Chapter 21: Plagiarism

The next day, Wei Guangde spent the entire day at the private school but didn’t see the Taoist Lin anywhere; it seemed he had already left Master Sun’s residence.

Recalling the conclusion of yesterday’s discussion, it was clear that the weaker party had to yield, and Old Wei still intended to sell that piece of land. Of course, the price was to be negotiated further.

Old Wei hadn’t agreed to the Taoist Lin’s proposal outright; he merely said he needed time to consider and promised to give an answer in three days.

That morning, Old Wei hitched a carriage and took Madam Wei Wu to the county office. They left home together with Wei Guangde, but upon reaching the town, Wei Guangde went straight to the school, while his parents continued on their way.

Wei Guangde naturally didn’t inquire about the whereabouts of that old Taoist from Master Sun’s place, nor did he believe the Taoist was summoned by Master Sun.

It was obvious the man had come for their land, and Master Sun’s visit was merely incidental.

Today’s assignments seemed to have greatly disappointed Master Sun—or rather, the submitted works were all a mess, completely nonsensical.

Although Master Sun had told the students to write casually, by afternoon he gathered them together and gave them a stern reprimand.

He also took the opportunity to revisit the method of composing the Eight-Legged Essay.

He paid special attention to Wei Guangde, primarily because of his handwriting.

According to Master Sun, the key to the Eight-Legged Essay was practice—writing many essays to discover problems and improve on strengths while avoiding weaknesses.

“If you have free time in town, you might buy some recent exemplary essays from the bookshops. These are outstanding pieces from recent imperial examinations.

Read more, think more, write more—that’s the secret to mastering the Eight-Legged Essay. Heaven rewards diligence,” Master Sun said, stroking his beard as he finished scolding the students.

Wei Guangde remained somewhat skeptical. After all, Master Sun had spent a lifetime taking the imperial exams but had never risen above the rank of xiucai (licentiate), which suggested his writing skill was probably just average.

Of course, this didn’t mean Master Sun’s advice could be dismissed entirely.

The path of the imperial examination wasn’t necessarily determined solely by talent.

In fact, many so-called talented scholars had failed miserably in the examinations; luck played a significant role unless one’s brilliance was so extraordinary that nothing could overshadow it.

Wei Guangde certainly did not consider himself a prodigy, so he resolved in his heart that to advance further in the imperial exams, he must sincerely offer incense and prayers before each test.

Why would a young man from the twenty-first century believe in such things? It was merely for self-comfort.

Besides, having been transplanted into this era, what was there left not to believe in?

After school, Wei Guangde returned home. After exchanging a few words with his elder brother in the front courtyard, he went back to his own room in the rear courtyard.

Today, instead of letting them continue writing essays at will, Master Sun had them copy several so-called model essays, which were reportedly examination papers from recent prefectural tests.

Of course, these essays all shared a common theme, drawing from the “Great Learning,” a text they had already studied.

As someone from the future, Wei Guangde naturally chose the passages he understood best among these models.

Master Sun instructed them to select a model essay to copy and then imitate it by composing their own.

After all, the current imperial examination questions came from a fixed set of books. No matter the examiner’s intent, the questions had to be drawn from the classics.

Therefore, for examinees, the more essays they wrote and the more feedback they exchanged with teachers and classmates, the better their chances of having prepared the exact topic that appears on the test.

Master Sun understood that children like Wei Guangde often produced nonsensical essays, but they still needed to write—and write often—to develop this habit early.

The more they wrote, the higher the chance they would “hit the mark” in the exam.

In truth, this was a common method of teaching in this era: teachers imagined themselves as examiners, set questions for their students, and guided them in composition and revision.

If the real exam question matched the practice one, it was a stroke of luck, and their chances of passing increased significantly.

Of course, if the examiner posed an obscure or deliberately tricky question, that was another matter entirely.

This method was generally sufficient for county and prefectural examinations but might falter at the provincial and metropolitan levels.

That, in turn, related to Master Sun’s social circle. If his friends only had the qualifications of xiucai, naturally they couldn’t produce essays worthy of juren (recommended man) status, no matter how much patching and polishing they did.

Of course, if these students ever reached that level, they would seek out renowned teachers for further instruction. Master Sun did not believe he himself could truly produce a juren-level scholar.

For these children who hadn’t yet passed that threshold, it sufficed to clear the county and prefectural exams without damaging their reputations.

The students Master Sun currently guided were those he believed had the best chance of passing the provincial exam; as for the others, they could progress gradually in time.

Wei Guangde selected two model essays, both titled “The Great Way of Generating Wealth: Many Produce, Few Consume, Swift in Creation, Gentle in Use, Thus Wealth is Always Sufficient,” taken from the tenth chapter of the “Great Learning.”

Master Sun had explained the meaning of the text—it described the great principles of generating wealth, essentially reflecting traditional Chinese values.

The “Way” required many producers who all worked diligently without shirking their duties, few consumers, rapid and timely production, and moderate consumption, implying a balance between income and expenditure to maintain a constant accumulation of wealth.

As a man from the future, Wei Guangde knew that what they described was actually a call to stimulate consumption and use demand to drive productivity—this was Western economic thought, quite different from the traditional view.

However, he dared not voice such thoughts here; to people of this era, such ideas would be heretical and contradictory to the teachings of the sages.

Since he could not express his own opinions, he would simply copy.

Having a template, Wei Guangde found the task relatively simple.

After all, in his own time, who hadn’t copied essays in elementary school?

He just translated someone else’s words into his own phrasing—a kind of “Chinese-to-Chinese” rewriting.

The titles remained unchanged. Wei Guangde read through his chosen essays, grasped their meanings, summarized them simply, and began writing.

Both model essays were short, less than three hundred characters. After synthesizing the content, Wei Guangde’s own version clearly exceeded that length, totaling over three hundred characters.

Once completed, he reviewed and revised it before neatly copying it onto a sheet of paper.

The entire process closely mirrored the exam procedure Master Sun had described: draft first, then revise and polish before transcribing the final version.

The handwriting needed to be neat to avoid criticism.

While copying, Wei Guangde repeatedly told himself in his mind that he was somewhat thin-skinned and disliked frequent scolding.

Night fell. Around the usual dinnertime, his parents’ carriage finally arrived at the gate of the Hundred-Household Military Fort.