Traveling Through Ancient Times to Be a Teacher - Chapter 44

“Magistrate Yang, what’s all this commotion outside? I heard shouting about unfairness—what’s going on?”

The chief examiner, followed by several invigilators, arrived at the county office. Since the matter concerned their reputation, they naturally wanted to get to the bottom of it.

“Honored sirs,” the adviser stepped forward to report, “it’s like this—Yuanshan County’s candidate, Fang Jinyang, ranked first in the prefectural examination. Some others find this result questionable.”

The examiners relaxed slightly. They had reviewed Fang Jinyang’s paper themselves; his placement had been decided collectively—there couldn’t possibly be an issue.

“In that case,” said the chief examiner, striking the table, “post his paper publicly. Let them see for themselves whether or not he deserves first place.”

“Yes, sir.”

Normally, the top three prefectural papers were displayed for public viewing, but the copies hadn’t yet been neatly transcribed, so Yuanshan County had refrained from doing so. Now that the order was given, they immediately posted Fang Jinyang’s original.

“Everyone, quiet down! This is the county yamen—an official government office! Do you think this is a place for rabble-rousing?” shouted the scribe, stepping out to paste the papers.

“Sir, it’s not that we wish to cause trouble,” a scholar said, bowing respectfully, “but we can’t reconcile this injustice in our hearts. The county and prefectural exams are meant to seek talent, yet one man’s results are so drastically different between the two. We are simple-minded folk; please help us understand.”

“I’ll explain at once,” said the scribe. “Here are the top three prefectural exam papers. Read them for yourselves before you speak further.”

He pasted the papers on the wall. The crowd surged forward to look.

The Classics interpretation and mathematical problems were flawless. The regulated verse was balanced and expressive, the essay sharp and eloquent, every phrase rich in meaning—truly outstanding.

If such a paper couldn’t take first place, who could?

The noisy crowd fell silent—save for one voice.

“This Fang Jinyang,” said a scholar coldly, “placed last in the county exam. How could he suddenly write so brilliantly? What—he gained divine enlightenment in a few days? Unless, of course, he knew the questions beforehand.”

The scribe’s face paled—disaster. This man wasn’t seeking truth but stirring chaos. They’d started by shouting “unfair,” and now they were hinting at cheating—clear troublemakers.

At last, the county magistrate himself emerged with several officials in tow. His stern gaze swept across the square, and the noise died at once.

“I hear someone is accusing this year’s prefectural examination of corruption,” he said coldly. “I couldn’t sit still after that. Let’s hear it. Other than Yuanshan County’s Fang Jinyang, do you suspect anyone else? Speak up now.”

No one did. The other candidates’ rankings had shifted only slightly—none as drastically as Jinyang’s.

“Bring out the county exam papers,” ordered the magistrate.

A clerk hurried off and soon returned with the sealed red packets. The magistrate broke one open before the crowd and posted Fang Jinyang’s county paper beside the others.

Gasps rippled through the onlookers. The paper was impressive—hardly the work of a poor student. Only a careful observer noticed what the graders had mentioned before: one question left blank.

And with that, the crowd found their rallying cry. “He skipped a question! That’s contempt for the examination itself! How could such a man have passed at all?”

The magistrate sneered. “Fang Jinyang of Yong’an Town—is he present?”

“Student present.” Jinyang stepped calmly from the crowd and bowed respectfully. “This student is Fang Jinyang of Yong’an Town.”

The magistrate nodded. The boy’s composure was impressive; not a flicker of panic under all those eyes.

“Explain to everyone why you left one question unanswered.”

“Yes, sir. I am ashamed. My health has always been frail. Every year around this time, the change of weather gives me chills and fever. On the day of the county exam, I was already burning with fever. My head swam, my vision blurred, and in that confusion I missed one problem—not by intent or disrespect. I beg your pardon.”

“You persisted despite illness—commendable,” said the magistrate. “This wasn’t contempt, but exhaustion. Our dynasty governs with benevolence; should we not show lenience to a diligent man? Especially when his essay outshone most of yours?”

“But what if, in the future,” another voice cut in, “students who can’t answer claim illness as an excuse? Wouldn’t that make a mockery of fairness?”

Chu Ci, standing at the edge of the crowd, recognized the tone immediately—an agitator, and not a simple one.

“And who are you?” demanded the magistrate, turning his glare on the man who had spoken.

“Student Zhao Zhaoming of Qinghe Town,” he announced loudly, making sure everyone heard his name.

So that was it. If he could turn this into a scandal, people would hail him as the fearless truth-teller who challenged authority. Chu Ci’s lips thinned. Such self-serving “righteousness” disgusted him.

Just as the magistrate was about to lash out, Chu Ci stepped forward. “Your Excellency, this humble student also has something to say.”

“And who are you?” The magistrate’s patience was thinning fast. Another meddler?

“Student Chu Ci of Changxi Village, at your service.”

The name caused a stir. Nearly every scholar in Yuanshan County knew it—author of the Cihai Question Compendium, and a man once falsely accused in a cheating case himself.

The magistrate’s expression softened. He remembered this one—clever, prudent, and not prone to trouble.

“No need for formalities. Speak your mind.”

Chu Ci faced the crowd and said evenly, “Brothers, in truth, I agree there has been injustice.”

The magistrate’s face darkened; Zhao Zhaoming smirked.

“But,” Chu Ci continued, “the injustice lies not with you, but with Fang Jinyang .”

The crowd blinked in confusion. The magistrate’s eyes gleamed with amusement—he understood now where this was going.

“You all know the county examination system,” Chu Ci went on. “The Classics passage must be perfect—one error and you’re disqualified. The Nine-Chapter Problems were added after our founding emperor took the throne. Before then, scholars learned only composition, not calculation, so His Majesty decreed that solving any two of three questions would suffice. Is that not so?”

Murmurs of assent rippled through the scholars.

“Now, look again at Brother Fang’s paper. His poems and essays surpass most. He solved two of three problems correctly—yet was ranked last. Does that make sense?”

The magistrate’s faint smile deepened.

“The truth is this,” Chu Ci said clearly. “Those ranked above him were less skilled, yet diligent. His Excellency, being merciful, could not bear to discourage them. So he placed Fang Jinyang last—not to punish him, but to remind him not to grow careless. The ranking was a lesson, not condemnation. His Excellency cherishes talent, thinks for all of you—how can you repay such benevolence with chaos and accusation? That, gentlemen, would be the real injustice.”

Zhao Zhaoming’s mouth opened twice, but no words came. He could find no point to refute.

The others quickly bowed and cried out, “Your Excellency is wise and kind! We were ignorant—please forgive our foolishness!”

“Forgive?” the magistrate laughed. “We’re all one family, are we not? Even teeth knock against the lips sometimes. Think nothing of it!”

Laughter spread through the square. The tension dissolved into warmth.

Zhao Zhaoming’s face turned ashen. He glared at Chu Ci before slinking away. Today’s attempt had failed, and worse—he had offended the magistrate. Thankfully, he had already passed the lower exams; otherwise, he’d be finished.

As the crowd dispersed, Chu Ci left with Zhang Wenhai and Fang Jinyang . The latter looked deeply grateful; Wenhai looked exhilarated.

“Brother Chu, for a moment I thought you were taking that man’s side! You should’ve seen Zhao Zhaoming’s face—it was darker than ink! I nearly laughed out loud!”

“Indeed,” said Fang Jinyang, smiling wryly. “Without Brother Chu’s words, I’d have been condemned before I could even speak. After the academy exam, I’m going to a temple to purify my luck.”

“First, allow me to congratulate you,” said Chu Ci, clasping his hands. “With the prefectural top score, you’re already a registered scholar. If you take first in the academy exam too, that’ll make you a Minor Double Laureate.”

A prefectural first was guaranteed to pass the academy test. Even if he didn’t sit, he was already officially a Xiucai, a recognized scholar. His hardships had finally borne fruit.

“Lucky you, Jinyang,” said Zhang Wenhai. “I still have to take one more test tomorrow.”

“The academy exam is the easiest. You ranked thirty-second in the prefectural—there’s no reason you won’t pass.” Chu Ci patted his shoulder. “Just don’t do anything foolish.”

When they returned to the academy, the Children’s Hall was just about to dismiss. Chu Ci went to wait at the gate—and there, he ran into Steward Xu, carrying two bulging bundles.

Normally, outsiders weren’t allowed inside, and even if he tried, Xu wouldn’t dare—he feared that if he saw the little master crying, he’d lose his resolve and take him home.

“Ah, Scholar Chu! Perfect timing. These parcels are for you—three portions altogether. Don’t forget to take them later.”

The two large bundles at his feet were stuffed full, clearly heavy.

“There’s no need for such courtesy, Steward Xu. You only need to bring Young Friend Zhongli’s things.”

“Scholar Chu, don’t tease me. Asking you to care for my young master was already presumptuous of me. That complaint from the other scholar last time—I didn’t handle it properly and troubled you. This is but a small token of thanks.”

“It’s nothing,” Chu Ci replied. “Even if Brother Kou hadn’t helped me before, since his nephew and my own are classmates, I would still look after them.”

“Ah, about my master,” said Xu with a smile. “When I wrote to him about all this, he grew quite angry—said I’d handled it poorly. He even wrote you a letter himself, to apologize.”

From his sleeve, he produced another sealed letter.

Chu Ci blinked. Addicted to writing, is he?

“My master also said,” Xu went on, “since you never replied to his first letter, he worried he had been too presumptuous. If it’s convenient for you, could you perhaps write him back?”

The steward’s tone was so humble that Chu Ci couldn’t bring himself to refuse. Besides, he admired Kou Jingjing’s character—upright and sincere.

So he smiled faintly and said, “Very well. What harm is there in exchanging letters with a friend?”