Chapter Fifty-Six: Incense Offering Ceremony for the Scholars

Guo the Scholar and Guo Lin were staying at the Tianxin Temple in the southeast of the city, not far from the Imperial Hostel—it was entirely within walking distance. Yet Zhang Shi, without feeling the slightest inconvenience, insisted on driving the carriage there, making a needless detour and adding much to the journey. Zhang Yue silently complained about this for quite a while, but outwardly, he accepted it without protest.

The Tianxin Temple, built in the eighth year of the Kaibao era, was where Guo the Scholar always stayed when he visited the county city. When the Taiping carriage halted in front of the temple, Guo the Scholar and Guo Lin were already waiting, while a number of devout men and women, as well as many families of exam candidates, had arrived early in the morning to pray.

With Guo the Scholar and Guo Lin joining them, the carriage became even more crowded. Guo Lin picked up his book to read again, but Guo the Scholar said, “Guo Lin, you have memorized the text thoroughly. Let me speak a few words to you both.”

Guo Lin and Zhang Yue both turned their attention to their teacher.

Stroking his beard, Guo the Scholar said, “Go forth to your examination with peace of mind. I have already arranged a solid patron for you both in advance.”

At the front, Zhang Shi pricked up his ears at this, slapped his thigh, and laughed heartily. “Master Guo, you are truly a man of connections!”

Zhang Qiu asked blankly, “Father, Third Uncle, what is a patron?”

Zhang Shi replied, “A patron is a very powerful and influential person.”

Guo Lin and Zhang Yue exchanged glances, thinking to themselves: at last, we disciples have a patron too?

Guo the Scholar handed each of them a talisman and whispered, “I obtained these for you a few days ago. Keep them close to your person; they will surely protect you.”

Just as they had suspected.

Zhang Shi fell silent, resuming his attention to the road, while Zhang Yue and Guo Lin accepted the talismans and said together, “Thank you, Master.”

Guo the Scholar stroked his beard and said, “In my nearly twenty years of teaching, I have at last, as I approach old age, found two worthy disciples. Real patrons are hard to come by, but remember: no reliance is better than self-reliance. Do all you can, and leave the rest to fate.”

“Thank you for your guidance, Master!” Zhang Yue and Guo Lin replied in unison.

Soon, Zhang Shi delivered the two of them to the county school, which stood on Huanghua Mountain east of the city, beside a temple called Qianyuan.

Pucheng was a city of many temples, boasting eighty-four in number, their Buddhist halls interwoven with the city’s alleys and markets.

The Qianyuan Temple itself had once been the Eastern Yue King’s pleasure palace, rebuilt many times and restored in the Tang dynasty, making it a three-hundred-year-old ancient sanctuary. During the Yuanhe era, it was said that phoenixes gathered at Qianyuan Temple; the Book of Documents records, “When the phoenix comes, prosperity follows.” Thus, later generations dug a half-acre square pond here and named it Phoenix Pond. To further evoke the idea of a phoenix’s arrival, they planted tung trees all around the pond, which by now had grown tall and stately.

As Zhang Yue and his companions approached the school, the sun was rising, white clouds spilling over the mountain peaks. The pagoda towers of the temple, the spreading tung tree branches, and the vast tapestry of clouds were all reflected in the waters of Phoenix Pond.

Beyond the pond lay the academy itself. From a distance, the gates, study halls, pavilions, and courtyards formed a harmonious, elegant arrangement. At this hour, the courtyard teemed with heads, a dense throng of candidates and their families.

The Taiping carriage could go no further in this crowd, and everyone disembarked.

Several officials were maintaining order.

Zhang Shi pushed his way forward and asked, “Excuse me, where do we enter?”

The official ignored him, instead shouting at the candidates pressing toward the gates, “Only examinees may enter. The rest must wait here!”

Zhang Shi squeezed his way back through the crowd to Zhang Yue and Guo Lin. “The gate is over there. You two go on ahead. Master Guo and I will wait here. My shoe—why are you stepping on my shoe?”

Watching his elder brother searching for his shoe on the ground, Zhang Yue was both amused and moved. He took Zhang Qiu’s hand and said, “Stay here with Master Guo. Don’t run around.”

Zhang Qiu nodded sensibly. “Third Uncle, I’ll wait here for you. Go do well in your exam, don’t worry about me! When you return I’ll recite my lessons for you.”

Zhang Yue nodded.

Nearby, Guo the Scholar gave Guo Lin a few last instructions, but Zhang Yue couldn’t catch what he said over the noise.

Carrying their book cases, Zhang Yue and Guo Lin shuffled forward, hearing behind them their elders calling, “Hold tight to your cases! Don’t let them get lost in the crowd!”

They had no time to look back, swept along by the human tide. When the crowd finally thinned a little, they turned to look but could no longer see Zhang Shi or Guo the Scholar.

Zhang Yue, sharp-eyed, spotted Zhang Qiu waving from atop Zhang Shi’s shoulders in the distance. He handed his book case to Guo Lin and jumped up and down, waving vigorously in return.

“Father, I saw Third Uncle enter the exam hall,” Zhang Qiu said as he climbed down from Zhang Shi’s shoulders.

“Good,” replied Zhang Shi.

Guo the Scholar, watching Zhang Qiu’s cleverness, remarked, “Young lord, I can see your son is bright and gifted, truly cut out for learning! Why not entrust him to my care, and I will surely make something of him…”

Zhang Shi laughed, “Let’s see how our Third Brother fares in this round first.”

Zhang Yue and Guo Lin passed through the main gate into the academy.

“Brother, take your time in the exam. If you can’t recall something, don’t panic—rushing will only make it harder.”

“Are you hungry? I still have some cakes. Remember to read the question carefully before writing.”

“When the exam’s about to start, remember to prepare your ink first.”

Beyond the academy gates was the refreshment room. The clerk checked Guo Lin’s entry slip and handed him a tag. “Follow the directions to your seat.”

Guo Lin nodded at Zhang Yue and went ahead to find his place.

The clerk then checked Zhang Yue’s slip, which bore the county magistrate’s seal. “Are you Zhang Yue?”

“Yes,” Zhang Yue replied.

At that moment, an official came over, glanced at the slip, and whispered something to the clerk.

The clerk shook his head, then handed Zhang Yue a tag. “This way to the classics section.”

After Zhang Yue left, the official said, “So you’re ignoring the inspector’s orders now?”

“How could I dare ignore the inspector? But with the magistrate’s seal, I wouldn’t dare tamper. Didn’t you see what happened with the last supervisor?”

Following the stream of candidates, Zhang Yue overheard a dispute ahead: “Why do those in the imperial exam get to sit inside the hall, while we in the classics section must sit outside, on the bare ground?”

The guards replied, “That’s how the academic officials arranged it. We don’t know more than you.”

A group of scholars protested, “The spring wind is bitterly cold. How can we write essays in these conditions?”

“This is no way for the court to honor scholars. Even if there is no official courtesy, at least provide a mat for us. How can we sit on such thin straw mats?”

Zhang Yue observed in admiration. Song dynasty scholars truly had backbone! In his own time, candidates were taught strictly never to make a scene in the exam hall, or risk expulsion. These scholars, by contrast, showed no fear.

In the midst of the commotion, an academic official arrived and scolded them: “Why such noise? Do you realize this is the examination hall?”

Clerks and candidates might not respect minor officials, but academic officers commanded respect.

A scholar in embroidered robes bowed and said, “Sir, we don’t understand. Why are those in the imperial exam allowed to sit in the hall, while we in the classics section must sit outside in the cold wind?”

The official sneered, “Is that all? Haven’t you heard: incense is burned to honor the imperial scholars, but the screens are removed for the classics students?”

Zhang Yue suddenly recalled a note from Dream Pool Essays: during the metropolitan exams, incense tables were set up, and the chief examiner would even bow to the candidates. Tea and drinks were provided—but only for those in the imperial exam. For the other categories, all amenities were withdrawn, including wind screens and mats, to prevent cheating by passing hidden messages.

Hence Ouyang Xiu’s phrase: “Incense for the imperial exam, bare halls for the classics students.” The disparity between the two categories was vast.

Zhang Yue thought, it made sense. How could one cheat in the imperial exam? Who ever heard of copying someone’s entire essay during an exam? But the classics section was different—the difference in exam content led to a difference in treatment, causing discontent among the classics candidates.

After more protest, the official relented, agreeing to provide each classics candidate with a bowl of hot ginger tea.

Zhang Yue found his seat number on his exam tag. Fortunately, his spot was not outdoors, but under the eaves next to the main hall, sheltered from the wind. Glancing around, he saw a fellow candidate seated by the door, shivering in the cold draft.

Zhang Yue opened his book case, laid out his brush, ink, and inkstone, and took out a bamboo flask of water—good for drinking or moistening the inkstone. He felt hungry, and, before all the candidates had arrived, ate a few eggs his sister-in-law had given him—fresh, large, and delicious.

Still not satisfied, he took out a cake from his case and gnawed on it. He was careful not to drink too much water, lest he need the privy during the exam.

Even after finishing the cake, he felt hungry. At his age, he thought, one’s stomach was truly bottomless. But remembering that eating too much could dull his mind for the exam, he resisted the urge for a second cake.

Soon the magistrate arrived—not in a grand procession, but simply, pausing to greet the candidates outside the hall with a group bow, speaking kindly, “Sorry to make you bear the wind here.”

The candidates, however, showed little enthusiasm, offering only perfunctory replies.

Witnessing this, Zhang Yue marveled again: there was good reason people said the Song dynasty treated scholars best. At least here, scholars were not servile before officials, and could even show attitude to the very examiners who determined their future.

In Tang times, it was customary for examiner and candidate to bow to each other upon entering the hall—demonstrating the examiner’s esteem for talent. In Ming and Qing times, not only was there no mutual bow; candidates were frisked at the gate, even to their undergarments.

But first, one had to be among the chosen scholars to enjoy such treatment.

The magistrate did not linger outdoors, but went straight to the hall, apparently to supervise the imperial exam personally. During the local qualifying exams, the prefect would oversee the imperial exam, while the registrar supervised the other categories. Here, it seemed the magistrate would invigilate the imperial exam alone, leaving the academic officials and guards to oversee the rest.

As the magistrate arrived, incense tables were set up in front of the hall, and the scent of incense wafted from within. Zhang Yue inhaled, feeling the fragrance calmed his mind.

So it was true: incense for the imperial exam. Sitting nearby, Zhang Yue was able to benefit from it as well.

By now, the candidates had all arrived and movement had ceased in the hall.

Recalling Guo Lin’s advice, Zhang Yue poured water and prepared his ink. Seeing this, the candidates around him followed suit.

Soon, officials began distributing the exam papers.

As his paper was handed to him, the ink had just finished dissolving in the inkstone. The scent of ink mingled with the incense, and Zhang Yue felt an extraordinary tranquility settle in his heart.