The academy’s ball court was filled with tables and chairs. Those scholars who had received number plates entered the examination grounds in sequence. Fortunately, today a layer of clouds drifted across the sky—not too thick—blocking the scorching sunlight above the cloud layer. With mountain breezes blowing through, the examination grounds were pleasantly cool.

Li Gang held a roll of paper in his hands, standing on the elevated platform addressing the three hundred twenty-six young scholars: “Heaven bears witness, Yushan Academy will be fair and impartial. The thick earth is our judge, Yushan Academy will treat all equally. Whether you are sons of officials or scholars from humble families, whether you are distinguished disciples of famous masters or self-taught achievers, as long as you score above sixty points, you may enter Yushan to study. If we violate this oath, may all the gods abandon us.”

As his words fell, a thick incense stick was lit. The academy instructors standing below the platform began distributing exam papers, requiring the scholars to first fill in their place of origin and name, after which the instructors personally covered the names and origins with paper strips. Only after grading the papers would they remove the covering strips. There simply wasn’t time for transcription copies—it would have to be this way. Next time there would be specialized personnel to transcribe the papers.

This measure caused Ma Zhou’s pupils to contract slightly. Seeing Yun Ye watching him with a smile, his old face flushed red as he lowered his head to write his place of origin and name. Instructor Jin Zhu, expressionless, covered the paper with a strip, then continued to cover the names for the next examinee.

Ma Zhou saw there were only three questions on the exam paper. The first was: “Fish, I so desire; bear’s paw, I also so desire. If the two cannot both be obtained, I would forgo fish and take bear’s paw. Now I wish to obtain both—how might this be achieved?”

What kind of strange question was this? Ma Zhou broke out in sweat, because the next line was a comparison between life and integrity. Confucius spoke of benevolence, Mencius spoke of righteousness—no one had ever told him that one should have both moral integrity *and* life. Wasn’t that too greedy?

He continued reading. Fortunately, the other questions followed conventional meaning. He decided not to look at the first question and concentrate on answering the latter two well. These posed no difficulty for him. When the incense had burned to less than half, he had already answered those two questions splendidly. After triple-checking, he finally turned his attention back to the first question.

Those who had the confidence to recommend themselves for the academy exam were no weaklings—there were no opportunists trying to slip through. Tang Dynasty scholars all held learning in reverence; there were no shameless people deceiving themselves on this matter.

When the incense had burned halfway, the scholars in the examination grounds all wore mournful faces, frowning deeply. Even with the courage of heaven, they wouldn’t dare choose to be fence-sitters. On this question, it was either right or wrong—there was no middle path to walk.

Yun Ye sighed. The rigidity of thought prevented them from daring to cross the boundary even one step. Yet they didn’t realize that politics had always been about seeking common ground while preserving differences, constantly demanding, constantly compromising, finally reaching consensus. There was nothing in this world that couldn’t be negotiated—this was the most basic quality of an official.

Without these qualities, one couldn’t be a good official. Li Gang had initially disagreed with Yun Ye including this question. Without moral backbone, could literati still be called literati? He extremely despised this unprincipled, politician’s approach of stopping at nothing to achieve goals. Only under Yun Ye’s repeated insistence had he added this question.

If Li Er were here, he would understand Yun Ye. Fang Xuanling would understand too, as would Zhangsun Wuji, because this was exactly how they operated. The saying went: “Excessive rigidity cannot last long, excessive softness cannot defend.” They deeply grasped this principle.

The Great Tang was overly rigid, while the later Song Dynasty was overly soft. One fell apart in slaughter, the other ultimately perished at Yashan. Yun Ye desperately wanted to instill the spirit of negotiation into Tang officials. When one’s own people had issues, sitting down to talk was far better than raising knives to each other’s heads. The military was the last resort for dialogue and shouldn’t be used lightly. Protecting the nation and defending the homeland was their duty. If military and political powers were completely separated, could it avoid the aftereffects of regional commanders wielding unchecked power?

It didn’t matter if they couldn’t answer. Yun Ye clenched his fist—he still had time, at least fifty years he could utilize. He refused to believe they couldn’t learn to sit down and negotiate properly, to safeguard the people and open up living space for them. That was what the military should do. Politics was inherently incompatible with the military—they should only appear in the great desert, wilderness, jungle, or at sea, not clustered around Chang’an.

“You are a free person, with a mysterious origin and an obscure destination. Having some strange ideas isn’t surprising. Though this old man doesn’t know why you must include this peculiar question, I can see you’re in great pain. The reason I agreed to let you do this is to let you see the reality clearly—how powerful the force of habit is. If you want to challenge it, the consequences are more terrifying than a mantis trying to stop a chariot.”

“You needn’t worry about the ensuing criticism. I’ve told the other instructors that this question tests the students’ moral character. Once they choose to answer this question and seek a solution, no matter how excellent their results, the academy will reject them, giving them no opportunity.”

Li Gang’s voice slowly arose from behind Yun Ye. This old man was always indulgent toward him. Even knowing it was wrong, he would let him try, then step forward to clean up the mess when things became irreparable.

The political theories of later generations might not yet suit the current social environment. Northern Europe, where these concepts first emerged, was still in a primitive, barbaric society—still full of axe-wielding bandits who raided everywhere, shouting wildly as they took pleasure in rape and murder.

How boring. Europe was still under the rule of madmen. The Pope had just burned down the Roman library. Countless principalities were slaughtering each other. Knights wore tin-can armor and jabbed at each other with eight-foot-long brittle wooden lances.

The Bible was still written on sheepskin—to write a story, you first had to slaughter sheep. Yun Ye suddenly felt he had put the cart before the horse. The ancestors never lacked sages. What was he doing playing the arrogant fool here?

Was his learning more profound than Old Master Li Gang’s? Was his will stronger than Li Er’s? Li Er had killed so many sons and daughters—if it were him, he’d have gone mad long ago. He wholeheartedly wanted to change the Great Tang, yet didn’t realize the Great Tang was also changing him. Were those theories from later generations really correct? Not necessarily. At least now, Tang subjects might be the happiest subjects in the world, even though most still couldn’t fill their bellies.

Tang officials at this time were also the most incorruptible. When locusts came, someone leaped into a sea of fire to take responsibility. When Chang’an burned, someone locked themselves in a room and burned to death. What more could he ask of them? Even now, when good schools appeared and his subjects couldn’t enjoy them, didn’t officials storm to his door to argue? Completely disregarding that standing before them were a Grand Tutor and a National Marquis, they dared to point at his nose and roar. Only after the academy promised to build an elementary school did they respectfully apologize. Though when leaving, he quietly mentioned hoping his eldest son could study at the academy and sent Yun Ye several carts of fresh tea leaves. Even so, this was already the most conscientious county magistrate Yun Ye had encountered in two lifetimes.

When Chengqian ascended the throne, he’d just tell him about the dangers of regional commanders and let him handle it as he pleased. As for himself, he only needed to pass down the precious natural sciences he knew to be a generation’s grandmaster—a true grandmaster, not that fake one who hid in a small courtyard with his aunt making babies all day.

“Master Li, anyone who answers the first question must definitely be rejected,” Yun Ye said with a brilliant smile, deliberately emphasizing to Li Gang: “Must definitely be rejected!”

Old Li’s eyebrows seemed to dance as he stroked his beard with great satisfaction, repeating Yun Ye’s words: “Definitely rejected.” Having said this, the two burst into hearty laughter, leaving the examinees looking at each other in confusion, at a loss.

Ten thousand thoughts swirled through Ma Zhou’s mind. Though surviving in the cracks was extremely difficult, it wasn’t without solutions—only that no matter what he did, he couldn’t avoid the premise of compromising righteousness.

He had an excellent impression of the academy. Yesterday, Yun Ye’s encouraging words had greatly boosted his confidence. Xu Jingzong’s meal token had resolved his most desperate predicament. A night in the library had made him fall in love with the academy’s vast ocean of books. Even the academy’s most delicious buns couldn’t make him put down the books in his hands. Without sleeping all night, he had only read two of those treasured books. Even with his photographic memory, he couldn’t finish reading all the classics in one night.

The anonymous grading of exams had dispelled his last trace of anxiety. Gazing at the green mountains and blue waters, bathed in cool breezes—this was a land of immortals, the ivory tower of every scholar’s dreams. But alas, it had no connection with him. His heart ached terribly, tears flowing uncontrollably.

Yet the brush in his hand remained steady. A line of large characters appeared on the paper: “Fish, I so desire; bear’s paw, I also so desire. If the two cannot both be obtained, I would forgo fish and take bear’s paw. Life, I also so desire; righteousness, I also so desire. If the two cannot both be obtained, I would forgo life and take righteousness.”

As he finished writing, he seemed to have had his spine removed, collapsing onto the desk, hand clenched in a fist. The academy’s exquisite writing brush was unconsciously broken by him, ink staining his wrist pitch black. He only felt as if he had abandoned the most beautiful thing in history. His chest felt wooden—truly wishing for death.

Some of the other students also stopped hesitating, writing furiously, unconsciously reciting aloud, their voices growing louder and louder: “Fish, I so desire; bear’s paw, I also so desire. If the two cannot both be obtained, I would forgo fish and take bear’s paw. Life, I also so desire; righteousness, I also so desire. If the two cannot both be obtained, I would forgo life and take righteousness.”

Li Gang stood up from his chair, looking at the scholars below and asking: “Has anyone answered the first question?”

The grounds were silent as a grave. Li Gang raised his voice and asked again: “Has anyone answered the first question?” Still no one responded. Li Gang said nothing more, only staring at the incense stick. When the last wisp of smoke dissipated from the incense tip, Li Gang picked up the exam paper, slowly tore it into two pieces, tossed them into the air, and said with a smile: “The latter two questions were very simple, worth only thirty points. The first question was the most difficult, worth a full seventy points. Children, when facing your true hearts, you made the most correct choice. Not answering was the best answer. Yushan Academy believes that nobility of character is true nobility. Children, lacking learning is nothing—just study. Lacking character is the greatest incompleteness—that cannot be learned.”

“Welcome, new students of the academy. You are all qualified good children. The academy welcomes you.”

There wasn’t much cheering, but rather more wailing and sobbing. This was an interrogation of the soul—for Yun Ye, for Ma Zhou, and for everyone.