Chapter Thirty-Three: Disqualification

Under the cover of night, He Zhizhang rode his fine steed, lantern in hand, gazing at the vast starry sky, feeling an uncommon sense of ease.

This imperial examination differed from those of previous years. The responsibilities of the chief examiner had once been light; as soon as the exams concluded, the names of the top three were swiftly announced. Previously, the examination employed an elimination system: three rounds, the first testing classics and history, where failure meant immediate disqualification from further rounds; the second tested poetry and prose, and likewise, those who failed were barred from the third; by then, most candidates had already been eliminated, and after removing those who failed the essay round, hardly any remained. Choosing the top three from such a handful was hardly arduous.

But this year was different. A new anonymous system was adopted, and the comprehensive scores of all candidates were considered. The chief examiner had to meticulously review and grade every paper from the Jinshi section—an enormous task. According to tradition, the date results were posted was not fixed, but had to be before the third day of the third month.

The third of the third month was the Shangsi Festival, a day commemorating the Yellow Emperor, when people feasted by the water and wandered the countryside in spring. During the Shenlong era, to console those who failed the exam, the court would host a banquet at Qujiang on this day, allowing unsuccessful candidates to remain in Chang’an, lodge in temples, and devote themselves to study, preparing for another attempt. But by the reign of Emperor Zhongzong, the banquet’s recipients changed—from the unsuccessful to the newly minted Jinshi, and Qujiang’s feasts reached their peak.

Now, the Qujiang banquet was more than a celebration for successful candidates; it had become a day for all of Chang’an’s people to gather and revel. On that day, the riverbank markets lined the water, and half of Chang’an seemed suspended in the air from the festivities.

He Zhizhang had overlooked this at first, only realizing when the exams ended and it was time to grade the papers that his duties as chief examiner had multiplied nearly tenfold compared to previous years, and with the Shangsi Festival so near, there simply wasn’t enough time.

He Zhizhang himself had once been the top scholar and knew well the weight of the Qujiang feast in academic circles. Determined not to let his name be tarnished, he spent nearly half a month in the Ministry of Rites, living and working day and night, just to post the results in time.

At last, his efforts paid off. Before the end of February, with March not yet begun, all the papers were graded, and under the witness of the vice minister, the names were revealed and matched to the transcripts, determining the top three of this year.

His young friend, Pei Min, did not disappoint and claimed the top spot.

For nearly half a month, He Zhizhang had abstained from wine, and now his thirst had reached his head. Though it was the dead of night, he decided to return home at once, wake Pei Min and Zhang Xu, and hold an early celebration. Tomorrow the results would be posted, and telling the top scholar privately was no crime.

At this hour, the gates of Chang’an’s wards were closed, and curfew enforced. Except for the night patrols, the city was silent. He Zhizhang, bearing important duties, had the right to travel at night and order the gates opened; the curfew posed no obstacle.

Approaching his residence, He Zhizhang suddenly saw flames and heard a clamor ahead—a crowd surged forward, voices rising in chaos. He Zhizhang frowned, rode forward a dozen paces, and called out loudly, “Who makes such noise ahead? It is forbidden to walk about during curfew! Do you dare defy the law?”

“Who’s this country bumpkin daring to meddle in my affairs?” Amid the firelight, a drunken youth with a flushed face stepped forward, his eyes full of displeasure—none other than Chang Hao, who had failed the exam. He had been celebrating, half drunk, when he learned he had missed out, while Lu Ze and Feng Zhi, whom he thought beneath him, had gained the titles of second and third place. He felt utterly wronged. Learning that Pei Min, who took his top spot, was close to He Zhizhang and had stayed at his house for nearly three months, he—intoxicated and resentful—concluded that He Zhizhang had shown favoritism, giving Pei Min the top spot, and so, with a band of guards, stormed toward He’s residence to demand an explanation, only to be stopped by a “Cheng Yaojin.”

In his drunken haze, Chang Hao could not recognize that the “Cheng Yaojin” before him was exactly He Zhizhang whom he sought.

He Zhizhang, ever composed, merely frowned. The bright lanterns lit up Chang Hao’s ugly face clearly. He Zhizhang sneered, “So it’s the third son of General Chang—truly imposing. But what are you doing, showing off your might in the dead of night?”

Chang Hao, his mind numb from wine and anger, did not catch the sarcasm. He boasted, “Since you know, get out of my way. I have no time for you. I’m going to find that country bumpkin He Zhizhang and ask why I failed.”

He Zhizhang laughed aloud, his voice sharp, “After all your trouble, you couldn’t pass the exam, and now you’re furious?”

During grading, He Zhizhang had hesitated long over the top spot, for two candidates had scored top marks in all three rounds.

One was Pei Min; the other, whose name He Zhizhang did not know at the time.

He recognized Pei Min not from the name, but from the handwriting and style, especially since the reform of the military system had been Pei Min’s proposal—easily identified.

The other candidate’s exam in classics and history was flawless; He Zhizhang found the level not only beyond Pei Min’s, but even his own. In this subject, Pei Min had the same top grade, but the other was truly superior. Then came poetry: Pei Min’s verse, “This feeling may yet be recalled, only at the time it was lost,” was deeply moving—here, Pei Min far surpassed the other. They were evenly matched, and the final essay: Pei Min’s military reform, already known to He Zhizhang and recognized by Li Longji and Zhang Jiuling, while the flood-control method of “bundling water and washing sand” was an unheard-of marvel, showing Pei Min’s talent for governance. The other’s answer, though less innovative, was precise, every word a gem, analyzing border issues in water management with remarkable clarity, also winning He Zhizhang’s admiration.

Weighing both, He Zhizhang ultimately chose Pei Min as the top scholar. At that moment, he himself was unsure whether it was Pei Min’s poetry, his institutional innovation, or even their relationship that swayed him.

The other, whose abilities nearly matched Pei Min’s, he ranked second.

When the names were revealed, he discovered that the candidate, having forgotten to fill in his name and household details on the essay, was none other than Chang Hao.

He Zhizhang could not believe that a notorious, unruly scion who had once crippled his own tutor could possess such profound mastery of the classics and write such flawless answers on governance.

Thus, citing the omission of name and surname, He Zhizhang immediately revoked Chang Hao’s qualification.