Lu Yang handed him the congratulatory letter, and Xie Yan ran out to set off firecrackers.
He lit two strings first, then Lu Yang, unable to resist, lit a few more.
The couple didn’t count carefully—whatever was on the tray, they lit together, setting off a total of sixteen strings. The explosions drew many nearby children, who came to watch and bask in the festive scholarly aura.
Wu Ping, generous as ever, tossed copper coins into the alley. He emptied the rest of the basket, making the scene look exactly like a living God of Wealth.
Lu Yang’s joy hadn’t faded. That evening, back in their room, he reenacted the celebration for Xie Yan—knocking at the door, entering amid shouts of congratulations. The messenger was trapped inside by Xie Yan, who refused to let him leave.
Lu Yang realized he really was getting playful.
The exams—what a state they had become!
Having passed as a scholar, they were to attend the Luming Banquet.
Wu Ping was in high spirits and arranged a proper outfit for Xie Yan. Together, they went to the banquet, looking quite respectable.
Lu Yang could not go. He took some attendants and went out to the gambling house to exchange money.
A long line had already formed at the gambling house. He left a young servant to wait and strolled through the streets with his clerk.
He only exchanged two taels of silver, receiving two taels and two qian in return. He planned to visit a jewelry shop to buy a small keepsake for his mother.
A bit over two taels was enough for a small piece of jewelry.
In the jewelry shop, Lu Yang selected a pair of earrings.
His mother already owned a pair of gold-and-jade earrings, a gift from his father.
Now that Xie Yan had passed the scholar’s exam, he wanted to gift her a pair as a memento. It was a thoughtful gesture.
Lu Yang examined them carefully, not limiting himself to two taels, and even looked at more expensive items. His mother was modest and gentle; she wouldn’t like overly flashy gold or silver. The family’s gold-and-jade earrings had gold hooks and jade pendants.
He chose a pair of pearl-and-jade earrings, small and delicate at first glance, yet intricate on closer inspection. The pearls were small, the price moderate—three taels and six qian.
Lu Yang haggled with the shopkeeper, who argued at first, but eventually threw in a small jewelry box at no extra cost.
With the earrings in hand, Lu Yang stopped by a tailor’s to get some scraps of fabric, trimming and sizing it to line the box and wrap the earrings neatly—it looked quite presentable.
At home, a banquet was already prepared, arranged by Wu Ping and Uncle Lei, to celebrate with food and laughter.
Lu Yang returned home, the servant who had waited at the gambling house also arrived, bringing the silver. They happily went to eat.
Meanwhile, Xie Yan and Wu Ping also attended the Luming Banquet.
There wasn’t much to eat. After the initial ceremonies, many attendants rushed to snatch the dishes, carrying them away plate by plate.
Xie Yan even competed for a plate. The other person gave him a glance, grabbed the food and fruit with bare hands, and left the empty plate for him.
Xie Yan thought, “…” He had eaten very little that morning to save his appetite for this meal!
Seating at the banquet was arranged according to rank. His friends sat far away, so he looked around and saw Ji Mingzhu and Liu Youli together. For some reason, Ji Mingzhu had become acquainted with Liu Youli, making it tricky for him to reach food, so he kept passing it along.
Wu Ping was lucky, sitting at the same table as Sheng Daxian. They chatted, swapped seats, talked casually, and shared a few laughs. The atmosphere was pleasant even without much food.
Xie Yan thought, “…” If he had known, he would have brought something to eat.
A fellow scholar told him, “This happens all the time. No one ever learns. It’s like after paying respects to Confucius in the academy—lecturers rush to claim the offerings. For these banquets, people have been watching for a long time.”
A single imperial exam involved hundreds, even thousands of busy attendants. Outside the official exam halls, numerous small attendants lingered. They couldn’t access good food, so they waited for days like this to scrounge a meal. The higher-ups didn’t punish them, and the new scholars maintained their dignity without arguing—this custom persisted as tradition.
Xie Yan had no idea. In the future, he could share this with other examinees.
Eating and drinking weren’t the main point. Today, the priority was to meet the chief examiner and the room examiners.
Room examiners were assigned according to the Five Classics—one room per classic. Examinees only studied one classic, so the rooms were not crowded. But all had to greet the chief examiner. From then on, they became his students.
Xie Yan first went to meet the chief examiner. He followed the respectful demeanor he had learned in the academy.
Entering, he performed the student bow. When he looked up and saw the man in the armchair, his gaze faltered.
The chief examiner was someone he had met once before—the second son of Uncle Cui, though he didn’t know the name, just called him Second Brother Cui.
He had studied in the capital and hadn’t taken the exams in years. They had debated once; the man’s mind had been incredibly sharp. Xie Yan still remembered.
Ah—he wasn’t a student at all…
Xie Yan froze, then performed the student bow again, restraining his surprise, politely greeting, “Lord Cui.”
He had heard that this chief examiner was Lord Cui Zhongqing. That meant the calligraphy book in his hands was written by Second Brother Cui.
Xie Yan recalled Uncle Cui’s expression upon seeing the copybook and was momentarily speechless.
Meeting the chief examiner usually involved only a few polite exchanges. The chief examiner had many people to meet, so conversation was brief.
Before entering, Wu Ping had coached him on what to say: express admiration, talk about personal effort, offer small compliments, mention he wanted to learn from the examiner. Flattery had to be natural—not pure admiration. Mention which works of the examiner he had read, which achievements he admired, and how he hoped to become like him. The exact words didn’t matter, as long as the intention was clear.
Xie Yan had been hesitant, worried he wouldn’t say it well. Now, he didn’t need to pretend.
“Lord Cui, a year has passed in the blink of an eye. I have missed you greatly. I observe the scholars in the capital and dare not slack in my studies when reading their essays. Today, to reunite here, I am truly astonished—and somewhat moved.”
Cui Zhongqing asked what books he had read and how he had composed his essays. Xie Yan answered honestly.
He had browsed both sides of the shelves in the academy’s quiet room. Though not many, he had read all relevant to the imperial exams.
He had read the articles of senior classmates, and also some incidental writings.
After becoming familiar with Ji Mingzhu and others, he had seen memorials and official documents.
As the saying went, the academy’s proprietor, Master Jin, had collaborated with Lu Yang but only gave him a single copybook, feeling guilty. Lu Yang, realizing the value of the documents, wrote to the county and forwarded them through Master Jin, who shared many case details—the laws, actual judgments, brief records from volumes, and other experiences.
Xie Yan had read all of this. After the exams, he had even read some leisure books and could discuss them.
Cui Zhongqing displayed little emotion. Xie Yan added, “I also studied your copybook—it’s very well-written. I even tried to imitate it.”
He intended to flatter, yet his tone sounded sincere.
Cui Zhongqing smiled faintly. “I’ve read your compositions. You’ve improved a lot since last year—clear, elegant, literarily sound, with well-coordinated structure. Less frivolity, less impulsiveness, your strokes are mature and polished. My father said you write many essays per topic, using a laborious method. For this exam, which angle did you most want to use?”
Xie Yan thought briefly. “The angle on the answer sheet is the one I took.”
He explained his approach in detail. Initially, when trying to conceal his true thoughts, writing felt awkward—like lying, unnatural.
At first, attempting it gave him relief—after “lying,” he could write truthfully.
Later, he no longer feared truth or falsehood. He learned to accept and step beyond his own fixed ideas, understanding others’ thoughts and literary style.
