Chapter 131: The Last Two to Submit Their Papers
The brush moved across the snow-white paper, like a person walking through a desert, sometimes rustling, sometimes silent.
The Hall of Brilliant Culture suddenly seemed filled with many mulberry trees, raising countless silkworms.
Chen Changsheng gripped his brush, earnestly answering the questions on the paper. His brush did not dance like dragons or snakes across the page; he wrote carefully, stroke by stroke, so meticulously that it even seemed somewhat constrained.
Because of this constraint, he appeared a bit nervous, but in reality, his mind was completely at ease. Countless articles he had read since childhood, like leaves in the wind, kept flashing through his mind. Looking at the questions, he would gently pluck a leaf from this cascade and copy it down. There was no need for prolonged thought—questions requiring deliberation to reach a conclusion had yet to appear. Among the several test papers he had seen so far, none exceeded the scope of the Daoist Canon in terms of knowledge assessment. The priests who set the questions had yet to demonstrate wisdom surpassing that of countless ancient sages.
Not far away, Gou Hanshi set down his brush, rubbed his wrist, then continued writing on his paper, his expression calm and relaxed, as if he were studying and taking notes in the Li Mountain Study.
The Hall of Brilliant Culture was utterly silent, with only the sounds of flipping papers and writing audible. Occasionally, a cough or two could be heard, betraying tension.
Just then, something no one expected happened—someone submitted their paper early.
Of course, it wasn’t Gou Hanshi or Chen Changsheng. Their brushes had only just touched the paper to begin writing. As the most favored candidates in the literary examination, they would at least have to complete all the test papers, wouldn’t they?
The first to submit wasn’t Xuan Yuan Po either—in the literary exam, there was no elimination. If one truly wasn’t skilled, it was better to give up outright. Tang Thirty-Six had told him this, and it was also what many academy teachers or sect elders said to their disciples—this was so-called experience. If one performed exceptionally well in the martial exam and the duels later, even with no literary exam results at all, there was still a chance to enter the top three.
Early submission was common every year in the Grand Examination, but this year, someone submitting early still surprised people greatly because it was far too soon.
The first to submit was precisely the young man in a single-layer robe that Chen Changsheng had been keeping an eye on. The youth didn’t even look at the test paper. More accurately, as soon as the papers were placed on his desk, he stood up, took them, and walked toward the head examiner’s seat. How was this any different from skipping the exam? It was skipping the exam.
In previous Grand Examinations, even if there were many like Xuan Yuan Po who, following the experience passed down by predecessors and teachers, would directly abandon the literary exam, they would still consider saving face for the court and the national religion, enduring at least half an hour in the exam hall before submitting.
But this youth acted without hesitation, directly abandoning the exam at the start, showing a complete disregard for social conventions. The other candidates stared at his back in shock, while some wore expressions of schadenfreude, thinking that even if the examiners didn’t lose their temper on the spot, they wouldn’t form a good impression of such a candidate.
The youth walked to the head examiner’s desk and placed the test papers on it.
That thick stack of papers was, of course, blank.
Several head examiners sent by the court and the national religion stared at this youth, silent, the atmosphere somewhat strange.
A priest broke the silence, saying coldly, “Are you sure you want to submit?”
The youth had a delicate face, his most striking feature being his very thin, straight eyebrows, like a single line, yet not unattractive, just appearing somewhat indifferent.
Hearing the priest’s question, the youth’s face remained expressionless as he asked, “Is it not allowed?”
As he spoke, his thin eyebrows lifted slightly, showing some annoyance, as if he disliked conversation intensely.
His voice was as faint as ice, his tone as flat as the wilderness, his speech slow, as if each word was forced out one by one, like someone who hadn’t spoken in a long time.
The priest frowned slightly, displeased, and said, “According to the rules of the Grand Examination, early submission is naturally allowed, but…”
Before the priest could finish, the youth said, “I submit.”
His speech was still slow, his tone still flat, his emotion still cold, but the meaning was clear, the intention firm—there was no “but.”
The priest glanced at the blank test papers and said no more. Another head examiner sternly reprimanded, “You can no longer enter the second rank now. If you had any sense of shame, you should feel embarrassed, yet you act so smug. I really don’t know how your teacher taught you!”
The youth remained expressionless, not responding.
He had no teacher. He had come to the Grand Examination only to participate in the duels, to defeat everyone, especially that girl from White Emperor City, to prove to himself again that he was the strongest. As for the top rankings selected by the Zhou court and the national religion, he couldn’t care less.
Soon after, someone led the youth out of the Hall of Brilliant Culture to the martial exam grounds.
Inside the hall, hundreds of candidates watched the youth’s figure grow distant, their expressions complex.
Gou Hanshi vaguely guessed who the youth was, and his expression grew serious.
Zhuang Huanyu raised his eyebrows slightly, his expression still calm, but deep in his eyes, there was unease.
Half an hour later, candidates began submitting their papers one after another.
Those candidates were led by officials out of the Hall of Brilliant Culture, walking along the sacred path in the detached palace for a long time, until they reached the martial exam venue—Sunrise Garden.
Sunrise Garden was a vast expanse of woodland east of the detached palace. In the bright spring scenery, countless patches of grass were as green as a carpet or the sea, countless trees exuded a deep, secluded aura. In the morning, one heard birdsong; in the evening, one watched the winding water. The scenery was extremely beautiful. Now, as winter had just passed and spring was beginning, the grass was slightly yellow, but the view was still enchanting.
What was the true intent of the Grand Examination?
To select talent for the national religion and the court, to set a threshold for enlightenment at the Mausoleum of Books? Yes, these were all true, but the ultimate goal of the Grand Examination was to select and then cultivate more and more truly talented young people, to build up reserve forces for the war against the demons.
The individual combat power of the demons was too formidable. Humans and the demon race could only barely hold their ground through numerical advantage. From a thousand years ago, people realized that only by cultivating more truly peerless experts could they gain a real, overwhelming advantage in this war.
On the long path of cultivation, breaking through to the Mysterious Realm was the most important threshold. Once past this threshold, one would become a focus of attention in the human world. But age was also a very important reference value. A thirty-year-old at the peak of Meditation was far less important to the human world than a thirteen-year-old at the initial stage of Meditation. This was a truth everyone understood; otherwise, even if you reached the Star Gathering Realm at eight hundred years old, you would already be at the end of your rope, with no possibility of reaching the highest realms. What meaning would that have for the war against the demons?
Therefore, like the Heaven, Earth, and Human Rankings issued by the Heavenly Mechanism Pavilion, the Grand Examination valued most the candidates’ potential and talent, looking to the future. Talent and potential, in a sense, were the same thing, except the latter involved more subjective initiative. Combined, they manifested as ability.
The martial exam was the most direct means for the Grand Examination to achieve its own purpose.
Geniuses like Xu Yourong and Luoluo had innate bloodline talents that were inborn, requiring no examination and impossible to test, but ability could be tested. First was the strength of spiritual sense, which determined the distance of a candidate’s destined star and the efficiency of cultivation per unit time. Second was the amount of true essence, which related to the candidate’s diligence and efficiency in perceiving heaven and earth.
Led by officials, the candidates walked through Sunrise Garden to the easternmost and deepest part. They didn’t see the youth who had submitted first, only a hedge of holly bushes about twice a person’s height, trimmed extremely neatly. Some candidates from the capital knew the origin of this lush green grove and realized what this year’s martial exam entailed, letting out silent wails in their hearts.
Not to mention the difficult situation facing the candidates preparing for the martial exam, the literary exam in the Hall of Brilliant Culture continued. Some students bit the ends of their brushes, their faces pale, as if they might faint at any moment. Some students, in the cold early spring weather, were sweating profusely, their bodies emitting faint heat. The atmosphere in the hall was especially oppressive.
—This year’s literary exam questions were too difficult, covering too much knowledge, too deeply, far exceeding previous years. No matter how hard they racked their brains, human effort had its limits. Candidates kept losing in the battle against the question-setters, submitting early, and then, from time to time, crying could be heard from behind the Hall of Brilliant Culture.
The head examiners and priests increasingly focused their gazes on Gou Hanshi and Chen Changsheng, but the two seemed unaware, continuing to work on their papers, their brushes never pausing.
As time passed, only a dozen or so candidates remained in the Hall of Brilliant Culture. Most of the seats had been removed, making the hall more empty and desolate. Even those who remained had given up on answering the last few pages of the test papers, instead carefully reviewing their earlier answers, hoping to avoid unnecessary mistakes. Gou Hanshi and Chen Changsheng were still answering questions.
The early spring sun moved from the horizon to its zenith. Fewer and fewer people were still taking the literary exam. Even Tianhai Shengxue and the four young scholars from Huaiyuan had finished answering. Gou Hanshi and Chen Changsheng continued to answer in silence, now reaching the last page.
The head examiners and priests in the hall could no longer sit still. They left their desks, carrying tea cups, and came to the hall. Worried about affecting the two candidates’ answering, they didn’t get too close, watching from a distance as this rare scene in the Grand Examination unfolded. No one made a sound, but their expressions grew more and more vivid.
—In recent years of the Grand Examination, no one had ever been able to complete all the questions in the literary exam. Because the question-setters were all old priests from the detached palace who specialized in studying the Daoist scriptures. These old priests might have ordinary cultivation levels and no real power, but they had spent their lives buried in old texts, extremely erudite. They were accustomed to writing the most difficult questions on the last few pages of the test papers to prove their worth. Those questions were extremely difficult even for these learned old priests to answer alone, let alone for the students taking the literary exam.
Gou Hanshi was reputed to have read through the Daoist Canon, and Chen Changsheng now had the same reputation. Perhaps for this reason, the learned old priests in the detached palace were provoked. This year’s Grand Examination questions were much harder than in previous years, especially the last few pages, which were so profound and obscure that they aimed to embarrass Gou Hanshi and Chen Changsheng.
The head examiners and priests knew the inside story of this year’s literary exam. Seeing Gou Hanshi and Chen Changsheng actually reach the last page, seemingly able to complete all the test papers, they were naturally deeply shocked.
Tianhai Shengxue had already submitted his paper. He stood at the hall’s entrance, looking back at Gou Hanshi and Chen Changsheng still answering questions inside, frowning in silence. As the most promising heir of the Tianhai family, he had never relaxed his demands on himself, but the last few pages of questions were too difficult. He couldn’t understand why Gou Hanshi and Chen Changsheng could still continue answering. Was the gap in knowledge between them really that large?
The Huaiyuan scholars submitted their papers among the last. Logically, they should have been proud enough, but watching the two still writing quietly in the hall, they couldn’t muster such feelings. They weren’t surprised that Gou Hanshi, with his scholarly reputation, could persist until now, but they thought that the youth named Chen Changsheng surely couldn’t answer the last few pages. They believed it was vanity that kept him from leaving, and sneers appeared on their faces.
No one knew how much time had passed.
In the silent Hall of Brilliant Culture, the sound of robes rubbing against desks and chairs arose, along with murmurs and faint commotion that could no longer be suppressed, coming from the eastern side.
Gou Hanshi finished answering and stood up.
Almost simultaneously, the sound of desks and chairs moving and papers being organized came from the western side.
People looked over and saw Chen Changsheng holding his test papers in his arms, preparing to submit.
Silence once again fell over the hall.
Gou Hanshi and Chen Changsheng, separated by more than ten zhang, quietly looked at each other, then slightly bowed in greeting.
From the moment the bell rang, they had first seen each other, and of course, they had always known the other was there.
The literary exam thus ended. The sound-suppressing formation outside the Hall of Brilliant Culture was removed, and a wave of noise surged in.
The common people who had come to watch the Grand Examination were held back far away, yet even so, the sound reached the hall, giving an idea of how lively it must be out there.
The onlookers had already learned the specifics of the literary exam, knowing that Gou Hanshi and Chen Changsheng had been the last to submit and had completed all the questions on the test papers. They were extremely excited, shouting out. Two young men who had read through the Daoist Canon, submitting together at the end—the mere thought of that scene was inspiring.
Gou Hanshi was famous throughout the world, the hot favorite for first place in the literary exam, highly respected by the people. But after all, he was a young man from the south. Chen Changsheng, though he had offended all the young men in the capital due to his engagement to Xu Yourong and the story of that autumn rain, was still a Zhou native. At this moment, he became the representative of the capital’s commoners and the pride of the Zhou people. Most of the crowd was cheering for him.
Gou Hanshi and Chen Changsheng couldn’t make out what the distant crowd was shouting. They took the towels handed to them by the stewards, wet them in basins of clean water, washed their faces and hands, tidied up, and then, led by officials, walked out of the Hall of Brilliant Culture. Clearly, these were privileges exclusive to the two of them.
Under the green tree before the sacred path, Gou Hanshi asked him, “‘Zhou is an ancient state, but its mandate is renewed.’ How do you view this question?”
(I have had many ideals, one of which was to be a top scholar. Unfortunately, I lacked that ability, so I can only fulfill that wish through stories, hehe. I’ll try to get the next chapter out before eleven. Thank you for the monthly votes today; I will write well.)