"My family could be considered well-off. We had a hundred mu of land, yet studying was still bitter—not only for me, but even more so for my family."
As Zhang Modong spoke to this point, perhaps affected by the wine, he could not help choking up with sobs.
"Before I became a Provincial Graduate, my wife had to toil day and night. Things improved somewhat after I passed, but traveling a thousand li to sit the examinations, weathering wind and frost—it was still like dying and coming back to life."
"Qian, a Provincial Graduate who traveled with me, was forty-three. He fell ill on the road. I still remember how emaciated he was aboard the boat, nothing but skin and bones. He clutched my hand, tears filling his eyes, and panted, 'My good friend, you can still fight for it, but I am about to set out on a far journey.'"
"I fear that I will end up like him someday."
"If one session fails, one can bear it. But what about the second or third? How many decades does a person have?"
"Even Yang Ci of the previous dynasty, with all his talent, failed for twenty years. What hope is there for the likes of us?"
Zhang Modong was speaking from the bottom of his heart, and the other two felt it keenly. In ancient times, traveling a thousand li took two or three months. How many people arrived in the Capital City only to fall gravely ill? Some even died outright.
Thus, for those over forty to travel again for the examinations, it truly meant "risking one's life" and "gambling on luck." After all, among tens of thousands of Provincial Graduates, only two or three hundred would be chosen. Even talent offered no guarantee of success.
The candle