Seven days later, the gates of the Gongyuan opened. Du Heng stepped out from the north entrance, carrying his belongings.
The month-long gloom had finally broken, and weak sunlight filtered down, brushing against him with a hint of early March warmth. The Gongyuan gates were as crowded as ever, the clamor of carriages and people overwhelming.
Du Heng’s steps were heavy—not only had he been confined in that turtle-shell of a room for days, but his thoughts were complex and troubled. He glanced back at the stately, imposing Gongyuan, shook his head slightly, and walked toward his carriage.
“Master, after seven days in the examination hall, what are your orders?”
Yi Yan, usually cold and detached, sensed Du Heng’s mood and had waited patiently outside. Observing the exiting candidates—some joyful, most anxious—he noted that his master was among the worried majority. Though he did not understand the significance of an examination for a scholar, he offered a word to distract Du Heng.
Du Heng set down his cases, sank into the carriage cushions, and exhaled, shaking his head: “Go back and rest for two days. Nothing else needs to be done.”
Yi Yan glanced at him but said nothing further, guiding the carriage back.
With the Spring Examination’s results set to be announced on the eighth day of the following month, more than twenty days remained. Compared to past anxieties and anticipation after exams, Du Heng no longer held any expectation for the results.
During the three sessions of the Gongyuan exams, his mind had wandered; he had not truly concentrated on answering. From the earliest local tests to the imperial examinations, the system was meant to establish fairness and rigor. Yet he had seen cheating in the capital.
Inevitably, such dishonesty displaced deserving scholars from the limited spots, leaving talented candidates empty-handed. Those from humble backgrounds, who had braved cold and hardship to reach the capital, now faced others using their advantage in the city to dominate. It was infuriating.
At the same time, Du Heng realized that the court in the capital might truly be in turmoil. The Gongyuan examinations were overseen by the Minister of Rites and imperial-appointed inspectors—men of great authority. A leak in the exam indicated lapses at the highest level.
For a small, powerless scholar from a remote county, even if he passed and entered the palace finals, this chaotic period could easily turn him into a pawn in power struggles.
He pictured the outcomes: a third-division placement without a post meant enduring hardship; second-division, though awarded office, offered no allies or kin in court, and one misstep could lead to ruin; first-division success might bring triumph, but with the exam compromised, any exposure of cheating could spell disaster.
In every scenario, Du Heng could not believe that passing the examination would leave him untouched by danger or intrigue.
Rather than struggle against fate, there was no need to resist.
In past years, he and Qin Xiaoman had only wished to achieve the modest goal of becoming a scholar, enough to protect their family and live comfortably. Now that wish had been fulfilled; contentment was all that was required.
Du Heng was surprisingly at ease—he had never been deeply obsessed with the imperial examination. Yet the events in the capital had still left his mind restless. With no hope pinned on the ranking lists, the moment he stepped out of the Gongyuan, he wished only to leave the place of strife and return to Luoxia County.
Yet if he left immediately, he would arrive in the county before the Spring Examination results were announced, inevitably arousing curiosity. For safety’s sake, he decided to wait until the announcement before departing.
On the first day of the third lunar month, the Spring Examination results were posted. For the first time since the initial tests, Du Heng’s name was not on the list.
But he had long prepared himself mentally. Having merely gone through the motions in the Gongyuan, he returned to the residence, gave up his lodging, and rode back to the county.
By April, the weather was warm, the afternoon sunlight drying the bluestone paving, springtime inviting drowsiness. The house was quiet. Sunlight spilled through the window frames, carrying with it a few drifting pink petals from the peach blossoms.
Cheng Yi poked his head out from under the covers and glanced at Qin Xiaoman, asleep beside him with steady breathing.
“Daddy~” he whispered.
The sleeper did not stir. Cheng Yi crawled a little closer, wrapping his arms around Qin Xiaoman’s neck and planting a soft kiss on his cheek. Just as when his father was away, Xiaoman would kiss him goodnight before bed, Cheng Yi mimicked it gently, warding off monsters with big mouths and long tongues that sometimes appeared in dreams, helping him sleep better.
Cheng Yi wanted his father to nap peacefully too, for recently Xiaoman had been unwell at meals—where he used to eat three bowls, now only one went down. His older brother Qin Qian had explained it was because of the little one in Xiaoman’s belly; the baby was restless, and his father, in turn, felt uneasy.
After kissing Xiaoman, Cheng Yi moved to the slight swell of his father’s abdomen, tilting his head gently against it, patting it softly while whispering words of comfort to the unborn child.
Once satisfied, he climbed down and dressed on the nearby soft mat, carefully opening the door.
The garden was bright with spring sunlight, spilling across the corridors in gentle warmth.
He hopped along toward the main gate.
“Little Master, going out?” asked Shui Qincai, busy in the garden.
“Not going out. Yun Duo said he wants to come play this afternoon; I’m just opening the gate for him.”
Shui Qincai smiled. The young master of the Yun family often came by to play with Cheng Yi; Qin Xiaoman never stopped him.
“The main gate is so heavy, Little Master. How can you open it? The gatekeeper Xiao Liu is probably napping. I’ll open it for you.”
“All right.”
Cheng Yi happily grabbed Shui Qincai’s hand as they approached the gate. He wondered if Yun Duo’s mother would take him out to the temple today, and whether he’d bring a little orange. He liked it when Yun Duo did; after eating the orange, he could save the peel for his father, who needed it when feeling unwell.
As the gate swung open, the warm sunlight spilled into the courtyard. Cheng Yi was about to call Yun Duo when he noticed a familiar small carriage parked at the entrance—one he hadn’t seen for quite some time.
First to jump down was the cold-faced Yi Yan. Then, as the curtain was lifted, Cheng Yi ran forward with his little legs.
“Daddy!”
Du Heng scooped him up, pressing a joyful kiss to his cheek. “Did you know I’d be home today?”
It was an unexpected delight. Cheng Yi hugged his father’s neck, forgetting entirely why he had come outside in the first place, radiant like a sunflower under the April sun.
“I didn’t know Daddy would be home today, or I would have waited at the street corner to meet you!”
Du Heng looked at his adorable child, and for a moment, all his previous frustrations vanished. The courtyard’s springtime light made the city’s cold, overcast capital seem a world away. His gloom lifted—home, after all, was the best place.
“Has Cheng Yi been eating well at home?”
Cheng Yi nodded eagerly. “Yes! Daddy even said I’m growing taller.”
Du Heng’s heart warmed. “And what about your little brother?”
“He’s sleeping with the baby inside. Daddy, don’t wake him.”
Du Heng nodded. Father and son carefully opened the door a crack, moving as quietly as possible so as not to disturb anyone.
Inside, the people on the bed were still asleep.
“Cheng Yi, you’re skipping your nap to go play?”
Qin Xiaoman, half-awake, rolled over and instinctively felt for the child beside him, only to find empty arms. Mumbling softly, he was about to awaken and ask when a small hand grasped his.
Familiar, comforting—he closed his eyes again, drifting for a while.
Moments later, he opened them fully and saw the smiling face before him, brow furrowed in disbelief, feeling as if he were still in a dream.
He quickly propped himself up. Du Heng reached out to steady him.
“You… you’re back?”
Du Heng offered an apologetic smile. “Your husband couldn’t make it to the palace-level exams, so he returned home early.”
Qin Xiaoman relaxed at Du Heng’s words, letting out a soft laugh. He reached over and took Du Heng’s hand in his own. “It’s enough that you’ve returned safely. Whether you passed or not doesn’t really matter.”
Looking at the man before him, he gently touched Du Heng’s face. “You’ve lost weight… did you suffer much?”
Du Heng held the hand against his cheek, closing his eyes briefly with warmth. “I only missed you and the child too much.”
Qin Xiaoman drew him into an embrace. “It’s fine now that you’re back. It’s nothing, truly nothing.”
“All these days without you, I kept having all kinds of restless dreams. Seeing you return safely calms me. Perhaps the little one in your belly stirred me so.”
“The baby is at an age where fussing is natural. Now that I’m back watching over you, there’s no cause for mischief,” Qin Xiaoman said with a laugh. Then, joyfully, he pulled Du Heng into conversation about happenings in the county: “Our cousin’s child was born—a big, chubby boy. Your uncle’s family is overjoyed. You’ve returned just in time for the celebration.”
Du Heng nodded. “A joyous occasion indeed.”
Qin Xiaoman spoke on for a while before suddenly remembering: “And what about our Cheng Yi?”
Du Heng smiled. “He’s in the garden. There was a little chubby one crying outside, so I brought him in. The two of them are planting peach trees together now.”
He then picked up a small orange from beside him. “Here, Cheng Yi saved this for you.”
News of Du Heng’s failure in the palace-level exam quickly spread among those acquainted with him. As the county’s examinees gradually returned home, no one spoke ill or mocked him. Everyone understood that failing the Spring Examination was common—even members of the royal family and court relatives could fall short. Du Heng, having advanced so far, was still praiseworthy for his talent.
No one pressed into the reasons for his failure.
One day, Du Heng went to the county office to collect his monthly stipend as a juren. He asked to stay briefly and speak a few words.
The county authorities, to emphasize the benefits of the imperial court, required juren and xiucai to collect their monthly payments in person, ostensibly to strengthen ties between county scholars and officials. Though the sums were small, one had to go, and smiling attendants would run back and forth, showing off the county’s favor. The local gentry understood this as a subtle means of pressure.
Du Heng entered the county office, heading to the household records clerk to collect his stipend. The usual clerk, Huang, was on leave, so only the main clerk remained.
The office had two main clerks: Qin Zhiyan and Ma Youcai. Ma Youcai’s name suggested talent, but in truth he had none; his scholar’s degree was purchased, and he had risen to the clerk position through distant connections with the county magistrate. Compared with Qin Zhiyan, Ma Youcai was more skilled at flattery, always following the magistrate’s lead, and thus enjoyed his favor. His role was often to handle delicate private matters for the magistrate’s household.
Ma Youcai and Qin Zhiyan, holding the same position, were natural rivals.
Du Heng politely approached the counter, intending to deal with Qin Zhiyan. As he prepared to register, Ma Youcai cleared his throat:
“Juren Du, here for your monthly stipend, I presume? Huang clerk is away; he entrusted this to me. Please proceed here.”
Du Heng glanced at Qin Zhiyan, who nodded, and then moved over.
“Much obliged, Clerk Ma,” he said.
“No trouble at all,” Ma Youcai drawled, slowly taking out the registration ledger. “Juren Du has journeyed far to sit the capital exams—hardship indeed. But, I wonder, why return to the county so soon? Family matters, perhaps?”
Du Heng read the feigned ignorance in Ma Youcai’s face; the performance was clumsy. Yet Ma Youcai’s focus was elsewhere—he was clearly taking the chance to gloat over Du Heng’s exam failure.
Du Heng did not conceal the truth. “I failed to advance to the palace-level exam, and so returned early.”
Ma Youcai exclaimed, “Ah! So I indeed mishandled things. My own son barely succeeded in the autumn exam, and I never expected him to meet the emperor. Yet here you are, already back. Juren Du, being the county’s top scholar, should have that honor.”
Du Heng smiled faintly. In the autumn exams, he had ranked highly, earning the magistrate’s praise. Ma Youcai, whose son had barely passed and now fell short again, was naturally frustrated. The appearance of a gongsheng from the Ma household only increased his resentment. Now presented with an opportunity, he could not resist sneering at Du Heng while rubbing Qin Zhiyan’s face in it as well.
Du Heng replied politely, unconcerned. He had seen enough of petty victories in others to not take these words to heart.
Qin Zhiyan, witnessing this, frowned. “Clerk Ma, please finalize Juren Du’s stipend quickly. His husband is expecting, and he must take care of family matters.”
Ma Youcai shot Qin Zhiyan a glance, unconvinced. His words had been directed at Qin all along. “Juren Du claims he is not busy. Surely, Clerk Qin understands his thoughts—could it be the child in his belly causing the distraction?”
Qin Zhiyan’s hand tightened around his brush.
Ma Youcai continued, “Thirty years east, thirty years west. I never imagined my once unremarkable son would have such fortune and opportunity. Juren Du, learned and accomplished—would you not say this sums it up nicely?”
“Juren Ma, steady effort eventually bears fruit—your praise is well deserved,” Du Heng said, watching Ma Youcai, who still lingered with his petty remarks, dragging out the process of handing over the stipend in a deliberately sly way. Du Heng’s patience was wearing thin.
“Yet, Clerk Ma, have you not heard the saying, ‘A setback may turn to blessing’? Opportunities and fortune come but a few times; perhaps once this is used up, there will be none next time. It is safest to rely on what is already in one’s own belly,” Du Heng added casually.
Ma Youcai could not grasp the meaning behind Du Heng’s words. He assumed Du Heng meant his own son might pass the capital exam but not the palace exam, and sneered, “Even if luck is gone next time, the fortune you have now still surpasses that of many.”
Du Heng smiled. “Indeed.”
Ma Youcai no longer spoke, finished counting out the money, and tossed it onto the table with no effort to hide his arrogance.