[Yang God] once mentioned that there were no gods in the world to begin with, but when enough people worshipped them, gods came to be.
Here, Huang Shang had a similar feeling.
Confucius had not been a sage to begin with, but when enough people worshipped him, he became the Most Holy Sage.
It was hard to imagine that in an unremarkable prefectural Examination Hall, a statue made of ordinary mud could possess such magnificent Literary Qi.
"Most Holy Sage, Paragon of All Ages!"
A sigh rose in Huang Shang's heart.
No matter how much debate there might be in later generations about Confucius and Confucianism, no one could deny the changes he had brought to the world.
In this world, as a Confucian scholar, Huang Shang listened to the master of ceremonies' commands and bowed along with all the other students.
First bow!
Second bow!
After they had bowed to Confucius, Scholar Guo lectured the candidates. It was the same old talk, mostly emphasizing the rules of the examination hall and warning them not to cheat.
Once he had finished, he unsealed the examination papers in full view of everyone.
The papers had all been sent from the Capital City to the various prefectures. The whole nation used the same exam, wrapped in yellow silk and sealed with a label.
Under the candidates' concentrated gazes, the scroll was opened, and the questions that would decide their fates were taken out.
After demonstrating that the process was fair and impartial, Scholar Guo waved his hand. Six examiners hurriedly made copies, preparing to post them in the various examination halls.
By then, the candidates had already been divided into six groups of nearly forty people each, and were heading to the actual examination halls.
These were not the cramped, beehive-like cells of the Ming and Qing dynasties. They were large examination halls, much like those of modern times.
Forty desks and chairs had been arranged in neat rows. A slip of paper was pasted to the upper-right corner of each desk, bearing the candidate's name, place of origin, and age.
The sense of déjà vu was almost too strong.
Huang Shang found his seat, set down his examination case, hung his scroll bag on the side of the desk, and took out his brush, ink, and inkstone.
He moved at an unhurried pace, but more and more scholars were already racing against the clock.
First, they took their cups to the drinking-water station by the entrance and poured warm water. Half was for drinking, and the other half for grinding ink. Then they returned to their seats and, before the papers were handed out, took out the food they had brought and began filling their stomachs.
Watching them, Huang Shang clicked his tongue in admiration.
They were all old hands at the examination game!
Indeed, as mentioned earlier, in the Song dynasty the status of a provincial graduate was not lifelong. Those who passed the provincial exam but failed to become presented scholars had to take the exam again.
So there were quite a few repeat candidates in this examination hall, and they knew the ropes.
Of course, there were also first-timers.
They were even more nervous than students taking the modern college entrance exam.
Modern students had, after all, been through countless battles. Especially in their final year of high school, they had a short test every three days and a major exam every week. Exams were as routine as eating and drinking.
But in this era, there were only three rounds of imperial examinations. Things were all right in places like the Capital City, where there were mock exams, but for children in some remote areas, after more than ten years of hard study, their very first exam was a fierce contest with thousands crossing a single-log bridge—one that decided the course of their lives.
Who could stand that?
As a result, many scholars' hands trembled as they held their brushes. Some even looked ready to fall apart before they had so much as seen the examination paper.
Others glared at the other candidates with open hostility, as if everyone else in the hall had to die for them to be sure of passing.
In this small examination hall, every facet of life was on display.
Watching them, Huang Shang found his mind settling instead.
Literary Qi coursed through his body, faintly resonating with the statue of Confucius in the Examination Hall's square.
Calm and composed, he picked up the Zhuge Pen.
"Let's begin!"
"Let's begin!"
Several days later, Scholar Guo looked at the pile of examination papers before him and, like a general about to march onto the battlefield, sounded the horn of the charge.
Indeed, an unconventional war had begun.
Grading.
There were not many candidates in the Yong Prefecture exams, but there were just as few examiners.
Fewer than ten examiners faced hundreds of papers. They could not divide them evenly, so they had to go through them repeatedly.
The papers they graded would ultimately be sent to the Ministry of Rites for review, where the examiners' work would be checked.
A single mistaken judgment would cost them part of their salary. A second would get them demoted outright.
So the pressure of grading was considerable. They had to concentrate completely and not misjudge even a single word.
One paper after another was spread out. The examiners' eyes fell on them, and they began writing "Pass" or "Fail," along with their comments.
This time, the exam consisted of ten passages from the Analects, ten questions on the meanings of the classics, five policy questions, and one poem and one rhapsody.
The ten passages from the Analects were fill-in-the-blank recitations.
They were the most basic questions and the first thing the examiners checked when grading.
If a candidate couldn't even recite the Analects, there was no need to look at anything else.
Next came the ten questions on the meanings of the classics. Candidates had to write out their interpretations of passages chosen from the Nine Classics.
This was also basic training. Any mistakes meant elimination.
Before long, one after another, the papers that failed to meet the standard were set aside.
The number of papers had already been cut in half.
The policy questions, poems, and rhapsodies on the remaining papers were what really mattered.
The policy questions were essay questions, more closely tied to reality, asking about matters such as current national policies.
But in truth, they were not given much weight. After all, when a bunch of scholars pontificated about government affairs, it was easy to imagine how ridiculous their answers would be.
It was not until ten years later, in 1073, when Wang Anshi's reforms changed the imperial examination questions to focus on interpretations of the classics and policy essays, that these questions began to be taken seriously.
Still, examiners varied. Some did "value" the policy questions—like Scholar Guo, who was examining papers now.
"More words from Mencius again! Absurd! Absurd!"
Scholar Guo's long beard quivered as he wrote a huge "Fail."
His standard was very straightforward.
As one of Sima Guang's staunch supporters, he would pick a fight with anyone who praised Mencius.
Of course, even if he wanted to fail a candidate, he couldn't do so simply because the candidate supported Mencius. He needed other grounds.
He would find fault in the poems and rhapsodies.
Unless a candidate had truly exceptional talent, how hard was it to pick holes and mark the paper as failed?
He was the chief examiner. So long as he had a halfway plausible reason, the other examiners would naturally show him some deference. Even when the papers returned to the Ministry of Rites for review, it would be the same.
Unless the mistake was too glaring, so-called reexamination was ultimately just a formality.
After grading dozens of papers in this way and coming up with all sorts of reasons to fail them, Scholar Guo wearily closed his eyes for a moment.
The grading process grew more and more tedious, until one paper appeared before him.
"Oh? If the copyist's handwriting is this beautiful, the original must be something else!"
Scholar Guo's eyes lit up.
What these examiners were grading now were not actually the candidates' original papers.
The candidates' papers had already gone through two procedures: their names had been covered, and their answers had been copied out by someone else.
This was to keep examiners from identifying candidates by their handwriting and colluding with them to cheat.
During copying, someone would also pick out papers with stains, sloppy handwriting, or special marks. These were eliminated outright, without even being eligible for grading.
By contrast, papers written in the Three Academies Regular Script were generally much neater, giving a better first impression.
But the paper in Scholar Guo's hands was more than neat and pristine. It was hard to describe the feeling; it simply stood out from the rest.
Scholar Guo nodded. He checked the basic questions at the beginning, and every answer was correct. Then he looked at the poems and rhapsodies, and his delight grew.
He took a deep breath and carefully examined the policy answers.
He had already taken a liking to the candidate's talent. He wondered whether, if this scholar also agreed with Mencius—the man who sought to throw the world into chaos with benevolence and righteousness—he should make an exception.
But as he read the entire paper, he found no mention of Mencius's arguments. His hand went to his beard, and he smiled, thoroughly pleased.
Whether the policy answers criticized current affairs or offered anything useful to the state was secondary.
Scholar Guo wrote a large "Pass" and added the highest praise.
The top rank in the Yong Prefecture examination was all but decided.
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