Great Nation, Small Freshness (Imperial Examination) - Chapter 14

14: Mushroom-Stewed Chicken

The banquet had ended deep into the night. Outside, the wind was bitingly cold, yet inside the Kong family carriage it was as warm as spring.

In the center, a fixed copper-wire brazier burned glowing red charcoal, radiating a gentle heat without a trace of smoke. Both side walls were fitted with cabinets, every drawer was secured with bronze rings carved in flowing clouds and running beasts. The carriage moved along in utter silence.

On the table, nestled in its slotted holder, sat a jade incense burner decorated with the “Treading Snow in Search of Plum Blossoms” pattern. A faint fragrance of plum blossoms drifted from its perforations—exquisitely pleasant.

Kong Ziqing was staring blankly at the incense burner when he suddenly heard his grandfather ask, “What did you make of that boy surnamed Qin today?”

Kong Ziqing was silent for a moment. “He has the bearing of a great general.”

As he spoke these words, images flashed through Kong Ziqing’s mind like a lantern show: Qin Fanghe’s coarse cotton-padded jacket and cotton shoes, the fact that he didn’t even have a proper hairpin and merely tied his hair with a polished wooden stick…

Kong Ziqing unconsciously lowered his head and looked at the exquisite Suzhou embroidery on his own robes—so vastly different.

Before coming to Zhang County with his grandfather, he had seen children from poor families: shrinking, timid, eyes evasive, a mixture of inferiority and arrogance. Yet that little brat who had unexpectedly stolen his spotlight was open and natural, magnanimous, with firm and steady eyes. From beginning to end he had been perfectly composed—as if he were not of lowly birth at all.

If he were given a decent set of clothes, no one would doubt it if you said he was born to the same station as Kong Ziqing himself.

Just where did this Qin Fanghe come from?

Could a mere rural scholar really raise a child like that?

Old Master Kong gently patted his hand. “You did very well. There is no need to be disturbed by external things.”

The world is vast, there is nothing it does not contain. From ancient times, heroes have never been asked about their origins. It is not strange for a few brilliant stars to occasionally emerge from remote and barren places.

To speak only of the present—among the key ministers active in the courts today, many came from humble, “cold-door” families. Every one of them possessed near-demonic intelligence and left their names in the annals of history. Those who were even slightly inferior died halfway along the road long ago.

If a single unexpected occurrence is enough to trap you in your own doubts, what more is there to say?

Kong Ziqing naturally understood his grandfather’s meaning. In truth, he had not lost his composure, he was simply astonished.

Yes—pure astonishment.

It was too unbelievable.

Everyone says it is hard for noble sons to emerge from poor families, yet Qin Fanghe’s background could not even be called “cold-door.” He was merely the son of a failed scholar—three generations of farmers…

“You and he are ultimately different,” Old Master Kong said faintly. The old voice quickly dissolved into the air.

For some reason, Kong Ziqing’s brows knitted slightly, and he suddenly felt a trace of displeasure.

“What, do you think it’s unfair?” With a single glance, Old Master Kong already knew what his grandson was thinking. He found it both amusing and gratifying.

This was an upright child, almost naively so.

But it did not matter. After he slowly experienced the coldness of human sentiment and the dangers of the world, he would change.

Kong Ziqing pressed his lips together and did not deny it.

He did not believe his own learning was inferior to the other boy’s, yet his grandfather’s words somehow gave him a hollow feeling of having gained something without effort.

Old Master Kong was, after all, advanced in years and already weary by now. Seeing this, Kong Ziqing quickly fetched a soft wool pillow to cushion his grandfather’s lower back and draped a fox-fur blanket over his legs.

Old Master Kong comfortably enjoyed his grandson’s attention. His age-spotted old hand gently patted the boy’s still-tender shoulder. “This is precisely fairness.”

Kong Ziqing’s movements stilled. Then he heard his grandfather’s voice continue above him—slow, unquestionable:

“With the strength of one person, he must contend against the accumulated efforts of several generations outside. If he loses in the future, would that not be perfectly natural? Even your great-grandfather was not born an official.”

Great families, noble houses—without exception, every one of them was built up generation after generation.

When that young man faces them, he is inevitably at a disadvantage. Yet compared to those who truly suffer hunger and cold, does he not have the advantage of a scholar-father? Is that not also unfair?

If one day that boy truly passes the examinations, has his name posted on the imperial list, enters officialdom, dons the robes of office, and rises smoothly—then naturally his descendants will live as you do today, Kong Ziqing.

When that time comes, would he cast everything aside and insist that his own children and grandchildren crawl up from the mud on their own?

Simply absurd!

There has never been absolute fairness in this world.

Meanwhile, the unfairly treated Qin Fanghe and the others returned to Qin Hai’s home in town only in the small hours of the morning, when the sky was already beginning to lighten.

Everyone was utterly exhausted. They barely managed to wash up before collapsing into bed. They slept sweetly and deeply, only waking close to noon.

Qin Fanghe was roused by a rich, overpowering aroma of chicken soup. The fragrance was so aggressive that saliva instantly flooded his mouth and his stomach began to growl.

Qin Shan woke too, drooling as he rubbed his eyes and mumbled, “Where’s this big fat chicken coming from?”

Laughing, Qin Fanghe pushed him. “You can’t eat it in your dreams. Get up—it’s late.”

When the two came out, the sun was high and pleasant. Sister-in-law Shuyun was busy at the stove while Qin Hai played with the two children.

“I killed a huge fat rooster! Look at that layer of golden oil—so clear and fragrant it could kill a person! I used those sun-dried wild mushrooms from the west—some black, some white. Now they’ve all swelled up thick as the palm of your hand. One bite and they crunch, they’re every bit as good as meat. Have you washed your hands? Get ready to eat soon!” Sister-in-law Shuyun poked her head out from beside the stove, smiling as she brandished the big ladle.

Qin Shan was practically dying of hunger. He dragged Qin Fanghe over for a look. Sure enough, there was a pot of glistening, fragrant chicken pieces bubbling away with thick, plump mushrooms. The broth beneath had already turned somewhat sticky and rich.

Many of the chicken pieces had stewed until the meat fell off the bone, soft and meltingly tender. In a little while, they’d probably be able to chew up even the bones and swallow them down.

Hearing the commotion, little Pingjie’er’s eyes immediately lit up. She dragged her younger brother over, hugged Qin Fanghe’s leg, and looked up at him. “Eleventh Uncle, Eleventh Uncle! Papa said you were a big deal last night. Tell us about it!”

“No kidding! Your big brother here is all tongue-tied and couldn’t tell us a thing even if we begged. They say you met all the officials in the whole county—wow, so impressive! Hurry and tell us!” Sister-in-law Shuyun scooped up a little broth to taste the salt, then tossed in another pinch.

Publicly called clumsy by his wife, Qin Hai felt he had rather lost face. He couldn’t help defending his dignity as head of the household in a low voice: “Is the county magistrate’s house a place anyone can just barge into? Aside from boy He and the other five, no one was allowed in. Ask whoever you like—it’s useless…”

Qin Fanghe smiled and nodded. “Big Brother is exactly right. You’ve wronged him, Sister-in-law.”

Qin Hai immediately straightened his back, looking rather pleased with himself.

Everyone laughed for a while. Then, as they busied themselves, they listened to Qin Fanghe recount the events calmly and in detail, gasping and exclaiming from time to time.

In the eyes of ordinary commoners, the county magistrate was heaven itself. And now that heaven had actually spoken to him with such a pleasant expression…

Sister-in-law Shuyun clicked her tongue in amazement. “Heavens, just thinking about it is terrifying. How did you manage to hold up, boy He?”

Qin Fanghe laughed. “The magistrate is a man before he is an official. I’ve done no evil—why should I fear him?”

Sister-in-law Shuyun thought it over and first nodded, then shook her head.

True, the magistrate was a human being, but he was a human being high above them who could decide their life or death!

Finally, Qin Fanghe brought out the rewards he had received from Magistrate Zhou for everyone to see.

The writing brush, ink, paper, and inkstone went without saying—they were many times better than what Qin Fanghe usually used. Especially that stick of ink and the inkstone: smooth as jade, truly rare.

Then there was the purse itself—made of bright red satin embroidered with gold thread, worth several coins on its own. Inside were actually six perfectly shaped silver ingots. Each ingot had a hole so they could be played with in the hand or strung on a red cord and worn on the wrist—small and adorable.

Shuyun and the others stared until their eyes went wide.

Just one of those ingots had to weigh a full liang, and that was without counting the craftsmanship. If taken to a pawnshop and exchanged for ordinary silver, each would fetch at least one and a half liang. Add the purse itself, and it easily came to ten liang of silver!

Sister-in-law Shuyun exclaimed in wonder, “Scholars are truly poor when they’re poor, but once they start earning, they make money frighteningly fast!”

Just one night, just one poem, just showing his face before the county magistrate—and all these things together were worth ten or twenty liang. That was enough for an ordinary family with several laborers to toil themselves to death for an entire year.

She gleefully wrapped Qin Fanghe in a big hug and rubbed him affectionately, treating him like a living treasure. “Good little brother, you’re getting more and more promising!”

Her husband’s younger brother was her younger brother too. If he really achieved scholarly honor one day, she would have face when she spoke of it.

“Sister-in-law, stop teasing me,” Qin Fanghe laughed, a little shy. “It was only a small bit of cleverness. Who knows how the actual imperial examinations will turn out.”

Before Sister-in-law Shuyun could speak, Qin Shan piped up in confusion, “The county magistrate liked you so much—maybe he’ll just directly make you a xiucai! What could possibly go wrong?”

“Idiot!” Qin Hai kicked him and scolded with a stern face, “Is that the kind of nonsense you can spout carelessly?”

If an outsider heard it, wouldn’t it sound like favoritism and cheating? That was a crime that implicated the whole family.

Only then did Qin Shan realize his mistake. Annoyed with himself, he lightly slapped his own mouth twice.

“Exactly what Big Brother said.” Qin Fanghe continued. “Before the examination is over, candidates and examiners are not allowed to meet. Moreover, after the papers are submitted, they must first be copied out again in red ink by special clerks so that the handwriting is uniform before grading.”

This was to prevent the grading officials from recognizing handwriting and cheating.

Take Kong Ziqing earlier, or Qin Fanghe and the others now—Magistrate Zhou already knew their handwriting. If the papers were not recopied by someone else, he could casually mark his favorites as first-rank.

Or even if he had no intention of cheating, people naturally have likes and dislikes, he would unconsciously favor candidates he liked. Then there would be no fairness or justice at all.

Qin Shan and Sister-in-law Shuyun both had sudden realizations.

“But wait,” Qin Shan scratched his head in puzzlement, “if the papers are recopied anyway, why do you still have to practice calligraphy?”

Wouldn’t it be fine just to write legibly?

Qin Fanghe patiently explained, “Calligraphy is the mirror of a person. If the writing is poor, the paper won’t even be sent for recopying—it will be rejected outright. Moreover, grading requires the agreement of all the chief and deputy examiners before a final decision is stamped. After the first round of results, the original papers are brought out again and checked against the copied versions. Only when everything matches perfectly are the results announced.”

Before that, if any examiner has objections, he has the right to request that the original be brought out early for comparison. If more than half support it, it is done.

Even with all these efforts to prevent cheating, it still cannot be completely eliminated, because every person’s habits of wording and phrasing are different, which makes their writing style distinct.

Take Kong Ziqing and Qin Fanghe again—both wrote poems welcoming spring, yet one was ornate and gorgeous, grand and luxurious, the other was fresh and elegant, simple and unadorned. Anyone familiar with them could tell at a glance.

In the end, where in this world is there absolute fairness?