The Overachieving Little Husband of the Top Scholar’s Household - Chapter 122: The Palace Examination

Chapter 122: The Palace Examination

In the Yu Dynasty, literary prestige was stronger in the south and weaker in the north. Therefore, a scholar from the north winning the top place in the metropolitan examination (huīyuán¹) caused an uproar in the capital. Although the number of doubters lessened considerably after learning that Du Yunse’s mentor was Wen Huiyang, there were still many people eager to see for themselves what kind of man Du Yunse was.

Du Yunse ignored the noisy talk from the outside world, focusing entirely on studying in the Cun Jin (Inch of Gold) Academy to prepare for the final stage — the palace examination.

The palace examination, held inside the imperial city, consisted of only one question. It was personally set by the Emperor and tested the candidates’ strategic thinking. However, this did not mean that literary grace and mastery of the Confucian classics were unimportant.

In ancient times, all learning was founded upon the Four Books and the Five Classics². When conveying one’s own viewpoint, it was necessary to anchor it in the meaning of the classics, speaking in the words of the sages to admonish the ruler — much like citing standard academic monographs and scholarly papers in a modern dissertation.

As for literary elegance, while the palace exam essay did not have to use the rigid baguwen³ structure, it still needed a balance of parallel prose and freer style, with neatly matched couplets and refined, elegant wording.

Even if your viewpoints were excellent, if the writing was shoddy and the meaning unclear, you could not hope for a high rank.

Thus, it was absolutely necessary to continue memorizing the classics and reviewing exemplary writing before the exam.

Otherwise, even if the Emperor wished to promote you, he would have to consider his own prestige. Du Yunse’s aim was to leave nothing to chance.

Wang Yinzhi also made the Apricot List⁴, though ranked beyond the two-hundredth place. For him, merely appearing on the list was satisfaction enough. Like Du Yunse, he was diligently preparing for the palace examination, hoping to be assigned to a good post in the provinces afterward.

Since arriving in the capital, the Crown Prince had yet to meet Du Yunse. Huanian did not know exactly what the two of them might be quietly planning — only that, one evening, a man called Shiliu (“Sixteen”) appeared and handed Du Yunse several letters.

Shiliu had not entered through the main gate. Instead, he intercepted Huanian’s carriage halfway, wearing a leather mask backed with fine silver thread. His sudden, ghost-like appearance startled Huanian greatly.

“It’s me,” Shiliu said. Hearing his voice, Huanian relaxed.

He sent Xingmi outside and invited Shiliu into the carriage. Shiliu sat silently in the corner while Huanian kept glancing at the mask.

After a brief silence, Shiliu raised a hand and removed it.

Huanian felt more at ease and smiled.

By the time the carriage rolled into the residence and they disembarked, Shiliu had put the mask back on. Huanian dismissed the servants to their tasks.

After giving the letters to Du Yunse, Shiliu accompanied Huanian for a short walk within the residence.

“Du Yunse has won the metropolitan exam and will surely be in the first tier⁵ for the palace exam. Once he receives office, you will be living in the capital,” Shiliu said.

Huanian blinked, then smiled. “Yes. Once I’m settled in the capital, you can come visit often. Jiujiu and Chunsheng both miss you.”

“You…” Shiliu paused but in the end said nothing.

By now, evening had come, and the setting sun cast their shadows long upon the ground.

Walking through narrow passageways and the main courtyard, they reached the side gate of Yuzhu Courtyard in the west wing.

Before going out, Shiliu suddenly turned to look at him.

The sunset light was dazzling, and in that instant, the tangled emotions in Shiliu’s eyes — restraint, reluctance, sorrow, and compassion — made Huanian unconsciously hold his breath.

Huanian was slightly dazed; these emotions seemed utterly uncharacteristic for Shiliu.

The next moment, Shiliu turned away and quickly left the residence.

Huanian’s brows furrowed of their own accord. He had never believed in false impressions and would not fool himself by pretending to ignore suspicious details.

There must be something wrong, he thought.

However, since Shiliu clearly did not want to elaborate, Huanian could not yet find a way to uncover the truth.

Aside from Shiliu, another visitor arrived — Marquis Taiping. Unlike Shiliu, he strode straight up to the gate and knocked openly.

Marquis Taiping had been granted the personal name Kang Zhong by Emperor Yuanhua, and did not take the surname of his imperial concubine aunt, Consort Kang⁶. With some political skill, since being created a marquis, he had been entrusted by the Emperor with many tasks, and was clearly a marquis in favor and with real power.

Kang Zhong’s stated reason for visiting was to ask how the medicated balm Huanian had made for him — a special “cooling oil” — was coming along.

Huanian had nearly forgotten about it, so the marquis’s personal visit forced him to put in the effort, conveniently easing some of his own nervousness before the palace exam.

Kang Zhong’s ailment was not seasickness, but the dizziness and nausea experienced on land after long periods at sea — what could be called post-motion syndrome.

For most people, such discomfort after disembarking lasted only a day or two, half a month at most. But Kang Zhong had suffered intermittently for over a year with no recovery.

As a danmin⁷, he had spent most of his life on a rocking seagoing vessel; it was actually the land that felt alien to him.

“How has the Marquis been treating this before?” Huanian asked.

“The Imperial Medical Office prescribed Siwu Decoction and Qi Ju Di Huang Pills. When the symptoms came, I took a dose,” Kang Zhong replied.

Huanian nodded. Being long ill himself and dependent on daily medicine, he had developed an interest in traditional medicine. In the two or three years since arriving in this world, he had read many medical books. He knew that both prescriptions were appropriate.

The cooling oil was also apt: rubbing it on the temples could effectively ease dizziness and nausea. Its popular name as “cure-all oil” was well deserved.

Huanian asked Kang Zhong to show him the jar he had been using.

It was indeed from Autumn Records and Six Scentsᵃ, but since last autumn and winter, sales of cooling oil had dropped sharply, and Huanian had stopped producing it in quantity. Only some old stock remained in the shop.

Kang Zhong’s batch was from last summer. Although still effective, lacking mature chemical stabilizers, it would not work as well as fresh production.

So, Huanian bought fresh ingredients and made a new batch in the capital, telling Kang Zhong to see whether it was more effective.

Two days later, Kang Zhong returned bearing a vast and costly array of gifts — palace silks of every kind, precious jewels, and a full bushel⁸ of large, lustrous pearls.

“Young Master, no need for formality. This marquis has everything except poverty,” Kang Zhong said breezily. “The rewards from His Majesty and Consort Kang alone could fill several great storerooms.”

Huanian secretly ground his teeth. Damn — he was flaunting his wealth.

Sitting down with a laugh, Kang Zhong said, “This cooling oil is truly a marvelous thing. If I’d had it back at sea, I wouldn’t have suffered so much. Keep this recipe safe — it will be valuable in the future.”

Huanian glanced at Du Yunse, feeling as if Kang Zhong’s words carried hidden meaning.

But Kang Zhong said nothing more of weight, talking instead about which restaurants in the capital sold the best sea fish, and which jewelers had genuine pearls, before taking his leave — promising they should someday come to taste the finest seafood of Haijin Town.

After he left, Huanian and Du Yunse returned to the back hall.

“Was it just me, or was Marquis Taiping constantly alluding to ports?” Huanian asked.

Du Yunse shook his head. “The court intends to establish a new seaport.”

“A new seaport?” Huanian’s eyes lit up.

Currently, the Yu Dynasty permitted only a few ports in the Fuzhou area to engage in maritime foreign trade. Huanian had long wished to know more about the countries of the world but lacked the opportunity.

“Where will the new port be?”

Du Yunse unrolled a simple map of the capital’s surrounding region, studied it briefly, and pointed to one location.

“The Crown Prince knows about the plan to open a port, but not exactly where. From Marquis Taiping’s hints, it should be here.”

He was pointing to Haijin Town.

Huanian froze, then realized — this was roughly the equivalent of modern Tianjin.

As a major city, Tianjin was relatively young. The first administrative unit here was Zhigu Stockade in the Southern Song, replaced with Haijin Town in the Yuan, and only in the Ming Yongle reign was Tianjin Guard established, later expanded to Left and Right Tianjin Guards. In the Qing, the three merged into Tianjin Prefecture.

In the Yu Dynasty’s present day, that place at the “Three Rivers to the Sea” was still just a small town known for its seafood.

Why Kang Zhong would hint to Du Yunse and the Crown Prince about building a port at Haijin Town was not Huanian’s concern. That was outside his realm. What interested him was the prospect of the port itself.

If foreign merchant ships came to Haijin Town, he could do much — selling oyster sauce, cooling oil, and many other goods not yet made, and also obtaining overseas machinery, tools, and crop seeds.

He had been craving potatoes for a long time!

Seeing how seriously Huanian regarded the seaport, Du Yunse could not help asking, “Does my Hua have unique insights?”

So Huanian pulled him aside and rattled off a jumble — from finding new food crops, to warnings to be vigilant in peace, to self-winding clocks and rifles, cannons and opium, ending even with the maxim “use the foreigners’ skills to control the foreigners.”⁹

The two of them stared at each other and blinked.

“Cough, cough. Just think of it as something I dreamed about, overheard from an old immortal, or some wild fancy… pick any reason,” Huanian said.

Du Yunse shook his head with a laugh, then quickly grew serious.

“I’ve committed all that to memory. But aside from me, Hua must not mention any of this to anyone.”

Huanian nodded earnestly. “I know. If I hadn’t met you, I would have taken these words to the grave.”

Du Yunse tapped his nose with a finger. “Hua, you’re far too young to speak such unlucky words.”

Huanian smiled. “Everyone dies… but I’ll accompany you until we both reach a hundred years.”

Drawing Huanian into his arms, Du Yunse breathed deeply, as if afraid the person within would vanish with the wind.

He had long sensed the many strange things about Hua — a shared unspoken secret between them. He had always helped to conceal them.

To him, Hua was his spouse, the one he had chosen for life. That alone was enough.

He would stand firmly by his side, forever accompanying and protecting him.

Lowering his gaze, Du Yunse pondered. Hua’s words might sound fantastical at first, but on reflection, they held reason. He had to carefully sort through them — clarifying advantages and drawbacks, and devising strategies that could be applied in reality…

…

Time passed swiftly, ten-odd days in a blur, and on the 18th of the third month, the palace examination that gripped countless hearts was finally about to begin.

The day before, Du Yunse abstained from meat and strong-flavored food, bathed thoroughly, and, at the hour of Xu¹⁰, went to bed, soon breathing evenly.

Huanian, lying beside him, could not sleep, nor dared to turn lest he disturb Du Yunse. He simply held his hand, studying his youthful, handsome face under the moonlight, until drowsiness came.

At the hour of Yin¹¹ — about three in the morning — Bai Quan, who had been closely watching the time, woke his master. At once, the front and inner courtyards lit up, and the household grew busy.

Du Yunse’s attire for the day had long been prepared: the blue round-collared robe prescribed for the rank of provincial graduate (juren), which set off his tall, noble bearing.

After making many outfits, Huanian had concluded that Du Yunse looked good in anything, but best in blue.

Huanian himself tied a square scholar’s cap (sifang rujin) around Du Yunse’s hair, then stepped back to appraise his appearance.

“No problem at all — judging by your dress and face today, you could at least be worth a Tanhualang¹²,” he teased, then added with a smile, “Though of course, I still remember someone’s promise.”

That was on the second day they met, when the family had less than ten taels of silver, patched quilts on the kang, and meat only every few days. In the drafty thatched cottage of Du Family Village, Du Yunse had taken his hand and said:

“All right. I’ll bring back the title of zhuangyuan¹³ for you, Hua.”

The remembered voice overlapped with the one in his ear now.

And today was the time to fulfill that promise.

In the kitchen, white bean cakes with dates had been steamed. To prevent any faux pas before the Emperor, Du Yunse merely moistened his throat with half a sip of water and ate two cakes dry.

Huanian fastened a pouch to his waist.

“Inside is sorghum candy I made, with extra white sugar. If you get hungry, take out a piece to tide yourself over.”

Fearing low blood sugar from a day without food, he had prepared the treat for him.

The palace exam did not strictly inspect what was brought in. First, it posed only a single question — making crib notes pointless. Second, there were only three hundred candidates, all seated in one great hall under the Emperor’s eye, with countless guards and examiners — cheating was impossible.

Deng Die likewise prepared small candies for Wang Yinzhi. Once both candidates were ready, it was only a quarter past Yin-hour. Bai Quan drove the carriage to escort them to Chengtian Gate in the imperial city.

Huanian went to the main gate to see them off, watching the carriage until its lantern light faded into the dark.

Because they lived close to the imperial city, it took only a short drive to reach East Chang’an Street outside Chengtian Gate.

There, points of lamplight dotted the road — carriages bringing candidates for the palace exam. At the foot of the towering walls, no one dared raise their voice.

Du Yunse and Wang Yinzhi, living nearby, had managed to sleep until three; others had risen before midnight.

The carriage could go no further than East Chang’an Gate, which blocked the street. Du Yunse and Wang Yinzhi disembarked and walked in.

From there it was a short walk to Chengtian Gate, the main gate of the imperial city. Only its side gates were open. Showing their examination passes, they were escorted inside, along the central axis through Duan Gate to stop before Wu Gate.

All three hundred candidates would wait here until the exam began, then be led into Chengtian Hall inside the Forbidden City to write their answers.

As huīyuán, Du Yunse stood at the very front, his expression calm and steady, unaffected by the awe-inspiring surroundings. Under the extreme pressure, all candidates held their breath — no one spoke.

Only at the hour of Mao¹⁴ did officials from the Ministry of Rites appear to lead them forward.

Du Yunse quietly chewed two pieces of sorghum candy — there would be no eating once inside the Forbidden City.

The central gates of Wu Gate were shut; candidates entered through the left side gate, passed through the East Corner Gate, and finally beheld the towering Chengtian Hall — the main hall of the Forbidden City.

Here, the Son of Heaven would question them directly.

Chengtian Hall stood atop a nine-chi-high platform, its double-eaved hip roof gleaming in gold, white marble steps wide and orderly, leading up to the vast 99-bay hall above.¹⁵

If the weather was fair, the exam took place outside on the open terrace; the candidates would not enter the hall itself.

When all were in place, a sharp crack of whips rang out before the hall, echoing over the grounds — signalling the Emperor’s arrival. Candidates fell to their knees, none daring even to glimpse a corner of his robe.

The Honglu Temple officials had prepared the three hundred desks, brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones the previous day. After the formalities, the candidates took their seats. An official from the Ministry of Rites lifted the board with the exam question for all to see.

Du Yunse’s seat was front and center; Xie Tanguang sat one to his right. Seeing the topic, neither man was surprised — they began calmly arranging paper and ink.

Inside Chengtian Hall, Emperor Yuanhua, in informal robes, sat on the dais, eyes lowered toward the three hundred candidates outside. To his left and right sat the Crown Prince, the Second Prince, and Prince of Jin.

Into the stillness, the Emperor suddenly spoke — not loudly but with his voice carrying through the great hall.

“Who do you think will be the zhuangyuan¹³ of today’s palace exam?”

Footnotes:

1. 1. Huīyuán (會元) – The scholar who ranked first in the metropolitan examination.

1. 1. Four Books and Five Classics – The core Confucian texts forming the basis of elite education and the imperial examinations.

1. 1. Baguwen (Eight-legged essay) – A strict prose form used in earlier exam periods; abolished in later dynasties.

1. 1. Apricot List (杏榜) – The posted list of successful metropolitan exam candidates.

1. 1. First tier (一甲) – The top group in the final ranking of the palace examination, consisting of the first, second, and third-place candidates.

1. 1. Consort Kang (康貴妃) – An imperial consort; here, Kang Zhong is her nephew.

1. 1. Danmin (疍民) – Coastal boat-dwelling people traditionally engaged in fishing; often with little connection to life on land.

1. 1. Bushel (斛) – An ancient Chinese volumetric measure; here referring to a large quantity.

1. 1. “Use the foreigners’ skills to control them” (師夷長技以制夷) – Famous saying by Qing official Feng Guifen, advocating learning Western technology to resist Western imperialism.

1. 1. Xu-hour (戌時) – 7–9 p.m.

1. 1. Yin-hour (寅時) – 3–5 a.m.

1. 1. Tanhualang (探花郎) – The third place winner in the palace examination.

1. 1. Zhuangyuan (狀元) – Champion; the candidate who ranked first in the palace exam.

1. 1. Mao-hour (卯時) – 5–7 a.m.

1. 1. 99-bay hall – In Chinese architecture, a “bay” refers to the space between two pillars, used here to emphasize the hall’s grandeur.