Next, the peddler explained “honey” and “snake slough.” “Honey” was short for “the bee gathers nectar,” meaning bribing the copyist who transcribed the examination papers so that, after entering the grounds, another essay could be written in place of the original. “Snake slough” was short for “the snake sheds its skin,” meaning slipping in an extra examination paper. There was also something called “live beheading”—switching papers so that Candidate A’s essay bore Candidate B’s name.
Xie Yan’s eyes flew wide open.
The peddler chuckled. “I do not sell those. That is not a trade I can manage.”
Xie Yan felt certain he did sell them—only that the few of them were not the target customers, so he left his words vague.
The cheat-sheet peddler did not stay for wine. He still had to go out and drum up business. After he left, the remaining men discussed what they had heard.
Wu Pingzhi had long heard of certain cheating methods—mostly cheat sheets, predicted topics, memorized essays. He had guessed there were deeper schemes but had imagined something as simple as bribing to buy the questions. He had not expected matters to be so complicated.
Ji Mingzhu flipped open the tiny “fly characters” copy of Spring and Autumn Annals. After only a couple of pages, his eyes ached, and he stuffed it into his book satchel. At Sheng Daxian’s reminder, he moved it to his inner robe instead. That way, when he undressed at home, he could take it out together with his clothes and would not forget it.
Xie Yan also glanced through Mencius. He could not write characters that small; he lacked the patience.
He normally wrote quickly, and when he wrote quickly, his script turned careless. He could not manage such meticulous work.
Wu Pingzhi said, “I forgot to ask about Chengwen Weimo. I will go buy a copy later.”
Chengwen Weimo was a compilation of selected examination essays from those who had passed.
Such things had once been sold openly but were later banned. Many scholars focused only on these collections, studying them purely for examinations while neglecting the Classics and historical commentaries, thus wasting their studies.
Now, if they wanted to buy them, it was difficult. Usually, one had to ask around and seek copies privately.
Xie Yan told him a disheartening truth. “Those are fake as well.”
It was Uncle Cui who had told him. Scholars’ money was easily swindled. Give it an impressive title, include one or two genuinely good essays at the front, and fill the rest with patchwork pieces cobbled together from various sources. At first glance they looked decent; on closer reading, they could not withstand scrutiny. Good, perhaps—but not excellent, not enough to stand out from thousands.
Wu Pingzhi let out a heavy sigh. “Ah!”
Ji Mingzhu asked Xie Yan, “How do you know so much?”
Xie Yan said it was Old Mister Cui who had told him.
Sheng Daxian and Ji Mingzhu exchanged a glance, both hesitant to speak.
Xie Yan smiled. “It is fine. I do not listen to everything he says. I think about it myself.”
Just as when a teacher instructed him in essay writing, he did not accept every idea wholesale. He had his own thoughts. He simply took the strengths and supplemented the weaknesses.
He often debated with Old Mister Cui; only when he was persuaded would he truly accept something.
With his breadth of reading, he could judge for himself whether something was sophistry.
Seeing their expressions, Wu Pingzhi asked who this Old Mister Cui was.
Ji Mingzhu explained, “He is the elderly gentleman in charge of the library at the prefectural academy. A terrible chess player. When he first arrived, he fooled many people. Everyone thought he was formidable, playing chess with him in exchange for critiques. Later they discovered his comments were rather strange, quite different from what the instructors said. If you followed his advice, you would be unable to write essays for quite a while—nowhere to begin, errors everywhere.”
Wu Pingzhi looked to Xie Yan, who nodded. “That is true. Do you remember? Once when I returned home from the academy, I was completely lost. During that period, I spent all day thinking this and that. I did not read much and barely wrote any essays. Once I worked it through, I was fine.”
Ji Mingzhu and Sheng Daxian were curious how he had worked through it.
Xie Yan described his clumsy method: he would take a single topic and write several essays on it. Each would carry a different central idea. Some he wrote according to his own inclinations; some followed a template. Some were polished and diplomatic; some were flattering; others forceful; still others gentle and conciliatory.
Their expressions grew blank. They thought that with a temperament like Xie Yan’s, he truly was suited to scholarship. They themselves had been too eager for quick results.
Xie Yan said, “When I first tried this, I could only write one or two essays per topic. After so many years of study, I have written many topics repeatedly. When you first read the Classics and histories, and then encounter the same topic years later, your state of mind and experience differ. What you learn from it also differs. In a short time, I could not make great progress. Forcing myself to write did not produce much. That was last year. Now nearly a year has passed. I can write however I wish. When I see a topic, I know what kind of central idea suits it. Change the central idea, and the emotion of the essay changes; naturally, the method of writing changes as well.”
At this point, with the examination approaching, Xie Yan did not wish to unsettle them. He repeated to them what he had told Wu Pingzhi earlier.
As for novelty in writing, he first gave a brief explanation. Seeing how attentively they listened, he went on to elaborate in detail.
When he finished, he added, “Though forms may change endlessly, the core remains the same. Seek it within the topic; trace its pulse. Do not stray from the path. We often speak of novelty, but in composition one must also be ‘honest.’ Fasten yourself tightly to the topic. Let there be depth and lingering resonance within, and a refined brilliance outwardly displayed—then it is a good essay.”
He continued, “Environment influences us greatly, and topics vary in countless ways. Do not think about matters outside—what happens if you pass, what happens if you fail. Do not think about those things. Just look at the topic. The answer lies there.”
Ji Mingzhu clinked his cup against his. “Well said. We should not overthink. Just now I was worrying I was finished, wondering whether I should cram at the last minute and recall Old Mister Cui’s advice. Luckily you reminded me. Otherwise, once inside the grounds, I would not have been able to write a single line.”
They had arranged to meet merely to secure lodging and gather briefly, planning to see one another again at the examination. Yet, as they discussed principles of writing, time slipped by unnoticed, and dusk fell.
When they left the restaurant, the rain had stopped and night had come. They bid one another to take care and returned home.
By afternoon, Lu Yang had not seen anyone and guessed the search for lodging had gone poorly. He pulled Uncle Lei aside and asked many questions, pondering other options for securing a room to rest. Others could raise prices; so could he. If it truly came to it, they could even pitch a tent.
They would find a spacious courtyard, ask to rent the yard itself, and set up a tent to sleep in.
By evening, the rain had ceased. He went out with two servants to look around and wait for Xie Yan and the others to return.
When he saw them, he went forward with a smile. Xie Yan said, “We have a place to stay! It was reserved by Ji Mingzhu’s husband. Each of us contributed five taels of silver. After that we went to eat together. I spoke quite a bit during the meal, and they would not let me pay. Heh.”
Naturally, Lu Yang praised him. “Wow, my great scholar Xie can earn a meal with his learning! How impressive!”
Xie Yan grinned foolishly.
Wu Pingzhi told Lu Yang that during the meal they had spoken at length with a cheat-sheet peddler, and that Xie Yan had wasted money on a useless book.
Xie Yan disliked him for that.
Lu Yang took the book and thought the tiny volume rather good—perfect for children.
If Little Mai and Zhuangzhuang began studying and had to hold such large books, his heart would ache. Better to give them small volumes to hold.
Of course, the print would need to be larger.
After hearing this, Xie Yan grew smug again and said to Wu Pingzhi, “Hear that? See how good my husband is at doing business!”
Wu Pingzhi could not even be bothered to respond.
They had already eaten, so they added a little to the evening meal to accompany Lu Yang. During dinner, they recounted the various cheating methods to broaden his horizons.
Lu Yang was truly astonished. Cheating in the imperial examinations was such a grave crime, yet people still dared to do it—and cheat sheets could be bought openly in the marketplace! It was unbelievable.
Wu Pingzhi said, “The higher one advances, the more people are willing to risk it. What if they succeed? The lower degrees are not worth the gamble.”
Lu Yang nodded deeply in agreement. “It is like gambling.”
Trading one’s future for another future.
Moreover, such things could harm others.
Those who bought openly in the marketplace were not necessarily doing so to cheat.
That night, they still had to read. After dinner, they went to sit in the study.
Wu Pingzhi wished to speak further with Xie Yan about “refined brilliance outwardly displayed”—how much was too much, such that it became excessive. Xie Yan said he was simply too cautious, and the two launched into a long discussion.
The two bookboys were perceptive. With no manuscripts to organize, they began recording the points of discussion—one sentence from each—writing them down in sequence and later copying them together.
Lu Yang reclined lazily in a chair. An open copy of The Business Teachings of Tao Zhu Gong rested on his chest. His gaze tilted sideways. The oil lamp on the table was covered with a round shade, which happened to obscure Wu Pingzhi from view, leaving only Xie Yan in the light—clearly seen within his eyes.
