Chapter Forty-Two: The Ordeal of the Imperial Examinations

But there was no way around it. The provincial examination drew candidates from all over Jiangsu and Zhejiang, amounting to thousands, yet the examination hall’s space was limited. It was simply unrealistic to expect every participant to have ample room. Still, no matter how poor the conditions, countless people would brave the difficulties. The civil service exams were said to be harder than ascending to the heavens, and Yi’an could now truly appreciate the meaning behind those words.

Yi’an had already witnessed five or six candidates being escorted away by officials due to health problems. Without exception, those who fell ill were older scholars, already in their fifties or sixties. Their stamina was no longer what it once was, and after a full day and night of intense concentration, their condition deteriorated, leaving them with no choice but to fail.

On the second day, the provincial exam finally ended. Almost everyone wore an expression of relief, as if a great burden had been lifted. Ten years of hard study had all led to these brief two days. Now they need only wait for the results. If successful, they could proceed to the metropolitan examination and obtain the status of a "recommended man." If they failed, they would have to wait another three years for the next opportunity.

For most, even failing the metropolitan exam was not a disaster. In this era of scarce knowledge, becoming a recommended man already conferred numerous privileges. Unlike licentiates, recommended men could enter official service, usually taking up teaching or clerical assistant positions at the county or prefectural level, though a few might become county magistrates—albeit rarely.

Even so, such a position brought remarkable social status.

Moreover, recommended men enjoyed the basic privileges of exemption from taxes and corvée labor. Once a man passed, he was addressed as "master," and local farmers and merchants would flock to attach themselves to him, lowering their own status to that of tenant or servant, all to escape the extortion of tax collectors and yamen runners.

It was precisely because of these privileges that Master Chen had managed to amass a fortune of ten thousand taels in just a few years.

As he left the examination grounds, Yi’an encountered none of the unpleasantness that had marred his arrival. Huang Zongping, sensing the situation, kept out of sight. However, Yi’an did spot a disheveled figure—none other than Qin Menghui, who had fallen on hard times of late, becoming a pariah among scholars.

Even his former “bosom friends” had gradually distanced themselves.

His father, too, was thoroughly disappointed in him. For a time, Qin Menghui felt utterly abandoned by friends and family, with not a shred of warmth in his life. His performance in the provincial exam had plummeted; he was operating at barely seventy percent of his usual ability. Barring a miracle, he was certain to fail.

When he saw Yi’an, his first reaction was anger, but reality quickly reminded him that confronting Yi’an now would only humiliate himself further. However unwilling he was to accept it, he could only swallow his resentment. Over these days, many of his sharp edges had been worn away, and he seemed less spirited but more steady.

Yi’an returned home to find Wei Liang coming to greet him. “How did it go?” Wei Liang asked.

Before Yi’an could reply, Wei Liang continued, mumbling to himself, “But I suppose it should be fine. Even if you don’t make it into the top three, you’re almost certain to place at the bottom of the list.”

Yi’an was speechless.

How little faith did he have in him? Did he really think it impossible for Yi’an to place among the top three?

In truth, Yi’an felt he had done well. While self-assurance was often a product of self-deception, and Wei Liang likely thought the same, Yi’an chose not to argue. He simply smiled, accepting Wei Liang’s words as they were.

Li Zhihua interjected, “I think you underestimate Brother Yi. In my opinion, he’s far superior to those who deceive the world with empty reputations.”

Wei Liang didn’t argue, only shook his head with a smile. Li Zhihua’s view, he thought, was too simplistic. Talented men abounded in the world, and those who came to the provincial exam were the elite among scholars. Even if they were hypocrites, they were still cultured scoundrels; their flaws should not blind one to their abilities.

“The provincial exam is just the first hurdle,” Wei Liang said seriously. “To stand out in the metropolitan exam is far from easy. At the very least, you must place among the top ten recommended men from all of Jiangsu and Zhejiang, or else it’s nearly impossible. You’ll have to work even harder.”

Take the provincial exam as an example: there were over a thousand candidates from the Jiangsu-Zhejiang region, but only fifty were admitted—a mere one in twenty chance. In the metropolitan exam, the difficulty would only increase.

After all, the metropolitan exam gathered the best from all over the country. Compared to it, the provincial exam was a mere skirmish. The scrutiny during the metropolitan exam was far stricter. Each session drew over a thousand candidates, yet only one in twenty, or even fewer, succeeded. This showed just how rigorous the imperial selection process was.

Of course, corruption and favoritism were inevitable. Such things had occurred throughout history; money could make the world go round, especially in this era rife with corrupt officials. Fortunately, those officials knew how to keep it within limits—manipulating the lower ranks of the list, whose names were obscured by the brilliance of those at the top. Few paid attention to the lower-ranked candidates.

…

Usually, the results would be posted in a week. During these seven days, Yi’an was finally able to catch his breath. He devoted his spare time to practicing the Five Elements Daoist Arts, believing that mastery could only come with familiarity.

Practicing such arts in the crowded city was clearly inappropriate, so Yi’an thought of the wilderness east of the city, where he had first used the Earth Burrowing Technique. The place was deserted, surrounded by barren hills—perfect for quiet cultivation.

After a few rounds of Earth Burrowing and Fire Manipulation, his internal energy was soon drained.

An incense stick’s time later, Yi’an stood up, full of vigor. His skills were still shallow, so recovery didn’t take long. But if he broke through to the Origin-Returning stage, and his internal energy transformed into true essence, recovery would require at least several times as long as now.

Yi’an then went to the famous Zhe River outside Hangzhou, also called the Qiantang, to practice the Water-Repelling Technique. At first, he could only hold it for a few seconds before his clothes were soaked by the river. Achieving the state where not even a single leaf clung to him was still a distant goal.

“Compared to the other two, the Water-Repelling Technique is much harder,” he thought.

Still, he was undiscouraged. To rush after results would only hinder progress; the path of cultivation demanded patience and solitude.