The Overachieving Little Husband of the Top Scholar’s Household - Chapter 91: Provincial Examination

Chapter 91: Provincial Examination

Held once every three years, the provincial examination welcomed candidates bearing the Xiucai title, provided they were free of criminal charges and not in mourning for immediate family. It unfolded over three successive sessions, each spanning three days, and was presided over by Hanlin scholars appointed directly by the emperor.

Success in the provincial examination bestowed the prestigious title of Juren—a gateway to officialdom, complete with the right to employ servants, generous monetary awards, land grants, and an exemption from taxes on fifty mu of farmland.

For many scholars, ascending to Juren was already considered a monumental feat. This examination, in its intensity and rigor, was the very embodiment of the idiom “the carp leaping over the dragon gate.”

Xiangping Prefecture, the capital of Liaozhou, was dense with scholars, and as July drew near, the city buzzed with a charged anticipation. Scholars from afar, many with ancestral ties to Liaozhou, had already begun to arrive, preparing themselves for the forthcoming August trials.

Whenever Qiu Huanian wandered the city, he would pass vendors hawking charms and trinkets for good luck. Bookshops, meanwhile, turned a tidy profit by reprinting celebrated essays from previous examinations, capitalizing on the fervor of anxious test-takers.

Now unburdened by rigid responsibilities, Zhu Jingwei had become something of a free spirit. He dropped by during one of Du Yunse’s rest days, claiming to be attending to serious matters, though his arms were full of both practical and frivolous purchases.

“They’re placing bets in the market on who will be this year’s Jieyuan of the Liaozhou examination,” he said with amusement. “And the betting pools are quite large.”

Qiu Huanian, intrigued, asked, “Who are the favorites?”

“Brother Yunse, naturally. But there’s also a scholar named Qi Yazhi, twenty-eight years old, with a solid academic standing. The betting odds favor either of them for Jieyuan.”

Qiu Huanian turned to Du Yunse. “Have you met this Qi Yazhi?”

Du Yunse gave a small nod. “He arrived in early July, visited Headmaster Min at Qingfeng Academy, and exchanged ideas with students in Class A.”

“What’s your impression of him?”

“He is a grounded and methodical scholar,” Du Yunse replied—high praise from someone of his discernment.

Qiu Huanian was reassured. Qi Yazhi’s aptitude was commendable, but he held unwavering confidence in Du Yunse. In truth, a worthy opponent was not a threat but a potential ally—particularly in the intricate web of officialdom, where being of the same cohort or hometown could build lasting camaraderie.

“You didn’t place a bet, did you?” Qiu Huanian asked Zhu Jingwei.

Zhu looked sheepish. Since Su Xinbai’s pregnancy, Zhu Jingcheng’s attention had turned entirely to his husband, granting Zhu Jingwei newfound freedom—and, with it, temptation.

“Only five taels. A token wager for good luck. I’m betting on Brother Yunse, after all.”

“Gambling leads nowhere good,” Qiu Huanian admonished. “It starts small. Go retrieve your money. Don’t indulge the habit.”

Nodding, Zhu Jingwei promised to comply—five taels were hardly worth incurring his elder brother’s ire.

“I assumed Yu Min would also be a strong contender,” Qiu Huanian mused.

“He’s in the running, but far behind Yunse and Qi Yazhi,” Zhu explained. “This isn’t the academy’s internal exam. The provincial exam attracts the best minds across all of Liaozhou. Older candidates with greater life experience are favored. Were it not for Yunse’s reputation as a scholarly envoy, he wouldn’t command such support.”

As the twenty-second year of Yuanhua approached midyear, every ambitious scholar across Liaozhou converged upon Xiangping Prefecture, eager for the chance to transcend their humble origins.

Despite being the center of much speculation, Du Yunse remained unflustered, unmoved by public attention. He declined all invitations leading up to the exam and kept to his rigorous study routine at Qingfeng Academy, returning home every fifth day to briefly rest and share quiet companionship with Qiu Huanian.

His composure brought a calming effect to the household, and all awaited the exam with steady patience.

The provincial examination site, the Xiangping Prefecture Examination Hall, had prepared ample examination cells. Each cell—modestly enlarged compared to those used for local academy tests—still featured two simple wooden boards: one low for sitting, the other high for writing. At night, the boards could be arranged into a makeshift bed.

Candidates were required to bring their own bedding, charcoal, and candles. No linings or hidden compartments were permitted, in strict adherence to anti-cheating regulations.

Drawing on advice from experienced scholars, Qiu Huanian began preparations well in advance. Now that their financial situation had improved, he sought not frugality, but quality and comfort.

He purchased two large pieces of fine fox fur, crafting a lightweight mattress for warmth and softness within the cell’s cold and damp confines.

Given the prohibition against interlining, he had layered garments made—warm yet easy to shed. As the weather turned chillier, it was imperative to keep Du Yunse comfortable through the long, arduous hours. He even tailored an unorthodox pair of slippers.

Spending three entire days sitting in the same pair of shoes would inevitably lead to swollen feet. Every college student who had tasted the relief of loose clothing during exams would have understood.

Qiu Huanian proudly presented each item to Du Yunse, who obediently tried everything on and dutifully offered his praise.

“If they turn out well, maybe we could sell them,” Qiu Huanian said casually.

Du Yunse’s expression darkened.

Raising an eyebrow, Qiu Huanian teased, “Are you jealous?”

“No,” Du Yunse replied stiffly.

Laughing, Qiu Huanian said, “I’ll have more made and sell them at Qiu’s Six Staples. Might as well turn a profit.”

Du Yunse made a noncommittal noise. But Qiu Huanian leaned in closer, watching him with amusement.

“Why do I detect the faintest whiff of irrational jealousy?”

Before Du Yunse could reply, Qiu Huanian pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“I’m joking. Some things—I only want you to have. In love, I’m very selfish.”

Du Yunse pulled him in for a deep kiss, ending it with a breathless murmur at Qiu Huanian’s ear.

“You’ve been generous enough. Be more selfish with me.”

By August, the two chief examiners—one principal, one deputy—had arrived in Xiangping Prefecture. Together with Liaozhou’s education commissioner and other examination officials, they formed the supervisory body of the exam.

The inner curtain officials were responsible for grading; the outer curtain officials monitored the candidates for cheating.

On the sixth day of August, all examination staff entered the examination compound—a process known as entering the enclosure. A ceremonial “mounted banquet” was held, after which the grading officials were confined to a separate courtyard, completely cut off from the outside world. No one was permitted to enter or leave until the papers were fully reviewed and the results released.

Such strict confinement ensured the integrity of the process, guarding against corruption and favoritism.

On the ninth day of August, the first session of the provincial examination officially commenced.

Du Yunse had returned home several days prior, and on the morning of the exam, Jin San drove him and Qiu Huanian to the examination site.

Though the sky remained dim, the streets surrounding the hall were already bustling with carriages and candidates. Fortunately, they had departed early, avoiding the worst of the congestion.

At the gate, Qiu Huanian handed Du Yunse a large basket.

“The fox furs are inside, along with three days’ worth of food. I chose dishes that are nourishing but mild. There will be a charcoal brazier in the room—you can reheat them as needed.”

Du Yunse nodded and stepped down from the carriage, taking the basket. He turned toward the entrance and joined the line.

Qiu Huanian watched his tall, resolute figure stride forward. The gate officials, recognizing his reputation, processed him swiftly—checking his garments and belongings before letting him through.

Only once Du Yunse’s silhouette had vanished behind the gate did Qiu Huanian slump back into the carriage with a quiet sigh.

Jin San, beside him, spoke up. “Young Master Du is said to be the reincarnation of the literary star. The Township Lord might as well prepare the celebration now.”

Qiu Huanian smiled faintly, though his heart was heavy with concern.

For three days, Du Yunse would be confined to a narrow cell, forced to endure fatigue, cold, and hunger as he penned nearly two thousand flawless characters across eight grueling essays.

And this was only the first session—one night of rest followed, then the second and third would proceed in similar fashion.

The imperial examination, in truth, was not just a test of intellect—it was a ruthless trial of stamina, fortitude, and willpower. Those with feeble constitutions simply could not endure its unrelenting pace.

The first session of the provincial examination tested the foundational knowledge of the Four Books and Five Classics. It comprised three questions from the Four Books, four from the Five Classics, and a regulated five-character, eight-rhyme poem.

This stage was designed to assess the candidates’ grasp of classical learning, the bedrock of scholarship in imperial times, regardless of one’s eventual specialization.

While Du Yunse was immersed in the rigors of the examination, Qiu Huanian spent his days in restless worry. He was not alone in his anxiety—Jiu Jiu, Chun Sheng, Meng Yuanling, and Yun Cheng were all equally uneasy. Only Cream Frost remained blissfully detached, occupied with her ball of yarn.

On the third afternoon, Qiu Huanian went to wait outside the examination hall. When the gates opened in the evening and a stream of weary scholars filed out, some jubilant, others clearly dejected, Du Yunse emerged with his usual composed air, his poise undisturbed as if he had merely taken a stroll through a quiet courtyard.

He entered the carriage, and Qiu Huanian immediately handed him a flask of warm sweet soup. Du Yunse drank a few sips, then leaned against him, eyes closed in silent repose.

Qiu Huanian touched his forehead—his temperature was steady.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“As usual,” Du Yunse replied.

Relieved, Qiu Huanian whispered, “Take a short nap. I’ll wake you when we get home.”

On the morning of August 12th, just a day after the end of the first session, there was no respite. The candidates returned to the examination hall for the second session. With the experience of the previous round behind them, Qiu Huanian once again accompanied Du Yunse early to the gates.

This second session tested four practical writing forms: the edict, the judgment, the memorial, and the proclamation—equivalent, in modern terms, to formal government documentation.

An edict was a sovereign decree; a judgment, a legal ruling; a memorial, a formal report or petition to the emperor; and a proclamation, a ceremonial document conferring appointments or honors.

These documents were the tools of the bureaucrat. Mastery of the classics was insufficient without the ability to wield the pen in the service of governance. Each document type demanded a unique structure, tone, and rhetorical approach—making excellence in all four a daunting task.

Another three grueling days passed. Qiu Huanian noticed that by the end, some candidates collapsed from fatigue at the gates, while others staggered out, glassy-eyed and barely conscious.

In stark contrast, Du Yunse remained composed, his strength sustained by more than intellect alone. Unlike many who had only ever studied behind closed doors, he possessed the vitality born of real-world experience and robust health.

From a distance, Qiu Huanian glimpsed Yu Min, who was immediately surrounded by attendants from the Yu family. He averted his eyes, instead focusing on gently massaging Du Yunse’s temples.

“How did it go this time?”

“Still as usual.”

To Qiu Huanian, those words were tantamount to a declaration of triumph.

“At home, we’ve prepared Four Gods Soup and stewed lamb for you. Come back and eat, then rest.”

The very next day marked the commencement of the third and final session. The number of candidates at the gates had visibly diminished; many stood on trembling legs, some held up by family members.

The provincial examination occurred only once every three years. After a lifetime of preparation, few were willing to abandon the attempt unless physically incapable of continuing.

The final session focused on political essays—five policy questions that tested the candidates’ judgment, vision, and ability to apply classical principles to contemporary governance.

While Du Yunse had excelled in the previous sessions, it was in this third round that he distinguished himself beyond all others.

Years of travel, his intimate understanding of rural life, and the sharpness he had refined amid political intricacies gave his answers an incisiveness rarely seen. His grasp of national affairs, combined with intellectual acuity, elevated his writing to something near transcendent.

Reading through the questions, he quickly formed his responses, the ideas flowing from mind to page with elegant clarity. He did not rush to transcribe. Instead, he reviewed, refined, and polished every line. Only on the third afternoon did he calmly commit his final draft to the answer sheet, written meticulously in official script.

When at last he was done, he sighed, gathered his belongings, and waited with quiet composure for the examiners to collect his work and seal it.

At the sound of the final bell, the examination came to an end.

Du Yunse rose, adjusted his sleeves, shouldered his basket, and strode through a sea of candidates—some dejected, others desperate for conversation—without pause. He ignored them all and walked straight toward the examination hall’s exit.

There, in the exact spot as before, stood Qiu Huanian and the waiting family carriage.

This time, Qiu Huanian asked no questions. Instead, he handed Du Yunse a large bouquet of osmanthus blossoms tied with yellow silk ribbon, their fragrance delicate and soothing.

Du Yunse rested the bouquet on his lap, leaned against Qiu Huanian, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep—like a traveler who had braved a long storm and finally reached shelter.

Qiu Huanian had been mid-sentence when he turned and caught sight of Du Yunse’s slumbering face. He fell silent.

For a moment, he simply gazed at him, then pressed a gentle kiss to his lover’s brow.

His voice softened, the end of his words curling like a smile.

“You’ve worked hard. Sleep well, Du Yunse.”