WSMTATMC C133

Chapter 133

That night, Aunt Chen prepared a heaping table of dishes, and the whole family sat together to celebrate Qingyan and Qinghuai passing as licentiates.

Elder Liang, who seldom drank, made an exception and had two cups.

After the wine, the old gentleman loosened his tongue and began chatting about all manner of things.

“This year’s prefectural exam questions were not especially hard—by comparison with the past few years, one could say much easier. By a stroke of fortune, several of the ‘ink-exegesis’ questions were ones I’d just lectured you on recently—call it ‘hitting the mark’ ahead of time.”dict.revised.moe

Chen Qinghuai nodded repeatedly. “Exactly. Of the ten major ‘ink-exegesis’ questions, there were six Elder Brother and I had already worked through!”

Stroking his beard, Elder Liang allowed himself a trace of pride. Before the test, he had reviewed the papers from past years; topics once tested rarely reappeared, so he scoured for the most arcane, difficult types and put the two through several straight days of drills.

Effort was not in vain—both saw the returns.

“Bear in mind, this was only a small prefectural exam. Though your results are good, take care—no arrogance, no slackening. When you make a name in the provincial exam—that will be the true skill!”

Among common folk there was a saying, “Golden Provincial Graduate, Silver Metropolitan Graduate,” at root because the provincial exam was too arduous.wiktionary

It was truly “a thousand troops on a single-log bridge”—those who passed were one-in-ten-thousand. Moreover, once one passed as provincial graduate, there was the qualification to hold office—hence “Golden Provincial Graduate.”wiktionary

The two set down their chopsticks and nodded assent.

It was late; Yuanbao was drowsy, and Madam Li and Fourth Aunt Fang took the child in to rest.

The others stayed outside to keep listening to Elder Liang talk about the examinations.

“Did you see who placed second and third—and what they’re called?” he asked.

Chen Qingyan thought a moment. “Second was named Lin Zhen, I think from Guangyuan County; third was Shen Mengzhou, local to Jizhou.”

“So it was them. That Lin boy is a year younger than you. He once wrote a piece of paired-prose, ‘Clear Breeze Sends the Bright Moon’: ‘The solitary bright disc shines on a thousand years of parting sorrow; lingering notes resound, carrying ten-thousand li of yearning.’ You two should have read it.”

The Chen brothers stared—what they thought the work of an older scholar turned out to be by a peer. For a moment, they didn’t know what to say.

“It’s no accident he has such learning,” Liang went on. “It can’t be separated from his family’s tutelage. His grandfather Lin Shiqiu was a provincial graduate in the seventh year of Martial Fortune. That piece of paired-prose surely saw guidance from Lin Shiqiu’s hand. Still, to pen lines of that caliber—he is a rare talent.”

The three sat straighter. This Lin Zhen was not to be underestimated; they would have to work all the harder for the academy exam.

“The third place is also a familiar name—he’s the son of the prefectural academy’s instructor, Shen Lan.” Father and son both “grind” relentlessly. In youth, Shen Lan rose before the Yin hour to read, and laid his head to rest only at Hai.

Alas, his innate talent was ordinary; though he passed as provincial graduate, he placed only among the lower third, and with little background or connections he could only return to Jizhou to teach.

His son, Shen Mengzhou, “grinds” even more—beyond reading, he copies and recites daily, hardly an idle moment.

At first, people at the academy mocked him—studying like a fool, “dead-book reading.” Shen Mengzhou did not care, and day after day he persisted.

Diligence can make up for dullness. The long effort yielded fruit—third in this prefectural exam—and gave his father a proud moment.

“You have a slight geographic advantage in the north. In Yangzhou, I fear the prefectural list-topper would not be so easy.”

Since ancient times, education resources between south and north were uneven. The south, rich and crisscrossed by waterways, holds a natural advantage.

Where there is money, there are parents eager for children to study and enter office, to wield real power. Most children begin primers at four, school at six—competition is fierce.

“A few years back, in the counties around Yangzhou alone, a single county exam could see over seven hundred candidates. The prefectural exam there each year exceeds a thousand. As for the provincial exam—competition grows even fiercer, with numbers nearly five times that of Jizhou.”

Wang Ying raised the wine pot to pour for the old man, but Liang quickly covered his cup. “No more. Any more would be too much.”

“No matter—tonight is joyful; a little extra won’t hurt.”

“All right—then the very last one.”

“I’ll keep you company,” said Qingyan, smiling.

Half a cup later, the old master was drunk, snoring against his chair. Qingyan and Qinghuai gently helped him into the room.

After the table was cleared, Wang Ying drew hot bath water.

Qingyan had drunk plenty. As he stepped into the bathhouse, the heat brought his intoxication surging up; he tottered slightly.

Wang Ying caught him, helped him undress, and guided him into the tub.

“Dizzy?”

“Not too.” Qingyan reclined against the tub, hair loose over his shoulders.

Wang Ying combed the strands smooth, then rubbed in cypress-leaf paste to wash.

“Ah Ying—I am so happy today.”

“So am I.”

“Not only for passing as licentiate—more for finding that I can face that past calmly.”

“When those men crowded me and spoke today, there was not a flicker of anger in me…”

“As it should be,” Wang Ying said. “That matter was never your fault, and it’s long past. If one stays trapped in it, how can one accomplish anything great?”

Qingyan clicked his tongue. “Then don’t call me ‘brother’ anymore.”

“I’m older than you to begin with—before, you called me ‘Elder Brother’; now—”

Qingyan’s ears reddened. He seized Wang Ying’s hand and drew him into the tub.

“Hey—my clothes aren’t even off…”

“Brother—let’s bathe together.”

With callused fingers, in two or three motions he worked open Wang Ying’s garments.

Drunk, Qingyan seemed changed—no longer the gentle man, but rough in his motions; it hurt and exhilarated Wang Ying both.

The slap of water echoed in the bathhouse, threaded with their muffled groans. At last Wang Ying could not bear it and bit Qingyan’s shoulder. “To the field.”

Inside the experimental field at last, Wang Ying let himself cry out; the sounds set Qingyan’s blood thrumming—he wanted to crush him to pieces…

—

With the prefectural exam past, Liu Changyi and Chen Qingyun’s marriage was put on the agenda.

By Jizhou convention, the groom’s side must first hire a matchmaker to call and discuss; once the bride’s side agreed, both eight-character birth times would go to a temple for compatibility.

Unless the two were truly inauspicious, the result was almost always “heaven-made.” Of course, if one party refused or wanted to back out, they could borrow the pretext of “the five elements do not match” to cancel and give both sides face.

Qin Furong’s matchmaker was her sworn sister, the Assistant Prefect’s lady, surname Gao.

Lady Gao, much like Qin in temperament—forthright and open—took up the charge and chose an auspicious day to propose.

The two families had already coordinated; this was merely process.

When Lady Gao arrived, she noted their out-of-the-way lane and modest house, and could not quite see why her sister had chosen a “small gate, small household” girl for a daughter-in-law.

But since the matter was entrusted to her, she would see it done cleanly. Entering, she met Madam Li and Fourth Aunt Fang, put on her best smile, and engaged them in conversation.

From their talk she learned the Chens were not locals but had come from elsewhere. Though they looked a touch “fallen,” there was substance within. Their sons were classmates of Liu Changyi, and one had just taken the prefectural list-topper.

Seen thus, the match was indeed equal.

“Take a virtuous wife,” as the saying goes. A family that can cultivate such children—its household teaching must be good. Her sister knew how to pick.

Lady Gao also met Chen Qingyun—gentle in nature, a face with little to fault, and speaking with book-bred manners. At last, the two families exchanged “geng tie” (birth-time cards), to be taken for compatibility casting.

Once Lady Gao was sent off, Madam Li truly felt at ease. Turning to Fourth Aunt, both broke into smiles.

“Lady Liu handles matters with method,” said Fang. “And the person she chose to entrust is reliable.”

“Yes—I feared someone hard to talk with.” She most dreaded dealing with strangers—what modern folk would call social anxiety.

With Qingyun’s marriage tentatively anchored, she could stop fretting. “In a few days, we’ll go to the Daoist temple to cast a sign—see what the heavens say about these two.”

Fang nodded. “I hear the Qingfeng Temple outside Jizhou is good. We’ll take Qingyun and Lin Sui for a turn.”

—

Day by day, the weather warmed. By mid-fourth month, vegetables at the shop began to move slowly.

The estates’ greens were coming in—fresh, cheap, abundant. Most folk preferred not to buy at the shop.

Wang Ying was unbothered. Years of running a produce shop had taught him the pattern. The field’s vegetables were nearly done anyway; the last beds were cleared and replanted with wheat.

Since the flood, he had grown fixated on grain. If he wasn’t planting vegetables, he planted wheat and millet. Silver could cushion troubles, but when calamity struck, only grain saved lives.

It was not yet ice season; business was light. Wang Ying shut the shop for a few days and took the family on an outing.

It was the best time of year.

Bright sun without mugginess, a gentle breeze, and, wherever one looked, the hills were clothed in layered greens—easing the heart and mind.

Qingfeng Temple stood on Qingfeng Mountain, fifteen li outside Jizhou. A carriage ride took about an hour.

Steward Chen drove; Madam Li, Fourth Aunt Fang, Wang Ying, Lin Sui, and Qingyun—who was going to have her eight characters cast—sat inside.

Yuanbao had wished to come, but the boy had lazed too long in the morning.

Wang Ying had also heard that one had to climb steps to reach the temple. Yuanbao’s short legs would tire, and hauling the little dumpling up would be no small labor; better to leave him at home with his father.

Soon the carriage reached the mountain’s foot. All alighted to walk up; Steward Chen led the carriage off the road to wait.

They climbed the stairway. Trees and grasses were thick on all sides; here and there, small wildflowers; birdsong in the woods; walking within was a tonic.

Halfway up, Madam Li and Fourth Aunt were a touch winded. A pavilion stood nearby, and they sat to rest.

A little girl came with water, a yoke across her shoulders. “Auspicious peace to you, honored ones—would you like a cup? The cups are all scrubbed—two cash each.”

Wang Ying beckoned her over. Smiling, she set down the bucket and slipped a string of bamboo cups from her neck.

The cups were clean, but he rinsed them again. He bought one cup per person and gave the girl twenty cash.

Just then, as they rested, Qin Furong and Lady Gao arrived as well—to cast compatibility for the son. The two families bumped into each other by pure chance!

Footnotes

• “Ink-exegesis” (墨义): A written explication format in which candidates interpreted assigned classical lines with precise philological and exegetical backing, often citing definitions and commentaries from sources like Shuowen and Erya, and addressing debates among Han and Song scholars. It contrasted with earlier oral explications and with genres like regulated poetry or policy essays. 
• “Golden Provincial Graduate, Silver Metropolitan Graduate” (金举人、银进士): A folk saying tied to relative selectivity—provincial (乡试) pass rates could be harsher than metropolitan (会试), making the provincial hurdle proverbially “golden,” though the formal rank and long-term prospects of jinshi (metropolitan graduates) were higher.