The Exam Hall is Like a Battlefield (Seeking Recommendations and Collections!)

It is mentioned in the Yang God that there were originally no gods in the world; it was only when people began to worship them that gods came into existence.

Here, Huang Shang felt a similar sentiment.

Confucius was not originally a sage; it was only because so many people worshipped him that he became the Most Holy.

It was hard to imagine that in the Examination Hall of such an unremarkable prefecture, a statue made of ordinary mud and earth could possess such magnificent Literary Qi.

"Most Holy First Teacher, Model for Ten Thousand Generations!"

A sigh rose in Huang Shang's heart.

Regardless of how later generations might debate Confucius or Confucianism, one could not deny the changes he brought to the world.

As a Confucian scholar in this world, Huang Shang listened to the ceremonial officer's commands and bowed alongside all the other students.

First bow!

Second bow!

After paying respects to Confucius, Scholar Guo addressed the examinees. It was the usual cliché, primarily emphasizing examination hall discipline and warning against cheating.

Once finished, he broke the seal on the examination questions in public.

The questions were dispatched from the capital to every prefecture; they were standardized national papers, wrapped in yellow silk and secured with official seals.

Under the focused gaze of the examinees, the scroll was opened, and the questions that would determine their fates were finally revealed.

After demonstrating that the process was impartial and selfless, Scholar Guo waved his hand, and six examiners hurried to transcribe the questions, preparing to post them in each examination room.

Meanwhile, the examinees had already been divided into six groups of nearly forty people each, heading toward the actual examination rooms.

This examination hall was not composed of the honeycomb-like cubicles seen in the Ming and Qing dynasties, but rather a large, open hall similar to those in the modern era.

Forty sets of tables and chairs were arranged neatly, with a slip of paper pasted on the top right corner of each table, detailing the examinee's name, place of origin, and age.

The sense of déjà vu was overwhelming.

Huang Shang found his seat, set down his examination box, hung his scroll bag on the edge of the table, and took out his brush, ink, and inkstone.

His movements were unhurried, but many other scholars were already racing against time.

They first grabbed their cups, went to the water station at the door to pour warm water—half for drinking, half for grinding ink—and then returned to their seats to eat and fill their stomachs while waiting for the papers to be distributed.

Huang Shang watched, clicking his tongue in wonder.

They were all seasoned veterans of the examination hall!

Indeed, as mentioned before, the status of a Juren in the Song dynasty was not a lifelong appointment; those who passed the provincial exam but failed the metropolitan exam had to return and retake it.

Therefore, there were many repeat examinees in this hall who were well-versed in the routine.

Of course, there were also first-timers.

They were even more nervous than modern college entrance examinees.

Modern students were battle-hardened, especially in their final year of high school, where small exams were held every three days and major exams every week; testing had become a mundane part of life.

But in this era, the imperial examination consisted of only three sessions. In places like the capital, it was fine, as there were mock exams to prepare them, but children from remote areas had studied bitterly for over a decade, only to find that their first exam was a "thousand troops crossing a single-log bridge," deciding their entire lives.

Who could withstand that?

Consequently, many students' hands trembled as they held their brushes; some even showed signs of a mental breakdown before they had even seen the test papers.

Others glared at their fellow examinees with open hostility, as if the death of everyone else in the room would guarantee their own success.

In this small examination hall, the full spectrum of human nature was on display.

Watching this, Huang Shang's heart grew calm instead.

Literary Qi circulated through his body, faintly resonating with the statue of Confucius in the Examination Hall plaza.

He picked up his Zhuge Pen with composure.

"Let us begin!"

"Let us begin!"

Several days later, Scholar Guo looked at the stack of papers before him, and like a general on the battlefield, he sounded the horn for the charge.

Indeed, a different kind of war had begun.

The grading.

The number of examinees in Yong Prefecture was not large, but the number of examiners was equally small.

With fewer than ten examiners facing several hundred papers, they could not simply divide the work; they had to grade repeatedly.

This was because the graded papers would eventually be sent to the Ministry of Rites for scrutiny to verify the examiners' work.

A first instance of misjudgment would result in a salary penalty, and a second would lead to direct demotion.

Therefore, the pressure of grading was immense, requiring absolute focus; not a single character could be misjudged.

The examination papers were spread out one by one, and the examiners' gazes fell upon them, beginning to mark them with "Pass" or "Fail," accompanied by their own comments.

The topics for this examination consisted of ten passages from the Analects, ten questions on the meaning of the classics, five policy essays, and one poem and one rhapsody each.

The ten passages from the Analects were essentially fill-in-the-blank memorization exercises.

This was considered the most basic part of the exam and the first thing examiners would review when grading.

If a candidate could not even recite the Analects, there was no need to look at the rest.

The following ten questions on the meaning of the classics required written explanations of passages selected from the Nine Classics, asking the candidates to expound upon the general meaning of those sentences.

This was also a fundamental skill; any errors here would result in immediate elimination.

Very quickly, the substandard papers were weeded out.

The number of papers had already been reduced by half.

For those remaining, the policy essays and the poem and rhapsody were the true keys to success.

The so-called policy essays were essentially Q&A sessions, focusing on practical matters and asking about the current state of national policy.

In truth, however, these were not highly regarded; after all, asking a group of scholars to recklessly discuss state affairs usually resulted in laughable answers.

It would not be until ten years later, in 1073, when Wang Anshi implemented his reforms and changed the imperial examination topics to focus on the meaning of the classics and policy questions, that these essays would finally be taken seriously.

However, every examiner was different, and some did "value" the policy essays, such as the current examiner, Scholar Guo.

"Again with the words of Meng Ke (Mencius)! Absurd! Utterly absurd!"

Scholar Guo's long beard trembled as he wrote a large "Fail" on the paper.

His criteria for judgment were very direct.

As a supporter of Sima Guang, he would take issue with anyone who spoke well of Mencius.

Of course, even if he wanted to reject a paper, he could not do so solely based on support for Mencius; he needed other justifications.

He would simply find faults in the poem or rhapsody.

Unless the candidate possessed truly top-tier talent, how hard was it to pick bones from an egg and mark a "Fail"?

As the chief examiner, as long as he provided a plausible reason, the other examiners would naturally give him some face, even when the papers were sent to the Ministry of Rites for final review.

Unless there were egregious errors, the so-called secondary review was, in the end, merely a formality.

Having graded dozens of papers this way and conjured up all sorts of reasons for rejection, Scholar Guo wearily closed his eyes.

The grading process grew increasingly monotonous until one particular paper appeared before him.

"Eh? If the transcription is like this, the original paper must be extraordinary!"

Scholar Guo's eyes lit up.

The papers these examiners were grading were not actually the candidates' original scripts.

The candidates' papers had already gone through two major procedures: name-masking and transcription—that is, covering the names and having them copied over by clerks.

This was to prevent examiners from identifying candidates by their handwriting and engaging in collusion or cheating.

During the transcription process, there were people specifically tasked with weeding out papers with smudges, sloppy handwriting, or special markings, eliminating them immediately so they wouldn't even be eligible for grading.

Conversely, those written in the standard Three Academies Regular Script were much neater, creating a better first impression.

But the paper currently in his hands was more than just clean and bright; it was impossible to describe the feeling, but it was simply distinct from the rest.

Scholar Guo nodded, seeing that the basic sections were all correct and flawless, and upon reading the poem and rhapsody, he was even more delighted.

He took a deep breath and carefully began to read the policy essay.

A desire to cherish talent stirred in his heart, and he wondered if he should show leniency if this student also happened to agree with Mencius, who he believed brought chaos to the world with his talk of benevolence and righteousness.

But after reading the entire piece, there was no mention of Mencius's theories, which immediately made him stroke his beard and smile in great satisfaction.

As for whether the policy essay offered critiques of current affairs or was useful to the state, that was secondary.

Scholar Guo wrote a large "Pass" on the paper and attached the highest praise.

The position of the Yong Prefecture top scholar was essentially settled.