ITIEQ C1

Chapter 1 – The Imperial Examination System

The majestic Dali Temple⁽¹⁾ stood solemnly beside the busy market district, casting a hush over the entire street. At its gates loomed two massive stone lions, their bulging eyes glaring fiercely, their aura frightening to behold.

A little servant boy in gray slipped soundlessly in through the side door. The gatekeeper took the pouch of silver, tucked it into his sleeve, glanced quickly toward the street, and slammed the door shut with a heavy bang.

Walking in practiced ease through deserted passageways, the petty official led the servant to the prison’s mouth. At the gate, the two silently exchanged glances. The tall guard averted his head and shut his eyes; at once the official beckoned the man inside.

The dungeon’s corridor was dark and narrow, yet surprisingly clean—none of the filth or chaos common to jails. Still, the underground air was heavy and foul, tainted with a strange metallic tang. Catching sight of the glittering chains, thick as a man’s wrist, hanging along the wall, Lü Song shuddered involuntarily.

How much torment must our precious young master be suffering here!

Deeper inside, they stopped outside a cell.

The petty official turned aside. “If not for the fact that you’re from the Vice Minister’s household, I would never risk this. One quarter hour only—no more.”

He cast a disdainful look into the cell. Who in the capital didn’t know how seriously His Majesty valued the imperial examinations? To cheat at such a time was no different from storming straight into the King of Hell’s hall.

The man left. Within the shadows, someone stirred.

Not at all the picture of disgrace one might have expected: merely dressed in prison garb, hair slightly disheveled, but otherwise unmarked by torture.

“Lü Song!” Shen Qinghe called to him brightly. “Did you bring what I asked for?”

The servant bobbed his head frantically, unwrapping the bundle he had guarded so carefully. Out came a paper-wrapped roasted chicken, several steaming meat buns…and an enormous braised pork knuckle, glossy with sauce.

Shen Qinghe’s eyes lit up at once.

“I went to Scholar’s Tower at dawn to buy this knuckle—fresh, the very first batch,” Lü Song mumbled.

“My good Lü Song! How did you know I was craving pork knuckle?” Shen Qinghe leaned back casually against the iron bars, one hand holding a bun, the other the gleaming knuckle, happily absorbed. “Only thing missing is milk tea.”

But Lü Song’s heart was drowning in dread, not appetite. “Young Master, please, stop eating and think of what must be done! I’ve asked around—everyone is saying this is a capital crime! Bribes won’t work, silver is useless!”

Seeing the genuine panic etched on his servant’s blisters and cracked lips, Shen Qinghe only chuckled. “Truly, the eunuch frets more than the emperor does. Your young master isn’t worried yet!” He shoved a bun into Lü Song’s mouth before the youth could argue further.

Lü Song swallowed it down, his words suffocated. When Shen Qinghe raised another bun threateningly, he hurriedly clamped his mouth shut.

“Eat, drink well—let that heart of yours settle. I have a plan.”

But Lü Song thought bitterly: Even the Master himself cannot save you this time—what plan could you possibly have? They say His Majesty’s wrath is thunderous. Even ten heads wouldn’t suffice to appease him! Despair welled in his eyes, tears glistening as he whispered stiffly, “In my next life, I shall still serve you…”

Shen Qinghe: …Please don’t. With my luck, next life the winds of reform will already be blowing freely.

Lü Song gazed at him for the full allotted quarter hour, tears trembling as if searing into memory. But Shen Qinghe seemed utterly at ease, idly licking grease from his fingers. “You may go back. The knuckle’s excellent. Next time I will take you there myself.”

The boy withdrew, thinking his master too blind to doom. The petty official returned to usher him out.

When silence finally reclaimed the dungeon, Shen Qinghe spoke abruptly: “System, doesn’t his gaze feel oddly familiar to you?”

The mechanical voice in his head was silent for a moment before replying blandly: “Confirmed: this world holds only one transmigrator—no other familiar figures.”

High-level AI truly wasn’t much of a conversationalist.

Shen Qinghe rubbed his full belly, shaking his head. “Yet those clear and foolish eyes…they’ve stirred my blood hot again.”

System: ???

Shen Qinghe smiled: “Ah, sorry. Occupational hazard.”

The system ignored his nonsense, looping once more what it had been intoning for three days.

【Please immediately complete the main mission—the Path of the Imperial Examinations.】

【All trades are inferior; only reading is exalted. A swan’s lofty ambition shall not fall; ten years of study will pierce the firmament. Please, host, devote yourself to the official path. With system assistance, ascend through the exams, enter office, rise to marquis and minister, and be remembered for all time.】

Mouth full of bun, Shen Qinghe muttered indistinctly, “I’m curious—why me?”

“Testing shows host’s lifelong exam record to be exceptional: from town to province, first in city, first in province, top universities, doctoral track without exams, overseas study—compatibility extremely high…”

“Exactly! Exams are my natural talent.” Shen Qinghe lounged against the straw, stretching his legs, speaking lazily. “But if you want me to take exams, brother system, first you’ve got to spring me from here.” He flexed his chained wrist. The iron links rattled with a cold clang.

What rotten luck. He’d finally transmigrated into a rich second-generation wastrel and thought he could escape the rat race, only to start in disaster. This body’s original had coasted on his father’s post as Vice Minister of Rites, buying titles left and right. Bought himself a juren⁽²⁾ degree, then brazenly hired a proxy for the metropolitan exam. Despite the layers of guards, somehow the man slipped through. That stand-in was a true prodigy—took bribes from eight clients at once and wrote eight identical essays. Naturally, the whole scandal had exploded. And now, before Shen Qinghe could taste a day of luxury, his head was on the chopping block.

The system whirred, spitting out: “Host implicated in exam fraud. If you display your true ability now, you can turn danger into survival. With the entire legacy of five thousand years of culture inside me, endless classics await your call. You will astonish all and win imperial favor—your first step to glory!”

Shen Qinghe found it amusing, such stirring words in such a solemn, monotone voice.

“An impromptu defense, is it?” He stretched the words out slyly. “No thanks. I planned to retire in this life.”

From outside came the echo of marching feet. Both man and system fell silent.

Two armored guards, blades at their sides, entered.

“Wait—I haven’t even been tried. My father is Vice Minister of Rites! You can’t torture me privately!” Shen Qinghe yelped in alarm.

The golden-armored men were silent, cold and immovable. Even the dungeon keepers dared not speak before the emperor’s own guards. They only sneered inside: Even if you were the Prime Minister’s son, it would change nothing. That you weren’t punished alongside your father already shows His Majesty’s mercy. Keep talking, and the Minister of Rites will join you here soon enough.

Like carrying a chicken, they hoisted Shen Qinghe, stripped him, clad him in plain white hemp, and marched him straight to the palace.

He caught only a glimpse of vermilion palace walls before being thrust into a hall. Behind him, the carved doors slammed shut. Inside, everyone turned—their eyes wide at the sight of him.

A roomful of young men, dressed identically in stark hemp, faces pale and gaunt, hair disordered. Compared to them, Shen Qinghe was the neatest of the lot.

There were not too many, not too few—eight in all, including himself. Shen Qinghe immediately guessed the situation.

“Shen gongzi,” some muttered greetings, though their gazes stayed fixed anxiously on the door. All knew they had committed a grave crime. None expected to survive. Left waiting in the palace without explanation only added to their despair, hearts thrashing like on hot coals.

Their fathers were all still officials. Yet seeing the son of a Vice Minister himself dragged here, any last hope died. The imperial guards prowled outside, tiger-like. Soon, surely, they would be marched beneath the execution gate. Young men who had never known fear wept and trembled.

Shen Qinghe looked at their ashen faces, their mourning garb, and suddenly broke composure. “Wait—we didn’t…kill the Emperor, did we?”

At once someone clapped a hand over his mouth, whispering desperately: “Are you mad? To utter such treason within the inner palace!”

Relieved, Shen Qinghe thought: Good. If the emperor’s alive, I still have hope.

“Crying won’t help now.” He smiled lightly.

The others exchanged looks. Was he insane? “Do you…have a plan?” they asked skeptically. The infamous playboy of the capital—how could he offer salvation?

Cheating at the examinations was a grave crime. In the previous dynasty, guilty candidates might be stripped of qualifications or exiled—but with enough money, they could rebound in a few years. Today was different. The realm was fragile, the emperor benevolent but utterly uncompromising about the exams. To commit fraud was to ram straight into the spearpoint.

Shen Qinghe now understood—they were to be the chicken slaughtered to warn the monkeys.

“Stop, stop,” he interrupted as their sobbing swelled again. “Think. If His Majesty meant to punish us heavily, we’d all already be hanged, our heads on the city wall. He split us up at first, but now gathers us together—surely that means we are to ‘coordinate our stories.’”

Their eyes lit up, hope returning like drowning men clutching reeds. “You mean His Majesty may spare us?”

Shen Qinghe thought drily: All of you reached the metropolitan exam—were you all frauds like me? Then no wonder the emperor needs to clean house. At this rate the whole government will be staffed by cheats.

But facing those eager eyes, that old feeling of déjà vu rose again. Helpless, he shook his head. “Not exactly.”

“Then what’s the point?” one growled. At their wits’ end, they thought he was mocking them.

“Calm down! First tell me—what essays did the hired proxy write for each of you?”

Together they pieced it out, and anger erupted. “That scoundrel! Took three thousand taels from me for a ‘unique masterpiece, guaranteed to place’—and peddled the same essay to all of us! Once I find him—”

Shen Qinghe held his tongue. Brother, first survive your own neck before vowing vengeance.

Outside, boots and clattering arms approached. The barred doors groaned open.

It begins.

Panic swept them. Instinctively, they looked toward Shen Qinghe, now their center.

Shen Qinghe glimpsed the phalanx of guards beyond, and left only one line:

“Follow my lead.”

Morning sunlight painted the palace eaves in gold.

As officials filed out from court, Shen Qinghe and seven others were driven in. His heart thumped as they crossed the red tiles, passersby glaring daggers. He turned, but only saw a sea of blue and purple robes.

At last, they were made to kneel in the audience hall. Gold-armored guards flanked them, and atop his dragon throne sat Emperor Zhao Huan, lofty beyond reach. Pillars carved with coiling dragons towered around him. From such a height, kneeling youths must have seemed like ants.

Incense drifted in curling strands. Eunuchs lowered the beaded curtain before the throne, then presented a glass basin for the Emperor to wash his hands. None so much as glanced at the trembling accused below.

Kneeling at the rear, Shen Qinghe eyed his companions’ shivering bodies and thought: Truly, this is the aura of supreme power.

“Gentlemen, have you anything to say?” Emperor Zhao Huan dried his hands, his calm gaze sweeping over them leisurely.

His voice fell from on high, resonant and divine across the vast chamber. These were sons of privilege, none of whom had ever seen an official higher than their own fathers. Now, with guilty hearts, facing majesty itself—they dared not speak.

Xiao Yuanzheng’s⁽³⁾ face remained unreadable. “Very well, since none will speak—”

“Your Majesty, this subject is wrongfully accused!”

One voice, clear and ringing, split the silence of the hall.

notes

1. Dali Temple (大理寺) – One of the “Three Judicial Offices” in imperial China, supreme court overseeing trials. Its presence signifies the gravity of the case.

2. Juren (舉人) – Degree granted to those who passed the provincial-level Imperial Examinations. It conferred noble status and eligibility for national exams.

3. Xiao Yuanzheng (蕭元政) – Birth name of Emperor Zhao Huan (昭桓帝), the ML, who presides in this scene.