Shen Yizhi grinned even more broadly, muttering, “I told you so,” until a nearby candidate shot him a glare and made him quiet down.
Shi Huai stepped out of the line.
Judging by his results in the Metropolitan Examination, his performance in the Palace Examination, and the way he had felt while writing those essays, he should not have placed only third.
Shi Huai pushed the thought to the back of his mind. His face remained impassive, and his steps were neither hurried nor slow.
He knelt on the hard, icy stone pavement. His knees struck the ground with a dull thud.
“Your subject, Shi Huai, thanks Your Majesty for your gracious favor.”
His voice was not loud, but in the silent square, it carried with striking clarity.
At the top of the steps before the Hall of Supreme Harmony, the Emperor stood looking down at the kneeling candidates. His gaze had settled on Shi Huai and had not moved since.
Just moments earlier, he had been arguing with a group of ministers inside the hall.
He had originally intended to name Shi Huai the Top Scholar.
The essay had been too brilliant—so brilliant that the Emperor could find no fault with it, so brilliant that he felt it contained the answer to a question he himself had pondered for twenty years without ever solving.
But several old scholars from the Hanlin Academy had knelt on the floor and remonstrated with him to the death.
They argued that since the founding of the dynasty, there had never been a thirteen-year-old Top Scholar; that if word got out, outsiders would say Great Yan had no one else worthy of the honor; and that no matter how excellent the essay was, the established rules still had to be followed.
The Emperor had been given a splitting headache by their incessant arguments.
Lu Zhiyuan was twenty years old, a gifted scholar from Wen’an Academy. His essays were excellent, and he had a dignified appearance. No one could object if he were named the Top Scholar.
Liu Ziheng was thirty, born to a humble family. His writing was solid, and he was an honest, dependable man. No one would object to naming him the Second Scholar.
Shi Huai was thirteen. His essay was indeed excellent, but his age alone made him too conspicuous for the position of Top Scholar.
He could be named the Third Scholar instead.
The title of Third Scholar had originally been reserved for the youngest, most handsome, and most talented candidate.
It was an unwritten tradition, passed down since the time of the founding emperor.
Thinking of this, the Emperor’s gaze fell upon Shi Huai’s face, gilded by the sunlight. The trace of reluctance in his heart gradually faded.
The Third Scholar it was, then. He was only thirteen, after all. There would be plenty of opportunities for him in the future.
“All of you may rise.”
The Emperor’s voice came down from the steps, carrying the dignity and composure unique to an emperor.
Shi Huai rose from the ground. The imprint of the stone slabs still lingered on his knees. He lowered his head, glanced at it, and brushed the dust from the hem of his robe.
As he turned and walked back to the line, Shen Yizhi shot him an exaggerated wink. Another candidate glared at him, and he hurriedly composed himself.
Lu Zhiyuan stood at the very front of the line, his posture straight as a pine. From beginning to end, he never once looked back.
Shi Huai’s gaze settled on the back of his head. His hair was tied up so neatly that not a single stray strand escaped his crown.
Just like the man himself—so proper that he was almost dull.
Once the names had been announced, the next event was the flower-adorned procession through the streets.
This was an old tradition of the Great Yan dynasty.
The newly named palace graduates would mount tall horses, wear red flowers and scarlet robes, and set out from the Meridian Gate. They would travel along Chang’an Street to the Examination Compound, receiving the congratulations of the people along the way.
Shi Huai was led into a side hall to change.
The red robes had been prepared in advance by the Ministry of Rites.
Each had been tailored to the wearer’s measurements. The fabric was fine Hangzhou silk, dyed a brilliant scarlet, with golden auspicious-cloud patterns embroidered around the collar and cuffs.
When Shi Huai put on his robe, the young eunuch helping him adjust it was trembling so badly that he could not fasten the buttons properly. After several attempts, he finally knelt on the floor and said, “This servant is clumsy. Please forgive me, Third Scholar.”
Shi Huai pulled him to his feet. He fastened the buttons himself in just a few deft movements, straightened his collar, and turned to look at his reflection in the bronze mirror.
The youth in the mirror wore a brilliant red robe. His jet-black hair was secured with a golden hairpin, and a silver sash was tied around his waist. He was beautiful as a mass of living flame.
Shen Yizhi ran over from the adjoining room. The moment he saw Shi Huai, he froze, mouth hanging open. After a long while, he managed to say, “You look better in red than in anything else.”
Shi Huai glanced at him. “You don’t look bad either.”
Shen Yizhi lowered his head to look at his own red robe, then raised it again to look at Shi Huai. He shook his head.
“Not even close. Standing next to you, I look like the fellow who carries the sedan chair.”
The remark tugged the corners of Shi Huai’s mouth upward. He reached out and straightened Shen Yizhi’s crooked crown.
“Enough nonsense. Let’s go. The horses are waiting outside.”
In the square beyond the Meridian Gate, dozens of tall horses stood in neat rows.
Each one wore red tack, with golden ribbons tied into its mane.
Lu Zhiyuan was the first to mount.
His movement was clean and decisive. His red robe flared in the wind before settling again, lending him an air of heroic vigor.
Liu Ziheng was second.
He did not know how to ride. Only with the eunuchs’ assistance did he manage to climb onto the horse. Once seated, his face had gone pale, and he gripped the reins with both hands as though his life depended on them.
Shi Huai was third. He walked over to his horse and reached out to stroke the mane at its neck.
The horse snorted, then lowered its head and rubbed against his palm.
Shi Huai placed one foot in the stirrup and vaulted lightly into the saddle. His movement was as smooth as flowing water, and he settled onto the horse’s back with perfect steadiness.
From behind him, Shen Yizhi called out, “Shi Huai, how is it that you can do everything?”
Shi Huai turned and glanced at him. “Can’t you ride too?”
Shen Yizhi gave a sheepish laugh and mounted his own horse.
His movement was not as graceful as Shi Huai’s, but it was still fairly nimble.
The sound of drums and horns emerged from within the Meridian Gate.
At the front of the procession came the musicians: men playing suona horns, striking gongs, and beating drums. Every one of them had played until his face and neck were flushed, and the noise left people’s ears ringing.
Behind them came the banner bearers. Dozens of colorful flags snapped in the wind, their surfaces embroidered with the words “Top Scholar,” “Second Scholar,” and “Third Scholar.” They glittered in the sunlight.
The Top Scholar, Lu Zhiyuan, rode at the very front. The Second Scholar, Liu Ziheng, followed behind him, and the Third Scholar, Shi Huai, took the third position.
Behind them came the many candidates who had placed in the second and third ranks.
The grand procession set off.
The townspeople along both sides of Chang’an Street had received the news long ago and begun claiming their spots at dawn.
Some had brought stools. Some stood on the steps. Some had climbed into trees, while others perched on top of walls...
A dense sea of heads filled the street, stretching so far that the end could not be seen.
When the procession reached the middle of Chang’an Street, the crowd suddenly erupted into commotion.
“They’re here! They’re here! The Top Scholar is here!”
“Which one is the Top Scholar? The one in red?”
“The Top Scholar is the first one—the one with the most dignified appearance.”
“What about the Second Scholar? Why does he look as though he’s about to fall off?”
“Where’s the Third Scholar? Which one is he?”
“The one behind them! The third one! My heavens, the Third Scholar is unbelievably handsome!”
The voices rose and fell throughout the crowd. Seated on horseback, Shi Huai listened to the comments without the slightest change in expression.
He kept his eyes straight ahead, his back ramrod straight.
His scarlet robe fluttered gently in the wind. A few strands of his jet-black hair had slipped free from the golden hairpin and fallen over his shoulder. He was as beautiful as a living painting.
“Young Master Shi! Young Master Shi, look over here!”
