Chapter 4: Smoke Rises from the Ancestral Hall, Fortune Flows Into the Body

Fan Jin spoke with unwavering confidence. After finishing, he cast a sidelong glance at the ringleader of the jeering crowd, his eyes filled with a mixture of disappointment and stern reproach.

For a moment, the atmosphere turned awkward. The group of scholars and students, flushed and choked by his words, were left speechless. They couldn’t very well say Fan Jin was wrong, could they? After all, these were the sage words of a senior scholar from the imperial examination, not to mention they were quoted from Zhou Xuedao himself.

The tale of Wei Haogu’s insolence toward Zhou Xuedao and the latter’s strict reprimand had long since spread throughout Nanhai County. Moreover, this was the Ming Dynasty, not the previous dynasty. Today’s imperial exams tested the Four Books and Five Classics, not poetry or lyrical compositions. No matter how exquisite one’s poetry, it might at best earn the title of a literary talent, akin to a modern-day popular knowledge blogger.

Even the greatest literary fame could hardly secure official rank or mastery in civil and military arts, let alone gain favor with the imperial family. Only through mastery of the Four Books and Five Classics could one achieve social mobility; poetry and lyrics were merely accompaniments for leisure and wine.

Though the scholars and students did not fully agree, they found themselves unable to refute these points. They had long known that Fan Jin and Zhou Xuedao were kindred spirits—both old-fashioned scholars, dedicated solely to studying the sages’ teachings, neglecting physical labor and practical knowledge. Yet, when reminded that Fan Jin was already a successful candidate in the imperial exam, they silently erased the words “stubborn old man” from their minds and replaced them with “upright gentleman.”

“Scholar Fan speaks truly,” the group said with forced smiles.

Fan Jin nodded, wearing an expression of teachable innocence, perfectly embodying the logic that if you don’t feel embarrassed, then it is others who should be embarrassed. Had the crowd not fled so hastily, he might have continued his performance of “I don’t understand poetry and I’m proud” for hours.

...

As dusk fell, the golden glow of the setting sun bathed the entire village, the evening clouds ablaze like fiery banners. Guests gradually dispersed, but the commotion that belonged to Baiao Village was just beginning.

Several elders, their hair white as snow, leaning on canes, came personally to invite Fan Jin to the ancestral hall to offer sacrifices and pay respects to their forebears.

“Second uncle, how could we trouble you to come in person!” Fan Jin greeted them warmly.

“Haha, Jinzi, you are the only scholar from Baiao Village in over three centuries to have passed the highest imperial exams!” The old man clapped Fan Jin's shoulder heartily. “An honor that brings glory to our entire family deserves the grandest celebration!”

With a chuckle, he folded his hands behind his back and grumbled, “I wonder who will dare say from now on that no talent exists in the Fan family...”

After some cordial exchanges, Fan Jin, surrounded by his kin, walked toward the ancestral hall, his heart filled with emotion.

By all rights, this ancestral sacrifice should have been held when he first passed the junior scholar exam. Though the tangible benefits of this title were few—officials and nobles often mocked “poor scholars”—one must consider the audience. For common folk, the title of junior scholar was a mark of utmost respectability.

Often, the term “poor scholar” referred not to those who passed the junior exam but to those who repeatedly failed the imperial exams altogether—essentially, those who couldn’t even pass the preliminary tests.

Fan Jin’s predicament—top scorer in the junior scholar exam but without advancement—stemmed from his age, an unavoidable disadvantage making him a poor investment. Rumors even suggested Zhou Xuedao named him top scorer out of pity.

Thus, many hesitated to support this old scholar with limited prospects. Even within the clan, there was skepticism; many paid little mind and feared their support would be wasted. Apart from a few seasoned elders who quietly offered him some silver, most relatives did not regard this fifty-four-year-old scholar with much importance.

No one had ever mentioned holding an ancestral ceremony for him, and few came to congratulate him.

But times had changed. From humble beginnings, now he had ascended to the imperial court’s favor. With the title of successful candidate, the path to officialdom lay wide open.

Every glance from his relatives was obsequious and humble, tinged with pride. The glory of his success was a blessing for the entire family. Even the little children, who had never before heard the benefits of this title, understood its weight from the bustling carriages and abundant gifts pouring into Baiao Village, and from the villagers’ jubilant celebrations.

From this day forward, Fan Jin’s status was worlds apart from ordinary folk—a true “son of the emperor’s gate.”

A toddler of barely two years, bare-bottomed and sucking his fingers, babbled in a baby voice, “When I grow up, I want to be a successful candidate too...”

His words drew smiles and teasing from neighbors. In days past, such talk would have invited ridicule—like a toad dreaming of becoming a swan.

Now, with Fan Jin’s example before them, no one dared to dismiss such aspirations lightly; instead, they regarded them with kindness.

...

The Fan family ancestral hall, a medium-sized building at the village’s edge, was one of the rare houses made of brick and tile. Its dark roof tiles were moss-covered, and the gray-white walls bore weathered marks that told of passing years.

Before the vermilion main gate hung a pair of couplets: the upper line read, “Born of the same clan, the same ancestors, the same roots,” and the lower line, “Thriving together, prospering together, sharing the same fate.”

Above, a sturdy plaque bore three bold characters: “Yu Qing Hall.”

A family of virtue will surely enjoy abundant blessings.

Upon entering, the villagers’ expressions instinctively turned solemn. The children, who had been running and playing moments before, were now watched closely by their parents, all with stern looks.

This was the grandest day Baiao Village had seen in centuries—more lively than the New Year, even more solemn.

A long red carpet stretched from outside the gate to the hall’s center, where bright red lanterns hung.

At the heart of the hall stood the incense table, adorned with “Eight Treasures” and the “Three Sacrificial Animals,” incense burning long and steady, red candles flickering faintly.

Several elders stood at the head, supported by steady-handed clansmen.

One elder held a scroll that extolled Fan Jin’s virtues in every detail, praising him as the village’s prodigy, a golden phoenix among the Fan family. His voice rose in solemn recital.

As the day’s honored guest, Fan Jin stood slightly below the elders, every gaze upon him.

Rows of relatives stood behind him, arranged by generation and rank, clearly ordered.

After the ritual reading, the elder’s face grew grave. “Kneel!”

Without hesitation, he led the way, kneeling before the ancestral tablets.

Fan Jin swiftly swept aside his long robe and bowed deeply.

Behind him, hundreds of clan members knelt sincerely upon the stone steps.

Almost instinctively, Fan Jin raised his eyes, only to fall silent at the sight of countless ancestral tablets before him.

Suddenly, invisible wisps of blue smoke began to rise, swirling together into a stream of light that swiftly entered his body.