That spot was in the third row, toward the left—not too far to one side, neither at the front nor the back, utterly unremarkable.
The person sitting there wore a slate-blue robe. His jet-black hair was tied up with a white jade hairpin, revealing a short stretch of fair nape.
The way he bowed his head to write was quiet as a painting.
The Emperor stood at the edge of the square, the strand of jade beads in his hand suspended in midair.
“Your Majesty?” the eunuch called softly.
The Emperor came back to himself, closed his fingers around the beads once more, and stepped into the square.
He did not take the red-carpeted path down the middle. Instead, he turned and headed toward the third row.
The assembled officials exchanged glances before hurrying after him.
The Emperor’s footsteps were light. They made almost no sound on the flagstones.
He stopped behind Shi Huai.
Shi Huai was bent over his writing, completely unaware that a group of people had gathered behind him.
His brush whispered across the paper, writing the words: “Let all the scholars beneath Heaven strive and rouse themselves to self-improvement.”
The Emperor lowered his head. His gaze fell upon Shi Huai’s examination paper. He scanned it from top to bottom, then again from bottom to top, his brows drawing together slightly.
Not because it was poorly written, but because it was too well written.
It was so good that he felt the essay had been written specifically for him. Every sentence touched the deepest part of his heart.
“Reduce punishments, lighten taxes, and exercise caution in military affairs.”
These were the very things he had been trying to do ever since ascending the throne.
But he had been doing so for twenty years, and the results had been negligible.
The ministers in court quarreled in his ears every day. One insisted taxes should be reduced; another argued they could not be. Their endless disputes gave him a splitting headache.
“Taxes are levied with the urgency of a shooting star, while officials are as fierce as tigers and wolves.”
The words pierced his heart like a thorn.
Of course he knew that local officials were corrupt from top to bottom. But what could he do, knowing it?
He could execute one batch, but the next would be no different. They could never be killed all, nor killed clean.
“To bring peace to the people, one must first survey the land so that the powerful have nowhere to hide their holdings. To survey the land, one must first reform officialdom so that officials have no opportunity for graft. To reform officialdom, one must first set the ruler’s heart aright, so that the court itself inspires awe.”
The Emperor read those lines over and over, and the feeling in his heart grew stronger with each reading.
He had never expected that in the few short years since they had last met, this thirteen-year-old child would have grown so strikingly—and would have expressed, in a few hundred words, matters he himself had spent twenty years failing to understand.
The argument was lucid and crystal clear, leaving no room for anyone to refute it.
“Excellent.”
The Emperor’s voice rang out with unusual clarity across the silent square.
Shi Huai’s hand paused. He raised his head and met the Emperor’s gaze.
They were less than three feet apart—one standing, the other seated, their eyes locked. The air seemed to solidify around them.
Morning light slanted in from the east and fell across Shi Huai’s face.
When he looked at you in silence, he made you feel as though the entire world had fallen quiet.
The Emperor’s hand clenched hard around the jade beads. His knuckles turned bluish-white. His Adam’s apple bobbed once, and his lips moved several times, yet not a single word came out.
The ministers behind him had seen it too.
The entire square remained silent for three full breaths—so silent that one could hear the wind rustling the examination papers, and even the sparrows calling from the trees in the distance.
The Grand Secretary, who stood at the head of the cabinet, nearly dropped the tablet in his hands. His lips trembled several times, and his beard quivered with them.
The deputy grand secretary was no better. His eyes were wide as bells, his mouth slightly agape, his whole body as rigid as though someone had cast a binding spell on him.
The Minister of Justice was a man in his fifties, usually the most composed of men. No matter how fiercely the court argued, he never let the slightest emotion show.
Yet now, standing behind the Emperor and looking at the young man in the slate-blue robe, he held his tablet with visibly trembling hands.
Vice Minister of Rites Wang Ke stood in the middle of the crowd.
He had been the chief examiner for this examination and had seen Shi Huai’s paper during the metropolitan examination.
The essay was indeed excellent, but he had never imagined that the young man himself would be even more remarkable than his writing.
Wang Ke remembered how, a month earlier, his wife had returned from the Marquis of Yongning’s residence and spent ages singing the family’s praises before him.
She had gone on and on about how wonderful the Young Master of the Shi family was and how taken their daughter was with him, urging him to go to the Marquis’s residence and propose marriage.
At the time, he had flatly refused.
“The Marquis of Yongning’s residence? That fallen household? So what if the Young Master of the Shi family passed the provincial examination? He’s a bastard son. How could he possibly be worthy of a daughter of the Wang family?”
Now he stood there, looking at the young man who had written “Taxes are levied with the urgency of a shooting star, while officials are as fierce as tigers and wolves” on his examination paper, and regretted his words so deeply that his very guts twisted.
Hanlin Academician Lin Huaiyuan stood beside Wang Ke, and his expression was scarcely any better.
He remembered how, the previous month, his wife had gone to the Marquis of Yongning’s residence to propose marriage. When she returned, she told him that Madam Liu had completely misunderstood their intentions, resulting in an embarrassing farce.
At the time, he had been secretly relieved that the match had fallen through and had said, “What’s so special about a bastard son from a fallen marquis’s household?”
Now, gazing at Shi Huai’s face—more beautiful than anything in a painting—he wished he could slap himself twice.
Lord Fang, the Vice Minister of Revenue, stood in the third row. He pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve and pretended to wipe away sweat, when in fact he was wiping the corner of his mouth.
He remembered his own daughter, Ruoyun. Ever since returning from the flower-viewing gathering, she had lost her appetite and could think of nothing but “Young Master Shi, Young Master Shi.”
He had told his wife, “Tell our daughter to give up on him. Shi Huai is only a bastard son. He isn’t worthy of our family.”
Now he would have given anything to turn back time and sew his mouth shut.
Shen Jinghong’s father, Grand Secretary Shen, stood at the very front, closest to the Emperor.
He looked at Shi Huai with an expression of utter complexity.
He had not failed to notice his son Jinghong’s strange behavior over the years—running to the Marquis of Yongning’s residence every few days, neglecting his studies at the Imperial College, and wandering around distractedly all day.
He had scolded him, beaten him, and confined him. He had tried every method at his disposal.
Now he finally knew the reason.
Zhao Huan’s father, Duke Cheng, stood beside Grand Secretary Shen, his face livid.
He thought of his own foolish son, who had returned from the cuju field looking as though he had lost his soul.
He had asked him what was wrong several times without getting an answer. Now there was no need to ask. The answer was sitting right there.
Fang Huaijin’s father, Academician Fang, stood toward the back. He was short, and the people in front blocked his view.
Rising onto his toes, he caught sight of Shi Huai’s profile through a gap in the crowd.
Academician Fang sighed and remembered that a piece of calligraphy had recently appeared in his son’s study.
A poem was written on it.
When he had asked who wrote it, his son had stammered that it was a classmate. At the time, he had thought nothing of it.
Now that he thought back on it, he wondered how many unspoken feelings had been hidden in that stammering voice.
The results of the palace examination were announced on the spot. This had long been the custom of the Great Yan Dynasty.
After reviewing all the candidates’ papers, the Emperor would personally select the three top candidates, seven second-ranked candidates, and however many were to receive third rank. The names would be called and the results posted immediately.
In the short time it took to walk from the Hall of Supreme Harmony to the square, the news had already spread everywhere.
Shi Huai stood among the candidates, who had been arranged in several lines according to their native regions. Shen Yizhi stood beside him, with Lu Zhiyuan on the other side. The three of them stood shoulder to shoulder.
Shen Yizhi had his hands clasped behind his back, muttering under his breath. It was unclear whether he was silently reciting an essay or praying for divine protection.
He turned his head to glance at Shi Huai and lowered his voice.
“You’re not nervous?”
“Would being nervous help?”
Shen Yizhi was briefly at a loss for words. After thinking it over, he nodded.
“It won’t help, but I’m still nervous.”
Shi Huai said nothing. His gaze rested on the vermilion doors of the Hall of Supreme Harmony.
The doors were tightly shut, the copper studs on their panels glinting in the sunlight.
No one knew what the people inside were discussing.
Suddenly, the doors opened.
Fu Quan, the chief eunuch, emerged, holding a scroll of imperial edict in both hands. Behind him, several young eunuchs filed out and took their places in two lines on either side of the steps before the hall.
Fu Quan unfurled the edict, his shrill voice echoing across the square:
“By the Mandate of Heaven, the Emperor decrees: among the successful candidates of the metropolitan examination, those ranked in the First Class shall be granted the title of Presented Scholar; those in the Second Class, the title of Presented Scholar by Origin; and those in the Third Class, the title of Associate Presented Scholar.”
He paused after reading this, his gaze sweeping across the square before he continued:
“First in the First Class: Lu Zhiyuan.”
Lu Zhiyuan stepped out of the line. His expression remained calm, his stride steady. He walked to the steps before the hall and knelt to receive the Emperor’s grace.
After announcing Lu Zhiyuan’s name, Fu Quan read out the name of the second-ranked candidate in the First Class. It belonged to someone Shi Huai did not know—a man surnamed Liu, called Liu Ziheng.
Standing among the candidates, Shi Huai’s heart stirred faintly when he heard the words “second place,” but not the slightest change appeared on his face.
Beside him, Shen Yizhi struggled to hold back his laughter and nudged him with an elbow.
“You should be the Tanhua.”
Shi Huai turned to glance at him. Before he could respond, Fu Quan’s voice rang out once more:
“Third in the First Class: Shi Huai.”
