Xu Yancheng froze again, momentarily unsure whether he had misspoken or whether Zhan Qingyuan was simply hearing only what he wanted to hear.
At a loss for how to respond, he could only give an awkward smile and offer no further explanation.
After Zhan Qingyuan left in high spirits, about half an hour passed before the second round of submissions opened. Another group of candidates who had handed in their papers emerged, among them the Huai and Jin brothers.
After Pei Shaohuai met up with Xu Yancheng and saw that it was still early, he instructed his servant Changzhou to return to the Earl’s residence and relay a message: the two brothers would first visit the Xu family to report their exam performance to their teacher, and would return home later.
This was a gesture of respect toward one’s teacher—perfectly proper.
The Huai and Jin brothers boarded the Xu family carriage. With three young men sharing the same compartment, it was inevitable that they would discuss the exam questions of the day, just as they often did when studying together.
Xu Yancheng said, “For that regulated verse question, I thought it over and over. Since it was hard to capture the intended spring imagery, I simply abandoned that angle and instead focused on its function, writing: ‘In mid-spring the yellow calyx falls, beneath the vast sky new sweetness drips.’ I’m not sure if such an approach counts.”
Pei Shaohuai praised him, “Of course it counts—and your interpretation is ingenious. You can rest easy.”
“I thought the same as my elder brother,” Pei Shaojin added. “Compared to the two of you, my poem feels rather mediocre. I finally understand why our teacher always urged me to go out and experience things firsthand—capturing artistic conception is truly a discipline.”
Xu Yancheng then asked, “Do you think many candidates will fail this year because of the ‘yellow flowers’ topic? After all, there’s ‘chrysanthemum wine on the Double Ninth’ and ‘year after year I fail the chrysanthemum tryst’—it’s only natural to interpret ‘yellow flowers’ as autumn chrysanthemums.”
“Not necessarily,” Pei Shaojin shook his head. Having the best memory among them, he explained, “Two years ago, this exact topic appeared in the Jiangnan provincial exam, and a large number of candidates failed because of it. That line ‘yellow flowers scattered like gold’ became widely discussed… I imagine teachers in other academies must have explained this example too.”
Pei Shaohuai agreed, “Jin is right. By reusing this topic, the magistrate isn’t just testing poetic skill—he’s also testing whether students stay informed about past exams. Besides, the county exam is only the first stage; grading isn’t too strict. Even if your poem strays off-topic, as long as your essay is decent, you still have a chance to pass—just with a lower ranking.”
After returning to the Xu residence, the three boys reported their answers to their teacher, Master Duan.
The old scholar stroked his goatee and nodded repeatedly, his expression gentler than usual. In his evaluation, he offered only praise, not pointing out any shortcomings. Finally, he said:
“Shaohuai excels in both prose and poetry; Shaojin cites classics extensively, with deep and refined writing; Yancheng’s approach is clever and original… Your diligent studies have not been in vain. You may now prepare for the next exams with peace of mind.”
“Yes, Teacher,” the three boys replied happily.
This was, after all, their first step on the imperial examination path. To receive such praise meant they had made a steady start.
Only by taking each step steadily could they go far.
While some rejoiced, others worried.
When Zhan Qingyuan returned home and reported his answers to his grandfather, he proudly recited his line:
“Autumn’s chill quietly seeps into the night; the city blooms with yellow flowers.”
He had cleverly adapted phrases like “stealthily entering the night with the wind” and “the whole city clad in golden armor,” expecting praise.
His academic ability was indeed not poor.
Unexpectedly, Lord Zhan’s expression darkened, and he scolded him:
“Didn’t your teacher tell you about the Jiangnan autumn exam? Though the topic is somewhat unusual, it has already been tested—how could you forget its origin?”
Zhan Qingyuan’s heart sank. Only then did he recall that the Jiangnan exam had indeed used this very topic. No wonder the phrase “yellow flowers scattered like gold” had seemed so familiar.
The matter was already settled. Lord Zhan could only comfort him:
“Your essays are still good. You won’t fail outright. Keep your composure and prepare for the remaining exams… just learn from this lesson.”
That night, the city lay dark and quiet.
Inside the examination compound, however, it was brightly lit like daytime. Stacks of papers towered like mountains. To grade them all within two days and finalize the rankings was no easy task.
Magistrate Shen and several examiners were hard at work.
Though the county exam was not overly strict, the top candidates’ papers had to be submitted to the prefectural governor for review. This could not be taken lightly—especially in the capital region, where multiple counties competed.
Who wouldn’t want to stand out?
The quality of exam papers reflected not only a county’s scholarly culture but also the magistrate’s performance. Magistrate Shen naturally took this seriously, hoping for promising candidates who would bring him honor.
After two days of hard work, he was not disappointed.
On the third day after the main exam, crowds gathered outside the examination compound—servants from various households and townspeople alike—all waiting to see the results. The place buzzed with noise and excitement.
When the list was posted, the crowd surged forward.
The list was arranged in concentric circles like a large cake, with three rings in total. Only seat numbers were listed, not names, so candidates had to look carefully.
The innermost circle had ten people. The very center—“Seat 13, First Rank”—was the top scorer.
The second ring contained sixty names.
These seventy formed the A-list.
The outermost ring had eighty names, forming the B-list.
Whether on the A-list or B-list, all 150 candidates had passed the main exam and qualified for the prefectural exam. However, to achieve a high overall ranking, they still had to pass subsequent rounds.
Before the servant went to check the list, Xu Yancheng calmly said,
“Start from the third position in the inner circle to find my seat number.”
He had a clear sense of his ranking—his poem was slightly better than Shaojin’s, but his essay was not.
Changzhou, being literate, had gone early to check. He quickly spotted two seat numbers together and excitedly rushed back to report.
Zhan Qingyuan was pleasantly surprised to find that despite going off-topic in his poem, he still ranked in the middle of the second circle. He felt he still had a chance to improve in the later rounds.
As for Pei Shaohuai, Pei Shaojin, and Xu Yancheng ranking near the top—that was only natural. After all, most candidates at this stage were teenagers like themselves.
The real difficulty of the examination system lay ahead.
The next day, the second round began.
Fewer than eighty candidates attended. Many had not made the lists, while others who had passed knew they had little chance at top rankings and chose instead to focus on the upcoming prefectural exam.
This round had an interesting rule: seating was now arranged according to ranking, allowing examiners to observe top candidates more closely.
As dawn broke, Xu Yancheng arrived again—and once more encountered Zhan Qingyuan.
“I went off-topic on the ‘yellow flowers’ question and had to sit in the B section. Quite a lesson,” Zhan said.
Xu Yancheng understood his true meaning—even off-topic, I still ranked decently—and replied politely,
“The B section is still a good position. Perhaps you’ll move up to the A section next round.”
When the Huai and Jin brothers arrived, the three entered together.
As soon as they stepped inside, someone’s gaze followed them.
Zhan Qingyuan was first surprised that the brothers had even come—hadn’t he heard their scholarship was poor? Then he watched in shock as they passed row after row and walked straight to the very front.
Pei Shaohuai sat in the first seat. Pei Shaojin in the second.
Zhan Qingyuan’s expression shifted from shock to anger, then to shame. His face flushed red, his earlier pride completely gone.
Xu Yancheng saw this and sighed softly, muttering, “Truly disgraceful,” before taking his own seat and ignoring the burning glare behind him.