The prefectural selection was set for March 20. The documents had arrived earlier in the month, leaving little preparation time. Vacant posts from the recent evaluations needed to be filled promptly to ensure smooth governance.
Once Du Heng resolved to go, he consulted Qin Zhifeng, hoping they might go together.
Qin Zhifeng, however, chose to continue studying in preparation for the next spring exam. People have different ambitions; Du Heng did not argue and prepared to go alone.
Having been to the prefecture before, he knew the way.
“All your paperwork and household information are packed in your book trunk. Spring weather can be unpredictable—bring an extra set of clothes to avoid catching cold,” Qin Xiaoman said.
She carefully packed Du Heng’s travel belongings. This journey would be brief, so the parting was not as difficult as before.
“I know.”
Du Heng said, “While we’re going to the prefecture, I’ll also check on our two shops in the city.”
“That’s only right,” Qin Xiaoman replied.
Du Heng glanced at the second child crawling on the small bed. Unlike Chengyi, this little one didn’t sleep much during the day. Now that he had learned to crawl, he was very enthusiastic about it—but thankfully, not noisy. He became even more delighted if Chengyi came to play with him.
Du Heng picked up the little one, whose black, glimmering eyes blinked curiously. Though small, he felt solid in Du Heng’s arms.
“After all, he’s a boy. Not soft like his older brother. Those little legs kick hard!”
“Call me, daddy~”
As if aware that his father was teasing him, Dan Ce didn’t imitate Du Heng’s words. Instead, he opened his mouth and spat little streams of saliva, covering Du Heng’s face.
Qin Xiaoman chuckled. “Even I get kicked; only Chengyi seems immune.”
Du Heng patted the baby’s bottom. “By the way, where’s Chengyi?”
“Early this morning, that little chubby from the Yun family came to fetch Chengyi. They’ve set up some lotus water basins at home and bought small koi for the street market. They wanted Chengyi to see them.”
“Good. I’ll get ready to go; don’t want the little one to cling to me.”
Qin Xiaoman had already arranged for Yi Yan to harness the carriage. The weather was fine, so they could leave at any time.
“Leave early, return early,” Qin Xiaoman said, waving him off as usual.
Meanwhile, Chengyi didn’t yet know his father had left for a trip. He was at the Yun family garden, bouncing around from one basin to another.
It was still spring, and the lotus hadn’t bloomed. But the fresh green leaves on the water were pleasant to see. More importantly, the basins were filled with little koi, red-tailed with white spots, round-bellied, and their tails fanned like dancers’. The children loved them.
“These little koi are so pretty. I want to buy one for my little brother,” Chengyi said.
“I’ll catch one for you. There are plenty in the basin,” Yun Duo quickly said, sending a servant to fetch a container.
“Who’s that child?”
On the corridor, a man was helping an elderly relative enjoy the spring sun. He looked down at the two little ones playing in the garden. Yun Duo recognized them, but the tiny boy, delicate as white jade, seemed unfamiliar to him.
“He’s well-behaved,” the elderly woman said. “You haven’t come back from Qiuyang County lately, so you wouldn’t have seen him. He’s a neighbor boy, usually plays with Yun Duo.”
The man frowned. “I hope it’s not some small-time family trying to use their child to ask favors from us.”
The elderly woman smiled. “They’re a respected scholarly family, juren of the county. Both husband and wife are kind and reasonable.”
“Scholarly families are often the worst—poor but full of self-importance. Local gentry look down on merchants, yet still rely on them for support,” the man muttered.
The woman listened to his complaints, the sunny day slightly spoiled. “Not every family is bad. I advised you not to marry into Qiuyang County. You didn’t listen, and now you’re reaping the consequences.”
The man, hearing his mother scold him, felt displeased. “Mother, you’re not siding with your own son? You’re blaming me instead. When I was young, how could I have known better?”
“This is becoming improper!” the elderly woman said, annoyed, and pulled her hand free. “Go about your business. I’ll step away for a while.”
Once his mother left, Yun Qingwen felt even more frustrated. He strode over to the two happily playing boys.
“Uncle, you’re here?”
He lowered his gaze at Yun Duo. “You should eat less. Your face is round like a silver plate. When you grow up, even if your family is wealthy, you’ll struggle to find a good bride.”
Yun Duo frowned and pouted. “Grandmother said kids need meat to grow tall!”
Yun Qingwen snorted. “That’s raising you like a pig. When your father sees you so fat, will he let you eat meat?”
Then he turned to Chengyi, holding a small pot with the koi. “What’s your name, little one?”
Chengyi, feeling the uncle was a bit stern, replied politely, “I’m Chengyi.”
“And the fish?”
“This is for my little brother.”
“How old is your brother?” Yun Qingwen asked.
“Eight months,” Chengyi replied.
“So little, and he even notices fish?”
Looking at Chengyi’s fair face, Yun Qingwen said, “You really are a foolish child.”
Yun Duo shouted, “Chengyi isn’t foolish!”
“He’s not foolish, yet he carefully brings fish for his little brother,” Yun Qingwen said, exasperated.
Now that Chengyi had a little brother, his father would care more for him. All the treats, all the toys, all the important things would go to the little one. When he grew up, he’d be paired off casually.
He looked into Chengyi’s big eyes. “At home, everything is for your little brother now.”
Chengyi blinked. “No way! Daddy treats me very well.”
“Yes, because you were the only child. Now you have a brother, it can’t be the same.”
The clay pot fell with a clatter, and the little koi flopped on the sun-warmed stone slabs, gasping for water.
Yun Duo saw the clay pot shatter and Chengyi nearly crying. He hurried over and pushed Yun Qingwen aside. “Uncle, you’re terrible! Go back home right now!”
Yun Qingwen looked at the little boy, his eyes red and glossy, a face on the verge of tears. He raised an eyebrow. “See? When your little brother grows up, he’ll scold you just like Yun Duo scolds me. This was my home, yet he wants you to leave.”
Chengyi rubbed his eyes and let out a wail, then dashed outside.
“Hey, where are you going?”
Yun Qingwen grabbed the little chubby’s hand. “Your playmate has left, and you’re still shoving me?”
By then, Qin Xiaoman had returned after sending Du Heng off. Before even reaching the door, he saw little Chengyi crying outside the Yun household. He frowned. “Chengyi, what’s the matter? Did you fall?”
“Daddy…”
Chengyi flung himself into Qin Xiaoman’s arms, sniffling and sobbing. “An… an uncle said that once I have a little brother, Daddy won’t love me anymore.”
Yun Qingwen, who had followed Yun Duo to the door, saw Qin Xiaoman holding the child and covered his mouth with a small laugh. “Your child is far too sensitive. I just joked with him a little, and he’s crying.”
Qin Xiaoman looked at the stranger without caring about appearances. “If you don’t know how to talk properly, don’t talk at all! You’ve only had one child and are envious of another family’s children. Stop stirring up trouble!”
Yun Qingwen froze for a moment at the harsh words. Then his expression darkened. “How can you be so unreasonable? You know they’re a scholarly family—someone who didn’t know would think you’re a mere commoner.”
“You’re highborn, you’re so proud, and yet you scold children for crying. You must have never been loved by your parents!”
“You—!”
Yun Duo saw his uncle arguing with a stranger and tugged at his short legs toward the house. “I’m going to tell grandmother!”
Yun Qingwen quickly scolded him. “Where do you think you’re going, little rascal?”
With the two heading back inside, Qin Xiaoman finally brought the sobbing Chengyi into the house. He soothed him for a while. “That uncle has a bad heart. He only knows how to speak ill of others. Don’t play with him anymore.”
Patting the child’s back, Qin Xiaoman continued, “Daddy and Ah-Daddy love Chengyi the most. You know that, right?”
Chengyi sniffled and nodded. “The uncle said that when my little brother grows up, this house will be his, and I’ll have to go somewhere else.”
“Chengyi will always be Daddy and Ah-Daddy’s treasure. Even when you grow up, this will always be your home.”
“Dan Ce won’t compete with you for the house. He’ll protect you, take care of you. Daddy and Ah-Daddy love both of you. You’re both their precious ones.”
“Really?”
“Of course. Ah-Daddy doesn’t lie to you.”
Chengyi tilted his head to look at Dan Ce on the small bed, gripping a rattle. Perhaps seeing him cry, the little one frowned and reached out his hands and legs toward Chengyi.
Seeing that Chengyi remained in Qin Xiaoman’s arms, Dan Ce opened his mouth: “Yu-yu, Yu-yu…”
Chengyi looked up in surprise. “Is my little brother calling me?”
Qin Xiaoman glanced at his second child. At eight months, he should be able to say simple words. Usually, he was too active to speak much, so this was the first time he’d heard him call someone.
“Just now, Daddy had Dan Ce call for ‘Daddy’ and got a faceful of drool in return,” Qin Xiaoman said.
Chengyi quickly slid from Qin Xiaoman’s arms and dashed to the small bed, grasping Dan Ce’s soft little hand.
The baby called again: “Yu-yu.”
Chengyi leapt with joy. “My little brother can talk!”
…
By the time Du Heng arrived at the prefecture, it was March 18. The selection only lasted two days, so there was no need to stay long.
He booked a room at an inn and spent half a day checking on the two shops. The rest of the time, he read books in the inn. Unlike the imperial exams, the selection consisted of both written and oral evaluations.
Du Heng had no prior experience with official selections. Each selection had its own rules, and there was no systematic training outside. Older juren might have some exam experience, but they were competitors, and no one was going to share insights.
He had gleaned some tips from Qin Zhiyan and had early on purchased various manuals on water management, construction, and related topics.
Since this was for local office, the focus wouldn’t be heavily literary but would center on practical issues in politics, economy, and culture.
On the morning of the 20th, the participating juren arrived early outside the prefectural hall, waiting to be called in for assessment.
By the time Du Heng arrived, the crowd was already bustling.
The number of participants exceeded his expectations. Most were in their thirties; younger juren like Du Heng in their twenties were few. He quickly counted roughly a hundred people. Over the years, there hadn’t been a shortage of juren. Without age limits, even more would have come.
Around the hour of the Dog, the prefectural tutor arrived to lead everyone into the hall.
The tutor addressed the juren: “This selection will be an oral examination. Draw lots to determine your turn. Three officials will ask between three and five questions. I wish everyone success.”
After a brief pause amid the murmurs, someone asked, “Will there be no written test this time?”
“Don’t know what the questions will be.”
“Hopefully I’m not the first one called.”
Du Heng was surprised that it was only an oral exam.
Shortly after, the tutor brought out the lot-drawing tray. The participants formed orderly lines and drew lots.
Du Heng picked a slip casually, unfolded it, and froze at the number. Such luck.
“Silence, Candidate Number One, please come forward and prepare.”
Du Heng stepped forward quietly, carrying all his credentials and academic records. He breathed a sigh of relief—at least he wasn’t the very first to enter and test the waters.
While waiting for his turn, he reassured himself: going first also had advantages—no time to be nervous or overthink, simply step up and face the exam.
Inside the hall, three examiners were already seated. Du Heng recognized only one: Qi Kaisheng, the prefect. The other two were strangers to him.
Three main examiners, plus three scribes taking notes—six pairs of eyes scrutinizing him—it was enough to feel pressure mounting.
Qi Kaisheng seemed to remember him slightly, glancing over with subtle surprise that Du Heng had come to participate in the selection.
A scribe then submitted Du Heng’s personal and household information. Though he had already registered in the county, the prefectural office needed to verify details again for the oral exam.
Once the three examiners reviewed his records, the scribe introduced them formally: the central seat was occupied by the emperor’s brother, the Prince of Pingnan; the left seat by an imperial-appointed Hanlin officer; the right by Prefect Qi Kaisheng.
Du Heng was surprised. He had expected strict standards, but the emperor had personally dispatched a prince and a Hanlin official—clearly a sign of how much attention the court was paying to local governance.
“Are you Du Heng?”
Du Heng bowed respectfully. “Reporting, yes, this candidate is he.”
The Hanlin officer instructed, “Turn slowly on the spot three times, then show your hands and feet.”
Du Heng followed the instructions. As he turned, the examiners wrote down observations—assessing posture, appearance, scars, deformities, or any unseemly demeanor, which could all result in deductions or disqualification.
After the physical inspection, Prefect Qi asked first:
“A natural disaster has struck, and the court has sent grain to your county to aid the people. Yet some, seeking personal gain, pretend to be needy and repeatedly take relief supplies, despite prior warnings. If you were the county magistrate, how would you swiftly and effectively prevent such behavior?”
Du Heng paused briefly. “First, the candidate would increase patrols and enforce strict punishment to set an example. Second, instruct kitchen staff to make relief food plain and unappetizing. Those merely seeking advantage would find the food unappealing and refrain from taking more. The truly hungry would still accept it, thus ensuring that the aid reaches those in need.”
The previously silent Prince of Pingnan lifted his eyes to regard Du Heng. “Cunning method.”
Du Heng felt a moment of alarm.
“But practical. Fits local governance. Better than fancy words,” the prince continued. Du Heng relaxed slightly—examiner temperaments could be tricky, and he had no prior familiarity.
Next, the Hanlin officer asked, “If appointed as county official, what industry would you prioritize?”
“The candidate would follow local conditions. Field investigation is necessary to decide. Yet agriculture and sericulture must come first. Food is the foundation; when the land prospers, other industries may follow.”
The Hanlin officer made no comment, simply taking notes.
Finally, the Prince of Pingnan asked, “I have reviewed your results in the juvenile and provincial exams. They are impressive. Why have you come to participate in this selection instead of continuing to the spring palace exam?”
“Examinations are a path to serve the court and the people. Now the selection aims to choose officials for local governance—surely also an opportunity to serve both people and court. When such opportunities arise, the candidate cannot ignore them.”
The prince slowly collected his notes. “That will be all for now. Return and await notification.”
Du Heng bowed respectfully and withdrew. Outside, even he, who appeared calm, exhaled deeply. The questions had been standard, not tricky—but the ceremony and presence of a prince and Hanlin officer made it imposing.
For juren from counties with little worldly exposure, such an environment could easily rattle them, causing stammering and muddled thoughts.
Indeed, oral exams were an effective way to evaluate talent. Scholars often buried themselves in study, honing literary skill rather than practical governance. While they could write well, spoken expression was equally essential.
“Du, how did the exam go?”
Du Heng heard an older juren sigh behind him, relieved not to be first.
He smiled faintly. “Very tense at first. The examiners are formidable—dispatches from the capital.”
Seeing the older juren’s pale face, he was satisfied, nodding politely and leaving him to continue shaking nervously.
The results of the oral exam would be announced quickly—three days later, the prefectural hall would post the official list.
Those who passed could draw lots to determine their assigned posts. Whether in a prosperous or barren county, luck would play a decisive role.
Du Heng waited eagerly. That evening, he went downstairs at the inn for dinner, joining other juren who had been discussing the day’s exams.
Hearing about those who went later and saw a prince and Hanlin officer as examiners, many had panicked, unable to answer properly, and were dismissed. Others were disqualified for scars or imperfect physiques.
Even those who spoke fluently at length were sometimes sent out when examiners grew fatigued.
Half of the candidates had been examined that day; the remaining half would be tested tomorrow.
By day’s end, only about fifty had passed smoothly. With fewer than ten posts available, the odds were roughly ten to one.
All remarked that entering officialdom would become increasingly difficult. Regardless of whether the court accepted them, at least they had come—missing this opportunity might mean never having a chance at a government career.
Du Heng had some tea and wine with the others, then waited until nightfall before returning to the inn.
The three days of idle waiting had been torturous. The juren felt as though three years had passed before they finally reached the morning of the results posting.
At first light, all the juren crowded around the notice board, forgetting all notions of the decorum expected of scholarly gentry.
Du Heng tried twice to get close enough to see the list, but was blocked both times. It was only because Yi Yan, solid as an iron pillar, reached the board first that others had no choice but to fall back.
“Master.”
Du Heng looked up and saw Yi Yan raising his arm high—he immediately understood.
Raise your hand, and you pass; shake your head, and you fail.
He truly had passed. Soon, he would be assigned to an official post!
Du Heng’s first reaction was a swirl of mixed emotions. He hadn’t fully considered whether he would be selected, nor had he planned how to relocate his family and handle other logistics.
He headed toward the prefectural office, silently hoping to draw a nearby county, so the move would not be too cumbersome.
Eight juren remained, quietly awaiting the draw of lots the next day.
The following morning, the selected candidates all arrived at the prefectural hall on time, nerves taut. After a while, the lot-drawing tray was brought out.
The prefect announced, “The available posts are: one county magistrate, one assistant magistrate, two instructors, two junior instructors, one secretary, and one supervisor. Eight positions in total. The highest rank is a proper seventh-rank magistrate; the rest are below the seventh rank. You will determine your assignment by drawing lots.”
Hearing this, the juren showed no outward reaction, though all secretly hoped for the county magistrate position. It was a rare opportunity indeed.
Du Heng, however, was more modest in wish, silently hoping he would not draw the sole minor post, a ninth-rank supervisor.
He rolled up his sleeves discreetly, preparing for the draw. At that moment, the prefect said:
“Du Heng, you need not draw lots. The prince and Hanlin officers were impressed with your oral exam; your results were top of the group. The prince has appointed you county magistrate.”