Chapter Sixty-Three: The Announcement of Results

Originally, Xuan Yangzi had meant to say that water-based spells only needed to be lightly studied, and there was no need to exhaust oneself in mastering this path. After all, cultivating water-based techniques required a cost several times, or even many times greater, than that of other kinds of magic. Therefore, being fixated on water arts was simply not worth it; it was better to focus on other branches from the outset, supplementing with water as needed, which would be far more beneficial in the long run.

Almost every cultivator thought this way. Even if some stubborn souls persisted in walking the water path, the results were largely the same: only a rare few achieved anything of note, and even those could be counted on one hand. But just as he was voicing these thoughts, Xuan Yangzi witnessed a scene he could scarcely believe. At some point, Yi An had already passed him by—not merely that, but what stunned him most was the young man’s steady pace, gliding forward as if he were at one with the water, his foundation unwavering, leaving not a single ripple in his wake. This was a level of mastery attained only by those who had comprehended the water arts to their very essence.

In all honesty, Xuan Yangzi had to admit that even he paled in comparison. If he was merely discouraged before, now he found himself questioning the very meaning of cultivation. Unable to help himself, he asked, “Are you truly Yi An?”

Could it be some demon in disguise? The suspicion gnawed at him.

“Why do you ask, Master?” Yi An replied in innocent confusion.

He truly did not understand what “earth-shattering” feat he had accomplished. If he had known, perhaps he would have hidden some of his abilities for the sake of Xuan Yangzi’s pride.

Looking at the prodigy before him, Xuan Yangzi felt a deep bitterness well up inside. He sighed inwardly—how difficult this all was. Judging by Yi An’s demeanor, he seemed not to be feigning; it must have been Xuan Yangzi’s own imagination running wild.

He had always believed in the impartiality of the Great Way, that gain and loss balanced all things, and that heaven spared no one. But ever since he met Yi An, his faith had been shattered repeatedly. He could not help but curse the injustice of the heavens; at the rate Yi An was progressing, it would not be long before he caught up to him.

Now he understood: Yi An could not be measured by ordinary standards.

Even if Yi An did, in a few years, achieve what others took decades of hardship to reach, Xuan Yangzi would no longer be surprised—he was already numb to it. Having cultivated for most of his life, having witnessed many a prodigy, and having instructed countless talented juniors himself, he had never seen the like of Yi An, who, in just a few short days, had crossed thresholds others could not touch in a lifetime. It was truly disheartening.

This was beyond mere talent; no words could explain it.

At this thought, Xuan Yangzi silently vowed never again to compare his cultivation with Yi An’s—there was no need to torment himself so.

He harbored no masochistic inclinations.

Thus, this round of testing was quietly abandoned. Xuan Yangzi wore a perplexed expression, and Yi An looked equally innocent.

What had he done, after all? How had he provoked the displeasure of this elder? Though Xuan Yangzi tried not to show it, the storm brewing in his eyes was plain to see. The test had been Xuan Yangzi’s idea, and he had merely demonstrated as required. Unable to make sense of it, Yi An simply set these troublesome thoughts aside for the time being.

…

The following day finally arrived—the day the examination results were posted, and Hangzhou City was abuzz with excitement.

Countless scholars, unable to contain themselves, made their way at dawn to the site where the results would be announced. Not only that, but the scene was crowded with onlookers who had little direct involvement, all eager to catch a glimpse of the newly minted scholars and, most especially, to see who had taken first place.

Some were there in hopes of making a profit. As soon as the provincial exam had ended, gambling houses had opened wagers on the top three scholars. Not every candidate was included in these betting pools—only those with considerable renown or at least some reputation. Each had different odds.

For instance, the favorites were the celebrated talents of Jingyuan Academy and several long-famous scholars of Hangzhou. Their odds ranged from one-to-one to one-to-five—not especially high. As the saying goes, “There are no undeserving men beneath a great reputation.” Barring any surprises, the top scholar would almost certainly be chosen from among them, as had always been the case; rarely did dark horses appear.

Those with less impressive or more obscure names, by contrast, had far higher odds—at least one-to-ten, and sometimes as high as one-to-several dozen. Many gamblers, eager to chase that slim chance, would place risky bets on the long shots.

It was worth noting that Yi An’s name appeared among the odds, listed at one-to-six. Apparently, his victory at the previous literary gathering had been quite impressive. Without that event, his name might not have appeared at all.

Accompanying Yi An was Li Zhihe, who, from his anxious manner, seemed even more nervous than Yi An himself.

Yi An noticed that Li Zhihe kept glancing surreptitiously at the betting tables. Unable to restrain his curiosity, he asked, “Brother Li, did you also place a wager?”

Li Zhihe replied heartily, “I have faith in your learning, Brother Yi! When I saw the odds, it was as if money was being handed to me. So I placed a little bet. Even if it doesn’t come through, you mustn’t feel any pressure—just take it as your old friend’s way of supporting you.”

Yi An could only smile wryly. Even he himself was uncertain—passing the exam was almost assured, but securing a top-three position was much less certain. With no way of knowing the true caliber of his rivals, it was impossible to judge the outcome.

Still, seeing the anticipation shining in Li Zhihe’s eyes, he refrained from saying anything that might dampen their spirits.

“It seems we’re still late,” Li Zhihe said with a sigh, surveying the sea of people outside the government office. “We can’t even get close to the announcement board—looks like we’ll just have to wait and see.”

“When the time comes, someone will read the names aloud. If not, we need only wait a little longer,” Yi An said with a smile.

At that moment, a woman approached and inquired, “This young gentleman, so distinguished in bearing, have you come to see the results posted?”

Yi An was momentarily taken aback, unable to fathom her purpose.