Chapter 510 - 193: Provincial Examination (2)
Chapter 510: Chapter 193: Provincial Examination (2)
It was not yet dawn, but a faint stirring could already be heard in the examination hall.
Zhao Jing was roused by the noise, his head still in a fog when he awoke.
He lay on his cot for a long while before it dawned on him: this was the examination grounds.
And just like that, the fog in his mind cleared.
In the middle of the night, the temperature had finally cooled.
His skin no longer felt sticky. Zhao Jing simply splashed some cold water on his face before starting a fire to cook some congee.
The stove quickly heated up. Zhao Jing unhurriedly added a handful of millet. Just then, the leisurely toll of a bell sounded in the distance.
The examination had begun.
The first session of the Provincial Examination had a very standard format. The questions were mostly drawn from the Four Books, and this time was no exception.
There were three questions on the Four Books, one eight-rhyme, five-character-per-line poem, and four essays on the classics. The essays required answers of over three hundred characters.
The second session of the Provincial Examination typically consisted of one question on the Five Classics and one on official documents—edicts, judgments, memorials, or proclamations. These also required answers between three hundred and seven hundred characters.
The third session, then, was mostly five policy essays on the classics, history, and current affairs.
The difficulty increased with each session, making the first, on the whole, the least challenging.
But the first session was also exceptionally important.
Many examiners used the first session to gauge a candidate’s familiarity with and ability to expound upon the Confucian classics. This was to ensure candidates adhered to mainstream ideology and to uphold Confucian orthodoxy.
If a candidate failed the first session, the examiners would usually not even grade the papers for the next two.
For this reason, one had to be especially careful with the first paper. Every single character written had to be done with the utmost caution.
The sky was still pitch-black, yet the examination hall was dotted with points of light. Looking out, one could see that candles had been lit in every cell.
The questions for each session of the Provincial Examination were numerous and difficult, leaving candidates no time for drafts. Some candidates, either slow writers or simply anxious, worried they wouldn’t have enough time. As soon as they received their papers, they would begin writing immediately after mulling over the answers in their heads, paying no mind to the dim light or the risk of a messy-looking paper.
Listening closely, one could hear the rustling of brushes across the examination grounds; quite a few students had already begun.
Zhao Jing, however, did not start so rashly.
He read through the entire paper, front and back, until he had a clear idea of every question. He even planned out how he would break open the topic and develop his arguments for each one.
But even after all that, he did not begin.
He waited until the millet congee in his pot was cooked and had cooled to a warm temperature, until the charcoal in the stove had roasted his egg, and until the first hint of light appeared on the horizon. Only then did Zhao Jing drink his congee, eat the fragrant roasted egg to fill his stomach, and get up to walk a couple of laps.
Once he was completely calm and composed, Zhao Jing finally sat down at his desk and quietly began to grind his ink.
When the ink was ready, his mind was filled with nothing but the examination paper and his answers.
And so, he set his brush to paper. The first question on the Four Books was finished with ease, all in one go.
Zhao Jing answered the next few questions just as smoothly.
It wasn’t until he had finished the eight-rhyme, five-character-per-line poem that a grumble in his belly made him realize he had long missed the midday meal. Hunger was tormenting his stomach.
He was weary, his strength was failing, and his stomach was empty. It was no longer a suitable state for answering questions, so Zhao Jing stopped writing.
He carefully put his paper away, took the inkstone off his desk, and placed it in a corner by the wall. Once everything was tidied up, he set about making his meal.
Lunch was simple: the oil pancakes he had brought from the day before.
These multi-layered oil pancakes were made with plenty of oil, so they wouldn’t spoil for a day or two.
And because the pancakes were layered, it was easy to pull them apart to see if any contraband was hidden inside. This meant the constables searching his belongings hadn’t torn them into a disgusting pile of crumbs.
The pancakes were flavorful on their own, but when paired with the pickled vegetables Xu Su Ying had made and tucked inside, they were a supreme delicacy.
The only misstep, if there was one, was the pot of mung bean soup.
He had been so focused on answering the questions that he hadn’t extinguished the fire or taken the pot off in time. As a result, the mung bean soup had boiled down into a thick mung bean paste—which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. The problem was that what was originally three bowls of soup had been reduced to just over half a bowl, concentrating all the sugar he had added earlier into that small portion. It was cloyingly sweet.
But sugar was a good thing; it was the best way to replenish one’s energy.
After downing the half-bowl of mung bean paste, Zhao Jing felt refreshed and invigorated, as if he could tackle several more exam papers in one go.
But the sun was already beginning to set in the west. At most, he could only complete one more essay on the classics today.
Fortunately, he still had the entire next day. All in all, there was enough time.
Having eaten and drunk his fill, Zhao Jing walked around his cell for a while before sitting down to continue answering questions.
He finished the first essay on the classics just before the sky turned completely dark, carefully put his paper away, and went to sleep.