Chapter 1913 - Civil Service Examination (Part Ten)
Now that the examination had concluded, all that remained was to await fate's verdict. Yuan Shuzhi understood the ancient truth: fine essays had always been at odds with fortune. No matter how learned one might be or how brilliant one's writing, in the end, nothing could overcome the caprice of luck.
The Ming dynasty's civil service examination pass rates were appallingly dismal. While achieving xiucai status presented manageable difficulty, the provincial examination—that crucial gateway into the gentry class—admitted less than four percent of candidates. From the first year of Longqing (1567) through the Ming dynasty's final days, the pass rate for provincial examinations across the twelve provinces including Fujian and Guangdong averaged a mere 3.1 percent.
This figure represented only those who actually sat for the examination. In reality, because each province produced far too many preliminary degree holders, candidates first had to pass selective screening examinations to even qualify for the provincial level. Certain prestigious academies controlled considerable numbers of provincial examination slots, further compressing ordinary students' opportunities for participation. Given this intensity of competition, achieving degrees like juren or jinshi remained something most scholars could only dream of but never attain. Beyond attributing success or failure to the whims of fate, there was nothing else to be done.
Zeng Juan's parents, accompanied by little Mingnu, waited outside the Tribute Courtyard. The child was small and they didn't dare venture into the crowds, so they maintained their distance. The moment Mingnu spotted the two men emerging, she bounded forward to greet them. The entire family surrounded them with solicitous attention. Yuan Shuzhi basked in Zeng Juan's reflected warmth, his heart filling with deep emotion—it had been far too long since he'd enjoyed such tenderness.
Upon returning to the Zeng household, they found a pot of sand clams already simmering in the kitchen. The family had purchased them the previous day from Tanka fishing folk and kept them alive until they'd expelled all their grit, then stewed them in a copper pot. The entire family gathered around the stove to eat together. The milky-white broth proved fragrant and delicious. Zeng Juan's mother had prepared an array of small accompanying dishes.
Agui arrived for the feast as well, bearing two bottles of Lingao-produced "fruit wine." Glass-bottled with pale yellow liquid, they looked utterly premium. Supposedly this fruit wine was made from jackfruit, then infused with various fruits and medicinal herbs. The wine had been awarded to him after the public trial of the Maojia Inn case.
"...Even the Elders love drinking it!" Agui gestured animatedly.
"Since even the Elders favor it, let us also taste this Australian flavor." Father Zeng's spirits soared—he had never felt so jubilant.
The moment they opened the bottle, fruity fragrance filled the air. Yuan Shuzhi and old Zeng were both seasoned drinkers who had never encountered such aromatic wine. Their mouths watered immediately. Everyone except Mingnu served themselves; the child naturally drank her favorite kombucha. The family gathered around the table, cups raised in joyful celebration.
Everyone plucked out clam meat and dipped it in sauce, savoring each morsel. This style of eating required no technique—it relied entirely on the ingredients' inherent freshness. At this moment, Yuan Shuzhi, slightly tipsy, watched everyone sweating profusely as they concentrated on their meal. Suddenly he thought of his own father and mother, dead these many years. This sensation—this warmth he hadn't experienced for far too long—gripped his heart with a wave of sorrow. He forced himself to suppress the emotion.
Just then, Father Zeng handed him a wine cup. "Old brother, let's have a drink. Fine wine like this—old brother, I truly thank you. Without you, Zeng Juan might not have studied so diligently."
"Not at all—young Zeng Juan is clever and quick-witted. I should be the one offering thanks." He drained his cup in one gulp.
After finishing the clam meat, the broth at the bottom represented the true essence. Mother Zeng dropped in a handful of noodles to make clam noodle soup. Everyone enjoyed a small bowl, ending the meal in complete satisfaction.
That night, Yuan Shuzhi slept dreamlessly. He felt he had rediscovered a long-lost sensation—the feeling of having a home.
The days of waiting always proved especially difficult to endure. While awaiting the posted results, Yuan Shuzhi dreamed more than once that he had failed, forced to return to the ruined temple and resume his existence through petty theft. Each time he awoke, he felt ashamed of his former behavior. Yet having read various Australian books, he'd come to understand that his past miserable circumstances had not been of his own making—they'd been caused by the detestable Pseudo-Ming. Each time this thought occurred to him, his hatred for the Pseudo-Ming's Zhu family deepened another degree.
Before the results were posted, Yuan Shuzhi remained indoors. Each day he stayed at the Zeng household, leisurely reading Australian books to pass the time. This served as part of his preparation as well, for if he passed the written examination, an interview stage awaited. According to the study guides, the interview had no specified examination scope—it primarily assessed candidates' experience, interpersonal skills, and ability to respond to situations.
To demonstrate these qualities, rich life experience represented one advantage, while extensive reading provided another. Especially since the Australians represented a new regime, candidates had not yet determined which tradition their examinations followed. Reading more "Australian books" would surely please the examiners.
Yuan Shuzhi proved extremely fond of various Australian novels. Unlike younger readers like Zeng Juan, Yuan Shuzhi was not particularly enamored with The Legend of the Condor Heroes. What captivated him completely was another Australian novel called Dream of the Red Chamber, also known as The Story of the Stone.
This book had only recently entered the market, yet it had already taken all of Guangzhou by storm. From gentry households to common families, anyone with literate women in the household tried every possible means to obtain and read it.
Truly a marvelous work! It recounted the rise and fall of four great families—Jia, Shi, Wang, and Xue—while using the inner-chamber sentiments of Jia Baoyu, Lin Daiyu, Xue Baochai, and others to tell countless human stories. This Cao Xueqin was said to have had ancestors who served as high officials during the Great Song, but after the Yashan disaster, they drifted to Australia. The latter half of his life endured extreme poverty, and owing to his rich experiences, he wrote this masterpiece. However, many of the allusions and descriptions were clearly neither from the Song dynasty nor from the Great Ming. The text employed place names like "Jiangning" and such—truly befitting "false village talk." Presumably the author harbored certain scruples and dared not speak of current affairs directly, using fictional place names as cover.
Rumors in the marketplace suggested that this Cao Xueqin was actually a pseudonym of Literary Chairman Wen. This Literary Chairman Wen and others were supposedly descendants of Australian officials who, having lost a political struggle, had no choice but to cross the sea on rafts. Thus, during the voyage back to the old country, Literary Chairman Wen composed this timeless masterpiece. Of course, this was all speculation and should not be taken as verified truth.
Yuan Shuzhi became utterly obsessed with Dream of the Red Chamber. He had nearly worn the book to tatters from constant reading. Whenever he encountered the author's self-describing poem—"Pages full of preposterous words, a handful of bitter tears! All say the author is mad; who understands the taste within?"—his eyes would inevitably well with tears. And passages like "Like birds when food is gone, scattering to the woods, leaving only a vast white expanse of clean earth"—by then his lapels would already be soaked with tears.
Whenever this happened, if Mingnu was nearby, she would invariably ask: "Grandpa, why are you crying?"
Yuan Shuzhi would quickly wipe his tears and say with a smile: "Mingnu dear, Grandpa isn't crying—it's just that this book has a sour quality that stings my eyes."
"Grandpa's fibbing! How can books have taste?!"
"Mingnu is still young and doesn't understand. When you grow up, you'll know. Ah, but sometimes Grandpa truly wishes you would never grow up, so you could remain this happy every day. The world of adults... Well, let's not discuss such things. Shall Grandpa give you a horsey ride in the courtyard?"
"Yes! Yes! Horsey ride!" Mingnu and Yuan Shuzhi proceeded to the courtyard, once again a picture of grandpaternal joy.
During this period, having nothing to do except play with the child or read Dream of the Red Chamber, Yuan Shuzhi developed remarkable expertise. Many years later, this old Kong actually became one of the inaugural scholars of Red Studies in the Australian Song dynasty. He worked diligently to prove that the author was actually Literary Chairman Wen, and that Lin Daiyu represented the daughter of Obama, the Australian Grand Chancellor who had persecuted Chairman Wen and others—one Ao Mixue...
Meanwhile, at the Examination Academy, grading work for the civil service examination proceeded with intensity. All behavioral aptitude questions were scored by students from Fangcaodi School—they were comfortable with such evaluations, and errors were easily caught.
To prevent grading mistakes, the examiners specially employed a system of dedicated reviewers to reduce error rates to the lowest possible level.
As for scoring the essay portion, these subjective questions were greatly influenced by graders' personal biases—particularly since the grading team included both naturalized citizen cadres who came from Fangcaodi and cadres who had defected from the old literati ranks. The two groups possessed vastly different experiences, worldviews, and aesthetic sensibilities.
To prevent either side from deliberately rejecting candidates from the opposing camp or favoring those from their own, Zhang Yunmi employed cross-grading. The same paper would be scored once by a naturalized citizen cadre and once by a defected old literati cadre. If the two scores differed excessively, she as chief examiner would personally grade it.
At this moment, one particular paper had sparked intense controversy between the two camps of examiners.
A naturalized citizen cadre—originally a failed scholar—first reviewed the paper. One glimpse of the mixed classical-vernacular writing angered him. What nonsense is this?! Displeased, he thought: "This writing—what is it even trying to say! Half classical, half vernacular, the literary logic doesn't flow at all. Truly dogshit composition!" He assigned it a score of 30.
When the old literati cadre reviewed it, he slapped the table in approval. Such an excellent paper, yet those upstart peasants had given it only 30 points—truly a disgrace to scholarship! No, he couldn't allow such talent to go undiscovered. Since he now ate Song grain, he should fulfill his responsibility in selecting talent for the Song. This paper deserved at least 70 points.
Such wildly discrepant scores emerged. The paper was then sent to both sides, who promptly began to quarrel. The old literati cursed the naturalized citizens as crude boors who couldn't even write the four variations of the character for "chicken," yet dared to pontificate. Giving such dogshit writing 70 points—truly a case of crude fellows sticking together and covering for each other. The naturalized citizens cursed them as pedantic fossils who thought knowing a few archaic phrases made them special, while actually suppressing genuine talent.
Thus the dispute arrived before Zhang Yunmi.
Zhang Yunmi examined the paper carefully. The classical language was not profound, and as for elegance—that was entirely absent. Judging by the language education she had received, the phrasing and sentence construction were indeed clumsy. In all likelihood, this represented the work of an unsuccessful tongsheng. However, the writing was reasonably accessible. As for content and viewpoints, the insights proved quite outstanding among works by traditional scholars—especially lines like "Beneath the Sacred Ships there are no private factions." Such flattery was extremely well-executed.
After careful consideration, Zhang Yunmi settled on a score of 60 points. To help everyone understand her reasoning, she offered an explanation:
First, the essay's thesis was "correct." Though the prose level was not particularly high, the viewpoints were accurate, the logic was clear, and it conformed to the Senate's consistent political positions. Politically, it passed.
(End of Chapter)