Chapter 33: Breaking the Theme
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The cold wooden board dug painfully into his legs, while the chill of early spring seeped through the patched cracks in thin, lingering threads.
Wang Mingyuan rubbed his stiffened fingers, then breathed a cloud of white warmth into his palms. After they had thawed a little, he decided to answer the classics questions first, follow them with the policy essay, and finish with the poetry assignment.
The first question read:
“A gentleman should be slow to speak but prompt to act.”
Wang Mingyuan silently recited the familiar line.
It was rather like the survival principle of “speak less and do more” in the workplace of his former life, though the answer had to be framed through the Confucian ideal of self-cultivation.
“To be cautious in speech” did not mean falling silent or losing the power of expression. It was, as the Book of the Way and Virtue put it, “the greatest sound is barely heard”—every word supported by evidence, every character carrying the weight of gold.
“To be prompt in action” meant bending one’s back to practical work like a farmer plowing in spring, without waiting for the first thunder of the Awakening of Insects to urge one onward.
He lowered his brush and wrote on the draft paper:
“A gentleman guards his words as he would treasure gold—not because he fears misspeaking, but because he fears betraying sincerity. In former times, Yang Zhen refused gold offered to him in the depths of night; with a few words, he established the order of right and wrong. This was the power of restraint in speech. Yu the Great labored to control the floods and passed his own door three times without entering. This was the model of prompt action. Today, many mistake a clever tongue for ability, never realizing that a single deed surpasses ten thousand words...”
His brush pressed through the paper. He transformed an abstract moral principle into a rule that could be put into practice, while weaving in historical allusions and expressing his argument through comparisons between past and present.
He worked hard to blend the two sides of the matter together: preserving the original meaning of the classical text while adding a touch of modern practicality, in the hope of making the examiners look twice.
The examinations of the Great Yong Dynasty were relatively subjective. Being able to answer was only the first step.
To answer well—and to answer with ingenuity—was what won an examiner’s favor and secured a higher ranking.
Anyone who merely copied what was written in the books, without contributing a thought of his own, would never pass the examination.
The second question followed:
“Mencius said: ‘When poor, cultivate oneself alone; when successful, benefit the whole realm.’”
This question concealed the Confucian progression from inner sagehood to outer kingship.
Wang Mingyuan was reminded of the debate in his former life between “lying flat” and “involution,” and his brush took a sudden turn:
“To cultivate oneself alone is not to withdraw from the world, but to gather strength while awaiting the proper time. Jiang Shang fished beside the Wei River; Zhuge Liang farmed and studied in Longzhong. Both preserved their principles while awaiting their opportunity. To benefit the world is not to scatter aid indiscriminately; one must still uphold standards and exercise judgment. Those who rise suddenly to wealth and honor and forget their origins will ultimately ruin both body and reputation...”
His conclusion struck directly at the heart of the matter:
“A scholar should be like a river or sea. In poverty, he should be still waters running deep; in success, he should surge forth and nourish all things. Only by preserving the proper mean in both motion and stillness can one truly be called a gentleman.”
The final question on the classics read:
“Those who possess the Way receive much support; those who abandon the Way receive little. When support dwindles to nothing, even relatives turn against them. When support is abundant, the whole realm submits.”
This question went straight to the foundation of power.
A line from the Yellow Emperor’s Book flashed through Wang Mingyuan’s mind—the remonstrance of Yan Ran:
“To possess the Way is to win the people’s hearts; to preserve the Way is to uphold the law!”
He divided the matter into two layers:
“On the surface, this concerns the principles of governing a state; beneath that, it concerns the direction of the people’s hearts. King Zhou of Shang possessed armies in abundance, yet his people and kin abandoned him amid his wine pools and flesh forests. King Wen cultivated virtue and benevolent government, and at Mount Qi even the farmers yielded the boundaries between their fields to one another. This was the true meaning of receiving much support. Therefore, governing a state should be as the Book of the Way and Virtue says: ‘When Heaven and Earth unite, sweet dew descends.’ When government accords with the needs of the people, its commands will be obeyed without compulsion...”
The argument touched upon the essence of the relationship between ruler and people. He was especially cautious as he wrote, daring not to overstep by so much as a fraction.
Then came the policy essay.
The question read:
“In the countryside of this county, disputes over field boundaries, irrigation, and water sources often lead to brawls and lawsuits. They consume wealth, wound affections, and harm the community. How may such conflicts be resolved?”
Wang Mingyuan nearly laughed aloud. This question was practically handing him points.
Ideas from his former life—mediation committees, village rules, and land-rights registration—surged through his mind.
But they had to be dressed in a form ancient people could accept.
The central principles were simple: prevention first, rules as a foundation, and authoritative intervention when necessary.
He broke down the question and began to write.
Establish field registers to define boundaries and prevent disputes:
“Following the methods of the old fish-scale land registers, the heads of each ward shall, together with respected village elders and tenant farmers, remeasure the village fields during the slack season and draw detailed maps. Boundaries, water sources, and adjoining lands shall all be recorded. Three copies shall be made: one for the county office, one for the ward, and one for the landowner as proof of title. This shall form the foundation for clearly defining ownership.”
Establish village compacts for public deliberation and judgment:
“Each village shall select three to five persons of respected virtue and impartial character to serve as ‘village arbiters,’ working together with the ward heads. Any dispute over land or water must first be reviewed and mediated by these village arbiters. The rules agreed upon shall be engraved on stone and erected at the village entrance, so that all may observe them. Only when mediation fails may the matter be brought before the authorities. Those who violate this order shall be held jointly accountable by the ward heads and village arbiters.”
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The authorities shall hear cases swiftly, so that others may be deterred:
“The county office shall designate a special day for land and property lawsuits, to be handled personally by the deputy magistrate or registrar. Anyone appealing after village mediation has failed must present the written record of mediation and the relevant maps and title documents. Once the facts have been verified, the authorities shall hear and decide the case without delay, severely punishing those who cause disorder or bring false accusations, thereby upholding the law and bringing peace to the honest.”
Wang Mingyuan felt that he had successfully wrapped the logic of modern governance in the outward garments of ancient law. The structure was clear, and the measures were practical.
Finally came the poetry assignment:
“Using ‘Spring Plowing’ as the subject, compose one seven-character quatrain. It must conform to tonal rules and employ precise parallelism.”
Wang Mingyuan’s heart settled at once.
Over the past several years, he had accumulated a vast store of words in his mental treasury of poetic vocabulary. The theme of spring plowing alone had already been arranged into several possible combinations.
The associated images—earth, fine rain, plowshares, cowbells, seedlings, cuckoos—had long since been sorted into categories and recombined countless times. He swiftly discarded several versions that were either too ornate or too plain, then chose the set that was safest and most vivid.
He would describe spring thunder awakening the frozen earth and splitting open fresh furrows:
“Spring thunder cracks the frozen ground to wake the furrows.”
He would portray farmers working beneath their bamboo hats in the morning light:
“Hat-shadows meet the clouds as dawn-lit seedlings rise.”
He would evoke the slow pace of the plow ox:
“Do not say the plow ox’s hooves are slow.”
And he would raise the theme, showing a single furrow of spring rain bringing fragrance to countless fields:
“One spring-plowed rain makes ten thousand furrows fragrant.”
The tonal pattern was flawless, the parallelism precise, the imagery simple yet lively, and the sentiment suitably uplifting.
There were no astonishingly brilliant phrases, but neither was there anything to criticize. Wang Mingyuan nodded inwardly. All those years of hoarding words like a vocabulary miser had not been wasted.
The sun slanted westward, and his back and waist had long since become unbearably sore.
Wang Mingyuan forced himself to stay alert and began transcribing his answers from the draft onto the official examination sheets, one character at a time, with painstaking neatness.
He wrote extremely slowly, striving to make the structure of every character and the sharpness of every stroke beyond reproach.
The calligraphy he had practiced through years of苦练 would be his greatest advantage when the papers were judged.
He was absorbed in writing the conclusion of the final policy essay when a shadow silently fell across his examination paper.
Wang Mingyuan noticed nothing. The tip of his brush continued to glide steadily across the page.
The man stood outside his examination cubicle. His eyes first fell upon the vigorous characters, whose strokes seemed to pierce through the paper, and a flicker of surprise crossed his face.
The calligraphy was composed yet graceful, disciplined yet edged with hidden force. It was far beyond the ability of an ordinary child scholar. Rather, it resembled the work of a master who had immersed himself in the art for decades.
Unable to help himself, the man stopped to examine it more closely.
His gaze moved upward, passed over the handwriting, and settled on the policy essay.
“Field registers to define boundaries.” “Village arbitration.” “Swift hearings to deter wrongdoing”...
The argument was lucid and timely. It drew upon ancient precedents while displaying a distinctly practical freshness.
On County Magistrate Liu’s lean, dark face, his customary stern scrutiny gradually gave way to concentration and a trace of approval so faint it could scarcely be detected.
He had become completely absorbed.
Wang Mingyuan finished the final character on the page, let out a quiet breath, set down his brush, and loosened his stiff neck.
When he raised his head, he suddenly found himself staring into a pair of deep, inquisitive eyes only inches away.
“Ah!”
He was so startled that his soul nearly fled his body. His hand jerked, and the ink-laden tip of his brush almost stabbed into the freshly copied examination paper.
His heart pounded wildly, and a layer of cold sweat instantly broke out across his back.
County Magistrate Liu had clearly not expected to frighten him. A trace of barely perceptible embarrassment crossed his face, then vanished as his composure returned.
He said nothing. He merely inclined his head slightly toward Wang Mingyuan. His gaze lingered for a moment on the young man’s face, still carrying the softness of childhood yet already marked by calm, and then he turned away. With his hands clasped behind his back, he paced toward the next examination cubicle.
Wang Mingyuan covered his racing heart and took quite some time to recover.
The oppressive sensation of being subjected to a superior’s deadly stare was the same in every age.
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He drew several deep breaths and forced himself to calm down. Then he picked up his brush again and continued transcribing the remaining answers with even greater care, his handwriting as steady as a rock.
After finishing, Wang Mingyuan checked the time. There was still a while before the papers were due.
He inspected everything once more, making sure there were no errors or omissions.
The county examination did not conceal the candidates’ names. If he submitted his paper early and someone with ulterior motives spread the word, he might easily be branded as lacking humility. He could only wait patiently for the examination to end.
Before long, a dull clang came from the distance.
“Clang—!”
“Time’s up! Collect the papers!”
The rough shouts of the runners rang through the examination sheds, accompanied by the rustling of paper and scattered sighs and sobs.
Wang Mingyuan remained seated and motionless. Only when a runner came before him did he rise and hand over the examination paper with both hands.
As he watched the paper that carried a full day’s labor being taken away, the taut string inside him suddenly snapped loose, followed by a fatigue that swept over him like collapsing mountains and surging seas.
His waist felt broken. His backside had long since gone numb, and his feet were tingling painfully.
Thinking of the prefectural and academy examinations, in which candidates often endured several days of battle after battle, he realized with startling clarity for the first time that the civil examinations demanded not only mental strength but physical strength as well. A sturdy body was of the utmost importance.
He followed the flow of people out of the examination shed. Outside, dusk had already settled over the world.
A cold wind blew, and Wang Mingyuan shivered. Then he spotted two figures in the crowd, standing on tiptoe and stretching their necks as they searched for him.
His elder brother towered like an iron pagoda and was impossible to miss. Beside him, Li Mao was waving anxiously.
“Mingyuan! Over here!”
Li Mao’s voice pierced through the din.
Wang Mingyuan pushed his way over, an unmistakable smile of relief appearing on his face.
“How was it? Worn out?” Wang Daniu took his younger brother’s examination basket in one hand, his eyes filled with concern and anticipation.
“Not too bad, Big Brother.” Wang Mingyuan’s voice was hoarse and tired.
“You look well enough. You must have done splendidly!” Li Mao slapped him on the shoulder, beaming.
“Come on! Back to the inn! Aunt Zhang specially saved a fat fish to stew into soup for you. It’ll put some strength back in you! And there are freshly steamed date cakes too!”
“That’s right. Eat plenty and rest properly for a couple of days!”
Wang Daniu grinned as well. His smile was simple and bright, one of the few truly relaxed expressions he had worn in recent days.
Surrounded by the two of them, Wang Mingyuan began walking back. He listened to them chatter about the food they had prepared and felt the warmth of their unreserved concern.
The weariness in his body remained heavy, but his heart had brightened.
Now there was only waiting.
Three days later, the results would be posted before the county office.
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This work takes the county examination of the Ming era as its reference. In the Ming era, the county examination generally consisted of several sessions, including the main examination and the retest. To preserve the pacing and effect of the story, it has been condensed into a single session. Please forgive the liberty.
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