Purely by Accident – Chapter 27
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Soon, the imperial examination was just a few days away.
The Yan Empire had always valued scholarship highly. Much importance was therefore placed on the imperial examination, which was integral to selecting the new crop of officials who would become the bedrock of government. Copies of the royal proclamation giving notice of the examination had already been put up all over the capital, and a large troop of soldiers had been deployed to the examination hall to prevent all unauthorised persons from entering. Their presence only added to the tension in the air.
Nevertheless, I was perfectly calm. After all, I had the empress dowager on my side, Silly Girl was too busy making eyes at Rahul to pester me about my studies, and I had just recently made my feelings known to the princess. All this meant your dashing bandit chief’s path to the imperial examination ran as smoothly — and even a little triumphantly — as a springtime canter down a blossom-lined road.[1]
As the saying went, however, ‘the emperor may not be worried, but his eunuchs are worried to death’.[2] As the date of the examination approached, I frequently felt the urge to demand of Zheng Hao, ‘Are you sure you weren’t a eunuch in your past life, my good man?’
In truth, one could hardly fault me for the unkindness of the sentiment. Zheng Hao took the examination so seriously, and worked himself up so much over it, that it put me, the actual candidate, to shame over my own idleness. These grumblings were my only outlet.
First of all, Zheng Hao made full use of his role as my steward. With reckless abandon, he instructed the divinely gifted[3] chefs at my residence to work day and night, preparing all manner of nutritious tonics and fortifying dishes for me. These, however, proved too rich for your humble bandit chief’s blood; I was after all accustomed to the rough plain fare of my mountain stronghold. And so the bullfrogs stewed with lily bulbs and other delicacies so painstakingly concocted by my chefs met with only one fate: they came in, then they went straight out again the other way. After a few days of this torture — and after I’d done considerable damage to both the outhouse and the hearts of my hard-working chefs — Zheng Hao finally desisted.
But soon there was another dramatic incident. A rumour swept the city, claiming that a group of revolutionaries was plotting to strike while the examination was taking place, and they’d even had the audacity to give us a foretaste of their prowess. Overnight, every single copy of the royal proclamation concerning the imperial examination had been illicitly removed, and this had moreover been done with perfect stealth; not a single night watchman in the capital had been able to see what the perpetrator looked like.
When Rahul brought this news to me, I dabbed surreptitiously at the sweat that had sprung up on my forehead and went off in search of Zheng Hao. I found him by the hearth, happily feeding a stack of royal proclamations to the fire. He grinned broadly when he saw me; the rampant flames cast a brilliant glow over his features.
‘Xiao Hao, what are you doing?’ I asked feebly, a tremor in my voice.
He stuffed a handful of proclamations into my hands, gesturing for me to join him in burning them. ‘I-if I take down all the p-proclamations, f-fewer p-people will see them,’ he said, his expression intent, ‘and y-you’ll h-have fewer c-competitors.’
Oh, what an innocent he was.
Somewhat puzzled, I asked, ‘Xiao Hao, do you really want so much for me to do well?’
He looked over his shoulder and gave me an artless smile. ‘Mm. You’ve b-been g-good to me, y-young master, so I want g-good things for y-you too.’
Ah. Even my hardened bandit’s heart couldn’t help but soften a little at those simple words. I said nothing more, only clapped Zheng Hao on the shoulder and began to help him shovel stack after stack of proclamations onto the fire. And so a fiendishly hot afternoon passed.
Amid these ludicrous and rather bemusing incidents, the date of the imperial examination finally arrived. The day dawned fine and clear. Zheng Hao was up at an early hour, busying himself with incense and prayers. He asked for the blessings of my ancestors (and for all I knew, his own); not content with that, he then sought the intercession of various divinities, both celestial and phantasmal. The thought of such great forces being marshalled in support of my own petty ambitions made me feel rather uneasy, so when Zheng Hao suggested that he should accompany me to the examination hall, I did not turn him down.
The area just outside the examination hall was heaving: with candidates, with well-wishers, with hawkers, with gawking bystanders. All was abuzz with activity; it was the perfect picture of prosperous, flourishing city.
I gave an inward sigh, then took a step forward, intending to stride through the doors of the examination hall — then Zheng Hao held me back by tugging at my sleeve. When I turned to look at him, the miserable, anxious expression that met my gaze made me feel as though I were hurrying not towards the examination hall, but into my grave.
I sighed again, audibly this time, and tapped him lightly on the shoulder with my fan. ‘Be good, Xiao Hao. It’s just an examination after all. You need to have faith in me.’
At these words, Zheng Hao’s face fell even further, and his lip trembled. Then suddenly he reached out, slipped his arms under mine, and hugged me tightly. ‘Y-you can do it, y-young master!’ he whispered in my ear.
There was no evading Zheng Hao once he took it into his head to subject one to an embrace. When I finally recovered from the shock, all I could do was pat him stiffly on the back.
A young man standing nearby, dressed in scholar’s robes, looked over at us and for, no discernible reason, shivered. I gave him a brief, dry smile.
At the entrance to the examination hall, the guards searched me for contraband and inspected my identification plaque before finally allowing me to enter. Once inside, I felt that, as a candidate with a most august patron, I should make myself known to the chief examination official. So I sought out the most prosperous-looking of the middle-aged men standing at the front of the examination hall, bowed to him, cleared my throat, and said, ‘Greetings, Your Excellency. My name is Wei Zisong.’
To ensure he heard me clearly, I placed deliberate emphasis on the last three syllables. To my surprise, however, he only stared at me blankly. Then a few moments later, he was all smiles again. ‘Greetings, Young Master Wei. Chen Rujin, at your service. I am the proprietor of Sijin Bao Emporium, the official partner for this year’s national-level imperial examination. Ours is a well-established brand; you’re welcome to come by our shop any time.’
Feeling rather foolish, I took a couple of steps backwards. Then I heard a clattering sound, as if someone had dropped something. ‘Zisong, Wei Zisong, it really is you!’ said a voice behind me.
I turned, and saw that it was the young scholar I’d noticed earlier — the one who’d shivered. At his feet lay an inkstone, brushes, sticks of ink and sheets of paper, all in a jumbled pile.[4] His eyes were fixed on me, and his expression was a blend of surprise and delight.
I searched carefully through my memory, but was still unable to think who he might be. I settled for smiling politely and cupping my hands before me in a gesture of acknowledgement. ‘Have you mistaken me for someone else, young master?’
The young scholar swayed slightly from side to side The mingled surprise and delight on his face became despondency. ‘You really don’t recognise me?’ he mumbled.
I felt rather at a loss. He was certainly behaving as if he knew me, but his face was completely unfamiliar. ‘Could you please tell me your name?’ I asked tentatively. ‘I’m rather forgetful by nature; perhaps hearing your name will jog my memory.’
‘Lin Haiyuan,’ he said.
I remained at a loss.
His lips drew back in a mirthless smile. The sun shone into the room, making the tip of the canine tooth that peeked out just beneath his upper lip gleam with an almost supernatural brightness. I was momentarily dazed. ‘Little Tiger?’ I blurted.
His smile became a happy one. In that deep green changshan, with that air of quiet elegance, he looked every inch the scholar — and so obviously Little Tiger. How could I have missed it?
Faced with this old friend in a distant land,[5] I was suddenly reminded of the piece of water-boiled beef from that fateful evening. Rubbing my throat, I asked cautiously, ‘I… your mother isn’t here, is she?’
He gave a start, then a somewhat self-conscious expression crossed his face. ‘No, she isn’t.’ After a pause, he went on uncertainly, ‘Zisong, just now… outside… you and that… after so many years, you’re still…’
I had no idea what he was trying to say with those stuttering half-sentences, nor was I in any state of mind to figure it out, because at that very moment, a gong rang out, signalling the start of proceedings. All of us candidates took our places, and the examination began.
The instructions were set out very clearly. All candidates were required to produce three pieces of work: a commentary on current events; an analytical account of the political issues of the day, including proposed solutions; and an eight-legged essay.[6] I read over the questions in silence, and had absolutely no idea how to start answering them. All I could do agonise.
At the next desk, however, Lin Haiyuan was writing away furiously.
A fit of absent-mindedness came over me, and I found myself thinking of our youthful days back at the academy. At the time, I’d overcome some of my deep-seated resistance towards studying, but still had no fondness for it. Each time the teacher set us an essay, I would spend a good long while grimacing miserably at the question, during which time Lin Haiyuan would have finished writing his answer. Then I would unceremoniously shove my blank book in front of him; he, good-natured soul that he was, would smile, take up my book, and begin writing diligently in it, just as he was doing now. At those moments, I would often find myself gazing at his profile, lost to everything else.
Back then, I’d truly been as pure and innocent as a blank sheet of paper.
I was just sighing inwardly over this when one of the invigilators came up to me and knocked sharply on my desk. ‘Time is passing quickly, candidate. I suggest you make full use of it, and begin writing down your answers.’
I felt rather embarrassed. How could I have been caught daydreaming again? That was one youthful habit I’d clearly been unable to break myself of. At that juncture, Lin Haiyuan glanced over and smiled at me warmly; irritably, I looked away and continued frowning down at the questions.
A few moments later, a piece of paper, folded into a neat little square, flew towards me from Lin Haiyuan’s direction and landed on my desk. I stole a quick glance at the invigilator to make sure his attention was elsewhere, then swiftly unfolded the paper. Written tidily on it were three essays: a commentary on current events, an analytical account of the political issues of the day, and an eight-legged essay. When I glanced over at Lin Haiyuan, the rascal was looking studiously down at his desk. His eyes never met mine, but there was a little smile on his face — with his canine tooth just peeking out — and there was an air of mischief about the way he was moving his brush across the page.
Putting my head back down, I began copying out the essays. Inwardly, I forgave his mother for the scene she’d caused at my father’s manor all those years ago.
Just as I finished copying out the last word of the third essay, the chief examination official announced that the examination was now over. I handed in my answers, then skipped cheerfully up to Lin Haiyuan. He was packing up his things, getting ready to leave. ‘Thanks, Xiao Lin Zi!’ I said, giving him a playful punch on the shoulder.
His face opened up into a smile. ‘You’re still the same as ever, Zisong. You pull that long face every time you’re told to write an essay.’
‘There’s no help for it,’ I said, as we made our way out of the examination hall, walking side by side. ‘They do say the child is the father of the man, after all. Studying is the kind of thing you need some talent for.’
‘That’s why I was puzzled when I saw you earlier,’ said Lin Haiyuan. ‘So I didn’t come up to speak to you immediately. I thought, you used to hate studying so much, why would you think of taking the imperial examination at all?’
I thought of the princess, and the corners of my mouth curved involuntarily into a smile. ‘To win an official position, so that I can take a wife.’
He turned, giving me the fleetest of glances, and said nothing more.
We stepped out of the examination hall’s main doors. I was about to bid Lin Haiyuan farewell when I saw that he was staring at me. His mouth open and shut soundlessly; he seemed to be on the verge of saying something, but couldn’t quite bring himself to utter the words.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
Lin Haiyuan’s lips twitched a few times. Then he forced out a question, seemingly with great difficulty. ‘Just now, before the start of the examination, you and that fair-skinned young gentleman… what are you to each other?’
That would have been a perfectly ordinary question, but the peculiar look on Lin Haiyuan’s face made me think more deeply on it than I would otherwise have done. My mind swept through multiple twists and turns of reasoning, and noted that his eyes were looking everywhere except at mine. In a flash of illumination, your brilliant bandit chief had the truth: it seemed that I was not the only one who had been traumatised by the farce of the cut-sleeve that had played itself out at my father’s manor all those years ago.
Feeling rather amused, I decided that some light raillery was in order. ‘What are we to each other? What do you mean?’ I teased. ‘Why, I remember all those years ago—’
But before I could even begin to recount what had happened all those years ago, Lin Haiyuan had seized my hand urgently. ‘Zisong, I’ve been wanting to apologise for what happened all those years ago. My mother, she—’ He paused, and a look of entreaty came into his eyes. ‘I’ve always known how you felt about me. All these years, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. Just now, during the examination, I saw you gazing at me, and I knew you still feel the same way.’
What?
The childish fancy I’d thought eternally dormant was now bursting forth into full bloom, but all I wanted to do was scream. Gazing at you? I was only staring absent-mindedly into space, out of pure habit! ‘I knew you still feel the same way’ — same way, my ass!
Then a voice rang out somewhere close to me. ‘Apologies, young master. I’m afraid you’re too late. Wei Zisong already belongs to me.’
I looked in the direction of the speaker. It was the princess, dressed once again in men’s clothes. Her long sleeves fluttered in the breeze, and she looked as ridiculously handsome as if she had stepped out of a painting.[7]
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Footnotes:
- In the original text, 春风得意马蹄疾, which can be translated more or less literally as ‘the spring wind is exultant; the horse’s hooves are swift’. This line originates from the shi poem ‘After the Imperial Examination’ (登科后) by the Tang Dynasty poet Meng Jiao (孟郊). It describes the poet’s triumphant joy upon passing the imperial examination fairly late in life at the age of forty-six.[return to text]
- In Chinese, 皇帝不急, 急死太监. This saying describes a scenario where the person involved in a particular incident or matter is fairly relaxed and unconcerned, but observers around them are anxious and keen to offer solutions.[return to text]
- In the original text, 鬼斧神工, literally ‘axe of ghost, work of god’. This chengyu originates from the Zhuangzi (see footnote 5 to Chapter 14) and describes a piece of craftsmanship so excellent that it does not seem as if it had been made by a human hand.[return to text]
- In the original text, 文房四宝, literally ‘four treasures of the study’, an expression used to denote the brush, ink, paper and inkstone used in Chinese and other East Asian calligraphic traditions.[return to text]
- In Chinese, 他乡遇故知. This saying originates from Tales from the Study at Rong (容斋随笔), a collection of vernacular tales compiled by Hong Mai (洪迈), a statesman and scholar who lived during the Southern Song Dynasty. Meeting an old friend in a distant land is listed as one of the four great joys in life, the other three being rain after a long drought, one’s wedding night, and succeeding in the imperial examination. [return to text]
- In Chinese, 八股文, literally ‘eight bone text’. A specific type of essay required of candidates for the imperial examination. Its basic structure, from which candidates were not permitted to deviate, consisted of eight sections (or ‘bones’ or ‘legs’): ‘breaking open the topic’ (破题), ‘receiving the topic’ (承题), ‘beginning the discussion’ (起讲), ‘initial leg’ (起股), ‘middle leg’ (中股), ‘later leg’ (后股), ‘final leg’ (束股), ‘conclusion’ (大结). [return to text]
- In the original text, 眉目如画. See footnote 4 to Chapter 1. [return to text]
douqi 随笔 