Chapter 13
Chapter 13: Newly Minted Xiu Cai Scholar
To one side of the Hall of Great Achievement stood a long table nearly twenty feet in length.
Two or three dozen aides and subordinate officials surrounded it, bustling as they bound the fresh-inked exam papers of the new licentiates, copied the red lists to send to each prefecture and county, and handled a mountain of other tedious tasks that somehow always doubled the moment you looked away.
Gu Yan stopped by the main list and watched an aide write the newly minted licentiate names, stroke by stroke, immaculate and steady. Beside him, two more aides worked in tandem—one checking against the register, the other copying from the main list to write the celery-plucking banquet invitations.
The main list had to be posted on the screen wall outside the examination compound gate by around three tomorrow morning. The invitations had to reach each new licentiate before noon.
Gu Yan watched for a moment, then casually picked up a roster and flipped through it.
“Among these new men,” he asked lightly, “who stays in the county and who gets assigned to the prefecture? What’s the rule?”
“If a county has several new men, the higher-ranked go to the prefecture, and the lower-ranked stay in the county,” the aide writing invitations answered with a smile.
“And if there’s only one?” Gu Yan snapped open his fan.
“If his rank is in the first half of the main list, he goes to the prefecture. If it’s in the back half, he stays in the county.”
Gu Yan gave a slow, thoughtful sound, closed his fan, and tapped a name. “This Li Xue Dong is listed as sixteenth. Why is he marked to stay in the county?”
“I adjusted him to stay,” Education Commissioner Wei answered from the far end of the table.
Gu Yan raised his brows.
“When governing locally, you can’t cling too tightly to fixed rules,” Education Commissioner Wei said, stroking his beard, pleased with his own lesson. “You adjust for the person, the time, and the place.”
Gu Yan flicked his fan and tapped Li Xue Dong’s name again, clearly demanding the reason.
“Li Xue Dong is an orphan,” Education Commissioner Wei explained, smiling. “At home he has three elder sisters and a younger sister. The family needs him to support them. If he goes to study in Ping Jiang Prefecture while his home is far away in Kun Shan County, how will he look after them? And costs in Ping Jiang Prefecture will certainly be higher than in Kun Shan County. For a poor household, even a few extra strings of cash in a year are hard to bear.”
Gu Yan listened, then shifted a few steps and pulled out Li Xue Dong’s inked paper. He flipped to a regulated poem and pushed it across the table toward Education Commissioner Wei.
“Look at this.” His tone stayed pleasant, but the words were merciless. “Written like this, it can barely be called poetry.”
He tapped the page with his fan. “Li Xue Dong’s natural talent is limited. To reach sixteenth, he must have ground his way there through sheer diligence—every waking thought on study, day and night. With that kind of effort, does he have any time left to ‘support the family’?”
Gu Yan turned his head slightly. “And the stipends—prefecture school and county school. They’re not the same, are they? What’s the difference?”
“The prefecture school gives over half a string more per month,” an aide answered, smiling as he glanced at Education Commissioner Wei.
“Half a string a month,” Gu Yan repeated, as if savoring the number. Then he looked back at his uncle. “And also—Ping Jiang City is full of wealthy people who like to play at refinement. There are far more who will pay a licentiate to write a couple lines or draft an essay than in a county town.”
He swept his fan toward the group. “If someone hires a licentiate to write a record or an epitaph, what’s the fee?”
“It varies,” an aide said quickly when Gu Yan’s gaze landed on him. “Some pay five or ten taels of silver. Some pay a box of ink, a few tins of pastries. Some just treat you to a meal.”
A younger aide pointed at the poem, then swallowed the rest of what he wanted to say.
Gu Yan ignored him. “Even if it’s just guaranteeing for examinees or tutoring a few students, Ping Jiang Prefecture offers far more chances than Kun Shan County. Leaving him in the county isn’t helping him—it’s tying his hands.”
Education Commissioner Wei looked around, letting the room answer for him. “And what do you all think?”
“The Heir Apparent has a point.”
“Half a string a month adds up.”
“Ping Jiang Prefecture is wealthy, and talented scholars are everywhere…”
Voices piled over each other. Most agreed. A few hedged politely.
The meaning was obvious. The Heir Apparent had spoken, and the Education Commissioner had already offered a “both are fine” opening. So they followed the Heir Apparent.
“Very well,” Education Commissioner Wei said readily. “By everyone’s view, we’ll move Li Xue Dong back to the prefecture school.”
Gu Yan flicked his fan open and fanned himself with languid satisfaction, a faint smile lifting at the corner of his mouth like a lotus opening in morning light. Several aides blinked as if their eyes had suddenly gone dry.
The Heir Apparent was truly—truly—good-looking.
—
Outside the examination compound gate, Li Wen Hua craned his neck until it nearly fell off. When he heard “Li Xue Dong,” he grabbed a friendly-looking man in a long gown and asked several questions to be sure.
Once he confirmed that their Xue Dong had truly passed, he spun in circles, still unable to find Li Xue Dong or Li Jin Zhu. Then he broke into a run for the inn.
Little Nan and Li Xue Dong had only just changed clothes and hadn’t even gotten a word out when Li Wen Hua’s voice blasted from downstairs.
“Shopkeeper! Have you seen my eldest nephew? Is he back? My eldest nephew placed sixteenth! My eldest nephew is a xiu cai scholar now!”
“He’s back, he’s back!” the shopkeeper roared back, even louder, even more thrilled. “Oh my! Incredible! Congratulations! Third! Go buy firecrackers—five hundred pops! Two strings! Hurry! Our inn has produced a xiu cai scholar! Oh my, that’s something! I have to congratulate our xiu cai scholar!”
Before the shopkeeper finished, guests were already gathering, grinning and talking over one another as they crowded in to offer congratulations.
Li Xue Dong stood stiff in the doorway, face burning, hands and feet suddenly useless.
“Thank you, everyone,” Li Jin Zhu said quickly, stepping forward to block. “My brother tested all day. He’s exhausted, and he’s weak. Third Uncle!”
“Yes, yes, yes!” Li Wen Hua hurried in and planted himself right at the door like a gate. “My eldest nephew is hardworking, let me tell you! Look how thin he is—he studied himself thin! Let him rest properly first!”
With Li Wen Hua bowing and thanking everyone, Li Jin Zhu pushed Li Xue Dong back into the room and shut the door.
Only then did Li Xue Dong finally exhale. He grabbed Li Jin Zhu’s hand and whispered so softly it barely made sound.
“Eldest Sister… I really passed?”
“Yes,” Li Jin Zhu whispered back, her whole face shining. “A Nan was amazing.”
Little Nan was already copying down the exam prompts from memory. She lifted her brush quickly so she wouldn’t smear ink on Eldest Sister’s sleeve.
“Today’s prompts were many,” she said, brisk and urgent. “We have to hurry.”
Little Nan and Li Xue Dong pressed their heads together and went over the day’s exams. Li Jin Zhu shut the door and leaned against it with her sewing in hand, listening for movement outside.
Little Nan watched Li Xue Dong. Li Jin Zhu watched both of them.
It was nearly dawn before Li Xue Dong had the fourth and fifth exam prompts memorized into his bones. Only then did the three of them sleep in their clothes.
Li Jin Zhu slept barely an hour before she rose, yet she didn’t feel tired at all. At first light she gathered dirty garments and quietly opened the door—only to find Third Uncle Li Wen Hua waiting right outside.
“Our Xue Dong still sleeping?” Li Wen Hua asked in a lowered voice, tiptoeing as he craned his neck to peek in.
“He’s exhausted,” Li Jin Zhu said, and closed the door.
Li Wen Hua beamed, then suddenly smacked himself with self-reproach. “Look at my mouth. From now on I can’t call his name. It’s disrespectful! I have to call him our xiu cai scholar.”
“Even if he’s a xiu cai scholar, he’s still your eldest nephew,” Li Jin Zhu said, amused. “Call him whatever you want.”
“No, no, that won’t do,” Li Wen Hua said solemnly. “If we don’t respect our own xiu cai scholar, how will others respect our xiu cai scholar? Outside we call him xiu cai scholar. At home he’s the eldest boy.”
He frowned as if struck by a new worry. “I heard the shopkeeper say there’s a red notice today, and tomorrow there’s some celery-plucking banquet? They said you need proper clothes and there are rules. Do you know about that?”
“I don’t,” Li Jin Zhu admitted, startled. She truly didn’t.
“Then I’ll go ask around.” Li Wen Hua nodded decisively. “You wash the clothes. I already told the shopkeeper—when our eldest boy wakes, whatever he wants to eat, you just tell the shopkeeper.”
With that, he left the inn to gather information.
Li Jin Zhu had only just lifted a bucket of water and squatted down to wash when a loud voice rang from the doorway.
“Is the newly minted licentiate Li—Master Li of Kun Shan County—staying here?”
Before Li Jin Zhu could even stand, the shopkeeper was already rushing out, all smiles. “Yes, yes! Right here in our inn! Lady Li Da, they’re looking for your brother!”
“Huh? Oh!” Li Jin Zhu froze—first at “Licentiate Li, Master Li,” and then again at “Lady Li Da.”
No one had ever called her that.
In the village, she was just Jin Zhu. Outside the village, she was simply Xue Dong’s eldest sister.