Chapter 161
On the ninth day of the sixth lunar month, Li Dongyang’s third son was born.
Coincidentally, Li Dongyang’s fourth brother, Li Dongming, also had a son around the same time. With double the joy, Academician Li composed two celebratory poems and widely invited friends and fellow scholars to write verses in response. The house bustled with literary guests coming to offer congratulations, and with the upcoming “three-day washing ceremony” for his younger brother and cousin’s newborns, it was no longer acceptable for his eldest son, Li Zhaoxian, to remain bedridden.
With such a major family celebration, as the Li family’s legitimate eldest son, Zhaoxian couldn’t slack off, he had to rise and assist his father and grandfather in welcoming and entertaining guests.
The physician who had been treating him also concluded that Zhaoxian’s condition had mostly been brought under control. He was simply born with a slightly weaker constitution and would need to be more mindful of diet, nutrition, and avoiding cold or overexertion in the future. As for things like “avoiding overthinking and carnal indulgences,” the physician didn’t even mention it, after all, the boy wasn’t yet at the age to be “inclined toward beauty and desire.”
After sending off the physician, Li Dongyang looked at his eldest son’s now-rosy face and finally let out a sigh of relief, his furen was safe, his son was recovering, and from now on, their family could live in peace, free of worry.
The whole household was steeped in joy from this string of fortunate events, everyone except the Eldest Young Master himself. Because once the celebration over his new baby brother was over, he fell right into the hands of his senior brother.
Though Cui Xie could not personally supervise him, he had already prepared a detailed fitness regimen and instructed the household staff to accompany Zhaoxian in his exercise.
When Cui Xie had begun his own rehabilitation training back then, he had already been around fourteen or fifteen in physical age, mature in mindset, and had a good teacher to guide him, so there was little risk. But Zhaoxian was only just past ten, still a pampered young heir who rode in a carriage everywhere. Putting him straight onto horseback would be far too risky. Even Cui Xie didn’t dare allow that.
So he started with the simplest thing: walking.
In the early morning, when the sun was still gentle, the household servants would take the Eldest Young Master out to stroll along the quiet main road just outside their home. The pace didn’t have to be quick, just enough to break a light sweat. At first, twenty to thirty minutes a day was sufficient. After a week or so, once Zhaoxian got used to the intensity, they could gradually increase both the distance and speed.
Li Dongyang took this all as part of his own martial training experience. When he had some free time, he too would stroll out from the Hanlin Academy, leading his horse on a walk along the western banks. After walking just enough to work up a light sweat, a breeze would come off the lake, sweeping away the heat clinging to him. The pool shimmered with jade-green water, willows trailed gracefully along the banks, and boats crisscrossed the distant waters like a living painting. Inspired by the tranquil beauty, he composed a poem celebrating the scenic charm of the wetlands, feeling refreshed and uplifted.
When he returned home and saw Zhaoxian, he even presented the new poem about the western shores of Jinshuitan (Water-Drawing Pool) as a model, telling his son that if he felt poetic while out on his walks, he could respond with a five-character quatrain using the same rhyme.
But the young heir, proud and poetic as he may be, was utterly mortified to be seen pacing back and forth along the street outside their home in broad daylight. The thought alone made him want to cover his face and hide, how could anyone expect him to be in the mood for poetry? What’s more, his father had strolled around Jishuitan, one of the ten famous scenic spots of the capital, while he was stuck circling the dusty street in front of their house, what was there to poetically echo?
With a sullen face, Zhaoxian muttered, “I have no poetic inspiration. Why not ask Senior Brother to respond instead?”
But his senior brother… was far too busy preparing for the exams to be writing poetry. These days, whenever Cui Xie saw his Master, he’d beg for more exam questions or ask for essay corrections. Forget writing verses, he could hardly pay attention even when someone read a poem aloud to him.
Starting in early July, Cui Xie began requesting leave from the Imperial College at intervals, using real provincial exam questions from past years to simulate test conditions for himself. In his own courtyard, he had a tiny examination booth constructed, just like those in the examination compound: a three-walled brick cubicle barely big enough to sit in, with two planks fitted into the walls that served as both table and bench, or could be rearranged into a small bed.
Every other day, he would take a full day off and enter his examination stall at 4 a.m., beginning the exam by dawn. He handled his own meals and water in the stall, simulating real testing conditions. In the evening, he would allow himself only a single candle: when the wax ran out, he would stop writing whether he had finished or not. He forced himself to become accustomed to the grueling intensity of the exam setting.
It wasn’t out of some masochistic tendency, he had no choice. The provincial examination had significantly more content than the earlier entry-level qualifying exams, with nearly two or three times as many questions. If he didn’t rehearse in advance and confirm that he could finish everything in time, he would never feel confident going into the real thing.
Like the metropolitan exam, the provincial exam began with a round of seven interpreting the classics questions, three on the Four Books and four on the Five Classics, totaling nearly 3,000 characters. Since every answer had to be drafted on scrap first and then copied neatly onto the final paper, just the act of writing out those 6,000 characters took considerable effort. In his earliest mock exams, he had just gotten up early in the morning, always starting out strong, but hitting a mental fog after three or four essays due to waking too early–his responses to the classics questions suffered. Realizing he couldn’t afford to favor the Four Books over the Five Classics or vice versa, Cui Xie adjusted his pacing, alternating between Four Book and Five Classic questions as he wrote.
When it came to grading, examiners still followed the principle of “the first session matters most, and within that, the first essay is most important.” As long as one paced the classics interpretation essays well, especially placing the best effort into the first one or two classics questions, one could make use of their freshest energy. Even if the later essays became somewhat ordinary, examiners, whose own stamina was limited, rarely read all seven responses closely. As long as there were no glaring errors, being neither outstanding nor faulty was good enough.
For the second and third sessions of the provincial exam, the standards were slightly more lenient. As long as the writing was smooth, references to history and legal codes were accurate, and there were no errors in format: like margin spacing, taboo words, or improper blank lines, then even occasional corrections wouldn’t ruin a candidate’s score.
Still, the second session of the provincial exam required writing one discursive essay and five critical judgments, plus selecting and composing one piece from among imperial edicts and memorials. The third session required five essays on the Classics, historiography, and contemporary affairs–quite a heavy load.
By the time August rolled around, Cui Xie applied for extended leave and began simulating not only the classics session but also the second and third sessions. He sent each set of mock exam papers to his teacher, Master Li, for feedback. Li Dongyang not only graded them but also composed additional prompts, encouraging Cui Xie to practice both those and real past exam questions together.
With a serious examinee at home, both the Cui and Li households were steeped in pre-exam tension. Watching a constant stream of essay prompts and papers go by, young Li Zhaoxian felt as if he were sitting in the exam hall himself. His heart pounded every day from the vicarious stress.
Seeing the boy’s tight little face, too tense even to smile, Cui Xie gently touched his cheek and reassured him, “Once you’ve been through the examination compound and seen it firsthand, I’ll build you a more realistic exam booth. Then you can do mock exams every three days just like I did, after a few months, you’ll be completely used to it. No matter what kind of test you face, you won’t be scared.”
But that only made things worse. The more he said, the more frightened Zhaoxian became–too afraid now to even feign illness. So instead, the boy only held back his tears and poured his misery into a poem of lonely indignation, subtly satirizing his heartless and ruthless senior brother.
Li Dongyang happened upon the poem and, far from being alarmed, praised it warmly: “Zhaoxian truly has a gift for feeling.” He even brought the poem to Cui Xie and commented, “ The meticulous crafting of words and phrases, the skill of balancing couplets,these are easily acquired; but genuine spontaneity and natural feeling are not easily attained. Though Zhaoxian’s poetry is plain and simple, it springs from his own originality, it is not the borrowed phrases of past writers, but rather approaches the tone and spirit of the Tang poets”.
Cui Xie read the poem’s mournful tone and couldn’t help laughing: “This poem of Junior Brother’s is exactly what Master once taught us–‘better to prize feeling than mere technique.’ But how could he say I’ve been unfeeling and heartless? Let me really build a testing hall in your home one day and lock him in it to take mock exams every day. Then he’ll have reason to resent me!”
Li Dongyang also chuckled and said, “Enough, enough. You two are like real brothers—how could I bear to see him resent you? In any case, from what I’ve seen of your writing, you’re already refined and polished. Passing the provincial exam should be no problem. Once you’re through these three rounds, you won’t need to push yourself so hard, and you can stop scaring him.”
It wasn’t until the 6th day of the 8th lunar month that the Chenghua Emperor officially appointed the Chief and eight associate examiners for this round of the Shuntian provincial examination. The Chief Examiner selected was none other than the Hanlin Academy’s Academicians Expositor-in-Waiting, Li Dongyang. Once appointed, the examiners were no longer permitted to return home or reside near the homes of candidates, they could only have items delivered. On the 8th, they moved into the examination compound, where they were locked in seclusion until the tests began.
After receiving an Imperial banquet inside the inner quarters, they were confined together without even a scrap of writing paper. Bored and with nothing to do, the examiners passed time discussing which talents might emerge this round. Each spoke of brilliant young scholars they knew–only Li Dongyang, who had been such a promising student, had to report a conflict of interest and thus fell silent, feeling a bit aggrieved.
Vice-Chief examiner Xie Qian tried to comfort him: “Your student isn’t kin, after all. There’s no precedent for recusal in such a case. Perhaps you don’t need to avoid him at all?”
He wasn’t wrong. When Li Dongyang’s disclosure form was submitted, the Ministry of Rites only approved recusals for students who were immediate or extended family–cousins within five degrees or closer, in-laws within five degrees. Li Dongyang’s case didn’t qualify. A court official, who quietly brought word from within the palace, relayed that before the final examiner appointments, the Chenghua Emperor had suddenly asked, “Is Cui Xie sitting for this round?”
An attendant whispered to His Majesty: “Cui Xie is a disciple of Li Dongyang, and has studied under him for years. There is a risk of favoritism, perhaps they should be kept apart.”
But the Chenghua Emperor personally replied, “The founding ancestor, Emperor Taizu, decreed that only blood relatives or in-laws must be recused. He does not need to step aside.”
When Li Dongyang heard this, his spirit lifted and he could not help smiling, bowing in salute: “This humble official selects talents for the court and would never show favoritism or pass unworthy men as scholars.”
While the examiners remained locked away, Cui Xie knew nothing of the drama that almost disqualified him. When he learned his teacher had been named the chief examiner, he was delighted at first, but soon grew anxious, wondering if he himself should withdraw. Holding his teacher’s post, he went to call on his senior uncle, Yang Yiqing, to ask whether he should voluntarily submit a petition to recuse himself.
Yang Yiqing, well aware of what had transpired in the palace, simply smiled and reassured him:
“Just focus on your preparation. Whether you’re allowed to take the exam is the court’s business, it’s not something a mere jiansheng needs to fret over. If you really were to be disqualified, someone would notify you. And if no such notice comes, and your name passes through the roll call and inspection gates, then you can rest easy and take the exam.”
His senior uncle’s words made perfect sense. Cui Xie finally let go of his worries and went home to pack in earnest for the exam.
Back when he had taken the county-level exams, he’d handled all the preparations himself. This time, however, much of the burden had been lifted from his shoulders. His father, Cui Laoye, had once advanced all the way to the palace examination, and the family had experience preparing an exam basket. Cui Liangdong had consulted several veteran house-servants who’d attended scholars in the past, and together they prepared a long-handled exam basket for him. Inside it they packed his writing brushes, ink, inkstone, cloth, a waterproof oilcloth canopy, a small stool…
Entry and collection of exam papers were regulated by an exam pass issued by the Shuntian Prefecture, this he kept on his person for inspection, never placing it inside the basket.
On the third night of the ninth day of the eighth lunar month, Cui Xie woke naturally before dawn, his body trained by over a month of mock exams. He washed, dressed neatly, and with great composure mounted his horse and rode to the provincial examination compound with his household attendants, lining up outside.
When names were read aloud, his was indeed among them. The breath he’d been holding finally released, and he followed the line into the exam grounds.
It was still early autumn, not yet cold. Though the inspection officers at the gate made them strip to check for any hidden writings or tattoos, it wasn’t unbearable. Once cleared, he redressed, tied up his hair, and passed the Dragon gate, followed his assigned number from the desk and exam pass to find his exam cubicle.
The cubicle had decent light, but clearly hadn’t been cleaned in ages. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and the floor was layered in dust. Just touching the desk left a handprint behind. As morning light shone in, dust danced visibly through the beams like white mist, making it hard to breathe.
Cui Xie lifted the boards used for sitting and writing, rubbed away the cobwebs, and carried them outside to bang off the dust. Then he scrubbed them clean with a dry cloth. The swirling dust made him cough violently. Other examinees fared no better, faces gray with grime, some didn’t even bother wiping anything down and simply scraped the filth off with their sleeves and sat.
But Cui Xie was no veteran. He took the time to tidy everything he could see, then purchased two cups of hot water from a roaming attendant, soaked a handkerchief, and wiped his face and hands clean before finally sitting down.
Though his Master was also present within the examination compound, Li Dongyang was now an inner-court official and couldn’t so much as peek out from behind his curtain. There would be no chance for master and disciple to meet or exchange even a glance. Cui Xie’s papers would first be evaluated by one of the eight associate examiners, and when or whether they would reach his teacher’s desk–well, that would all depend on fate.
TN: Hi everyone!! Sorry for the late posting! This was a busy weekend. Hope you guys enjoy and have a great week ❤
Note: A reader commented that there is a discrepancy between what the author has written. We’ve briefly seen Li Dongyang’s second son, Li Zhaotong in the past, but for some reason the author kept writing that this new baby IS the second son. Timeline wise, I’m not sure whether this is originally supposed to be Li Zhaotong and the author just messed up her timelines previously, or this is a new baby. From what I could find online, there doesn’t seem to be a third biological son (fun fact, Li Dongyang actually adopts his brother’s baby eventually), so maybe the author is just veering off the historical records for her novel.
Announcement: We have set up a kofi and patreon account! If you would like to support us or get early access to advance chapters for Blood-Sucking Empress OR TMD OR my new novel, those options are available for you (in support us page)! I have just added a patreon tier for Transmigrating to the Ming Dynasty’s Imperial Examinations in which patreons can have access to a google document with ALL of my advanced translated chapters for the novel. Since I am a grad student, there should usually be at least 10 advance chapters in the document at a time, but depending on my schedules, there may be fewer or more. I’m currently extremely busy, but I have translated out some new chapters for you all! But, I will still post each week with the same schedule. Thanks!
Twin Dragons Translations 
Thank You for the new chapter ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
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