54. Answering Questions

Imagining the significance of his arrival in this time and space, Wei Guangde finally developed a slight sense of being the protagonist, feeling as though he were a son of destiny.

It was a pity he had not time-traveled to the late Ming dynasty. How wonderful it would have been if he had arrived during the Chongzhen reign—he could have fought against the Manchu Tartars, and winning the battle would mean winning the entire empire. How satisfying that would have been.

However, those thoughts belonged to the past. Right now, the task before Wei Guangde was to solve the examination questions posed by Magistrate Tang.

To be honest, although Wei Guangde felt slightly unconfident about taking the imperial examinations, it was mainly because he had never taken them before.

Facing it for the first time, a trace of nervousness was naturally unavoidable in his heart.

Yet, harboring a slight protagonist's consciousness, Wei Guangde felt that his destiny would not be so miserable; surely he wouldn't end up as tragic as that white-haired old man sitting far away in the back row, who, at such an advanced age, was still exchanging fraternal sentiments of schoolmates with boys young enough to be his grandsons.

Very well, returning to the examination hall, Wei Guangde looked at the first question given by Magistrate Tang and felt a secret delight in his heart. It was a question he had already done, and one he had even revised under the guidance of Teacher Sun. Since his teacher had said it was acceptable, all he needed to do was copy the answer he had written straight onto the paper.

In fact, many people might assume that during ancient imperial examinations, when faced with the examiners' questions, candidates formulated their answers temporarily on the spot. In reality, that was not the case at all.

Initially, Wei Guangde had thought so too, but after a series of lessons from Teacher Sun, he learned that candidates actually used answers they had prepared beforehand. They would recall them in the examination hall, and fearing any omissions, they would use draft paper to transcribe the text first, check it for errors, and then copy it neatly onto the official examination booklet.

Others needed draft paper because they feared hazy memories and making mistakes or omissions, but Wei Guangde had no such worries.

Still, Wei Guangde would not brazenly write directly onto the answer sheet; he still swiftly penned a version on the draft paper.

Did this waste time? Actually, it did not waste any time at all, because Eight-Legged Essays did not contain all that many characters; a long one would reach seven or eight hundred characters at most.

The brushwork was simply what took time. If he had his old fountain pen, Wei Guangde could have written much faster.

"When the actions and retirement of a sage are appropriate, one waits for a capable person before subtly revealing them."

Wei Guangde began to write from right to left, top to bottom. This was the opening theme (*potiba*), the finest method selected from several model essays, and at this moment, he naturally used it without hesitation.

Following the opening theme came the continuation of the theme (*chengtiba*), and Wei Guangde continued to write unhurriedly.

"Now, the actions and retirement of sages are precisely difficult to regulate; only when Master Yan approaches understanding can one begin to speak with him."

After completing the continuation came the preliminary exposition (*qijiang*), and Wei Guangde brushed and dotted away, writing continuously. The ancients were truly capable of writing without adding any punctuation, simply because punctuation marks did not exist in this era.

"Therefore, it is specially said: A lifetime of experience encompasses only one or two paths, waiting for people to divide and take them, yet those who seek not to be reduced to poverty within those circumstances are rare indeed......"

After writing the characters, "Is that so? Only you and I, and at that moment the turning back is also joyful in attainment and silent in comprehension," a composition of over four hundred characters was finished. Wei Guangde had thus completed the first Four Books question of the day.

Next was the second question, taken from the sixth chapter of the *Great Learning*:

"The saying that the extension of knowledge lies in the investigation of things means that if we wish to extend our knowledge, we must come into contact with things and exhaust their principles."

Wei Guangde had naturally practiced this question before as well.

In fact, due to the strife between the School of Mind and the School of Principle in this era, questions with such distinct divergences appeared from time to time, and once a decent essay appeared, it often circulated widely.

Wei Guangde believed that among the many candidates sitting in the courtyard, quite a few were just like him—having seen outstanding model answers, they naturally knew how to tackle this question.

However, it did not matter. Wei Guangde had a good memory; he had not forgotten a single character of the essay he had written back then.

No matter what, it had been polished and revised by a *xiucai* scholar, so it was naturally far more perfect than those cobbled-together answers recalled hastily on the spot.

Such were Wei Guangde's thoughts at the moment. He remained calm; as long as no major mishaps occurred, this examination was as good as passed.

As for those who worried about whether their answers might clash with other candidates'—especially during the opening theme section—such concerns were entirely unnecessary.

Four Books questions, as the name implied, were all extracted from sentences within the Four Books.

With so few sentences, under a nearly thousand-year-old imperial examination system, almost every single one had already been used by someone else, or if not used in the examination hall, then in a teacher's classroom.

Moreover, there were only so many answers that conformed to the mainstream values of the era. No matter how wild one's imagination was, one could only answer in this manner; otherwise, it would be considered heretical, and failing the examination was an absolute certainty.

Since everyone's underlying meaning was similar, the opening themes were largely alike, with only minor variations in wording—which constituted the so-called literary style, since writing habits were, after all, very important.

Even if the opening wording matched, by the time one reached the continuation, the preliminary exposition, and the subsequent steps, differences would inevitably emerge. If the text were completely identical word for word, it could only mean that both individuals had likely memorized the exact same model essay collection, in which case they were certainly doomed.

Wei Guangde would certainly not copy someone else's work; if he were going to do that, why bother writing it out and submitting it to Teacher Sun for guidance in the first place?

Therefore, clashing answers simply did not exist.

As noon approached, Wei Guangde finished the day's examination questions. Only the test-poetry (*shitieshi*) required him to compose it himself; after revising it repeatedly, he finally finalized the draft.

Was this speed fast?

Naturally it was fast. After filling the draft paper with the day's answers, Wei Guangde glanced around while eating his lunch and noticed that the vast majority of people were still furiously writing away, creating an atmosphere somewhat similar to the Palace Examination.

There were also a few others eating just like him, though they seemed to have very little on their desks; presumably, they hadn't even finished the questions, and those destined to fail this examination likely included their cohort.

It was not that Wei Guangde was conceited; he had done all the questions before, and they had all been polished by Teacher Sun. Even for the prefectural examination, Wei Guangde felt his probability of passing was extremely high.

This was the Pengze County Government Office, and moreover, an examination venue for the county test. Naturally, Wei Guangde could not wander around aimlessly at a time like this. Although the county magistrate was out of sight, the surrounding scribes and bailiffs were quite numerous, all acting as proctors.

Only when visiting the latrine could one move about within the examination compound, and even then, someone followed close behind to monitor your every move—something that made Wei Guangde exceedingly unaccustomed.

After finishing his meal, he simply stretched his limbs for a moment and began transcribing his answers onto the official paper.

His handwriting remained Wei Guangde's lingering heartache. With no other choice, after practicing for a year, he had only managed to earn a verdict of "barely acceptable," so he had to be extremely careful when copying his text.

For the county test, there were not all that many intricate procedures; the magistrate directly reviewed the candidates' papers without any intermediate transcription stage, relying solely on covering the candidates' names with paper strips (*huming*).

Therefore, during this main examination, the county magistrate's initial impression was of paramount importance.

Why was the county test considered very simple?

It was because the examiner's focus was not on your answers at all, but rather on your handwriting and the fluency between sentences.

Those participating in the county test could not possibly be illiterate; the only difference lay in the quality of their penmanship.

As for one's foundation in the Eight-Legged Essay—well, that was the task of the examiners during the prefectural and provincial院 examinations.

Having carefully copied his answer sheets, to be honest, the time was still early. During the *Shen* hour, which was likely not yet three o'clock in the afternoon, Wei Guangde had already completed the day's examination and naturally began considering whether or not to submit his papers.