Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Taking Brother’s Place

Little Nan wore her brother Li Xue Dong’s off-white homespun jacket and quilted pants. Her hair was twisted into a tight little bun at the crown of her head. With her chin tucked, she showed nothing but a slender neck and a frail outline—so mild and proper it almost hurt to look at.

She carried her exam basket to Teacher Gao. Holding her breath, she lifted her head—just enough to catch the indigo collar of his thin cotton robe. She didn’t dare look any higher.

Teacher Gao was about forty, refined and scholarly, his eyes gentle. He studied the timid “Li Xue Dong” before him and patted him with quiet sympathy. “Don’t be nervous. All right, you three, go in. Remember—don’t panic. Treat it like you’re back at school. Calm your mind, focus your thoughts. Go on.” After a few more reminders, he clasped his hands behind his back and watched the three of them enter.

This was the first round of the Juvenile Exam—the first sitting of the County Exam.

And Little Nan was taking it in her brother Li Xue Dong’s place.

This single day would decide whether the five siblings lived or died.

Little Nan kept to the back of the five-person guarantee group, copying the examinees ahead of her. When she reached the clerk, she set down her basket, spread her arms, and turned in a circle as instructed. The clerk didn’t even lift his head—he only waved her through.

Only then did Little Nan dare to breathe. She pressed her lips together, forcing the corners of her mouth still.

She’d made it past the first gate.

The County School’s main courtyard served as the exam hall, lined with only about a hundred desks. By the time the examinees found their seats, the sky had fully brightened. Clerks moved down the rows with stern faces, laying papers on desks one by one.

Little Nan broke the lacquer seal and looked first at the Investigation of Things paper.

A simple counting problem. A basic heads-and-legs puzzle. One Changes-number problem. One question about physical principles. Every one of them was easy.

Her fingers tightened until the paper crinkled.

She couldn’t do this paper.

Li Xue Dong had never studied Investigation of Things. Worse, she didn’t even know what methods this world expected for a heads-and-legs question, or what kind of explanation they wanted for a “physics” problem. What should have been her greatest advantage had to be abandoned, and it felt like swallowing a stone.

She forced herself to keep going. The poem prompt used a common rhyme, and she loosened a fraction.

Of everything the Juvenile Exam tested, the thing she feared most was the five-character, six-rhyme poem. Writing poetry was torment.

Last came the two stylized-essay prompts. The Great Learning and The Doctrine of the Mean each offered a passage. The topics weren’t obscure—just a few lines, reasonably manageable.

Better than she’d dared hope.

Little Nan lowered her eyes, steadied her breathing, and silently thanked the God of Exams.

The two essays would be easiest for her; she already had their shape in her head. Still, she set them aside. If time was plentiful, she always tackled the hardest thing first. She stared at the fixed rhyme and forced her mind to grind, hunting for words that could be hammered into line.

The exam lasted all day. For her, the content was thin and the hours were long—dangerously long.

She couldn’t finish too early. She couldn’t hand in too late. She needed to submit around mid-day, and if she could manage it, land somewhere a little above average.

The safest place was always the middle.

Magistrate Huang, newly appointed last year, was around fifty and a little gaunt. His official robe had been washed so many times the color had faded to a tired pale. He came down from the main hall steps and began pacing between the desks, slow and measured, looking over the candidates.

Little Nan kept her head down. When she heard footsteps, she poured water into her inkstone and began grinding ink, steady and unhurried.

Focus. Don’t look up. Don’t draw attention.

The worn hem of Magistrate Huang’s robe drifted past her desk. A short while later it passed again, like a shadow that couldn’t decide where to settle.

Once the ink was ready, she picked up her brush and began drafting the first essay on scrap paper. Ink couldn’t be left to dry, and neither could her nerves. Stroke by stroke, she wrote slowly, neat enough to satisfy even her own picky eye.

There was so much time she could afford to be meticulous—almost painfully so.

When she finished one essay, a wave of lamb aroma drifted from behind.

Little Nan glanced at the sun’s shadow, startled. Already? People were eating now?

Then came fermented fish, then braised pork—hot, rich, impossible to ignore. The examinee to her left bent down and pulled a small food carrier from his basket. To her right, bowls clinked. Around her, the courtyard filled with chewing and quiet sighs of relief.

If she wanted to stay unnoticed, she had to do what everyone else did.

So she ate.

The rice and chicken leg, wrapped in her padded hand muff, were still warm. She managed half a bowl before she was full. Her sister had doted on her as always and packed far too much for her small appetite.

She wrapped the food back up, returned it to the basket, and ground more ink. Then she wrote the second essay.

By the time she finished drafting both essays, a few candidates had already handed in their papers. She began copying her work onto the official sheets. When she finished copying the first, six or seven people were already gone.

She started copying the second.

Magistrate Huang strolled to her side and tilted his head, reading the essay she’d copied. He finished quickly, stroked his grizzled beard, nodded faintly, and moved on without a word.

Little Nan kept her face blank. Inside, her heart finally unclenched a fraction.

At last she copied out the poem—the one she’d forced together so tightly it felt like it might crack—and looked up to find half the desks empty.

She packed her basket, gathered her papers and drafts, and walked up with a meek, frightened posture to submit everything. Then she slipped out of the County School gate among a cluster of other examinees.

Eldest Sister Li Jin Zhu rushed toward her, nearly colliding with her in relief.

Teacher Gao walked over with his hands tucked into his sleeves, craning his neck as he asked, “How did it go?”