On the twenty-eighth of March, the palace examination.
In the fourth watch, the sky over Shengjing was still as black as an overturned iron pot, a thick inkiness where not a single star could be seen. But the lamps inside Anle Residence had already been lit.
Pei Cijing was dragged out of bed by Shen Ninghuan.
It wasn’t that he was lazy—on a day like this, even if he had a hundred times the courage, he wouldn’t dare be late. It was simply that his wife had risen earlier than him, and he had no choice but to accept this wake-up call.
“Husband, wake up.”
Shen Ninghuan’s voice was soft and warm, yet carried an unwavering resolve. She sat on the edge of the bed, one hand gently patting his shoulder while the other held the clothes he was to wear today.
Pei Cijing opened his eyes, and his wife’s delicate face was the first thing he saw.
The candlelight fell upon her features, making her clear eyes shine especially bright. Within them lay expectation, reminders, and a hint of tension she had concealed well.
“Don’t worry, Wife. I’m getting up right now.”
He cracked a grin and turned over to sit up.
Shen Ninghuan shot him a look, handed over the clothes, and didn’t stop talking: “Put them on quickly, no dawdling. Father and Mother are already waiting, and breakfast is ready. Today’s palace examination is nothing like the provincial exam—it’s in the Golden Throne Hall, with His Majesty present in person. The rules are strict, so you can’t afford a single misstep.”
Pei Cijing listened as he dressed, nodding along. Whatever his wife said was right; he just had to follow orders.
After washing up, he went to the outer room for the meal.
On the table was food Shen Ninghuan had personally prepared—lighter than usual, but every dish was exquisite. A bowl of chicken congee, two plates of pickled vegetables, a steamer of soup dumplings, and a cup of warm water.
“Don’t eat too much,” Shen Ninghuan said, sitting beside him with her chin resting on her hand as she watched him. “About seventy or eighty percent full. Eat too much, and you’ll get drowsy; eat too little, and you won’t have energy. And drink this water on the way to moisten your throat, nothing more.”
Pei Cijing ate with his head down, muttering vague agreements, but his heart was warm.
His wife had thought of everything for him.
After the meal, Madam Zhou and Pei Fugui were already waiting at the gate.
Madam Zhou’s eyes were a bit red again, but she didn’t let the tears fall. She just took Pei Cijing’s hand and repeated her instructions over and over: “Do your best on the exam, don’t be nervous. However it turns out is fine—we won’t go hungry no matter what.”
Pei Cijing didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
He nodded repeatedly.
Pei Fugui didn’t say much. He just waved his hand and said, “Go on. Don’t miss the hour.”
The carriage was already waiting outside the gate.
Pei Cijing jumped in, lifted the curtain, and waved toward them. Shen Ninghuan stood at the entrance; in the faint light of dawn, her silhouette was outlined with a soft warmth.
She smiled at him. That smile was light, but it made Pei Cijing’s heart settle completely.
The curtain fell, and the carriage rumbled out of the alley, merging into the flow of vehicles and people on the main street.
Shengjing in early spring.
The air was still cool.
The carriage set out from the marquis’s residence, crossed several main streets, turned through a few alleys, and joined the official road leading to the imperial city. Already, many carriages filled the road—all of them carrying candidates from various places heading in the same direction.
Pei Cijing leaned against the carriage wall, resting with his eyes shut.
He didn’t overthink things. No matter what, a palace examination was still just an exam. Mindset was key. As for the questions, no one could say what they would be, but no matter the variation, they tested one’s breadth of mind, insight, and vision.
Things like that—
He had a good supply of them in his belly.
The carriage stopped outside the imperial city. Pei Cijing jumped down, looked up at the imposing city gate. The sky was turning fish-belly white on the horizon, casting the outline of the walls in sharp relief.
Green bricks and gray tiles soared high into the clouds, just as they had when he came for the palace banquet last time.
But today, his mood was completely different.
The last time he came, he was a guest at a feast. Today, he was a candidate for the palace examination. He took a deep breath, straightened his robe and cap, and followed the crowd inside.
The entry procedure was a bit simpler than last time, but still thorough.
Identity verification, name check, body search—one checkpoint after another. Pei Cijing kept his usual calm demeanor, neither humble nor arrogant, which caught the attention of the inspecting officials.
After passing the final checkpoint, a palace attendant led them to the side hall.
The examination venue was set in the Hall of Supreme Harmony, the most solemn main hall in the Great Qian Empire, normally used only for grand ceremonies. The candidates waited in the side hall, and once the hour came, they would enter together.
Many people were already seated in the side hall.
Pei Cijing found a spot in the corner and sat down, letting his gaze sweep the room without drawing attention. About thirty or forty candidates were present—all successful candidates from the metropolitan examination. In a few hours, most of them would become full jinshi scholars.
Some sat upright, their faces grim and tense. Others chatted quietly with neighbors to ease their nerves. Still more rested with their eyes closed, lips moving silently as if reciting something by heart.
Pei Cijing noticed a young candidate in the front row whose hand kept trembling. His hand rested on his knee, shaking like a sieve, the tremor running all the way through his arm.
Pei Cijing silently averted his gaze.
He felt no tension at all. After all, he had seen the big picture.
At the palace banquet, the crown prince had launched a rebellion. Swords flashed, blood flowed like a river, and he had huddled in a corner watching the entire spectacle unfold. And to top it off, he had killed a pursuing eunuch along the way. Over in the Huaging Garden, he had descended from the sky in black robes—a pouch of quicklime and a single kick to a man’s vitals had brought a seemingly invulnerable giant to the ground.
That had been true excitement.
By comparison, spending time in the Hall of Supreme Harmony writing an essay was nothing.
Small potatoes.
Pei Cijing leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and continued resting.
About half an hour passed. A shrill announcement came from outside the hall: “It is time! Candidates, please follow us into the hall—”
The side hall fell silent instantly.
Everyone rose at once, adjusted their robes and caps, and followed the attendant out in single file.
The Hall of Supreme Harmony sat on the central axis of the imperial city. It was the most magnificent building in the entire palace, with layer upon layer of white marble steps, wide-open vermillion gates, and a hall paved with gold bricks. Ornately carved beams, painted rafters, and twelve golden columns entwined with dragons climbed straight to the ceiling—an awe-inspiring sight.
Pei Cijing entered the hall with the crowd, found his seat. On the desk, brush, ink, paper, and inkstone had already been prepared; the ink in the inkstone was even already ground, waiting only for the candidate’s stroke.
He sat down and checked everything on the desk.
After confirming all was in order—
He waited in silence.
Time passed—perhaps the span of a tea break, perhaps half an hour—when footsteps suddenly echoed from outside. Then, a eunuch’s piercing voice cut through the silence:
“His Majesty arrives! Everyone, rise—”
All in the hall rose in unison and bowed in salute.
Pei Cijing followed the crowd, head lowered, eyes fixed on the gold-brick floor. The footsteps grew nearer, unhurried, steady, one after another.
The figure in bright imperial yellow passed beside him, stirring a faint breeze.
Then the footsteps stopped.
They stopped at the very front, before that dragon throne.
“Gentlemen, rise.”
The aged voice echoed through the vast hall—not loud, but every word reached every ear clearly. Everyone straightened and returned to their seats.
As Pei Cijing sat down, he quickly lifted his eyes to glance at the figure on the dragon throne. The old emperor wore a bright yellow dragon robe today, with a wing-shaped crown on his head; his face was gaunt, and his hair and beard had already turned white.
Compared to that night at the palace banquet, he seemed to have aged somewhat.
That was only natural.
No matter how much the affair of the Crown Prince was covered up, to a father it was ultimately a heart-wrenching pain.
The old emperor’s gaze swept over the assembly in the hall. Those cloudy yet commanding eyes carried a hint of scrutiny and a touch of expectation.
His eyes passed over the faces of each candidate, one after another, and finally withdrew.
“Today’s palace examination,” the old emperor began, his voice aged but still full of vigor, “I will ask you only one question—how can the Great Qian prosper and never decline?”
“The Great Qian has been established for a hundred years. Now the realm is at peace, and the people live in comfort. Yet under heaven, the trend of prosperity and decline follows its own rhythm; order and chaos alternate. I wish to see the Great Qian’s foundation secure forever, its state enduring eternally, never waning from generation to generation. All of you, what do you think should be done?”
As his words fell.
Silence filled the hall.
“How can the Great Qian prosper and never decline?” This question seemed ordinary on the surface but concealed hidden depth.
The old emperor was not asking “how to govern the state” or “how to enrich the people and strengthen the army.” He was asking “how to make the Great Qian endure through the ages without interruption.”
Behind this lay the ambition of an emperor.
He did not merely want to be a ruler who preserved the legacy. He wanted the Great Qian’s reign to surpass previous dynasties, surpass ancient times, surpass every dynasty in history.
This question was both easy and difficult to answer.
Easy, because any candidate present who was not a fraud could offer some common advice on how to make a nation prosper for long—
Clean governance, appoint the virtuous and capable.
Monarch and ministers united in purpose, the upper and lower ranks as one.
Strengthen the state and the military, consolidate the foundation.
Lighten corvée labor and taxes, give the people rest.
These principles—everyone knew them, everyone understood them.
Difficult, because these principles were too ordinary. So ordinary that anyone could write them down, so ordinary that out of a thousand exam papers, nine hundred would contain the same content.
To merely list these clichés, no matter how elegantly written, would be merely conventional, blending into the crowd.
To stand out, to make the old emperor’s eyes light up, one had to find a new path.
Because anyone could see what the old emperor wanted.
Not those stale platitudes.
What he wanted to see was the breadth of mind, insight, and vision of these young men. He wanted to see who could say something different, who could give him a true answer.
“Begin,” the old emperor said, leaning back on the dragon throne, his gaze calmly surveying the hall. “No time limit. You may start writing.”
A rustling sound arose in the hall.
Some picked up their brushes and dipped them in ink; some spread out their examination paper; some bent over their desks, writing swiftly; some frowned in thought.
Pei Cijing sat in his seat, not rushing to write. He closed his eyes and quickly organized his thoughts.
In later ages, it would be seen.
Throughout history, the rise and fall, order and chaos, and cyclical recurrence of regimes displayed a periodic phenomenon.
From the Qin and Han to the Tang and Song, from the Yuan and Ming to the Great Qian he now inhabited—no dynasty seemed able to escape this cycle.
Dynasty after dynasty, rise and fall, order and chaos, repeating in a loop.
The founding monarchs, with their great talent and bold vision, established unparalleled achievements; the second and third generations, as conservative rulers, could still maintain the situation; but as it passed on, each generation grew worse than the last, abuses accumulated, and the people struggled to survive.
In the end.
Change of dynasty!
It seemed that no dynasty could escape this law, could break out of this vicious cycle. As for how to end this cycle, how to step out of this trap—
The future had already given the answer.
Self-transformation.
For a nation, for a regime, to break free from the cycle of rise and fall, it must constantly renew and adjust itself, adapting to the changes of the times and the shifting will of the people.
It must not cling to old ways, nor rest on its laurels.
Of course, he would not say anything too ahead of its time. Words like “institutional confidence” or “path confidence” would be incomprehensible and could even bring disaster.
He had to use language acceptable to this era to package those advanced ideas into a moderately formal policy essay.
Pei Cijing took a deep breath and lifted his brush.
Dipped it in ink.
Set it to paper.
The moment the brush tip touched the paper, his mind was already racing.
To break open the topic, he used a famous line from the Book of Changes, Commentary on the Appendices, Part Two: “When things are exhausted, they must change; when they change, they become accessible; when accessible, they endure.”
This line was perfectly appropriate.
It highlighted the core idea of “change” while relying on a classic text for support, so it would not come across as eccentric or rebellious.
Then, following this thread, he unfolded his argument layer by layer.
Pei Cijing wrote quickly, the words pouring out like flowing water. He did not use ornate rhetoric, nor did he pile up obscure allusions. He explained the principles in the simplest language, clarifying his reasoning and making his views clear.
He did not specify “what should change” or make sweeping, subversive proposals. He merely cited classics and pointed out one truth—
All things under heaven are not immutable. In ancient times, governance relied on knotting cords; in middle antiquity, feudal lords were enfeoffed; in previous dynasties, the realm was governed by prefectures and counties.
Times differ.
Systems differ accordingly.
This is because circumstances change, and the methods of governance must change with them. Compared to ancient times, middle antiquity, and even previous dynasties, the Great Qian, after a long passage of years, had seen significant differences.
Ancient systems may not suit middle antiquity.
Middle antiquity’s laws may not suit previous dynasties.
Previous dynasties’ policies may not suit the present day.
Times change, the state of the nation changes, and the people’s conditions change as well. The policies, systems, and laws of the past were formulated under specific historical conditions, suited to that era.
The Great Qian had been established for over a hundred years, passing through several emperors.
Now, the political, economic, and livelihood conditions were vastly different from those at the founding. Those policies that were once effective might no longer be applicable today; those rules set by predecessors might no longer be reasonable now.
Not because the wisdom of the past was lacking, but because times had shifted and circumstances had changed.
Therefore, for the Great Qian to prosper without decline, it must not cling stubbornly to old ways or hold onto outdated remnants. It must adapt to the current state of the nation, adjust to local conditions, change according to the times—modify what needs modifying, reform what needs reforming.
When Pei Cijing reached this point.
He shifted his brush.
He then elaborated on the methods and approaches for reform.
Reform must not be radical; it must not rush for quick results. Radical reform can easily spark turmoil; rushing can backfire. It must proceed step by step, steadily and securely.
It could be trialed in one area.
First, implement it on a small scale, observe the effects, and weigh the pros and cons.
If the results are good, gradually expand it; if not, adjust in time without causing major damage. In this way, reform can be advanced while risks are controlled—steady progress is the long-term strategy.
He wrote more and more smoothly, his brush tip dancing across the paper.
His handwriting was neat, the writing smooth, completed in one continuous flow.
From breaking the topic to establishing the argument, from establishing the argument to providing evidence, from providing evidence to proposing solutions, every step was interlocked, progressing layer by layer, with tight logic and clear organization.
Finally, he ended with a single sentence:
“Change is the universal principle of the world. Without change, there is regression; with change, there is progress; with progress, there is endurance. The prosperity of the Great Qian Dynasty lies not in preserving the old, but in daily renewal.”
He set down the brush.
Pei Cijing carefully reviewed the entire essay from beginning to end, confirming that there were no inappropriate words, no taboo subjects, and no heretical ideas.
The entire piece was filled with quotations from the classics and discussions of grand principles, leaving no fault to be found. Yet the truly progressive thoughts were hidden between the lines of these very “grand principles.”
Those who understood would naturally grasp it.
As for how many people could see the deeper meaning, Pei Cijing did not know. But he did know that, among all the examinees, this essay would at least not fade into obscurity.
The exam was complete.
Not wanting to waste any more time, Pei Cijing stood up, neatly arranged his exam paper, held it with both hands, and walked toward the collection desk at the front.
He handed the paper to the collection official.
He gave a slight bow, then turned and strode out of the hall.
The moment he stepped out of the Hall of Supreme Harmony, the sunlight fell perfectly upon him, warm and comforting, dispelling the lingering chill of the hall.
He squinted for a moment, standing still, and took a deep breath.
The imperial exam was over.
No matter the outcome, he had done everything he could. The rest was left to the grading examiners, to the old emperor, and to fate.
Pei Cijing walked toward the palace gates, his steps light as if treading on clouds.
Only one thought occupied his mind now:
Leave the palace. Eat.
He was starving.
The carriage was already waiting outside the palace gates. Pei Cijing leaped in, dropped the curtain, and instantly relaxed, leaning against the carriage wall with a long sigh.
Yuanbao sat beside the driver, poked his head in, and asked with a grin, “Young Master, how did the exam go?”
Pei Cijing glanced at him, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “You guess.”
Yuanbao scratched his head and chuckled twice. “No need to guess—Young Master must have done brilliantly! You didn’t get first in the metropolitan exam, but this time, Yuanbao is waiting for you to be the top scholar!”
“Da Baozi, you sure know how to talk!”
Pei Cijing closed his eyes.
But the smile at the corners of his mouth could not be suppressed.
The carriage rumbled through the streets, heading toward the Marquis of Weiyuan’s mansion.
The spring day was perfect. Willow fluff drifted through the air, and the streets of the capital bustled with life—lively and bustling.
People carried poles with candied hawthorns, others pushed carts selling wontons, and a few children chased each other at the lane’s entrance, their laughter crisp as silver bells.
No matter the final ranking, the path of the imperial examinations was now behind him.
The carriage stopped at the mansion’s front gate.
Pei Cijing jumped down. Before he could steady himself, he saw a figure standing inside the threshold.
Shen Ninghuan stood there, slightly on tiptoe, peering in his direction. When she saw him leap from the carriage, the faint tension in her brows melted into a tender smile.
Pei Cijing strode over and took her hand.
“Wife, I’m back.”
Shen Ninghuan looked him over from head to toe. Only after confirming he was safe and sound did she nod gently and say softly, “Good to have you back. You must be hungry—let’s go eat...”
