Chapter 31: The Provincial Examination

The provincial examination, also known as the Autumn Examination or the Autumn Trials, serves as the gateway for candidates to become prospective government officials, marking the beginning of a professional career in the imperial bureaucracy. Naturally, the ideal path involves proceeding to the Metropolitan Examination held in the capital the following year; the starting point for an official who has attained the rank of Jinshi differs significantly from one who merely holds the status of Juren. Most Juren begin their careers at the eighth or ninth rank, whereas even the lowest-ranking Jinshi starts at the seventh rank.

The topics for this provincial examination were set by the Ministry of Rites, with chief examiners for each province handpicked by the Emperor. This year, the chief examiner for Li Yu and his peers is Li Xu, a spirited seventy-nine-year-old who reportedly began his service at the Ministry of Rites during the founding of the dynasty, laboring for fifty years before finally ascending to the position of Vice Minister of Rites.

Above the main gate of the examination compound hung a grand plaque inscribed with the characters "Gongyuan" (Examination Hall). Even the lanterns had been replaced with ones bearing the same characters, and the perimeter was cordoned off by soldiers and "No Admittance" signs. The atmosphere was heavy with solemnity and strict security, far exceeding that of any previous examination.

Wu Jingcheng was quite dejected by this. "Zi Xuan," he lamented, "I hear we aren't even allowed to go to the latrines. If we do, our scores will be voided." It had been much more pleasant during the county examinations, where the examiners didn't mind how often one visited the latrines. Now, not even once? What was he to do? Following his father's instructions, he had formed a lifelong habit of needing to relieve himself at exactly a quarter past the hour of Chen (7:15 AM).

"You're only realizing this now?" Li Yu retorted, speechless. "Haven't you heard Master Xie say it hundreds, if not thousands, of times over the years?" Li Yu had personally forced himself to shift to a once-a-week schedule, though the provincial examination would span nine days and six nights. "Whatever, as long as it's solid and not liquid, it’ll have to do."

Unlike the candidates in television dramas, laden with bags and bundles, these examinees arrived empty-handed. They were prohibited from bringing bedding, food, or even a single brush. It is said that four hundred years ago, the imperial examination was not like this; candidates had to prepare their own bedding and even their own food. However, during the reign of the previous dynasty's Shizong, a scandal of earth-shattering proportions occurred. A candidate had hollowed out a brush handle to conceal a cheat sheet. Although he was eventually caught, the Emperor was so infuriated that he mandated all candidates enter the examination hall with absolutely nothing.

What about brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones? The candidates were required to pay an upfront fee for stationery, bedding, and three daily meals, with all supplies provided by the imperial court. This effectively minimized opportunities for cheating. Li Yu alone had paid two strings of cash for the examination fee. He wondered if, having paid so much, he might actually get some meat with his meals.

When Li Yu ate his first lunch in the examination hall, his lingering hope finally died. Meat? There was nothing but a steamed bun and a bowl of warm water—not even a single leafy green vegetable in sight. Li Yu took a deep breath. He had paid so much, and this was all they fed him? Whose pockets were all those fees lining? While this arrangement certainly reduced the chances of cheating, hadn't it vastly increased the opportunities for officials to line their own pockets? Li Yu took a fierce bite of his steamed bun and secretly vowed that once he became a high-ranking official, the first thing he would do was investigate whether these "upright and noble" examiners were embezzling public funds.

As mentioned before, the topics set for the imperial examinations reflect the current state of a nation. In his previous life, Li Yu had studied history. For instance, during the reign of the Chongzhen Emperor, one of the palace examination questions was: "The Eastern Barbarians were once our subjects, with narrow lands and few people. Yet, how is it that once they took up arms, the Three Han kingdoms could not hold them back? Furthermore, with rebels spreading for so long and the treasury empty, those who speak do not consider the national interest, always proposing tax cuts. The court is well aware that the people are the foundation of the state, but how can we both succor the people and provide for the army simultaneously?"

These questions addressed the internal and external dilemmas facing the court, seeking talented individuals to provide remedies for the nation’s ills. Although the provincial examination was not set by the Emperor himself, the topics were generally crafted by the examiners or those in the power center, based on the country's problems and the court's anxieties. The examination paper in Li Yu's hands, however, focused primarily on moral requirements and loyalty to the throne. Regarding statecraft, only the essay on famine relief could be considered a test of practical ability.

He understood now! The aged Emperor likely had little time left, and feeling anxious about having named such a young grandson as his heir, he was trying to scout out a few loyal ministers to protect his beloved grandson. With this interpretation of the Emperor's intent, Li Yu began to write. He found this test simpler than the one set by Wang Zhixiu, which had truly challenged the candidates' actual talent. This time, however... it was just a matter of sycophancy. Everyone knew how to flatter; it was merely a competition of who could flatter more skillfully and appropriately, and whose writing style was slightly superior.

But how could he stand out? How could he become one of the fifty candidates to make the final list out of over sixteen hundred? Li Yu’s gaze fell upon the question regarding famine relief. He felt that to distinguish himself from a crowd of sycophants, this was the question to master. In truth, the Great Yong’s disaster relief procedures were rigorous, even accounting for the travel expenses of officials. Yet, when the Northwest suffered a great drought last year, the people, unable to bear the hunger, still rose in rebellion.

Why? The problem lay with the people executing the relief process. The Ministry of Revenue's budget was intended to ensure disaster victims had enough to eat, new housing, and medical care. By the time it reached the local officials, it was only enough to distribute a little thin gruel—and it was uncertain whether the victims even received that. This was because the court’s supervisory system had failed.

First, the wrong people were being selected. Most Censors were chosen from the Jinshi rank. While it is true that Jinshi are talented, they are often either well-versed in literature but lacking in administrative experience, or they are power-hungry and greedy. Those of true integrity who fear no death are few and far between. Look at Wu Jingcheng, who aspires to be a Censor; before even attaining the position, he was already thinking about how to shield his classmates from corruption charges.

Second, power was too fragmented. The Great Yong inherited the supervisory system of the Great Xin. The founding emperor of the Great Xin seemed much like a fellow traveler from another world, as most of his systems mirrored those of the Ming Dynasty’s Old Zhu. Why say "seemed" rather than "certain"? Because he hadn't abolished the chancellorship. If Li Yu had become emperor, he certainly would have abolished it. Unless... that fellow traveler was the Chancellor himself? The Censorate, the Six Ministries, and the thirteen circuits of Censors all operated within their own silos, independent of one another. Local inspecting Censors, while nominally under the authority of the Censorate, held real power and often acted in defiance of orders.

Third, there was a lack of oversight. While it was well and good for Censors to inspect officials, who was there to inspect the Censors? The Great Yong had no Jinyiwei, no Eastern or Western Depots, not even a body similar to the Imperial City Guard. This led Li Yu to believe even more firmly that his fellow traveler was definitely not the Emperor. If one had traveled to become the Emperor, they surely would have established a secret police force.

For nine days and six nights, Li Yu ate nothing but steamed buns, with a bit of pickled vegetables at lunch. He felt as though he had become a steamed bun himself; his face was pale, and his eyes were dull from the lack of meat. Still, he was faring better than others. During these nine days and six nights, some candidates suffered from diarrhea or fell ill from prolonged exposure to the "unmentionable" fertilizer in the latrines, forcing them to give up and be carried out. Even Ning Yuan, who usually appeared as steady as a mountain, looked utterly frail.

Li Yu had thoroughly critiqued the Great Yong's supervisory system in his exam paper, which felt quite satisfying. However, this caused great distress for the examiners. It wasn't that the court's systems couldn't be criticized, but rather that a single question kept echoing in their minds: "Did this kid go off-topic?"