Chapter Sixty-Nine: The Second Day

"As long as neither of us speaks of this matter, there will be no rumors within the county academy."

At these words from Song Mu, Pan Wenhao halted abruptly. A brief silence fell over them; Pan Wenhao did not turn to say anything, but resumed his steps with a sense of relief, walking out. This time, his back seemed finally a little straighter.

Kong Zong, having heard Song Mu's words, glanced at him in mild surprise. Only after Pan Wenhao had completely left did Kong Zong speak to Song Mu.

"Brother Song, what was that about?"

"It was just a bet made in a moment of anger. To be honest, I agreed to it mainly because I harbored some private misgivings—afraid he might trip me up behind the scenes, so I provoked him on purpose. That’s why I accepted the wager," Song Mu replied, shaking his head as if he had brushed aside a trivial matter.

"I never took the bet seriously. If he can let it go as well, perhaps one day he’ll attain the talent of a County Bailiff."

As Song Mu spoke thus, Kong Zong found himself unable to hide a look of admiration. He had once thought Song Mu’s actions rash and foolish, but now it seemed they revealed a measure of shrewdness. That the issue could be resolved in such a way was, of course, for the best.

Kong Zong pursed his lips, picked up his rice bowl, and continued eating. After they finished, the two chatted over tea in the parlor, discussed likely topics for the next day’s exam, and then retired to their respective rooms.

Song Mu took out a few books to peruse, then sat cross-legged on the bed, reciting ancient texts silently in his mind.

At this moment, Song Mu was quite eager to test the power of his literary force. Ever since Master Xun had demonstrated its mystical effects before everyone, and given all he had witnessed in Shiyang County, Song Mu had long yearned for such power. Yet, now that he possessed it, he found himself considering his next steps carefully.

With his literary force now condensed, whether he could wield true power would depend on the techniques taught at the county academy and his future dedication. What concerned him more now was the mental force within his mind.

His mental force had clearly undergone changes first, yet after the phenomenon of the Five Movements of the Literary Star earlier that day, it had suddenly quieted; there was no further breakthrough. Song Mu examined himself carefully, certain that his mental force had not advanced at all.

After reciting ancient texts for a while, Song Mu slowly opened his eyes, his expression grave and puzzled. The ancestral techniques did not record how to break through in mental force; they only described its uses and how to measure its extent. The only advice concerning breakthroughs was a single sentence: "The shackles of mental force are broken as strength increases."

So, regarding this, Song Mu would have to explore the path himself. But how could he truly achieve a breakthrough? Would tomorrow's examination provide the opportunity?

Lost in these thoughts, Song Mu found himself at a loss. He lay down on the bed, gazed at the ceiling for a moment, and then reached into his chest.

Song Mu slowly took out the Literary Vein Tourmaline Li Mo’er had given him. He still could not unlock its secrets, though he sensed an extraordinary power within—yet lacked the key to open it.

Gently caressing the tourmaline, Song Mu’s mind wandered, recalling Li Mo’er’s words that day. Now that he was a licentiate, what should he do next?

The typical scholar’s path would be to return to the county academy, become a stipend student, perhaps take up a teaching post, and then study diligently, waiting for the provincial exam. One step further would be to stay at the prefectural academy, converse with great scholars, and refine his literary heart. Or, like some other scholars, he could join the frontier army, hone both literary and martial arts, and pave the way for a smooth official career.

Master Xun had not been wrong: becoming a licentiate meant the great road of the world truly opened before him. To restore the Song family's literary line, it seemed any of these paths could be taken.

But could he truly reach the heights he dreamed of? Could he, one day, ride a horse through the streets of Chang'an in triumph?

Thinking thus, Song Mu’s gaze grew distant, and for a moment he was lost in reverie. Only when the oil lamp flickered and dimmed did he return to himself, noticing the tourmaline in his hand had grown warm.

Shaking off these scattered thoughts, Song Mu washed his face, mildly chiding himself, "Now that I have strength, my heart is unsettled."

Smiling and shaking his head, he put the tourmaline away, trimmed the lamp, spread a sheet of paper on his desk, and selected an essay topic from a collection, beginning to write.

The next morning, Song Mu rose early and, with Kong Zong, read from the Gazette of the World, exchanging insights before gathering their things and heading by carriage to the examination yard.

It was the second day of the examination—the subjects were political essays and poetry. The focus was on each scholar’s view of the times, which was why Song Mu and Kong Zong were reading the Gazette of the World instead of ancient texts that morning. The articles reflected current government opinions; the Hanlin scholars’ writings were sharp and insightful, containing exquisite lines from which Song Mu and his peers greatly benefited.

On their way, conversing, they arrived at the examination yard, and as Song Mu alighted from the carriage, the spectacle before him left him awestruck once more.

The street outside the examination yard was densely packed with people. The townsfolk were all in high spirits; the high buildings could not contain them, so some sat along the street with benches, sipping tea, fanning themselves, and chatting animatedly. Vendors wove through the crowd, and though they did not hawk loudly, the scene was lively indeed.

Song Mu clicked his tongue in amazement, while Kong Zong looked on with a helpless smile.

"Today is the final exam. Political essays and poetry are most likely to stir the Literary Star—especially original poetry, which might even cause extraordinary phenomena. It’s the most exciting part," Kong Zong said, recalling the scenes he had witnessed in the past.

"I remember as a child in the prefectural city, the streets were deserted for such events—countless people gathered outside the exam yard, and any sign of a phenomenon would be met with thunderous applause. My father held me in his arms, pointed to the examination yard, and told me I should become such a person one day."

Kong Zong’s eyes shone as he spoke—the ambition of a scholar with grand aspirations.

Song Mu could not help but think back as well, recalling how Song Liantong had once encouraged his younger, bewildered self...

After exchanging a few words of emotion, the two had no choice but to hurry toward the entrance. Master Xun was already waiting for them; seeing them arrive, he visibly relaxed.

"Are you ready? Then enter. Today’s exam requires even greater effort from you. Whether you can enter the prefectural academy depends on the level you reach."

Master Xun’s meaning was clear: Both were already licentiates, but now the goal was to gain entry to the prefectural academy and improve their prospects for the provincial examination.

Today, the most important objective was to use the Literary Star to further strengthen their literary force.

Song Mu and Kong Zong understood their teacher’s encouragement, straightened their expressions, bowed solemnly, and entered the examination yard.

Again came the verification of identity, the search of their persons and exam baskets, and the distribution of seat tags.

This time, Song Mu’s seat was number 51 in the Gui Circle, an outer ring position. Such seats were called "abandoned spots," as they were further from the Literary Star, and the resonance was weaker. Unless one was exceptionally talented, it was difficult to gain literary power here.

But for Song Mu, already a licentiate, this was of little consequence. The location was quieter and less likely to be disturbed by others’ literary force—ideal for composing long essays.

Strolling leisurely to his seat, Song Mu found that, though someone had used it in the previous session, it had not been cleaned; dust was everywhere. Not wanting to stain his papers, he began to sweep it carefully.

In the adjacent cubicle, another candidate had arrived and, like Song Mu, began cleaning, though without sprinkling water to settle the dust. Soon, he was coughing repeatedly.

Song Mu glanced over, and their eyes met.

The other was a short, thin youth with dark skin, but an unusually large head. He wore a faded indigo robe, its cuffs and hem patched.

Song Mu recognized him as a poor candidate and, pursing his lips, handed over his spare broom.

"I am Song Mu. If you don’t mind, please use this to tidy up," he offered.

The other hesitated, then stepped forward to accept it and thanked him. "I am Zhang Yiqi. Many thanks, brother."

With that, he turned to continue cleaning.

At these words, Song Mu was momentarily stunned and looked at the neighboring cubicle in astonishment. He had not expected to encounter a figure of such renown here—the legendary Zhang Yiqi was taking the exam right next to him.

...