On the fourth day of the fourth month, in the fourth watch of the night.
The sky over the capital still hung black, yet the Victorious Marquis Manor was already ablaze with lantern light.
Pei Cijing stood in the bedchamber of Anle Residence.
His eyes were shut.
His arms were spread wide.
He let Shen Ninghuan fuss over him as she dressed him in the formal robe issued by the Ministry of Rites—a deep blue gown with wide sleeves and a broad front placket, cinched at the waist with a green sash, a cap adorned with a small silver pearl perched on his head.
Shen Ninghuan circled around him, adjusted the collar, pulled the sash a little tighter, stepped back to take a full look, and nodded with satisfaction.
"Husband, all set."
Pei Cijing opened his eyes and let out a great big yawn, the corners of his eyes glistening with two moist drops. The yawn was loud, echoing for a brief moment through the quiet chamber.
Shen Ninghuan watched him, a smile curling at the corners of her mouth.
This husband of hers truly wasn't nervous at all. From the moment she'd dragged him out of bed until now, his yawns hadn't stopped. But though his eyes were still tinged with drowsiness, they also held a certain sharpness.
"Let's go. Father and Mother must be waiting."
Pei Cijing nodded, reached out, and took her hand. The two of them walked out side by side.
At the manor's main gate.
Pei Fugui and Madam Zhou were already waiting.
Madam Zhou wore a brand-new deep-purple jacket, a hairpin studded with gold and precious gems fixed in her updo. Her entire bearing carried more solemnity than usual. Pei Fugui stood beside her, clad in a splendid blue brocade robe, his belly still round as ever, but his face—rarely—bore no smile. There was a hint of nervousness instead.
When Madam Zhou saw Pei Cijing emerge, she hurried over.
She looked him over from head to toe for a long while.
"That formal robe suits you! Makes you look spirited!" She reached out to straighten her son's collar, then moved behind him to smooth the fabric of his robe, her movements even more meticulous than Shen Ninghuan's had been. "My son looks wonderful in it. No worse than anyone else."
Pei Cijing let her fuss, grinning widely. "Mother, your son looks good in anything."
Madam Zhou shot him a mock glare but didn't argue. She just adjusted his cap one more time, then stepped back and said, "Go on now. Travel safely!"
Pei Fugui's round face held a smile, but his eyes glistened.
He didn't say much—just gripped his son's shoulder firmly. The force was neither light nor heavy, as if all his hopes were pressed into that single gesture.
Pei Cijing gave his parents a smile, then turned to look at Shen Ninghuan.
Shen Ninghuan stood just inside the threshold.
The morning light had not yet arrived.
The lanterns beneath the eaves bathed her in a warm, soft glow. She wore a simple white jacket, her hair loosely pinned up with only a white jade hairpin. Her clear eyes gazed at him, holding tenderness, certainty, and a hope she kept carefully hidden.
She gave him a gentle smile. "Husband, I'll be waiting for you."
Pei Cijing's heart warmed. He nodded firmly, then turned and strode toward the carriage.
The carriage rumbled out of the lane. Pei Fugui and Madam Zhou stood at the gate, watching the blue-curtained carriage vanish into the darkness of the night.
Madam Zhou could not suppress her anxiety. She twisted her handkerchief between her fingers, her voice trembling slightly, mixed with a tinge of anticipation as she asked, "Fugui, what rank do you think Cijing will get this time?"
Pei Fugui wrapped an arm around her shoulder, patted it gently. The smile on his round face faded slightly, replaced by an unusual seriousness.
"Top of the second rank should be within reach." He paused, lowering his voice. "But think of all the surprises we've had since Ninghuan married into the family. Sixth place in the metropolitan exam—sixth in the entire empire. Could you have imagined that before?"
Madam Zhou froze for a moment, then her eyes lit up.
"You mean—"
"I mean nothing," Pei Fugui cut her off, but he couldn't stop the corner of his mouth from twitching upward. "I just think a man can dream. What if today makes that dream come true?"
Madam Zhou took a deep breath, turned, and strode back into the manor.
"Where are you going?" Pei Fugui chased after her.
"To the prayer hall!" Madam Zhou didn't look back. "To burn incense for the Bodhisattva! Maybe the Bodhisattva is in a good mood today!"
Pei Fugui watched his wife's brisk, determined retreat and couldn't help but laugh. The laughter drifted on the morning breeze, carrying anticipation, a little nervousness, and an indescribable thread of hope.
He glanced back once at the direction of the lane.
Then he turned and followed Madam Zhou toward the prayer hall.
The carriage rumbled through the long streets. Pei Cijing leaned against the carriage wall, his eyes closed, but he no longer yawned. The drowsy demeanor he'd shown at the manor had mostly fallen away.
Today was the Grand Ceremony of Roll Call, where the results of the palace examination would be announced.
To say he wasn't nervous—that would be a lie.
But his nervousness was different from others'. Others were nervous because they feared they'd done poorly, feared a low rank, feared ten years of relentless study wasted, feared facing their hometown elders in shame.
Those weren't his fears.
He had some confidence in his performance in the palace exam. His rank shouldn't be too low.
But the sixth place in the metropolitan exam had already made his wife happy once. If his palace exam rank dropped—even if his wife said nothing—it would bother him.
But if his palace exam rank turned out better than the metropolitan exam, could he ask for a bigger reward when he got home?
Pei Cijing smirked at the thought, but the smile faded halfway.
Never mind. No use thinking about it. The paper had already been submitted. The rank was already settled. No amount of worrying could change anything now.
The carriage stopped outside the imperial city.
Pei Cijing jumped down, looked up at the towering city gate. The first light of dawn had arrived, a faint gray tinging the edges of the horizon, making the outline of the city walls stand out sharply.
This was his third time coming here—first for the palace banquet, second for the palace exam, and third for the Grand Ceremony of Roll Call.
Each visit had carried a different feeling.
The palace banquet had been about eating. The palace exam had been about testing. Today, it was about getting his report card.
He straightened his robe and cap, then strode toward the palace gate.
Outside the imperial city, many candidates were already waiting. Some stood in small clusters, whispering to one another. Some sat with their eyes closed, meditating. Others paced back and forth, and a few just stared blankly at the gate.
Pei Cijing found a corner to stand in, his gaze sweeping discreetly across the crowd. Most of the people he'd seen on the day of the palace exam were here. The young scholar with the trembling hands who'd sat in the front row was now huddled against the wall, arms crossed, fingers clutching his sleeves so tightly that his knuckles had gone white.
Beside him stood an older candidate, speaking to him in a low voice—either offering comfort or trying to bolster his own courage.
"Brother Zhang, don't be nervous. With your talent, the second rank is certain."
The trembling scholar let out a bitter laugh, his voice tinged with pain. "Second rank? Brother Li, you think too highly of me. If I can stay in the lower end of the second rank, I'll be grateful enough. Those in the third rank are sent away to postings in the provinces. I have an elderly mother and young siblings at home. If I'm assigned to some remote border town—"
He didn't finish. He just shook his head.
Scholar Li sighed and said nothing more.
Listening, Pei Cijing felt a slight stir in his heart.
The rankings of the palace exam were divided into three tiers.
Those who ranked first in the imperial examination—the top three scholars (Zhuangyuan, Bangyan, Tanhua)—were granted official positions immediately, starting in the Hanlin Academy, with boundless prospects ahead.
Those who placed in the second tier were still in a far better position than the top three, and with some effort, the chance to remain in the capital was great, especially for those with higher rankings.
Those in the third tier, known as "fellow graduates by association," if they lacked powerful connections, would most likely be sent to the provinces to serve as county magistrates or judges. When they might return to the center of power was anyone's guess.
The differences between these tiers were like the gap between heaven and earth!
There was even an invisible chain of disdain—the first tier looked down on the second, the second on the third, and the third on those who failed the exams.
Those in the know understood it well.
Pei Cijing withdrew his gaze, leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and rested.
After who knows how long, the palace gates slowly opened. Several officials from the Ministry of Rites emerged, led by a gaunt-faced man who was Vice Minister Zhang, the one in charge of today's Grand Ceremony of the Roll Call.
He wore a brand-new official robe, with a silver belt around his waist.
His expression was solemn.
His eyes swept across the faces of the assembled candidates.
“Gentlemen,” he began, his voice not loud but clear enough for every ear, “the hour has come. Follow me into the palace. Once inside, line up according to your metropolitan examination rankings, and enter in order. No noise, no pushing, no loss of decorum. Offenders shall be severely punished.”
The candidates responded in unison.
They began to organize themselves into ranks.
Once everyone was in place, the procession moved, step by step, through the palace gates, along the long corridor, past door after door, hall after hall.
Everyone walked softly, so softly that barely a sound could be heard, only the rustle of robes and an occasional, barely suppressed cough.
When they passed through the final palace gate, Pei Cijing's view suddenly opened wide.
Before the Qianqing Hall lay the vast white jade square, brilliantly lit by the morning light. The glistening surface of the white marble reflected the dawn clouds, as if strewn with fragments of gold.
On both sides of the square, the civil and military officials stood in ranks according to their positions.
The civil officials stood on the east side, the military on the west, all in court attire, black gauze hats, leather belts, with solemn expressions, motionless, like two rows of silent stone statues.
At the edges were banners and ceremonial guards.
Bright yellow flags snapped in the morning breeze. Imperial guardsmen, clad in armor and wearing long swords at their waists, stood with expressionless faces and cold, sharp eyes.
The scene was far grander and more solemn than the palace examination, for this was no mere test—it was a true state ceremony of the highest order!
Pei Cijing followed the procession to the center of the square and took his designated position.
He could feel that a few candidates beside him had trembling legs; the subtle vibrations traveled through the ground, faint but clear. Some were breathing rapidly, others had their fingers clenched white, and beads of fine sweat glistened on someone’s forehead in the morning light.
Pei Cijing: “……”
This only emphasized how unusually calm he appeared.
Still, he understood. Not everyone was accustomed to such grand occasions. Compared to what he had experienced before, this Grand Ceremony of the Roll Call was just a graduation ceremony.
The results were already set; worrying was pointless.
Everyone stood still.
The square fell silent.
The silence came abruptly, as if someone had suddenly choked all throats, and even the wind dared not breathe loudly.
Morning light poured through the clouds, spilling onto the white jade ground, onto the court robes of the officials, and onto the graduates’ formal attire, bathing everything in a faint golden hue.
Pei Cijing’s gaze slid discreetly toward both sides of the square. At the front of the civil official ranks stood a familiar figure—Shen Zhongcheng.
He wore a new court robe, the golden pheasant embroidery on his badge exquisitely stitched, his expression calm, his eyes fixed forward, revealing nothing.
But Pei Cijing noticed that the corner of his father-in-law’s mouth seemed to curl slightly.
The curve was so shallow it was almost invisible.
Yet he saw it!
Pei Cijing’s heart stirred. The old father-in-law seemed to be in a good mood. That likely meant there was good news. His own results should be promising, although his father-in-law was tight-lipped and hadn’t leaked anything in advance.
Pei Cijing withdrew his gaze and continued looking straight ahead.
Suddenly—
The solemn music of bells and drums rose, a deep and lingering sound that echoed from all sides of the square, like thunder rolling from the horizon, or a spring gushing from beneath the earth, each note striking the heart.
Everyone’s spirits lifted.
“The Emperor arrives—!”
A piercing, high-pitched announcement came from the direction of the hall, sharp and resounding, echoing across the square. Before the sound faded, a figure in bright yellow emerged slowly from the Qianqing Hall, surrounded by eunuchs and maids.
The old emperor wore a bright yellow court robe embroidered with a five-clawed golden dragon, majestic and lifelike. On his head was a winged crown adorned with a pearl the size of a pigeon’s egg, gleaming softly in the morning light.
His face was gaunt, his hair and beard already gray, but his murky yet authoritative eyes held a rare warmth.
He walked to the front of the square’s steps and stopped.
The civil and military officials bowed in unison, and the candidates knelt down, their movements synchronized perfectly, the rustling of their robes merging into a single sound.
“Long live His Majesty, ten thousand years, ten thousand years, ten thousand years—”
The voices of hundreds became a torrent, echoing across the square, startling a few birds from the distant palace walls as they fluttered away.
The old emperor raised his hand slightly, his voice aged but still full of authority: “Rise, my ministers.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty!”
Everyone rose and stood with hands at their sides, and the square fell silent once more.
The music gradually ceased, leaving only the sound of banners slapping in the wind and the faint, curling smoke rising from bronze tripods. The smoke was thin and wispy, dissipating midair, shrouding the entire square in a barely perceptible haze.
Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the front—on the bright yellow imperial decree in Vice Minister Zhang’s hand.
Everyone knew what was coming next.
The Roll Call Announcement!
This was the core, the most electrifying part of the entire ceremony.
Everyone’s ranking would be announced on this square, before the civil and military officials, before the Emperor himself—each name called out one by one.
Vice Minister Zhang held the decree, walked to the front of the square, and stopped.
He unrolled the decree and cleared his throat.
The square became so quiet that one could hear one’s own heartbeat—thump, thump, thump—each beat heavier and faster than the last.
“The Grand Ceremony of the Roll Call now begins—”
He paused, his gaze resting on the decree for a moment, then he spoke, his voice booming and full of strength, each word enunciated clearly.
“First place, first rank—”
Everyone held their breath.
“—Liu Zhixing.”
When Vice Minister Zhang spoke that name, it was like a stone thrown into a deep pool, stirring ripples in all directions.
Liu Zhixing!
Liu Zhixing again!
First place in the Jiangsu and Zhejiang provincial exams, first place in the metropolitan exam, first place in the palace exam—winning the top spot three times in a row. Since the founding of the Great Qian Dynasty, those who have achieved this rare feat could be counted on one hand.
It was easy to foresee that Liu Zhixing would bring glory to his ancestors and become famous throughout the land.
At the very front of the candidates' line, a slender, tall man of about twenty-seven or twenty-eight stepped forward. His expression was calm, betraying little excitement, though the faint blush creeping to the tips of his ears gave away his emotions.
He walked to the center of the square, performed the formal bow, and said, “Your servant, Liu Zhixing, humbly thanks Your Majesty for your boundless grace!”
The old emperor gave a slight nod, his gaze lingering on him for a moment, tinged with approval.
Vice Minister Zhang continued reading the names.
“Second place in the first rank—”
“—Chen Wangbei.”
A sturdy, broad-faced middle-aged candidate stepped out from the line. His eyes were slightly reddened, his lips trembling faintly. As he walked to the center of the square, his voice carried a hint of choked emotion.
“Your servant, Chen Wangbei, humbly thanks Your Majesty for your boundless grace!”
Vice Minister Zhang’s eyes fell upon the next name on the imperial edict. His voice rang out once more, still resonant, still full of vigor.
“Third place in the first rank—”
Once again, everyone’s gaze zeroed in on him. The square was so quiet that only the wind and the beating of hearts could be heard.
“—Pei Cijing.”
Pei Cijing.
The name echoed across the square, clearly reaching every ear.
Among the candidates, Pei Cijing was momentarily startled. He had heard his own name—he had actually earned the title of tanhua, the third-place scholar. His ranking had moved up by one, no wonder his father-in-law had been in such a good mood.
He took a deep breath and stepped forward from the line.
His steps were steady.
Step by step, he walked toward the center of the square.
Every pair of eyes was fixed on him—the eyes of the civil and military officials, the eyes of the other candidates, the imperial guards, and, finally, the old emperor himself.
When he reached the center of the square, he performed the formal bow and said, “Your servant, Pei Cijing, humbly thanks Your Majesty for your boundless grace.”
His voice carried clearly through the air, neither too loud nor too soft, neither humble nor arrogant.
The old emperor’s gaze rested on him. Those eyes, clouded with age yet still filled with authority, held a hint of scrutiny, a touch of admiration, and a faint, elusive trace of amusement.
Pei Cijing did not look up, but he could feel that gaze upon him, heavy and laden with some inscrutable meaning.
Vice Minister Zhang continued reading the names.
First place in the second rank, second place, third place, and so on, one after another.
Name after name echoed across the square. Some were so overcome with emotion that their voices trembled and tears streamed down their faces, falling onto the white jade ground. Some stumbled and nearly fell while stepping forward to express gratitude, only to be steadied by their fellow classmates.
Pei Cijing stood still, his eyes lowered, his heartbeat quickening slightly. He did not let himself dwell on too many thoughts. Only one idea filled his mind.
Tanhua.
He had earned the title of tanhua.
Third place in the first rank, a presented scholar of the highest degree. When the victory parade through the streets began, he would be allowed to ride a horse—mounted like a true scholar, not left to trudge on foot, eating dust at the back of the procession.
Hmm.
Not bad. Not bad at all…
