Chapter Sixty-Four: First Place

Before Yi An could answer, Li Zhihe, standing by, seemed to have seen through the woman’s intentions and said, “Brother Yi, we can’t linger here too long. Your wife is still waiting outside.”

“Oh… there’s no rush, the results should be announced soon. Let her wait a little longer—it won’t be a problem,” Yi An replied, momentarily taken aback. Though he couldn’t quite fathom what Li Zhihe was up to, he could glean a rough understanding from his behavior, so he simply went along with it.

“Very well, then,” Li Zhihe said thoughtfully.

For a moment, only the woman was left standing there, awkwardly caught between leaving and staying. She looked at Yi An with a face full of grievance.

Sensing her gaze, Yi An responded with a polite and composed smile. “Madam, what were you saying just now?”

“It’s nothing, really. I must have mistaken you for someone else,” the woman replied, her face betraying her discomfort, before quickly making her exit.

As soon as she left, Li Zhihe couldn’t suppress his laughter, although he tried to stifle it, making him appear as if he were choking on a drink.

Yi An waited for him to settle down before asking, “What was that woman after?”

Li Zhihe chuckled. “Brother Yi, you’re not exactly young anymore—it’s time to consider marriage. I noticed that woman had a fine figure, and she must have been quite the beauty in her youth. I’d wager her daughter’s no less attractive. Why not let me run after her and see what she thinks of you?”

Yi An seemed to grasp his meaning and, smiling, replied, “Brother Li, you’re much older than I am, and you haven’t married yet. Why should I be in a hurry? With your martial prowess, you’d make an excellent match for any lady. Why not go after her yourself? Perhaps she’d take a liking to you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Li Zhihe retorted. “All my life I’ve devoted myself to the pursuit of martial excellence—I have no time for romantic affairs. Besides, I’ve been wandering for over thirty years. If I were to marry, wouldn’t I just bring hardship to another? And now that I’m older, the thought doesn’t even cross my mind. My only wish is that, in this lifetime, I might glimpse the pinnacle of martial cultivation and fulfill my heart’s desire.”

His face brimmed with longing as he spoke. He had never intended to marry or raise a family, which had once greatly troubled his parents. In this era, filial piety dictated that to have no descendants was the gravest offense. Yet, since Li Zhihe remained unwilling, his parents could do nothing about it and, in time, simply let the matter drop.

Seeing Li Zhihe’s awkward expression, Yi An smiled and refrained from further teasing him on the subject.

After some inquiry, Yi An finally understood the real reason behind the woman’s visit.

To put it bluntly, the woman was here as a matchmaker of sorts—though for her own daughter, the role was much the same.

It turned out that, according to local custom, there was an unspoken tradition at the site where the examination results were posted. Women like her would come to look for promising young scholars. If they found someone suitable and the young man was agreeable, the match was nearly settled—provided, of course, that he had made the list. If he failed, no matter how handsome or upright, he would not receive a second glance.

The woman had been impressed by Yi An’s demeanor, thinking him the very image of a successful scholar, and so had approached to inquire. Little did she expect to encounter the peculiar pairing of Li Zhihe and Yi An.

In truth, there were many others like her, all from well-to-do families. Ordinary households were beneath their notice, deemed unworthy of their daughters.

In this society, where all pursuits were considered inferior to scholarship, the status of a government official was high indeed. Marrying a daughter to one was seen as an investment—if he went on to pass the higher examinations, the benefits were immeasurable. The daughter would become a noblewoman, and her family would prosper. Even if he didn’t advance further, the status of a scholar was still a respectable match.

That was why these women were so eager in their search.

And this was merely the announcement of the provincial exam results—when the results of the metropolitan examination were posted, the ranks of high officials and nobles in attendance would be even greater. At that level, ordinary wealthy families were no longer considered. This explains the enthusiasm surrounding the provincial results.

After about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the chief examiner Wan Songling, the deputy examiner Liu Xiqian, and several others appeared before the crowd, followed by a dozen or so county clerks carrying a tall wooden board, wrapped in red cloth—a festive sight that immediately drew every gaze. Countless candidates, their faces a mix of anticipation and anxiety, watched intently.

The air was thick with suspense, as if a single breath might shatter their hopes.

Some trembled so violently their faces turned pale, on the verge of fainting.

“Silence!” Wan Songling’s authoritative voice rang out, and the chaotic murmurs subsided. The throng of people strained to see above the heads of those in front.

Among them, the students of Jingyuan Academy stood at the very front.

Not just them—everyone’s eyes were fixed on the central spot, where the top name—the Provincial Champion—would be displayed.

Though all who passed would be scholars, the difference in rank was vast. The title of Provincial Champion from Jiangsu and Zhejiang was esteemed even in the capital.

But—

When the list was unveiled, many faces turned ashen.

Especially Huang Zongping of Jingyuan Academy. Though Yi An cared little for the ranking, Huang Zongping had secretly hoped to surpass him. But as soon as he saw the top name, his composure was lost. His chest tightened, his throat turned bitter. If not for sheer willpower, he might have spat blood on the spot.

The top spot did not bear his name.

If it had simply been someone else, he might have accepted it—there are always those more talented. But the name he saw was the last one he wanted to see.

Yi An!

It was him!

In that moment, Huang Zongping was truly shaken. Yi An’s poetry was already superb, but how could his essays on the classics also outshine all others?

If you’re so skilled at the classics, why did you pretend otherwise before?

Was it just to make a fool of me?