“Those three from Wen’an Academy—Lu Zhiyuan, Xie Lanting, and Shen Yizhi—are all famous prodigies. They’re only thirteen or fourteen, yet their learning is no worse than yours.”
Du Ziteng counted them off on his fingers one by one.
Shi Huai had long since heard of the three. He nodded, his expression unchanged.
“I’ve heard of them, especially Lu Zhiyuan. I hear he could write poetry at eight and had mastered the Six Classics by ten. He’s a rare genius.”
Seeing how unhurried Shi Huai was, Du Ziteng couldn’t help worrying for him.
“I’ve met that boy Lu Zhiyuan before. He really is clever, and his essays are excellent. He won’t be easy to deal with.”
Shi Huai thought for a moment before answering in an even tone:
“Worrying won’t help. I can’t simply refuse to take the exam because my opponent is strong.”
Du Ziteng was left speechless. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but felt that nothing would be appropriate. In the end, he could only sigh.
“You’re right. Worrying won’t help. I was just passing by and thought I’d come have a look. I won’t disturb your studies any longer.”
Du Ziteng nodded and turned to leave the study.
When he reached the courtyard, Tangerine was crouched on the stone table, basking in the sun.
Du Ziteng glanced at it.
Tangerine glanced back, then narrowed its eyes again, completely ignoring him.
The corner of Du Ziteng’s mouth twitched.
The day before the Autumn Examination, Shi Huai did not study any further.
He rose early and practiced swordsmanship in the courtyard for half an hour, working up a sweat. After washing and changing into clean clothes, he sat in the study and stared blankly into space.
Qinghe came in carrying a bowl of white fungus soup. She set it on the table, then took two steps back and looked at Shi Huai.
“Young Master, your examination is tomorrow, and I’m so nervous.”
Shi Huai picked up the bowl and took a sip. It was sweet without being cloying, and the warm broth flowed from his throat all the way down to his stomach.
He set down the bowl and raised his head to look at Qinghe’s worry-filled face.
“If I’m not nervous, what are you nervous about?”
“I don’t know either. I just am.”
“All right, don’t be nervous. In the future, your young master will still have to take the metropolitan and palace examinations. If you’re already this nervous now, what will you do then?”
Shi Huai consoled her.
Qinghe followed his words to their logical conclusion and realized that he was right.
As for the possibility that her young master might fail…
Bah, bah, bah! There was no way that could happen!
Absolutely no way!
The next day, Qinghe came knocking on his door before dawn.
Shi Huai opened his eyes and lay there for a while before sitting up.
He had not slept well the night before and had drifted through several dreams.
By the time he woke, he could not remember a single one.
He only knew that someone had been chasing him in his dreams, forcing him to run all night.
Qinghe entered carrying a bowl of steaming noodles and set it on the table. She then turned to the wardrobe to fetch his clothes, chattering all the while:
“Young Master, hurry and eat. The noodles won’t taste good once they’re cold. I ironed your clothes last night. See if they fit properly.”
Shi Huai sat down at the table, picked up the bowl, and lifted a strand of noodles with his chopsticks. He swallowed it whole without biting through it.
Qinghe muttered from the side, “You mustn’t bite through your noodles on the morning of the top-scorer examination. Well done, Young Master.”
Shi Huai glanced at her without saying anything and lowered his head to continue eating.
The noodles had been made by Qinghe herself. From kneading the dough to cutting the noodles and cooking them, she had handled every step personally, afraid that anyone else might be insufficiently careful.
Shi Huai finished the entire bowl, even drinking all the broth. When he set the bowl down, a little soup clung to the corner of his mouth, and he wiped it away with a handkerchief.
Qinghe brought over the clothes she had ironed. They were a long blue robe, the color most suited to a scholar.
The fabric was fine Hangzhou silk, with subtle silver embroidery along the collar and cuffs. It was simple and elegant without sacrificing refinement.
She had stayed up for several nights to finish it, sewing every stitch with the utmost care, afraid that any imperfection would make Shi Huai uncomfortable.
After putting it on, Shi Huai reached up to straighten his collar. Then he turned to Qinghe.
“Shall we go?”
Qinghe nodded vigorously and handed him the examination basket she had prepared in advance.
Inside were the brushes, ink, paper, and inkstone he would need for the examination, along with several pieces of dry food and a small pot of water.
She had placed everything inside herself, checking it again and again for fear that she might have forgotten something.
Shi Huai took the basket and walked out through the main gate of Shou’an Hall. He crossed the garden and headed toward the manor’s main entrance.
The morning wind blew in from the east, making the hem of his robe snap in the breeze.
Madam Liu stood behind the window of Qingzhi Courtyard, watching Shi Huai’s retreating figure pass through the garden via the carved window lattice. Her lips pressed together slightly, but she said nothing.
The maid behind her did not dare make a sound. She lowered her head and pretended to tidy the tea set on the table.
Shi Youlan stood at the entrance to her own courtyard, clutching a handkerchief that had been twisted into a wrinkled mess.
She watched Shi Huai walk past her. Her lips moved as though she wanted to say something, but in the end, all she managed was:
“Little Brother, do your best.”
Shi Huai stopped and glanced at her, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.
“Second Sister, rest assured. I’ll do my best.”
Shi Youlan nodded and watched his back disappear behind the moon gate. The handkerchief in her hands grew even more crumpled.
At the entrance to the marquis’s manor, Old Zhang saw Shi Huai come out. He hopped down from the carriage shaft and plastered a broad smile across his face.
“Young Master, hurry and get in. We mustn’t miss the time.”
Shi Huai climbed into the carriage and leaned against the wall with his eyes closed, going over the subjects he would be tested on that day.
The first session would test the interpretation of the Classics, the second policy essays, and the third poetry and literary compositions. Each session lasted three days, with a day of rest in between, making nine days of examinations in all.
Nine days of examinations would be an immense test of physical endurance.
Many candidates did not lose because of a lack of talent, but because they lacked the stamina. By the later days, their minds would no longer function properly. Some could not even understand the questions.
The carriage stopped outside the examination compound.
Shi Huai jumped down and saw that the entrance was already packed with people.
There were candidates, family members who had come to see them off, and constables maintaining order.
The place was filled with noise.
Just as he steadied himself, a familiar voice called out from within the crowd:
“Shi Huai! Over here!”
But before Shi Huai could make out who it was, the examination compound’s main gates opened.
The constables began checking everyone’s identities.
With people packed in front and behind him, Shi Huai had no choice but to join the queue.
Yet when he saw the long line ahead of him, he was surprised to find the constable in front of him speaking to him.
“There are many candidates today. To avoid delaying the examination, the chief examiner ordered us to open another inspection line.”
The constable chief explained this expressionlessly, his face as cold as ice.
Or was it “an explanation”?
Although it was not yet the sweltering season of summer, the lingering autumn heat was in full force.
And with the sun gradually rising, there was not a single spot of shade outside the examination compound.
Being able to enter sooner was naturally preferable.
Thinking this, Shi Huai—honored to become the “first person in the new line”—failed to notice the constable chief’s bright-red ear tips.
He was too busy congratulating himself.
