Chapter Seventy-five: Wearing Twin Swords in the Spring Imperial Examination Hall, Debating a Northern Expedition

Spring rains fell one after another, each ending bringing the opening of the Spring Examinations a step closer. Now, the examinations had finally begun, becoming a grand event that, like apricot and peach blossoms of spring, bloomed across all of Lin’an.

For every scholar who had spent years studying in bitter isolation, passing the provincial exam was merely the beginning. The true goal lay in journeying to Lin’an to compete for a coveted spot on the Golden Roll, that narrow path so many wished to squeeze through.

The venue for the Spring Examinations was the Academy of Letters, the sacred site for scholars of the Great Zhao. It was not the first time the Academy hosted the examination, and many had come to agree that holding the event here lent it a sense of ceremony.

Leaning idly on a high tower, one might feel a pang of melancholy, for the city was awash in the splendor of blossoming peaches and plums.

Under the breath of spring, the Academy brimmed with vitality. The grass beside the stone paths, washed clean by the rains, had sprouted new leaves, sharp and eager, as if they bore the intent of a sword, cleaving through the shroud of winter to reach toward the world.

Anle ascended the stone steps. The spring rain fell like oil, flowing down the stairs and suffusing the air with vibrant life.

On the road, many scholars with solemn faces carried their satchels, some betraying signs of tension. For any student who had studied ten years for this day, the pressure was immense—rare was the one who could keep an easy heart.

Seeing few familiar faces, Anle followed the stone path into the black-and-white maze of the Academy’s buildings.

Stepping onto the blue-stone road, he saw the crowd thickening. Scholars in their Confucian robes lined up, awaiting entry into the examination halls.

White walls and black tiles evoked the ambiance of a southern water town. Tendrils of green climbed the walls, like brushstrokes in a misty landscape painting, lending the scene an even greater air of vagueness.

In the distance, a familiar figure appeared, carrying an enormous, bulging satchel filled with more than just examination supplies—there were also provisions and such. After all, not all candidates were cultivators, able to go three days and nights without food or drink to answer the exam.

The Spring Examinations were divided into three sessions, each lasting three days. Starting from the ninth day, examinees left the hall every three days, only to return for the next session. It was a test not only of knowledge, but of physique and will.

But this was only for the ordinary examinees, those striving for a place among the secondary graduates. To aim for a spot on the primary list, those who completed all sessions had to sit for an additional day—when their cultivation would be assessed.

All examination processes took place within the Academy, including the final assessment of cultivation.

A considerable number of scholars had gathered at the Academy. Though the numbers had dwindled since the Great Zhao’s southern migration, more than three thousand candidates from across the empire still converged here.

When Anle spotted Liu Yue, the young man from Huating was conversing with two other scholars whose faces bore confident smiles.

“Brother An, these are Brother Xu and Brother Zhu. The literary gathering I mentioned before was hosted by Brother Xu,” Liu Yue said, eyes brightening at Anle’s approach as he introduced his companions.

The scholar surnamed Xu showed little interest in Anle, offering only a perfunctory bow before taking his leave with the other man.

Liu Yue looked awkward, not daring to introduce Anle by name without his consent, but had not expected such a cold reception.

Anle, however, paid it no mind. The man lacked even the aura of years—he was not a cultivator, and thus unworthy of Anle’s attention.

Noting Anle’s simple satchel, Liu Yue felt his suspicions confirmed and smiled even more warmly. To befriend a renowned painter and a cultivator of unfathomable depth was a rare fortune, and Anle’s sincerity was clear.

The queue was long. Anle and Liu Yue chatted idly as they waited. Meanwhile, Anle glanced over the line, spotting several cultivators amid the scholars, their bodies faintly exuding the aura of years.

In truth, few came from afar to vie for a place among the primary graduates; most cultivator-scholars were already studying at the Academy and had their own privileged means of entry, rarely wasting time queuing here.

Taking advantage of the wait, Liu Yue briefed Anle on the examining officials for this Spring Examination.

“This time, there are two chief examiners: the Senior Vice Minister of the Ministry of Rites, Xu You, is the main examiner, and Yan Chaoqing the deputy. There are also ten co-examiners serving as proctors and observers. But ultimately, the Chancellor Qin presides over all,” Liu Yue explained, taking a deep breath.

“Why is it Chancellor Qin, and not the Minister of Rites himself, overseeing everything?” Anle asked in puzzlement.

Having been in Lin’an for some time, Liu Yue was far better informed than Anle, who had spent his time in reclusion. “Originally, it was the Minister of Rites, but something happened. Because the minister was closely associated with the Lin family, Chancellor Qin found a pretext to impeach and replace him with the Senior Vice Minister, who had been Qin’s student and thus could be trusted.”

Liu Yue lowered his voice, eyes narrowing. Gossip of this sort was not to be spoken aloud.

Anle nodded, brow furrowed. The Chancellor’s office was indeed pressing hard against the Lin family, going so far as to oust the Minister of Rites simply for his association with them. It was a warning to the court, a signal for all who had ties to the Lin family to cut them off.

The storm was already rising; even those standing on the fringes could feel its cutting edge.

After nearly half an hour, they approached the inspection checkpoint at the main gate.

Armored soldiers stood guard, swords at their waists, eyeing each candidate with cold severity.

“Why do you carry a sword?” the inspector barked at Anle.

This inspector was a cultivator; his shout carried a force that pressed upon the heart and mind. Those lacking cultivation or with weak spirits might well lose their composure.

But Anle’s mind was already refined and untouched by such things.

In response, Anle tapped the inkstone at his waist; a faint, profound energy rippled from it.

“Within is a Lesser Saint’s Token, conferring certain privileges—permission to carry a sword, exemption from bowing to officials.”

Anle’s tone was calm.

The inspector instantly withdrew his spiritual force. Recognizing the aura of the inkstone, he realized this must be the famed Master An of Lin’an.

After all, tales of Wang Qinhe’s defeat at Master An’s hands were still the talk of the city.

“So it’s Master An. Forgive me for my rudeness; you may enter with your sword,” the inspector said, bowing.

Anle returned the gesture. After a routine inspection of his belongings for cheating tools and contraband, the inspector immediately allowed him through, assigning a soldier to personally escort Anle to his designated exam room.

This scene caused a stir among the candidates and scholars in line.

Master An—

That excessively youthful scholar was none other than the renowned Master An, famed for his ink bamboo and galloping horses. Wasn’t he also listed on the Lesser Saints Roll?

Even Liu Yue was shaken. He had known Anle was a cultivator, but had not imagined he held such status—allowed to carry a sword into the examination hall!

Nearby, the scholar Xu, still tidying up his disordered satchel after inspection, looked crestfallen, regretting his missed chance to curry favor. That was Master An! Yet he quickly composed himself, a glint of determination in his eye—once he secured a place among the secondary graduates, he could let Liu Yue introduce him again. He was confident in his chances with this year’s exams.

After bidding Liu Yue farewell, Anle followed the soldier to his assigned exam room.

Each candidate’s room was arranged according to their exam number—a small, private chamber to serve as their base for answering, eating, and resting until the examinations were complete. Candidates were kept from seeing one another.

Fortunately, the Academy’s vast grounds and numerous buildings could accommodate over three thousand such rooms.

Sitting quietly in his chamber, Anle gazed out at the scenery. The grounds were lovely—after a spring rain, winding paths led through groves where peach and apricot trees bloomed in celebration of the season.

Raindrops drummed softly on the black tiles, adding to the tranquil atmosphere.

Anle slowly closed his eyes, awaiting the start of the exam.

Elsewhere, hidden among the peach and apricot groves was a thatched cottage. Spring rain fell at a slant, blown by the wind. Beneath the eaves, someone brewed tea over a charcoal stove, steam rising like drifting clouds.

Master Wang Banshan’s humble cottage welcomed an esteemed guest today, and tea was offered in greeting.

The visitor was dressed in splendid robes, his face solemn, beard stroked thoughtfully, eyes keen as he waited patiently for the tea, unhurried even as the Spring Examination in the Academy was about to begin.

“Is there anyone you favor among this year’s candidates?” he asked as Master Wang finally set a simple cup of tea before him.

“Chancellor Qin flatters me. All the Academy’s students are my pupils; I have faith in them all,” Wang Banshan replied, cradling his tea with a gentle laugh.

“But talent varies, and even among students, everyone has their own preferences. Master Wang, you are only human; surely your judgment cannot be perfectly impartial.”

Chancellor Qin Lishi smiled faintly, his words layered with meaning.

Wang Banshan, ever languid, glanced at him. “Since you press me so, I’ll speak plainly. That Master An, famed in Lin’an for his ink bamboo and galloping horse, has impressed me. I expect him to reach the palace examination.”

At these words, the atmosphere turned cold.

Chancellor Qin’s smile vanished, his narrow eyes glinting with a chill. “Master Wang, this Master An appears to be closely tied to the Lin family.”

Wang Banshan sipped his tea. “I care not for background, only for talent. His bamboo shows integrity; his horse, ambition. He is truly exceptional.”

“Painting well does not mean scholarly excellence. The Spring Examination is not a painting contest,” Qin Lishi shook his head. “If you favor a painter, what of the scholars on the Academy’s Literary Roll?”

He stood, declining further tea. He had heard what he came for—Master Wang’s stance was clear: his sympathies lay with the Lin family.

Qin Lishi lost all interest in tea. As for the famed Master An, he could not bring himself to admire one favored by Hua Jie Bing of the Lin family. He would view him with a cold eye.

“Take care, Chancellor,” Wang Banshan said with a gentle smile.

Qin Lishi strode out into the spring rain, his figure soon swallowed by the mountain mist.

Wang Banshan sipped his tea and shook his head, murmuring, “This year’s main exam question is set by Chancellor Qin. I wonder how the painter of bamboo will answer.”

At the Lin Residence, in the Waterside Pavilion, koi occasionally broke the surface of the pool, adding a splash of color to the spring scene.

After scattering some feed, Li You’an turned to the Lady Hua, who lay reading quietly on a couch.

“You seem remarkably composed,” Li You’an remarked with a smile.

“Anle’s painting is superb, but his true talent can be gleaned from his brushwork. There’s little need to worry,” Lady Hua replied, turning a page of her essay on spirits. “Securing a place among the primary graduates is hardly in doubt. The real question is whether he can outshine the scholars on the Academy’s Literary Roll and win a spot in the palace examination.”

“There are only ten spots allocated to the primary graduates for the palace examination—the rest go to candidates recommended by nobles and officials. Those recommendations are already closed. If he can’t make the top ten, he’ll have no chance.”

“The scholars on the Literary Roll are all highly accomplished. For Anle, gaining entry will be difficult,” Li You’an said, sipping his tea. “Especially as this year’s topic is set by Chancellor Qin—it’s bound to be tricky. Knowing Anle’s temperament, I have my doubts.”

Lady Hua’s lashes fluttered. “If he doesn’t make the palace examination, so be it. At least he won’t be dragged into the coming storm and end up in a sorry state.”

Li You’an nodded, gazing out past the pavilion.

“True enough. Still, if he doesn’t even make the palace examination, it would be a shame—and might even bring disgrace to Qingshan.”

A distant bell tolled from the Academy, its echo lingering among the foothills.

All the candidates who had entered their exam rooms fell silent, awaiting the start of the Spring Examination.

Armored soldiers stood outside each room, their expressions fierce. At the slightest hint of cheating, a candidate would be dragged out without mercy.

The bell signaled not just silence, but also the distribution of the exam papers.

Officials in court robes carried baskets of sealed exams to each room.

A second bell sounded, as if shattering the spring rain, signaling that candidates could begin.

Immediately, the sound of pages turning rose like waves on a vast sea, filling the air above the Academy with the roar of scholarship.

Every candidate, their future and fate at stake, read the questions with utmost care, searching for hidden traps to avoid losing points.

Faces were tense with anxiety. Even the cultivators frowned; though cultivation brought strength, it offered little advantage in scholarship. Their competition was not with ordinary candidates, but with other cultivator-scholars vying for the primary list, raising the stakes even higher.

Within the exam rooms, all manner of human nature could be seen.

Liu Yue pondered the questions, grinding his ink and planning his answers with care.

In another room, the scholar Xu’s eyes flashed with delight. Dipping his brush, he began to write without hesitation.

Spring’s chill lingered, and a single drop of icy rain fell.

Anle wiped a drop of rain from his face, ground his ink, and skimmed through all the exam questions. Confidence grew in his heart.

Suddenly, his hand paused and his brow knitted as his gaze fixed on the final question.

It was short, but it made Anle’s eyes narrow.

“Five centuries after the Great Zhao’s southern migration, the Yuan-Mongol emperor remains a force, his generals fierce and many. Question: On the matter of launching a northern expedition, discuss whether it should be done.”

——

“Brother Shen—”
“Hm?”
As Shen Changqing walked along, he greeted acquaintances with a nod or a word, but no one’s face showed any emotion, as though all were indifferent to everything.

He was used to this.

This was the Demon Suppression Bureau, an institution dedicated to maintaining the stability of Great Qin, mainly responsible for slaying demons and monsters—though it also had other duties.

Everyone here had blood on their hands. When one grows used to life and death, one becomes indifferent to many things.

Shen Changqing had been unsettled when he first arrived in this world, but soon adapted.

The Demon Suppression Bureau was large, and those who remained were all powerful experts or had the potential to become so. Shen Changqing belonged to the latter.

There were two positions in the Bureau: Demon Suppressors and Exorcists. Everyone started as an Exorcist, the lowest rank, before working their way up to become a Suppressor.

Shen Changqing’s predecessor had been an apprentice Exorcist, the lowest of the low. With his predecessor’s memories, he was well acquainted with the Bureau’s workings.

It didn’t take long for him to arrive before a pavilion. Unlike the rest of the Bureau, steeped in blood and severity, this pavilion was a haven of serenity.

The doors stood open, and people came and went. After a brief hesitation, Shen Changqing stepped inside.

The atmosphere changed abruptly. The scent of ink, tinged with faint blood, met him. He frowned instinctively, but soon relaxed. The Bureau’s bloody aura clung to everyone, impossible to wash away.