The Entrance Test

The two left the Lotus Pavilion and no longer dared enter any of the lavishly decorated, glittering shops along the street. They turned off Vermilion Bird Avenue into a narrow alley and walked for nearly an hour, until their stomachs began to rumble with hunger.

Fan Dazhi rubbed his belly, looking utterly listless. Who would have thought that in this vast imperial capital, two boys from a little mountain village could not even find a bite to eat? Living in Luoyang was no easy business.

While they were lamenting their plight, an old man passed through the alley carrying a wonton stall on a shoulder pole, calling out in a lilting voice, "Won~tons~! Fresh won~tons~..."

Fan Dazhi perked up at once. He hurried over to ask the price and fished two large copper coins from inside his robe. The old man accepted them, lowered his load, deftly set up an iron pot, and stoked the charcoal fire. He handed the boys two small folding stools, rolled up his sleeves, set out a little chopping board, and took out wrappers and meat filling, then began wrapping wontons with practiced hands.

One end of the shoulder pole carried charcoal, bellows, pots, bowls, a rolling pin, and other cooking utensils. The other held a little chest that opened to reveal layers of drawers stocked with wrappers, seasonings, and everything else he needed. It was practically a little kitchen on the move.

He An and Fan Dazhi were still watching with fascination when the water came to a boil. The old man dropped the wrapped wontons into the pot, let them tumble through the boiling water a couple of times, then scooped them into two enormous bowls with a wire skimmer. He added salt, dried shrimp, and laver, sprinkled in chopped scallions, and finished with a little sesame oil. Steam rose and fragrance filled the air, making both boys' mouths water...

Each boy cradled a large bowl and sat on his folding stool by the alley wall, slurping down wontons.

He An picked up a wonton. Its wrapper was as thin as a cicada's wing, and the meat filling tasted fragrant and tender. The soup was white as jade, dotted with emerald-green scallions-a truly appetizing sight. He could not help praising it. "You have wonderful hands, sir. I never imagined wontons could taste this good."

The old wonton seller grinned and said with considerable pride, "This craft has been passed down through my family. Everyone around here says they're delicious. If you two lads like them, I'm in this alley every evening. Come by whenever you please."

While they spoke, Fan Dazhi finished his bowl and ordered another filled to the brim.

Back at the inn, the boys discussed the books He Kui had left them, then sparred with a few moves of the Cloud-Riding Hand. Before long, sweat appeared on Fan Dazhi's forehead. Waving his hands, he said, "Enough, enough! I never beat you anyway. Ah... I'm just too fat from eating... An... remember this: I haven't really lost to you. I've lost to all this fat on my own body!"

He An was speechless. Fan Dazhi was an utterly unqualified sparring partner. After all their years of studying and playing together, He An knew his lazy, roguish nature all too well. Fan Dazhi also had every variation, angle, and measure of force in He An's moves down to a hair. In truth, neither could get the better of the other.

When I get the chance, I must find an expert to test myself against and see whether all these years of martial training have made me any good, He An thought. Then he sat cross-legged on the bed, closed his eyes, and began practicing the inner cultivation method He Kui had taught him.

Reading early in the morning, practicing calligraphy from model texts in the afternoon, strolling along Vermilion Bird Avenue at dusk, then visiting the alley for a couple of bowls of wontons-He An found these days leisurely and pleasant.

More remarkably, even Fan Dazhi had reined in his wandering mind considerably. These days, he too behaved himself, studying and doing his lessons alongside He An.

An autumn rain swept through Luoyang, and the weather grew cooler. The day of the Knowledge and Practice Institute's selection examination was drawing near.

Over the past fortnight, candidates from across the country had arrived one after another. Although their numbers had fallen by more than half compared with previous years, there were still four or five thousand of them.

On the other side of Luoyang City, meanwhile, Dragon Gate Academy had received more than ten thousand applications despite this being its first year admitting students. With construction at the academy proceeding like a raging fire, both the examination and subsequent classes would temporarily take place at the imperial retreat in Dragon Gate Mountain Villa, by special approval of the emperor.

Dragon Gate Academy would also hold its examination on the same day as the Knowledge and Practice Institute, even using the same questions as its selection standard. These measures by the emperor prompted much discussion among the court officials, whose expressions became quite intriguing. As the examinations at the two Capital Grand Academies approached, the atmosphere at court grew tense as well.

Tomorrow, the eighth day of the eighth month, was the Knowledge and Practice Institute's selection examination. He An and Fan Dazhi went over the classics they had recently studied once more.

Fang Yizhi visited them that morning and explained the examination rules. The institute's entrance test had two parts: a written examination and a martial examination. The written examination tested works from the classics, histories, philosophical writings, and literary collections, with a full day allowed for answering. The martial examination involved challenging an instructor from the martial division. There were ten instructors in all, and candidates could choose freely among them. During the bout, the instructor would dissipate his cultivated power, assessing only the candidate's techniques, physical coordination and agility, ability to react under pressure, and other basic skills.

"Dazhi, the written examination is tomorrow, and I still don't feel confident. No wonder my uncle once said that the more a person reads, the more he realizes how little he knows... You memorize plenty of things faster than I do and recite them better too. Whatever you do, don't fall asleep during tomorrow's examination!" He An teased him.

"What's there to fear? If I don't get in, I'll just go home and sell wine with my father. Honestly, I don't think selling wine is so bad. I'd get to eat all sorts of good things every day, and it wouldn't be like the imperial capital here in Luoyang, where everything costs so much." Fan Dazhi tucked his hands into his sleeves, utterly unconcerned.

"Now that we've come out here and seen this bustling world, would you really be content to go back to our little village? Your father certainly wouldn't say anything, but other people... Dazhi, didn't your father give you that name-'great ambition'-because he hoped you'd make something of yourself?" He An encouraged him.

Someone outside the window heard their conversation with perfect clarity. Only after watching He An and Fan Dazhi leave one after the other and head out, as usual, to stroll along Vermilion Bird Avenue and eat wontons in the alley did he glide away.

Knowing the route well, the man returned to the Knowledge and Practice Institute and wound through several turns into a courtyard of antique elegance. Beneath a jujube tree laden with fruit, he reported everything he had recently seen and heard to Wei Zhilin, who wore a loose scholar's robe. Wei Zhilin remained expressionless, merely stroking his beard and nodding.

After the man left, Wei Zhilin knitted his brows and stood in the autumn wind, murmuring to himself, "I wonder what my honored teacher intended by asking me to watch these two boys... I'll wait until he finishes his secluded cultivation and ask him in person when I have the chance."

The sun had barely risen when a long queue formed outside the Knowledge and Practice Institute. Today was its entrance examination for new disciples. He An and Fan Dazhi stood squeezed into the line, inching forward. They had not been assigned to the same examination room, so each followed the crowd with his numbered token in hand to find his designated room.

Each room held roughly a hundred candidates, with a desk and chair for every person and brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones already provided. He An unfolded his examination paper. There were ten questions in all, testing his understanding of the classics, histories, philosophical writings, and literary collections. Since his childhood, He Kui had taught him all manner of classical texts, never bound by rigid forms, explaining profound ideas simply and drawing on the strengths of many schools. Despite his young age, He An had developed considerable insights. After a brief moment's thought, he dipped his brush in ink and began answering steadily, looking very much as though he already had a finished bamboo painting in his breast.

In another examination room, Fan Dazhi received his paper and quickly scanned the questions. His mind immediately settled. These are easy! Without drafting anything on the spare paper, he wetted his brush with ink and began writing directly. After only a few characters, however, he found the weasel-hair brush heavy in his hand, its tuft far too full. The strokes came out broad and coarse, making it extremely awkward to use.

Ever since childhood, Fan Dazhi had liked writing tiny, fly-head-sized regular script. Though people said handwriting reflected its writer, the fair-skinned, plump Fan Dazhi preferred small characters. Perhaps influenced by Fang Yizhi's vigorous, elegant, and orderly regular script, he had treated calligraphy with meticulous care for more than half a year, despite his otherwise lazy temperament.

He glanced around and saw that no one was paying attention, then secretly plucked a few hairs from the brush tip. He tried writing several characters on the draft paper, and sure enough, the brush moved much more smoothly. He lowered his head and continued plucking.

The instructor supervising the room was named Lu Zhengqing. He was in his forties, placed great importance on rules, and taught with stern discipline. The institute's students had jokingly dubbed him "Villain Number One" behind his back.

At that moment, Lu Zhengqing was patrolling the room with a severe expression. Some candidates wrote at a furious pace, some scratched their ears and cheeks, and others propped their foreheads on their hands in deep thought.

Suddenly, he spotted a little fat boy hunched among the crowd, actually gritting his teeth as he plucked hairs from his brush. After pulling out a few, the boy bent over to scribble, wiped the sweat from his forehead, then continued plucking. Ink had smeared his forehead, face, and the tip of his nose black, yet he was completely oblivious, busily plucking and writing to his heart's content.

Watching all this, Lu Zhengqing could not help feeling a surge of anger, and he made up his mind. What is this unruly little brat's name? Which instructor recommended him for the examination? Once I find out, I certainly won't let him off lightly.

Fan Dazhi finished writing in one stretch and discovered that there was still plenty of time before the papers were due. The other students remained bent over their answers. Amid the rustle of brushes on paper, he felt inside his robe. The meat buns he had bought that morning were still warm. Seeing that no one nearby was paying attention, he secretly took them out and began munching away.

It was already past noon, and the sunlight streaming through the windows was dazzling. After eating, Fan Dazhi sprawled over his desk in boredom. Before long, drowsiness welled up, and he fell asleep there.

The sunlight's footsteps crept down from the eaves. Dazhi was deep in slumber when a rapid ringing of bells jolted him awake. It was over-time to hand in the papers!

He gathered his things and went up to the supervising instructor. Seeing the name Fan Dazhi on the paper, Lu Zhengqing thought, All right, brat. I'll remember you! He also shot him a fierce glare. Fan Dazhi shuddered. What a frightening look this instructor has! He hastily turned and left.

After leaving the examination room, Fan Dazhi noticed quite a few people staring at him along the way. Puzzled, he secretly indulged in a smug thought. Have I grown even more handsome lately? Or is my presence simply too overwhelming?

When he finally met up with He An, the latter pointed at his face and laughed so hard he doubled over. Only then did Fan Dazhi realize he had smeared ink all over his face while plucking the brush hairs. Mortified, he hurried to find a pool and wash his face and hands.

As they discussed the questions, both felt they had been even easier than expected. Little did they realize that, having been taught from childhood by their uncle He Kui, whose exceptional talent stood unrivaled beneath heaven, they had enjoyed instruction no teacher at the Knowledge and Practice Institute could even hope to match.

The written portion of the Knowledge and Practice Institute's entrance examination ended, and candidates emerged from the examination rooms one after another.

A woman with a purple scarf wrapped around her head waited anxiously outside the examination grounds. At last, she spotted a girl skipping out among the crowd, and delight flooded her face. The girl saw her too and bounded over. "Aunt Xue! Sorry for the wait!"

"Chanjuan, how did the examination go today? If you did poorly, your parents will surely blame me for not keeping a strict enough eye on you!" the woman said with a smile.

"It wasn't difficult at all. Don't worry, Aunt Xue!" the girl said exuberantly, flashing a radiant smile.

"You little imp, all you think about is playing. Your parents have spoiled you to the heavens since you were small, and you're so good at coaxing your Aunt Xue into a good mood. But an examination is something you must never take lightly..." the woman continued, still smiling.

"Oh... you still don't believe me, Aunt Xue! Our teacher at home had already taught me plenty of those questions. I finished ages ago... I really did put my heart into it!" the girl protested coyly.

"All right, all right. I was only teasing. I believe you. Chanjuan is a child as clever as ice and snow-how could you possibly do poorly? Come along. There's an alley off the street up ahead with a very good place called Xu's Tavern. I'll treat you to a proper feast to celebrate!"

The woman took the girl's hand as she spoke warmly, and the two followed the crowd along Vermilion Bird Avenue.

Had He An been there, he would certainly have recognized the girl: she was none other than the one who had fought with him over the butterfly hairpin that day.