The Overachieving Little Husband of the Top Scholar’s Household - Chapter 117: Wives and Concubines

Chapter 117: Wives and Concubines

On the first day, Du Yunse completed five questions from the Four Books and wrote two poems in the regulated five-character, eight-rhyme form. On the second day, he finished eight questions on the meanings of the Five Classics.

Every day, he rose at sunrise, boiled a pot of water over the brazier, toasted soft and flaky sesame cakes, and brewed a cup of butter tea mixed with roasted sesame seeds, peanuts, and crushed walnuts. After a simple meal, he began answering questions, continuing until the curfew bell rang at night. Only then did he put away his brushes, ink, paper, and inkstone, push two long wooden planks together, and sleep.

In the next cell, Li Ruicong spent the first day rushing to the latrine five or six times. He finally recovered by the second day, but the lost time likely meant his answers on the first session’s paper were far from ideal.

By the third day, many examinees could no longer hold out. Compared to physical exhaustion, the psychological strain was far harder to relieve.

Shut up for three full days in cramped, narrow cells where not a word could be spoken, forced to ceaselessly write and endlessly fret over whether one’s paper might please the chief examiner, whether one might attain the rank of jinshi[1]… A restless tension coursed through the rows upon rows of exam cells.

Du Yunse sat upright in his cell, meticulously grinding an ink stick. The cells in front, behind, and to either side of him were far noisier than they had been in the previous two days.

The sounds of paper being changed, of brushes being set down, of planks being shifted… Examinees, unconsciously, made louder noises to ease their own agitation.

Du Yunse remained entirely unmoved. When the ink in the clay inkstone reached the perfect consistency, he laid out a fresh sheet of paper that covered his whole wooden desk and began copying his answers neatly.

The civil service examination essays demanded exceedingly strict formatting. For instance, the character “臣” (subject) had to be written in small script, while “皇帝” (Emperor), “君” (Sovereign), and “陛下” (Your Majesty) were to be written in large script. Moreover, whenever addressing the ruler, a new line must be started…

A single error was not merely cause for disqualification but could even be construed as a crime of disrespecting the monarch.

On the sheet of Bailang Xuan paper—one and a half chi wide and more than a zhang long—the tiny characters stood in perfectly vertical rows. A single misstroke would ruin the entire work, a test not only of patience and meticulousness but also of emotional stability.

—Such was Qiu Huanián’s assessment.

After copying one question, Du Yunse rested for a moment. In his mind’s eye appeared the image of his little husband, and the corners of his lips curled of their own accord.

In the next cell, Li Ruicong seemed to have dropped his inkstone. The stone vessel clattered against the brick floor with a loud thud, prompting two minor clerks in charge of this section to come investigate.

Du Yunse arched a brow and calmly resumed transcribing his essay onto the snow-white expanse of paper.

Thus, with steady patience, writing and pausing in turns, by precisely the You hour[2], Du Yunse finished copying an entire long scroll. He trimmed the excess paper; the formal answer sheet stretched a full zhang from beginning to end.

Once the ink had dried, the clerk responsible for sealing the names opened the cell door.

In Du Yunse’s presence, the clerk glued an opaque cover over the portion of the paper bearing the examinee’s personal information, folded the scroll according to regulation, and sealed it in a special coffer.

It was at this step that cheating could occur. In the previous dynasty, there was once a juren[3] who spent a fortune bribing the sealing clerk to swap his name slip with that of the wenkui (champion of the provincial exam) in the next cell. In this way, he effectively claimed the champion’s answer sheet as his own.

When the results were announced, he became huiyuan (first place in the metropolitan exam), while the real champion failed to place.

Fortunately, the wronged scholar had transcribed his own paper for his mentor after the exam. That mentor later served on the panel reviewing the huiyuan’s paper. Recognizing that the content and handwriting were identical to his student’s, he immediately reported the fraud.

The truth came to light; the rightful scholar reclaimed the title of huiyuan, while both the cheating juren and the bribed clerk were executed by beheading.

Learning from this, the imperial examinations of the Yu Dynasty required clerks to seal names in the presence of examinees. Once sealed, the scroll was immediately placed into a coffer and affixed with a security strip. Only after turning in one sealed scroll could the clerk collect the next, eliminating the possibility of swapping papers.

Du Yunse calmly watched as the clerk sealed away his paper. Not until the examinations fully ended and the grading commenced, under layers of supervision, would the coffers be opened.

The first session was over; the outcome lay beyond the candidates’ control. All that remained was to await the results.

After the clerk departed, Du Yunse began tidying his belongings.

He cleaned his brushes and inkstone, stored them in a brocade pouch, folded his bedding, noted that the food box was empty, and saw that plenty of longan charcoal still remained.

The food had been portioned precisely by Qiu Huanián for each of Du Yunse’s meals, while the charcoal—fearful of cold weather—had been packed to the brim of the container, just in case.

The clerks of the examination compound worked swiftly; sealing the papers and confirming their count took barely two kè[4]. At three-quarters past the You hour, the great bell at the compound gates tolled once more, the doors swung open, and the crowd of carriages and people thronging the street erupted in a commotion.

Qiu Huanián and Deng Die, living nearby, had arrived early with a servant driving the carriage to secure a prime spot near the gates.

But as the exam’s end drew near, the crowd outside grew ever denser. Carriages of varying designs jammed together, blocking their view of the gate.

At the sound of the bell, Bai Quan leapt down from the carriage shaft. “Young Lord, wait here. I’ll squeeze through and fetch Master back.”

Xing Mi took the reins and advised Qiu Huanián, “The crowd’s packed shoulder to shoulder, Young Lord. Your health is already delicate; if you were injured, wouldn’t that only trouble Master?”

Qiu Huanián peered out the window; indeed, the throng outside surged like waves. He gauged his slight frame and wisely abandoned the idea.

“Deng Ah-sao only brought one helper with her; you may as well look for Scholar Wang while you’re at it.”

“Rest assured, Young Lord—I’ve got it memorized!” Bai Quan shouted back as he plunged into the press of bodies.

More than an hour later, Du Yunse and Wang Yinzhi finally followed Bai Quan to their two carriages.

After three days confined in the narrow cells, both men bore traces of fatigue, though overall they remained composed and steady—clearly, they had performed to the best of their abilities.

With the second session scheduled for the next morning, Qiu Huanián wasted no time. Once reunited, he ordered Bai Quan to drive them straight back to their rented house.

Bai Quan, well acquainted with the streets near the examination compound by now, avoided the crowds by weaving through side alleys, twisting and turning until they returned home smoothly.

On the stove in the kitchen, rice steamed in a basket, and a large pot of water still simmered over a low flame, kept warm from when they had left earlier.

While urging Du Yunse to eat something hot, Qiu Huanián bustled about, having Bai Quan carry the hot water into the room so Du Yunse could enjoy a comfortable bath after his meal.

When everything was finally settled and Du Yunse emerged freshly bathed, Qiu Huanián at last found a moment to speak properly.

He waved a hand before Du Yunse’s eyes. “Back with us, Master Du? Master Jieyuan[5]?”

Du Yunse smiled faintly and clasped his hand. “One session of the metropolitan exam truly drains a man’s strength. Fortunately, I had Hua-ge’er outside tending everything for me.”

The two lay together on the heated brick bed. Qiu Huanián nestled into Du Yunse’s chest, breathing in his faint scent of plum blossoms.

Earlier, he had indulgently added a jar of plum-blossom essence to the bathwater; the effect was delightful.

Qiu Huanián inhaled again, rubbing his cheek against Du Yunse’s freshly warmed chest.

“…”

Du Yunse chuckled. “Is Hua-ge’er keeping me company while I rest?”

Earlier, Qiu Huanián had had Xing Mi clear the table and usher everyone out, closing the door and drawing the silk curtains, all under the pretense of “keeping him company.”

Qiu Huanián blinked innocently. “Of course. If you think you’re at a loss, I’ll let you rub against me, too.”

As he spoke, he tugged at his inner robe’s collar.

Du Yunse caught his hand, voice hoarse. “Now is not the time.”

Qiu Huanián, having expected this, teased, “Then you’re the one missing your chance.”

“…”

Burying his face, Qiu Huanián stifled giggles. Carpe diem; let Du Yunse settle the “score” after the exams were over.

The charcoal in the brazier glowed steadily, radiating warmth. Beneath soft, cozy quilts, Du Yunse and Qiu Huanián leaned against each other, murmuring idle conversation as physical and mental fatigue gradually washed away.

Qiu Huanián still had no interest in those twisted, obscure, and abstruse classics questions. After describing the exam procedure he had endured, Du Yunse, thinking a moment, began recounting the affair with Li Ruicong.

—For Hua-ge’er loved hearing strange tales and harmless gossip; Du Yunse always remembered that.

Learning that Li Ruicong’s cell had been right beside Du Yunse’s, Qiu Huanián frowned.

“Though candidates from the same prefecture are often grouped in the same sector, to be placed side by side? Far too inauspicious.” The grudge-holding Lord Qi Shu cursed vehemently.

“He didn’t affect you, did he?”

“The rules in the cells are strict. Apart from clerks, imperial guards also patrol. Any unusual disturbance is swiftly investigated. I focused on my own papers; he couldn’t disturb me.”

Qiu Huanián breathed easier. Speaking of Li Ruicong reminded him of some gossip he’d heard over the past three days.

“I suddenly learned the other day that Li Ruicong’s rented house is close to ours. Sister Die ran into one of his servants while buying vegetables and decided to inquire further.”

Though she had servants, Deng Die insisted on personally buying vegetables daily—claiming she didn’t trust anyone else’s selections.

Qiu Huanián told Du Yunse, “Guess how many family members Li Ruicong brought to the capital for the exams?”

Du Yunse shook his head. “Tell me, Hua-ge’er.”

Not wanting to spoil Qiu Huanián’s fun, he treated listening to gossip as a way to relax—and as an opportunity to better understand Li Ruicong’s circumstances.

“Most scholars travel to the capital with minimal retinue, wholly focused on the exams. But Li Ruicong not only brought his wife—he brought two concubines as well.”

“One concubine is his wife’s maternal cousin; the other was bought from the government brothel. The two women can’t stand each other, and rumor has it the household has been in constant uproar even before the exams began. The neighbors have even heard the commotion. I truly wonder what they came here for.”

Du Yunse nodded slightly. “No wonder.”

“Hm?”

“Nothing.” Du Yunse smiled and kissed Qiu Huanián’s brow. “Having Hua-ge’er is the greatest fortune of my life.”

…

After enduring a long traffic jam, Li Ruicong finally returned to the two-courtyard residence his father-in-law had expensively rented for him.

The usually boisterous compound was unusually quiet today, easing the throbbing in his temples.

“Where is Concubine Zhao?” His expression flickered between gloom and ire.

“Concubine Zhao and the younger concubine have both been confined by Madam.”

Li Ruicong’s brow arched as he saw his wife, Bai Chenghuan—who had claimed illness and withdrawn from all affairs since he passed the provincial exam—come forward to greet him.

“You’ve had a hard day, Master. The kitchen has prepared food on time, and hot water is ready. Rest well; there’s still the second session tomorrow.” As she spoke, Bai Chenghuan helped remove his cloak.

Li Ruicong asked, “Who cooked?”

Bai Chenghuan replied gently, “Naturally the cook we brought from Liaozhou. The chef Concubine Zhao recommended days ago was no good. While you were in the exam compound, we all suffered food poisoning from his dishes. I dismissed him at once and reinstated our old cook—since then, no more stomach troubles.”

Li Ruicong gave a heavy snort. “More than that—I nearly suffered myself. Had a few of the questions not coincidentally matched ones I’d prepared beforehand, saving me much effort, I might have lost everything!”

Bai Chenghuan lowered her gaze, lips curved. “A man of great destiny like you is surely blessed by Heaven. The next exam will certainly feel as if divinely aided.”

Li Ruicong nodded and ordered, “Don’t indulge Zhao anymore. A slave bought from the brothel, with eyes narrower than a needle’s tip—what good can she do? Her heart holds nothing but petty desires. You are the principal wife; stop shirking and take the trouble to teach her properly.”

Bai Chenghuan agreed softly.

Seeing her so docile today, Li Ruicong’s mood improved somewhat, though he still kept up appearances.

He declined the tea she offered, lips curling in a half-smile. “Has my lady woken from her grand dream and repented?”

Bai Chenghuan lowered her head, voice gentle. “I’ve borne you children for thirteen years, my lord. Can you not forgive me one moment of foolishness?”

Her contrition satisfied Li Ruicong; he nodded approvingly. “Your parents are sensible folk. Only you grew up spoiled, prone to jealousy and whims. Now that you’ve come to your senses, strive to be a virtuous wife and loving mother.”

At this, he recalled her former virtues and felt a stir of affection. “So long as you stay clear-headed, do you think I’d cast aside wife and children? Once I pass the jinshi and hold office, you’ll be an official’s lady, and our sons and daughters will be legitimate heirs of an official household. What more could you ask?”

Bai Chenghuan still smiled gently. “My lord speaks truly; I am enlightened.”

She remained by Li Ruicong’s side through his meal and bath, watching him head off toward Concubine Zhao’s quarters before returning to her own room. Only then did her face, turned away from others, slowly harden.

As night fell, Bai Chenghuan lifted her cousin’s confinement and summoned her.

The servants addressed her as “Little Concubine” as they withdrew, leaving the sisters alone.

Once certain no one lingered at the door, Bai Chengyu’s eyes welled red. She threw herself into Bai Chenghuan’s lap and asked, “Sister, how did it go?”

Bai Chenghuan slowly shook her head. “Better to call me Sister.”

Bai Chengyu murmured, “…I’m only a collateral-born illegitimate girl—and now just a concubine.”

Before being chosen by the Bai family’s elders and sent to wed the Bai family’s golden son-in-law—helping the legitimate daughter secure her position—she had only been a little girl with some medical knowledge, dreaming of marrying a physician.

Bai Chenghuan stroked her young cousin’s delicate face. Barely fifteen, and already dragged into the filth of the inner chambers.

She herself had been fifteen when her parents married her to Li Ruicong—her supposed ideal match.

Bai Chenghuan sneered. “What does birth mean? I was placed as the wife because my birth was higher; you, lower, as the concubine. In the end, we’re both just gifts the Bai family offered to a scholar.”

“…” Bai Chengyu whispered, “The medicine you asked me to prepare…”

“Shh—” Bai Chenghuan raised a finger to her lips.

“No hurry. We’ll strike once, just enough to press Zhao down. Once he passes the exam—it need not even be with top marks…”

Bai Chenghuan gazed at the closed doors, the dim light, the suffocating ceiling.

“Chengyu, we’ve lost so much. We must take it all back. The days in the inner chambers are long. Slowly, we’ll wait. We have nothing but time…”

Footnotes:

[1] Jinshi (進士) – The highest and most prestigious degree in the imperial examination system, granting access to official positions.
[2] You hour (酉時) – Traditional Chinese timekeeping; roughly 5–7 PM.
[3] Juren (舉人) – A scholar who has passed the provincial-level examination, qualifying for the metropolitan exams.
[4] Kè (刻) – A traditional unit of time; one kè equals 15 minutes.
[5] Jieyuan (解元) – The top scorer in the provincial examination.