After completing the provincial examinations, Pei Shaohuai returned to the mansion and rested comfortably for several days.
The servants and matrons in the courtyard, knowing their young master was in quiet recovery, even lightened their footsteps considerably, fearful of disturbing him.
Having been confined in those narrow cubicles for nine full days, now that he had “seen the light of day again,” Pei Shaohuai found himself noticing for the first time how soft and comfortable his own bed was, how refreshing the gentle breeze that drifted in through the small window before his writing desk, and how the chill carried by the morning autumn dew was not unpleasant at all.
A biological clock built over more than a decade meant that rising early had become second nature.
Pei Shaohuai draped a robe over his shoulders, lit the oil lamp, and listened to the occasional crowing of roosters drifting in from outside, while several wisps of osmanthus fragrance found their way to him, instantly dispelling the stale air that had accumulated in the room overnight — it was just as the verse said: “In the early light, the window not yet opened, a fine flower has claimed an entire autumn’s fragrance to itself.”
If one were to name the first scent of autumn, it would surely be the delicate, secluded perfume of the osmanthus.
For a moment, Pei Shaohuai realized that fifteen autumns had already passed. Even though he had been reading hard and pressing forward ahead of schedule, he had only reached the autumn examinations at this point — and whether he would pass or not was still unknown.
Pei Shaohuai smiled to himself with a touch of self-deprecation. He could not help but think of the Poet Immortal’s line: “The road to Shu is hard — harder than ascending to the azure sky.” Surely the path of the civil examinations was no easier than the road to Shu.
He had intended to do his morning reading as usual, but the writing desk was bare and empty. Lin Shi had worried her son would not rest properly, so she had already sent someone to put away the Four Books, the Five Classics, the collected examination essays, and all the other books and scrolls in advance.
Pei Shaohuai rummaged through his book chest and found one remaining volume of poetry that had been overlooked, opened it, and read through it for amusement.
Once the day had fully brightened, Pei Shaohuai sent someone to the Rongxuan shop to buy some osmanthus cakes, then went to Hehe Tower to collect two flasks of osmanthus wine, and carried everything along with him to the Xu household.
In the study hall, Pei Shaojin and Xu Yancheng were bent over their desks writing essays, their expressions focused and intent, while the tutor sat separately explaining the meaning of words and sentences to little Yan Gui.
The desk and chair where Pei Shaohuai used to sit stood empty and unoccupied, yet the desktop had not a speck of dust.
Pei Shaohuai stood outside the window and watched quietly for a long while, and only after Master Duan had dismissed class did he dare to go in and pay his respects.
“Eldest Brother, you’re here.” Pei Shaojin said cheerfully. “Have you had enough rest? Is your body still feeling fatigued?… I wanted to come find you yesterday, but I was afraid of disturbing your recovery.”
When Pei Shaojin had gone to meet his eldest brother at the examination grounds, he had seen many candidates on the street so weakened they had fainted, and others who were carried out of the examination grounds on stretchers. This had predisposed him to assume that his eldest brother too would need half a month to recover.
After all, the medical clinics in the city were still full of patients, several days after the preliminary examinations had ended.
“It was just one sitting of examinations — as long as you prepare thoroughly enough, and follow a disciplined approach during the examination itself, two or three days of rest is all you need to recover.” Pei Shaohuai said with a smile.
Xu Yancheng pushed forward to seize the floor, teasing him: “You only say ‘prepare thoroughly,’ but you don’t say how to prepare thoroughly. If you don’t explain it in detail today, we won’t let it go.” Three years from now, it would be his and Pei Shaojin’s turn to sit for the autumn examinations.
Pei Shaojin also said: “Exactly — if we develop good habits now, when we sit for the autumn examinations in the future we’ll be unshaken, and that will give us a better chance.”
Pei Shaohuai mentioned only one point — to exercise one’s body regularly in daily life — and shared with them the training methods he himself used.
Pei Shaojin and Xu Yancheng were thoroughly convinced, and nodded their agreement.
Little Yan Gui squeezed over as well, craning his head to look up at Pei Shaohuai and saying: “Little Uncle, what about me? Should I train too?”
“It’s not your time yet.” Pei Shaohuai habitually gave little Yan Gui’s cheek a pinch and said: “You just listen to your mother — eat well, drink well, sleep well, and grow nice and tall. And listen to your tutor, absorb and remember your lessons well, and build a solid foundation in your studies.”
Master Duan watched the students chatting happily and smiled with quiet satisfaction.
Afterward, Pei Shaohuai spoke with the tutor in detail about how he had answered the questions. Master Duan assessed: “This is no less than your usual standard — in fact, it may be a notch higher. In my view, it can be counted among the finest work. However, the grading of provincial examination papers has an element of fate and fortune to it — keep a level head, and wait calmly for the osmanthus roll to be announced.”
“Your student understands.”
……
……
To the south of the examination grounds there stood an independent courtyard — its walls over ten chi high, without a single window, sealed airtight, with only one gate, guarded layer upon layer by military officers and their men.
A couplet hung at the gate, reading: “Numbers ranked east and west, two streams of literary brilliance shoot toward the stars; the curtain divides inner from outer, not a whisper of collusion passes through.” [1]
The upper couplet extolled the candidates’ brilliant talents, as if their radiance illuminated the very examination grounds. The lower couplet declared that the officials outside the curtain and those inside must maintain clear boundaries, and must have no communication with each other, ensuring fairness and impartiality in the grading of papers.
Those responsible for grading the papers were the officials inside the curtain.
Several days had passed since the grading began. In each room, the rejected papers had piled up like mountains; on the first page of each paper was written the reason for rejection — things like “the opening of the question is off-point,” “the tonal pattern is flawed and the essay does not read smoothly,” “the central argument is too shallow,” and so forth. For papers written acceptably, the chamber examiner or chief reader might add a few more comments, such as “next time do not misuse allusions” or “the early legs of the essay are adequate, but the closing legs fall short” and so on.
As for the papers recommended for advancement, each chamber had no more than twenty or thirty at most.
All the recommended papers were then compiled together, and from three or four hundred papers, the finest were selected — these would be the ones who had passed the provincial examinations.
Today, the two chamber examiners responsible for grading Spring and Autumn Annals papers — Examiner Yu and Examiner Fang — each brought out the finest paper from their own room to discuss together and judge their relative merits.
The paper Examiner Yu brought out was that very “Spring and Autumn Annals, Paper Number Nineteen” that had made his eyes light up.
The two exchanged papers and read.
In less than half a quarter-hour — after reading through it once — Examiner Fang said directly: “Brother Yu, there is no need for further discussion. Paper Number Nineteen from your chamber is clearly the superior work — its conception is lofty and far-reaching, its technique subtle and ingenious. It should rightly be elevated as the top paper among the Spring and Autumn Annals candidates, to contend with the other four classics’ top papers for this year’s overall top honors.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Examiner Yu said. “Tomorrow, when recommending the top paper of each classic to Deputy Minister Zhang, I hope Brother Fang will also speak up on my behalf.”
“Naturally — we share the same Spring and Autumn Annals chamber, so our glory is shared.” Examiner Fang laughed. “The number of candidates who choose the Spring and Autumn Annals as their foundational classic grows fewer every year, and our papers always end up ranked last among the five classics. It’s about time we made our mark this year.”
Both chamber examiners were of the ranked scholar degree and had been immersed in scholarship for many years — they had a keen eye for judging literary quality.
……
The following day, in the main hall, Chief Examiner Deputy Minister Zhang sat in the center with the five papers, each from a different foundational classic, spread out before him. Behind them lay the thirteen papers that had already been eliminated from contention for the top spot — eighteen in total, one paper recommended from each chamber.
The candidates with the Book of Songs, Book of Rites, and Book of Documents as their foundational classics were the most numerous, and the top honor most often came from among those three classics. The chamber examiners responsible for these three classics each held forth at length, the discussion growing increasingly heated.
The three chamber examiners for the Book of Changes, knowing they had no hope of claiming the top honor, sat quietly to one side, waiting for Deputy Minister Zhang to speak.
Examiners Yu and Fang also joined the “battle.”
After a good while, Deputy Minister Zhang finally spoke: “I have read these papers — they are all very fine. However…”
All the chamber examiners straightened their expressions and listened attentively.
“For a long time now, there has been an entrenched practice in the provincial and metropolitan examinations of examiners paying attention only to the first session’s papers, which has led candidates likewise to fixate solely on the first session’s eight-legged essays. In the second and third sessions, many have resorted to cribbing stock phrases to muddle through, having never read many essential historical texts and classical works, and remaining wholly ignorant when it comes to responding to questions on current affairs. His Majesty has said: ‘Only those who are broadly versed in ancient and modern affairs and have a clear understanding of the rise and fall of dynasties are truly worthy talents.’ Is it not at odds with His Majesty’s words to select talent solely on the basis of eight-legged essays? The time has come to correct this long-standing bad practice.”
“It is my view that, while we still have a little time, the chambers should go to the trouble of reviewing the second and third session papers of all the candidates. Any candidate whose legal judgments show rote copying of the Great Qing Code without independent reasoning, or who commits errors in adjudication, shall not be selected. Any candidate whose policy response essay is hollow and empty, consisting entirely of empty rhetoric from start to finish, shall likewise not be selected. Only those whose papers across all three sessions — every paper, every question — are of high quality, shall have the qualifications to contend for the top honors.”
Having spoken, silence fell over the room — the workload this entailed was no small thing.
Deputy Minister Zhang turned his head and asked the associate examiner: “Sacrificial Wine, what do you think?”
The Sacrificial Wine nodded first, then said: “The Imperial Academy, entrusted by His Majesty with the task of nurturing Imperial Academy students, requires them not only to write essays in their daily studies, but also to study arithmetic and natural investigation, to read historical texts and policy documents, and moreover to go out into the field for practical training and experience. I believe the provincial examinations and the Imperial Academy are alike in purpose — that of selecting talent — and the guiding philosophy should be consistent.”
The associate examiner also agreed.
The chamber examiners all bowed in assent and spoke in unison: “We receive and shall carry out your orders.”
Examiner Yu had initially harbored some misgivings, but after reading the second and third session papers of Paper Number Nineteen, he was at once overcome with delight. The legal judgments were correct, the sentences refined and economical, and every question could be judged as excellent — and so he said to himself: “The top honor — our chamber has secured it.”
Several days later, the chief and associate examiners and the chamber examiners convened again, and all five candidates’ papers across the three sessions were laid out on the table.
After everyone had passed the papers around and read them one by one, the rankings were clear at a glance. The Spring and Autumn Annals candidate Paper Number Nineteen stood out across every paper and every question. If judged on the eight-legged essays alone, a few others might perhaps have been able to compete with him — but once the second and third session papers were added to the reckoning, none could match him.
Examiner Yu said: “This candidate’s technique is exquisite, his insights penetrating; the essay shows not the slightest trace of formulaic or ornate embellishment at the outset. I ask the chief examiner to review it.”
Deputy Minister Zhang read Paper Number Nineteen once more. Looking at the distinctive style and diction on the paper, he felt a vague sense of familiarity, but he did not dwell on it, saying: “Since all are in agreement, it saves the time of further debate. Let us declare this paper the top-ranked paper of the examinations. Let everyone work together to arrange the remaining rankings, and then unseal the papers and fill in the roll.”
“Yes, sir.”
……
……
On the twenty-ninth day of the eighth month, the day before the roll was to be posted, the Old Madam brought Lin Shi and Concubine Shen to the temple to make offerings, praying to the Star of Literary Brilliance to bless Pei Shaohuai with a name on the osmanthus roll the following day.
Before the temple of the Star of Literary Brilliance stood several ancient osmanthus trees, their branches hung with bamboo plaques on red cords, each carved with the name of a candidate.
A name hung on the osmanthus tree was a symbol of one’s name being inscribed on the osmanthus roll.
Everyone wanted to seek out some hope.
On the thirtieth day of the eighth month, early in the morning, the area before the main gate of the examination grounds was an ocean of people — packed so tightly not a drop of water could seep through. There were idle men crouching there to watch the postings and collect a share of the celebratory cash, there were servants and attendants from wealthy households, and there were also the many candidates who had passed a sleepless night and were straining their eyes in anxious anticipation, the crowd pressing together in a chaotic mass.
Pei Shaohuai and Jiang Ziyun and the others had come late, and could only look at the crowd and smile wryly.
Chang Zhou wanted to push his way in, but Pei Shaohuai stopped him, saying: “Since we’re already this close, there’s no harm in waiting a moment longer. Let’s wait out here and go look at the roll once the crowd has thinned.”
Since there was a teahouse on the street before the examination grounds, Pei Shaohuai proposed going there to wait for the roll to be posted.
Inside the teahouse, Pei Shaohuai ran into familiar faces — Pei Shaoyu and Pei Shaowen, the two brothers from the Minister’s mansion.
Pei Shaowen had the rank of a licentiate and had sat for this year’s provincial examinations; they had also come to wait for the roll.
This time, Pei Shaohuai took the initiative to step forward and greet them — the courtesies of public life still had to be observed.
He said: “My respects to Second Elder Cousin and Third Elder Cousin — it has been some time. Second Elder Cousin must have completed his period of confinement by now.”
Pei Shaoyu had learned his lesson from past stumbles and no longer dared look down on Pei Shaohuai. He replied: “Why would I have been confined? In the past while I simply wasn’t feeling well and stayed in the mansion to recuperate — I hadn’t been going out.”
“I see — I had believed the gossip circulating outside. Something about golden flies and fake flies — it really wasn’t right of me to listen to it. My apologies to Second Elder Cousin.” Pei Shaohuai said, and then feigned ignorance, asking: “Second Elder Cousin must be here accompanying Third Elder Cousin to look at the osmanthus roll?”
“Indeed,” Pei Shaoyu replied — the word “accompanying” left him with no face to show. He didn’t even have the rank of a licentiate, so naturally he could only play the role of the one who accompanied.
Pei Shaohuai continued: “Third Elder Cousin placed at the top of the preliminary examinations — surely the provincial examinations will be the same.”
Pei Shaowen was already feeling somewhat irritable and restless waiting for the roll, and his nerves were even more frayed given that he had once been bested by Pei Shaohuai. In a tone of suppressed anger he said: “Our table is full — find another table to sit at.” He was showing them the door.
He fully expected Pei Shaohuai to take the hint.
To his surprise, Pei Shaohuai did not move far away at all, but simply found an empty table nearby and sat down with Jiang Ziyun, Pei Shaojin, Xu Yancheng, and the others.
Before long, the main gates of the examination grounds opened. The bailiffs pushed back the pressing crowd, clearing a space, and the presiding officers came out carrying the long roll, working together to post it on the wall.
The candidates below the roll first held their breath and scanned from top to bottom, quickly searching for their own names. Those who didn’t find one in the first pass would look through again… After a while, the crowd began to grow “uproarious” — wailing and sobbing, beating their chests and stamping their feet, screaming to the heavens in a kind of madness — many, many of this sort. There were also candidates who, after failing, quietly turned and walked away. Truly all the manifold states of humanity were gathered within a few zhang of ground.
A hundred men to produce one — those who showed joy before the roll were not many.
Immediately after, word began to spread through the crowd about who had taken the top honor; the first name always drew the most attention. Unfortunately, in the clamor of the crowd, by the time the news had passed from mouth to mouth, people knew only that the top candidate’s family name was Pei.
One candidate ran into the teahouse and called out loudly: “This year’s top candidate is surnamed Pei!”
The teahouse erupted with lively chatter, everyone debating which prefecture or district this Pei came from — and in the end, it came down to the two well-known Pei families in the capital: the Pei of the Earl’s mansion, and the Pei of the Minister’s mansion.
No one yet knew which family had claimed the honor.
Pei Shaowen suddenly stood up, unable to hide the longing in his eyes. Glancing at the table next to him where Pei Shaohuai was sitting, there was also a trace of anxiety in his expression. He wanted to ask the candidate exactly which Pei it was, opened his mouth, and held himself back.
Xu Yancheng was growing excited, saying happily: “Shaohuai, could it be you? The top of the osmanthus roll.”
Jiang Ziyun also said: “Given Huai younger brother’s learning, it’s very possible.”
“Let’s wait just a moment longer. Someone will come to report soon enough — there’s no need for guessing. We don’t want to make fools of ourselves.” Pei Shaohuai said calmly, though inside he was also a little excited, and was keeping it in check.
Pei Shaowen could not wait, however, and instructed his personal attendant: “Go and look at the long roll.”
“Yes.”
But who could have known — the attendant had only just gone downstairs when another candidate came running into the teahouse, gasping for breath, and said: “I know, I know — I know what name the top candidate goes by…”
“What is the name?” Everyone was curious.
“Pei Shaohuai of Wanping County.”
Before Pei Shaohuai could even join his friends in celebration, Pei Shaowen’s body went limp and he collapsed back into his seat — had Pei Shaoyu not been quick enough to catch him, he very nearly would have crashed to the floor.
A look of defeat and desolation showed in his eyes.
Pei Shaoyu lowered his voice to console him: “Younger Brother, don’t be anxious — just being on the roll at all is something to be grateful for. There’s no need to compete for a moment’s glory.”
Pei Shaowen nodded numbly.
A moment later, Pei Shaowen’s personal attendant returned from looking at the roll. He had run back with sweat all over his head, his face flushed, and with halting speech said: “Third Young Master, I found your name…”
“What rank?” A faint gleam returned to Pei Shaowen’s eyes.
Having a name on the roll meant he had passed.
The attendant’s eyes shifted evasively, and he said: “First… in…”
How could there be two first-place names on the osmanthus roll? Unless someone had just now passed the wrong information. Pei Shaowen was about to ask further, when the attendant continued: “…on the supplementary roll.”
A buzzing sound rang in Pei Shaowen’s ears, and his eyes went blank.
Pei Shaoyu brought his palm sharply across the attendant’s face, scolded him furiously: “You tongueless thing — can’t even relay a simple message without muddling it? What use are you! Get out.” And then he hastened to support his brother, who looked ready to topple over.
First on the supplementary roll — what use was such a first place?
It might as well have been nothing.
One feared that outsiders would spread word that both Pei families had each claimed a first place — one first on the main roll, one first on the supplementary roll.
The irony was cutting and deep.