a debt of recognition and patronage toward the candidates they passed—a candidate became a protégé, addressing the chief examiner as “seat master” and the assistant examiner who had recommended his paper as “room master.”
Grand Secretary Shen still had to work with the Ministry of Rites to oversee the upcoming Palace Examination, so it was impossible for him to receive any candidates at this time. The candidates therefore simply submitted calling cards as a gesture of proper etiquette.
After that, they went to pay their respects to their room masters.
Pei Shaohuai’s room master was Editor Liu of the Hanlin Academy. Since his eldest brother-in-law, Xu Zhan, was also a Hanlin Academy editor, Pei Shaohuai naturally first sought some background from his brother-in-law.
Xu Zhan said: “Editor Liu passed in the second tier at the Guiyou Regular Examinations. He subsequently passed the Pavilion Selection and entered the Hanlin Academy as a probationary compiler, and upon completing his term became a full editor. This year happens to be his ninth year of service.” In a single sentence, he gave a concise account of Editor Liu’s official career.
Pei Shaohuai understood at once, and calculated mentally.
This year was the Yiyou Examinations. From the Guiyou year to the Yiyou year was precisely twelve years. One triennial examination period to pass as a presented scholar; three years as a probationary compiler; nine years as a full editor—twelve years in all, the blink of an eye. This Editor Liu’s career had proceeded methodically and by the book, and he had been sitting on the “cold bench” for quite some time. From this, one could glimpse something of the patterns governing promotion within the Hanlin ranks.
As to whether it was good to serve in the Hanlin Academy—it was, naturally, quite good: one was responsible for compiling texts, recording the sovereign’s daily activities, overseeing the administration of examinations, and completing compilations always brought imperial rewards. It was a prestigious and refined close-attendance post within the court. Promotions were personally bestowed by the Emperor; after several rounds of advancement, taking on the positions of vice minister or minister in the various ministries was by no means rare. One was also in frequent contact with the Grand Secretariat, so even if one did not enter the six ministries, there was no shortage of other avenues.
However, if one went for a long period without receiving recognition or being specially promoted, one could only wait out the years, advancing one tier every nine years—nine years after nine years—stagnating in the literary archives with meager pay.
This particular Editor Liu happened to be reaching his first “ninth year,” set to advance from editor to reader or lecturer, with an opportunity to enter the Emperor’s field of view.
Xu Zhan smiled and spoke in earnest: “Editor Liu is probably even more eager than my younger brother-in-law to see the top place in the Palace Examination fall to the Earl’s residence.” The words were somewhat exaggerated, yet not without truth.
When that day came, having the discerning eye to identify a paper for the Son of Heaven’s selection of talent would itself be a credit to his name. Combined with the “ninth year” milestone, Editor Liu’s opportunity might well be at hand.
This was a matter of mutual advancement between protégé and room master.
Pei Shaohuai said: “I thank my brother-in-law for this guidance.” Returning home, he immediately wrote a calling card and had it sent to the Liu household.
Two days later, Pei Shaohuai carried a fine inkstone and some books and came to a corner of the southern part of the city, presenting himself at the door to pay his respects and express his gratitude to his room master. It was a somewhat out-of-the-way official residence—the compound was not large, but a three-courtyard layout had nonetheless been built.
Pei Shaohuai first performed the ceremony of a protégé toward Editor Liu in accordance with proper form, and sincerely expressed his gratitude.
Editor Liu was very pleased by Pei Shaohuai’s visit and said: “Imperial Examination Champion Pei need not stand on such ceremony. Your great talent is evident in your essays—no matter which room master’s hands this paper had fallen into, it would certainly have been recommended and placed where it rightfully belonged.” He added: “Perhaps before long, you and I will address one another as colleagues.”
Editor Liu spoke graciously, largely attributing the credit to Pei Shaohuai’s own ability, but in his heart Pei Shaohuai understood clearly that Editor Liu had gone to considerable lengths to put his paper forward as the top recommendation; otherwise, how could the cover have accumulated a full nine annotations in blue ink?
Pei Shaohuai’s words grew even more respectful in tone.
A meeting between a room master and his protégé should ordinarily include some discussion of scholarship. However, since Pei Shaohuai still had the Palace Examination ahead of him, Editor Liu was concerned that his own views might inadvertently lead Pei Shaohuai astray, and so he did not say much more.
……
The capital was still thick with calling cards flying in every direction.
Newly passed candidates were busy not only paying respects to their room masters but also presenting cards of self-recommendation to the six ministries, the Nine Chief Ministers, and bureaus throughout the court, beginning preparations for the Pavilion Selection that would follow after the Palace Examination.
After all, seven parts in ten of the Pavilion Selection depended on talent and ability, and three parts on maneuvering and connections.
On the eighteenth day of the third month, after much compilation and arrangement, the examination grounds released this year’s Record of the Imperial Examinations to the public. The upper volume recorded the various affairs of this examination, the duties of the personnel involved, and the questions; the lower volume—considerably thicker—selected the finest essays of the successful candidates for publication, with the examiners’ annotations appended.
Five of Pei Shaohuai’s essays were selected—his exposition on the Analects, his composition on the Spring and Autumn Annals, and three policy essays—tying the highest number of essays ever selected for publication in previous years. Paper being limited, it was impossible to print every essay.
Since Pei Shaohuai was the top Imperial Examination graduate and also had the most pieces published, he naturally became the subject of leisurely study and discussion among scholars, who read his essays again and again. The majority were impressed—this champion was a man of genuine talent.
A small incident did occur, however.
Among the candidates there were quite a few who were devoted admirers of Northern Guest’s essays, people who had previously studied his policy essays closely and copied them out to be bound into volumes for collection.
Upon reading the policy essays of Imperial Examination Champion Pei, the more they read, the more familiar and appealing they found them. After several comparisons, they became certain that Pei Shaohuai’s essays bore a markedly similar quality to Northern Guest’s writing. Some began to speculate: “Could it be that this Imperial Examination Champion Pei is also a devoted reader of Northern Guest?”
“I think he might be,” someone agreed. “This phrasing and argumentative approach does indeed imitate Northern Guest’s literary style, and to imitate it so closely—that too is a kind of ability.”
“Indeed,” another candidate stepped forward. “This is perfectly proper and by the rules—though it does give one pause.” The candidate continued: “Northern Guest’s entire talent has, in the end, served to benefit someone else. How lamentable.”
This topic grew increasingly heated, and more candidates joined in to compare the two writers’ styles.
Then someone spoke up quietly: “Has anyone considered the possibility that Imperial Examination Champion Pei is Northern Guest?” After all, Northern Guest had never revealed so much as a hint of his true identity—why must Champion Pei be an imitator of Northern Guest rather than Northern Guest himself?
The hall fell completely silent.
This theory was far more plausible than the speculation that had preceded it.
Someone then dug out old issues of The Chongwen Literary Collection and said: “Even the Southern Recluse once remarked that Pei Shaohuai’s essays bore a resemblance to Northern Guest’s style.”
The theory was now nearly confirmed. Unless Northern Guest himself stepped forward to say he was not Pei Shaohuai, there was little else to contradict it.
Those who had been devoted admirers of Northern Guest instantly switched sides and began rallying in support of Imperial Examination Champion Pei, to promote his reputation. Within a matter of days, Pei Shaohuai’s name was resounding throughout the capital.
The point that candidates most admired was this: Pei Shaohuai had himself been preparing for the Imperial Examinations, yet he had been willing to publish his policy essay insights for all to read and share. It was well understood that in the policy essay portion, seven parts in ten were original insight and three parts written skill—scholars who arrived at distinctive viewpoints generally kept them private, saving them for use in the examination hall.
Several days later, neither Northern Guest nor Pei Shaohuai stepped forward to refute the claim, and the matter was treated as settled.
“I had already thought it remarkable that the two brothers took consecutive top places in the Provincial Examinations, but now the elder brother has also won the Imperial Examinations. One can only imagine that three years hence, the younger brother will prove himself no less formidable.” a candidate remarked with feeling.
“I suspect the Pei family did it deliberately,” someone said.
“Did what deliberately?”
The candidate replied: “Deliberately staggered the two brothers’ years for sitting the Imperial Examinations, so that they could claim two first-place titles.”
The crowd let out a collective scoff, and then burst into laughter—it was a fanciful notion, but an amusing one.
After it became known that Pei Shaohuai was Northern Guest, the further word spread that Pei Shaohuai had spent two years studying in the south, absorbing the strengths of both northern and southern literary traditions, and had thereby achieved such a well-rounded and polished style in his essays. This sparked a fashion for scholarly exchange between north and south, with scholars coming and going between the various guild halls in lively interaction.
……
That day, Pei Shaohuai and Jiang Ziyun arranged to meet for tea at a teahouse for a leisurely conversation, and over the course of their talk, Pei Shaohuai came to learn just how close-run a thing it had been for Jiang Ziyun to make the list.
It turned out that Jiang Ziyun’s paper had originally been rejected by the room examiner, with the annotated reason for rejection being “insufficient breadth of experience and insight”—his policy essays had not gone deep enough, and his exposure to the wider world had been too limited. Afterward, when Grand Secretary Shen was checking through the rejected papers, he went through them one by one with the deputy chief examiner, and Jiang Ziyun’s classical essays caught Grand Secretary Shen’s eye.
After reading the full paper, Grand Secretary Shen remarked: “The policy essays are admittedly somewhat lacking, but the classical scholarship is pure and proper, and the character and temperament of the person shine clearly through the page. Strength and weakness complement one another—he should be accepted.” He thus moved Jiang Ziyun’s paper into the accepted pile, where it was ultimately ranked two hundredth.
This sort of occurrence happened once or twice at every Imperial Examination, to demonstrate that the examiners had not overlooked worthy talent.
“It was sheer luck, truly,” Jiang Ziyun laughed.
“It was not luck,” Pei Shaohuai shook his head and replied. “Brother Ziyun gave everything he had and took what he could do to its absolute limit—something most people are incapable of.”
In terms of classical composition alone, Jiang Ziyun was no less accomplished than Pei Shaohuai.
Constrained by his background and temperament, not everyone was capable of being well-rounded in all areas. Taking what one excelled at and bringing it to its absolute limit was itself a strategy.
Turning to the subject of the Palace Examination, Jiang Ziyun shook his head with an easy equanimity. “I have never been good at policy essays—in the Palace Examination, I will surely end up near the bottom. To receive the third-tier associate presented scholar degree this time around is enough for me.”
He also laughed and said: “I had originally planned that if I failed to pass this year’s examinations, I would stop drifting any longer. After completing my full credits at the Imperial Academy, I would start from assistant county magistrate upward—there was nothing wrong with that path either. Now, assistant magistrate has become county magistrate; I no longer have to earn my credits one by one; and I’ve gone up a rank in grade as well. What more is there to be dissatisfied with? My only hope is that once I am in office, I can lead the constables and the people to wipe out those scoundrels who kill and harm people’s lives… I heard of Pei Zhizhou’s accomplishments in Jiangnan—it is truly admirable.”
Jiang Ziyun’s father and mother had been killed by mountain bandits on their journey home.
The two men raised their cups and drank in place of wine, using only tea.
……
……
In the customs of Da Qing matrimony, the one thing that could not be absent was a pair of wild geese.
A pair of geese keeps faith, following one another and never straying. Geese fly in formation—riding the wind together. Geese fly in rank, with elder and younger in their proper order.
The six rites of marriage were: the formal proposal, the inquiry of the name, the acceptance of the auspicious omen, the presentation of betrothal gifts, the announcement of the date, and the welcoming of the bride. Before the formal proposal, one first needed to engage a matchmaker to open the discussion.
On a carefully chosen auspicious day, the Pei family engaged an official matchmaker to carry the pair of geese and the red calling card to the Yang family to formally inquire about the match. The Yang family then accepted the geese and the red card, and handed the official matchmaker Yang Shiyue’s birth date and characters, to be conveyed back to the Pei family.
With red cards exchanged in this manner, forming a bond sealed by red leaves, the marriage agreement was officially settled.
At this point, the various households throughout the capital began to spread the word that the Pei and Yang families had formed a betrothal. It was joy upon joy: a newly acclaimed talent taking as his wife a young lady from a distinguished family—the timing was apt, and the match did nothing to diminish Pei Shaohuai’s reputation for talent and renown; rather, it added a few more shades of luster to him.
Several days later, the Ministry of Rites made an official announcement: in accordance with the Emperor’s schedule, the Palace Examination was set for half a month away, with all newly passed candidates to enter the court on the ninth day of the fourth month to receive the Emperor’s policy questions.
At this final stage, what mattered most was not reviewing one’s studies but adjusting one’s mindset—consolidating everything one had been thinking and deliberating, and focusing it all into a single answer paper.
Even if one wished to review one’s studies properly, there was in truth not much time for it. During this half-month, the Ministry of Rites would arrange for measurements to be taken, official robes to be tailored, and would also lead these three hundred and some candidates into the palace to be instructed in the proper ceremonies and the rules of conduct within the palace precincts—so that no errors would occur on the day of the examination.
What with all this coming and going, half the time had already passed.