WSMTATMC C122

Chapter 122

The weather remained fine that day. In the morning, the sunlight was bright and warm, falling gently on the students’ backs.

Inside the examination compound, the scholars bent furiously over their desks, eager to pour everything they had learned in their lives onto the answer sheets, hoping for a leap into glory.

The third session tested **policy essays (策问, cewen)**¹. This originated in the Han dynasty, when Emperor Wen would issue questions on bamboo slips to the virtuous and capable, especially in times of great disasters or national crisis, asking their advice. Over time, this practice evolved into a regular examination section.

The “policy questions” focused on governance and the welfare of the state—matters of politics, people’s livelihoods, and administration. It was essentially the ancient form of a political or argumentative essay.

By the Wu dynasty era, its form was fairly fixed. The essay began with a summary of the issue, proceeded to an analysis, then concluded with one’s own solution.

Policy essays tested not just literary talent but one’s grasp of governance and current affairs. This was precisely why poor, rural students so rarely rose—it wasn’t that they lacked intelligence, but they lacked access to teachers and reliable information about state affairs.

At the county exam level, however, the policy questions were usually simple, not requiring deep knowledge. With a little careful thought, most could write a decent response. But, once reaching the xiangshi (provincial) exam, questions involved national issues. Without guidance and news, some poor students couldn’t even comprehend the topic.

That day’s question was “On River Defense and Flood Control” (He Fang Fanglüe), clearly linked with the Jizhou floods. It had been set deliberately in light of the recent disaster.

Many students themselves had survived the floods, some losing family. Such memories gave their writing vivid pain and conviction. But those who only cursed corrupt officials without offering actual solutions would surely be failed.

Chen Qingyan paused briefly, then put brush to paper:

*“In the spring of Wuhe fourth year, student Chen Qingyan of Jizhou humbly submits words on the matter of river defense to the Heavenly Court. The Yellow River is the lifeblood of the world. Since Yu the Great dredged the Nine Rivers, since Duke Zhou laid out the well‑field system, never since the Three Dynasties has there been flooding such as in this reign. Looking at Jizhou and below, dikes bristle like scales, yet still the muddy torrent bursts without cease.…

In times past, Su Dongpo governed Xu, using stone embankments to tame sudden swells. Wang Anshi in Yin built reservoirs to balance drought and flood. Yet today the Minister of Works sighs beneath the roof while the River Spirit laughs—must we sit awaiting the Yellow River to run clear?”*²

After carefully reviewing his own answer, verifying no errors, he put down the brush and waited for collection.

The gong sounded. All students laid aside their brushes. Proctors gathered papers, which would be marked that very day, with results arranged in ranking for the following session.

After submission, the candidates dispersed—some to latrines, others to eat. Debate over answers was kept light. After all, one’s essay felt like one’s own child—everyone thought theirs best, but mere arguments would only breed distraction.

At noon’s end, the afternoon brought the fourth session: regulated poetry (lüfu), which happened to be Qinghuai’s specialty.

The prompt was “Spring Snow,” requiring a free‑form poem.

All three brothers finished easily, even submitting early, meeting outside.

By this point, the rankings were mostly determined. As long as the fifth session went smoothly, little could change.

That final session was a mixed test, combining elements from all previous sections—precisely to guard against cheating by repetition.

Outside the hall, Wang Ying and Uncle Chen waited. On the carriage, Wang Ying clasped Qingyan’s hand: “Well, were the two papers all right?”

Qingyan nodded. “I played steadily. If no accident, the result should be ten‑tenths secure.”

For someone so usually reserved, such words of confidence meant near certainty. Were there not others present in the carriage, Wang Ying would have embraced and kissed him then and there.

Meanwhile, at the yamen the next day, six examiners—each a Jinshi (doctoral degree holder)³—gathered to mark.

The over 100 papers were first anonymized and bound, names hidden, to ensure impartiality, then divided among the examiners.

First, the rough screening: any paper with sloppy handwriting, erasures, or stains was discarded outright. About twenty papers fell this way, leaving around eighty for careful grading.

Indeed, legible, elegant handwriting was half the battle. With only five slots available, harried examiners glanced quickly through most essays, but papers beautiful in calligraphy drew closer reading.

Thus, the three Chen brothers’ papers were pulled aside, marked in red circles—meaning “pass.”

Their writing was meticulous, their answers solid. Their scripts stood as if towering above the rest—so much so it seemed like they “descended from another level.”

Exam Chief Jiang nodded repeatedly over Qingyan’s essay. “Substantial content! Excellent style! Even at the provincial exam, this would stand high.”

Another praised: “Unbelievable that this is work of mere tongsheng (basic student).”

On Qinghuai’s poetry they exclaimed: “ ‘The snow, impatient at tardy spring, scatters blossoms of white through garden trees.’ Such wording! Extraordinary—well beyond ordinary pupils.”⁴

Yet comparing their works, Qingyan’s policy essay was superior, so he was placed first (Anshou 案首), Qinghuai second. Third was Zhao Wenzhou of Wuyang Town. Fourth was Zhang Wuyou of Longquan. Fifth was Qingsong himself.

With results decided, clean transcripts were copied for public posting. Original scripts were sealed and stored at the prefecture archives.

The following day came the fifth and final exam.

Now, order of entry was set by ranking of prior results. Qingyan was called twenty‑first—his heartbeat roared like war drums.

“Qingshui Town—Chen Qingyan!”

Startled for a moment, he raised his hand boldly. “Present!” and strode inside.

“Qingshui Town—Chen Qinghuai!”

“Present.” His elder brother’s eyes reddened. Both brothers, so close in number, now in glory as well.

Whispers rose in the ranks:

“Brothers, surely?”

“Yes—didn’t it say from Qingshui Town?”

“Incredible. A whole family of scholars!”

“Truly so…”

“Silence!” barked the officer. The queue settled.

Soon the fifth was called: “Qingshui Town—Chen Qingsong!”

Qingsong, wide‑eyed, ran forward clutching his basket. “Present!” he cried.

Students behind muttered. “All three? Out of five slots, the Chen clan takes three? Isn’t there corruption here?”

Even parents waiting outside began whispering suspicions.

Chen Qingyun fumed, wanting to argue, but Wang Ying held her back. “Let them talk. When results post in two days, everyone can read the actual essays. Then ability will be plain as day.”

For now, any protests would only fan gossip.

Inside, the boys wrote steadily. For others, nerves broke them. Some wept, pounding desks—years of toil for nothing. The proctors only threatened to expel them. Tears earned no leniency; only words on paper mattered.

As the sand‑clock drained, the gong sounded. Papers collected. The magistrate gave the closing remarks.

Brothers’ eyes met. For the first time in all these days—they smiled. At last it was over. The great weight lifted.

At home, Wang Ying had already booked a celebratory banquet. Two tables crowded with family. This time, relief alone was feast enough.

Cao Kun even brought out a treasured cask of fiery spirits from the northwest, hoarded for years. “For our three brothers’ triumph!”

Qingyan demurred. “It is early. The list is not yet out.”

But Liang‑lao waved aside: “I saw the rankings myself. If somehow the posted results differ, I’ll go to the prefecture, demand justice myself.”

Li Shi chuckled. “Won’t others accuse us of using power for favors?”

Wang Ying laughed: “You jest. At today’s roll call our three were all read together. Envious stares were everywhere! Of course they’ll talk.”

“Truly—many murmured about us using back doors.” Qingyun added bitterly.

But Liang‑lao only smiled with his wine cup. “They are but frogs staring at Heaven from the bottom of a well. They cannot discern. Wait for the autumn exams—then open their eyes properly.”

The three brothers felt their teacher’s unspoken recognition. He scolded often, but in fact, he was proud. That warmth contented them more than even first place.

The day after, Liang‑lao prepared to leave for his son’s household for a time.

The whole family reluctant, they still escorted him. “Master, take care on the road.”

He waved them off. “No worries with Liang An and Chen Guang. But you—the county exam is the beginning. Ahead still lies the prefecture exam, the academy exam, the autumn provincial. Prepare well, do not idle.”

“Yes,” the trio bowed deeply, watching until his carriage vanished from sight. Then, without anyone urging, they all went straight back to the study, practicing, reading, copying—none dared slack.

Two days later, the list was posted.

All three brothers’ names were on it.

Visitors thronged to their humble household—yesterday barren of callers, today bustling with distinguished guests.

And of course, with it came families seeking in‑law bonds. Talented sons attract marriage hopes; neighbors sought to matchmake, seeing promising futures.

Footnotes:

1. Cewen / Policy essay (策问) – Exam section where students answered practical national governance problems; a key measure of talent for administration. 
2. The sample passage mixes classical references: Yu the Great (flood control), Su Dongpo’s flood dikes, Wang Anshi’s reservoirs. The phrase “to wait for the Yellow River to clear” meant “to wait forever for the impossible.” 
3. Jinshi (进士) – The highest, doctoral‑level degree in the exam system, typically reserved for those who had triumphed in the palace exams at the capital. 
4. Poetic couplet (春雪题赋) – Praise of spring snow: “White snow, impatient with tardy spring, pierces through the courtyard trees, scattering as blossoms.” Such refined lines impressed examiners as beyond ordinary county students.