Chapter 6: Joy Upon Opening the Scroll
Chen Changsheng stopped in his tracks, turned back to look at his teacher, somewhat puzzled. Then he recalled the paintings he had seen earlier and understood the source of the other’s anger—those examinees who had failed to complete marrow cleansing had all retreated in defeat after this stage. That teacher must have assumed he should do the same, yet he had continued forward on his own, which had apparently displeased him.
Unwilling to waste time on pointless arguments and misunderstandings, he bowed respectfully to the teacher, who was just rising to his feet, and explained directly: “Teacher, I am not causing trouble.”
That teacher was about to berate him for disrupting such a solemn examination hall, but hearing him speak first, he was momentarily caught off guard, choked back a cough, and snapped: “Then why don’t you leave at once!”
The youths waiting in line behind Chen Changsheng were already growing anxious and impatient. Seeing him refuse to leave, they thought he was being obstinate and grew angry, joining the teacher in shouting at him, with some even mocking him for losing his mind.
Chen Changsheng heard their words and laughter, but his expression remained unchanged. He looked nothing like a typical fourteen-year-old youth, his calmness so disconcerting that it left others at a loss. He looked at the teacher, bowed again with utmost courtesy, and said methodically: “I have not cultivated, yet I am still eligible to apply for the Heavenly Dao Academy.”
The teacher was stunned, unsure what this youth was trying to say. Since you couldn’t even succeed at marrow cleansing, how could you qualify to continue the exam? Had there been any exceptions in all these years? And even if there were, why would they apply to you?
Chen Changsheng said: “According to Article 17, Clause 4, Subsection 8 of the Heavenly Dao Academy’s regulations, the admission exam paper is the sole criterion. Eleven years ago, the Office of Judicial Review also had a precedent.”
Looking at his plain attire, the teacher instinctively prepared to scold him—not out of snobbery, but because he simply couldn’t believe that this youth, clearly from some remote backwater, could possibly know the academy’s regulations better than he, who had overseen the first round of admissions for years. What subsection… did the regulations even have that? Why didn’t he recall it?
Yet just as he was about to have someone remove this youth, he heard the term “Office of Judicial Review” and was startled, swallowing the words that were about to leave his lips.
The Office of Judicial Review had originally been an unremarkable branch under the Ministry of Justice of the Great Zhou Dynasty. But ever since the Holy Empress began ruling, and it was taken over by Zhou Tong, the infamous and cruel official she favored, the office had transformed. Countless loyal old ministers and generals of the royal family had died mysteriously within those ordinary-looking buildings. Gradually, the name struck fear into the hearts of all Zhou officials and nobles…
Though the Heavenly Dao Academy wasn’t under the Office of Judicial Review’s jurisdiction, it couldn’t help but be wary. What unsettled this teacher most was that the Office, in an effort to shed its evil reputation, was most particular about its public image. When commoners came seeking justice, it emphasized so-called “reason.” If the academy’s regulations truly contained the clause the youth mentioned, there might indeed be trouble…
Looking at Chen Changsheng’s calm demeanor, the teacher suddenly felt uncertain. After hesitating for a moment, he frowned, barked a few words at the back of the line, and then turned and left, disappearing to who knows where. The crowd’s shouts and jeers gradually subsided into murmurs, as people wondered what had happened.
After a considerable time, the teacher returned, his gaze toward Chen Changsheng now tinged with complexity.
Chen Changsheng knew the teacher had likely gone to check the regulations and had seen the subsection he mentioned—he had spent his childhood reading ceaselessly in the temple, memorizing the Three Thousand Volumes, reciting countless classics and texts backward and forward. He had even perused the rules and etiquette details of various nations countless times, so he naturally wouldn’t be mistaken.
“Even if you continue the exam, you have no chance. Why waste time?”
The teacher looked at Chen Changsheng with a stern, expressionless face.
Chen Changsheng said: “Student still wishes to try.”
The teacher said: “You haven’t succeeded at marrow cleansing. How can you solve those problems? And it will harm your spirit. Are you sure you want to take it?”
This statement wasn’t false. After marrow cleansing and heart purification, the greatest difference from ordinary people, aside from physical strength, was the strength of one’s spiritual sense. This was an innate opportunity, unchangeable by human effort. Without marrow cleansing, one certainly couldn’t solve those difficult problems, and might even suffer severe damage—hence the small table in the bamboo shed and the black induction stone on it had become a necessary hurdle in the exam. Anyone who couldn’t make the black stone glow was eliminated. This had become convention, or common knowledge, which was why no one who had failed earlier had raised any objection—until Chen Changsheng, this anomaly, appeared.
Chen Changsheng bowed: “Student is certain he wants to take it.”
The teacher’s expression darkened. He thought, since you insist on wasting your own time and everyone else’s just because you happened to stumble upon that regulation somewhere, then go ahead. If your spirit is damaged and you become an idiot, it’s your own fault.
“Then go.”
Chen Changsheng bowed once more, said nothing further, and walked out of the bamboo shed, heading toward the building deep within the Heavenly Dao Academy.
The teacher said nothing more, turned to the remaining students, and said coldly: “Next.”
…
…
Failing the induction stone test yet continuing to take the Heavenly Dao Academy’s entrance exam—in over a decade, Chen Changsheng was the first. The youths waiting in line, watching him walk away, couldn’t understand what had happened. Those in the know didn’t take it seriously either—exploiting a loophole was still just exploiting a loophole. Without marrow cleansing, his memory, analytical ability, and computational skills were all ordinary. There was no way he could solve the academy’s entrance exam questions. Chen Changsheng’s actions were at most an amusing interlude.
That building was the Heavenly Dao Academy’s Building A. As Chen Changsheng entered, many dismissed him. But the blue-clad youth Tang Thirty-Six, who had finished his exam early and naturally succeeded in entering the academy, gave Chen Changsheng a long, hard look. He didn’t think Chen Changsheng would pass either, but he admired the youth’s earnest, even stubborn, spirit—because it reminded him of himself. Just then, the academy’s vice dean appeared beside him and said with a smile: “Do you think that youth has a chance? I don’t. Who was the last person to enter the Heavenly Dao Academy as an ordinary person? That was Wang Ce. And this continent hasn’t seen someone like Wang Ce in centuries.”
Wang Ce was a legendary figure on this continent. In the final years of the founding emperor, he entered the Heavenly Dao Academy at the tender age of sixteen as an ordinary person who had never cultivated. After graduating, he worked as a common clerk in the government. It wasn’t until he was forty that, one night, a long cry echoed through the capital, and Wang Ce suddenly awakened to the Dao and began to cultivate. In just a few short years, he reached the peak and eventually became the deputy commander of the human alliance, playing a decisive role in the great victory against the demon race. To this day, his portrait still hangs in the Lingyan Pavilion.
It had been a long time since the world had seen Wang Ce.
Tang Thirty-Six said: “I don’t think he’ll pass either, and I certainly don’t think he’s the next Wang Ce. But I think, if you want to become someone as remarkable as Wang Ce, you at least need to have the spirit of never giving up, like that youth just now, and live with enough rigor—I’ve never believed geniuses are all that impressive. The truly fearsome people are those who are hardest on themselves.”
The vice dean shook his head and said: “Back then, Wang Ce studied at his clan school, eating frozen porridge in the snow and ice, never putting down his books. How much of that can this youth emulate?”
Tang Thirty-Six said: “At the very least, this youth is far better than those mediocre others.”
The vice dean glanced at him and said: “Indeed, Tang Tang. You see things and people so differently.”
Tang Thirty-Six frowned slightly and said: “Please call me Tang Thirty-Six.”
The vice dean laughed and said: “Once you enter our Heavenly Dao Academy, I imagine you’ll change that name again.”
Tang Thirty-Six said seriously: “That is inevitable.”
The vice dean looked at the building, sensing the faint fragrance seeping from the windows, and asked: “Are you going to wait?”
Tang Thirty-Six said: “Yes.”
The vice dean asked: “Why?”
Tang Thirty-Six said: “Though he can’t possibly pass, I’m very curious to know how many points he’ll get.”
…
…
The exam paper on the desk was extremely thick, like a small mountain. Chen Changsheng didn’t know the specific content of the paper, so he couldn’t help but feel nervous—as everyone knew, the reason the Heavenly Dao Academy was so hard to get into was that the entrance exam covered everything: from the true meaning of the Daoist scriptures to the initial debates on the Heavenly Books to military strategy, and even agricultural questions often appeared. Even for someone at the perfect marrow cleansing stage, finishing all these questions before the incense burned out was extremely difficult, let alone for an ordinary person like him.
He sat before the desk, closed his eyes to rest his spirit for five breaths, then opened them and reached out to flip open the first page of the paper. As he did this, his emotions were mixed—curiosity about the unknown, an inexplicable unease, and a faint, inexplicable anticipation.
His fingers suddenly froze, and a flicker of confusion passed through his bright, mirror-like eyes.
They said the Heavenly Dao Academy’s exam questions were very difficult, testing obscure passages from the most recondite texts. But why… did the first question on the first page look so familiar? Cen Canzi’s debate with the seventh Pope on the true meaning of the Thirty-One Contemplations? When had he read that? It seemed like when he was three years old… It was an inconspicuous passage from the Huainan Commentary on the Southern Classic, but he was certain he had read it, memorized it, and reviewed it again at ages five and eleven.
Familiar was an understatement—he knew it all by heart.
Chen Changsheng was puzzled, but being still a youth, he felt more joy than anything else. He stopped overthinking, picked up the ink brush, and began copying the passages and the insightful commentaries of past sages from his memory onto the paper. Then he flipped to the second page and, unsurprisingly, saw another familiar passage…
The Dao encompassed everything. The Heavenly Dao Academy’s entrance exam questions were almost all contained within the Three Thousand Volumes.
And he could recite those Three Thousand Volumes backward and forward.
How could such an exam possibly stump him?