Chapter Forty-Five: The Scientific Expedition

The next morning after breakfast, Banxia and Gansui visited the county magistrate again, bringing up Anzi’s household registration. Banxia had never paid much attention to this matter until Gansui reminded her—after all, in ancient times, household registration was even more important than one’s life. Without it, one was a nameless drifter, and if killed, no one would so much as ask a question.

Thanks to Gansui’s guarantee and his clear explanation of the circumstances, Anzi’s registration was resolved swiftly. The young boy now had a formal name: Jiang Zi’an. Gansui had asked Banxia whether Anzi should take her surname, Su, but after some thought she declined. The grandfather who had risked his life to protect Anzi was surnamed Jiang, and that was not something Anzi should ever forget.

The New Year passed quickly. On the twenty-first day of the first month, Gansui and Lin You had to begin attending the academy. Fortunately, Banxia’s home was close to the school, and because of Gansui’s relationship with the headmaster, he only needed to attend classes during the day and could return home at night. Lin You was not so lucky. His teacher, Mr. Chuan, had already informed the academy’s staff that his disciple was of mediocre talent and needed strict training. The teachers were dedicated and kept a close watch on him. Within half a month, the weight Lin You had gained during the New Year quickly melted away under the pressure.

Banxia felt sorry for him and prepared delicious food for both him and Gansui every day, which was a small comfort to Lin You. The hard work paid off, however, and Lin You’s grades improved rapidly. He was even praised by the teachers a couple of times, which left him giddy with pride.

In early spring, young Anzi also asked to enter school. When Banxia asked why he suddenly wanted to go, he replied mysteriously that it was a secret between him and his brother-in-law, a pact between two men.

Banxia snorted at that. She remembered how, not long ago, he would cling to her neck and say she was his favorite in the whole world. Now that Gansui was back, he turned his back on her without a second thought. How heartless!

Still, as soon as Banxia saw Anzi’s smiling face, she couldn’t help but dote on him. Knowing he was about to start school, she spent several days making him a school bag. Gansui was almost drowned in jealousy because of this, and only settled down after extracting a good deal of adult-only “benefits” from Banxia. For days afterward, Banxia’s lips ached at every meal—Gansui was a beast.

When word spread that Anzi was going to school, Xiaozhuzi clamored to go as well. His parents were eager for him to succeed and rushed with Banxia to sign him up. Xiaolinzi wanted to attend too, but the teacher informed them that girls could not enroll. She burst into tears at the school gates, and it took Anzi a long time to console her.

Time flew by, and before they knew it, July had arrived. There was just a month left before Gansui would have to take the provincial exam.

This summer was not especially hot, but Banxia felt restless inside. Gansui noticed and, without exposing her, simply tried even harder to put her at ease.

“I heard all the inns in the city are full. An upper room now goes for three taels of silver, and even a spot in a communal room costs a big copper coin,” Xiaozhuzi’s mother, Mrs. Qian, said, taking advantage of a lull in business to chat with Banxia.

“That expensive?” Banxia was astonished. Three taels of silver was like a couple thousand yuan in modern times, and the accommodations were nothing compared to hotels today.

“That’s right. It’s a blessing just to have a roof over your head. Those who can’t afford an inn have to squeeze into abandoned temples. With such an important exam, if you fall ill, everything is lost.”

Banxia was relieved she and Gansui had a house in the city. If they’d had to rent at the last minute like everyone else, it would have been truly nerve-wracking. She felt as though their starting line was already ahead of the others.

Outside, there was a commotion as a large group of scholars passed by. Mrs. Qian grabbed one of them. “Young man, what’s going on?”

The man, clearly impatient, replied, “The great scholars of Cloud Hidden Academy are about to give a public lecture at the foot of the academy’s mountain. Aside from their own students, the first hundred arrivals can go in and listen. Don’t hold me up, I need to get a spot.” With that, he shook off Mrs. Qian’s hand and dashed off.

“What kind of person is that? No manners at all,” Mrs. Qian said, rubbing her hand.

“Don’t blame him, Sister Qian. He’s just eager to attend the lecture. The Cloud Hidden Academy has always had a good sense of what the examiners look for—a little guidance there can be invaluable. They’re not just grabbing a seat, they’re grabbing their future.”

Soon, the first hundred were let into the academy, and those behind sighed in disappointment but stayed put at the gates. Even sitting on the ground outside, as long as they could hear, it was worth it.

“But Scholar Gan doesn’t have to worry about things like this…” Mrs. Qian tugged at Banxia’s sleeve. “Scholar Gan is the headmaster’s most favored disciple. He’s surely received all the guidance he needs. You’re a lucky woman, Mrs. Su—soon you’ll be the wife of a provincial graduate.”

Banxia only smiled, unsure of how to reply. Only now did she truly understand the mindset of parents caring for exam candidates: worried about their children’s results, yet afraid to let them see that anxiety. It was enough to drive anyone to distraction.

As the exam drew near, Banxia was ever more careful not to disturb Gansui. Despite his reassurances, she insisted on moving to stay with Anzi, claiming she didn’t want to disrupt his rest. Gansui’s resentment was nearly palpable, but Banxia gritted her teeth and left anyway.

That night, Banxia tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Beside her, Anzi slept soundly, curled up like a little piglet in pajamas designed by Banxia and made by the Qian family. The pajamas were styled after modern loungewear, embroidered with little frogs. In the heat of summer, the hem had ridden up, exposing his pale, round belly. Banxia poked him, but Anzi only rolled over and continued sleeping.

She pulled the cool blanket over his stomach and went downstairs for a glass of water. Feeling warm, and seeing the cool breeze and bright moon in the courtyard, she wandered out to sit on the swing and cool off. The swing had been built by Gansui for Xiaolinzi. Despite his usual aloofness, he was endlessly patient with children. Banxia, if she dirtied her clothes, would be met with his disdain, but even if Xiaolinzi came running to him covered in mud, he would still pick her up.

“Can’t sleep?” a voice asked suddenly behind her.

Startled, Banxia turned to see Gansui. “You gave me a fright! What are you doing here?”

“I was reading, saw someone in the courtyard, and came down to check. Couldn’t sleep?”

“I slept a bit, woke up thirsty, and came down for water. The courtyard looked cool, so I thought I’d sit outside. You’re studying this late?”

“Uncle Yun mentioned a point today that I hadn’t noticed before, so I wanted to give it more thought. Before I knew it, it was so late.”

“Is it exhausting, all this studying?”

“It really is.” Gansui stood behind Banxia, bending down to wrap his arms around her. “I remember the first time I went to Fengzhou for a literary conference. That region is renowned for its culture—scholars everywhere, and many great intellectuals hail from there. The headmaster of the academy there was always at odds with our own. As soon as we arrived, we were challenged to numerous contests. The teachers themselves didn’t dare to compete, so they pushed me into the fray. I remember for half a month, I slept barely more than an hour a night, my mind stretched tight every day. After all that effort, I lost the first match…”

Banxia patted his hand in sympathy. In her eyes, Gansui had always been the godlike boy with a golden touch; it was hard to imagine him ever losing.

“But it doesn’t matter. In the end, we still won. So really, Banxia, it’s all right. The provincial exam is just another test. Whether I do well or not, it won’t make much difference in my life. If all else fails, we can go into business. We could sail overseas, maybe even visit present-day England—who knows, we might even bump into Shakespeare from another world.”

Banxia couldn’t help but relax at his words. That night, with the cool breeze and the bright moon, the two of them leaned on each other in the quiet.

Banxia thought the headmaster and Mr. Chuan would return for the exam, but in the end, neither did. Gansui wasn’t surprised—those two were always free-spirited, likely lingering somewhere along their journey, distracted by interesting sights and stories.

The provincial exam, also called the Autumn Imperial Examination, consisted of three sessions, each lasting three days. In other words, candidates had to stay in the examination hall for a total of nine days. The exam hall was a special compound in the provincial capital known as the Tribute Academy—a walled courtyard with watchtowers at each corner, soldiers on the platforms, and surveillance as thorough as modern security cameras, covering every inch of the grounds.

Inside the Tribute Academy were the examination cells—the candidates’ test rooms—one per person. These cells were arranged in long parallel rows, each row twenty or thirty meters long and divided into a dozen or so tiny compartments. There were no doors or windows, and candidates had to eat, drink, and relieve themselves in that narrow space. Just thinking about it made Banxia uncomfortable, let alone the thought of Gansui having to endure it. She packed food and stationery for him and accompanied him to the exam gates.

A long line had already formed at the entrance, with candidates both young and old—some Gansui’s age, others with hair already white and faces etched with deep wrinkles. Every candidate had to undergo a thorough search, stripping off clothes and shoes to prevent cheating. Banxia looked on—what a scene, all that pale flesh! Gansui quickly shielded her eyes, “What are you looking at? Your husband is right here, you know.” Honestly…

“Oh please, I’ve seen plenty in modern times. These scrawny chickens are nothing to look at.”

Gansui: Hmph, as if she’s qualified to judge.

“Gan, Gan—here I am!” Lin You came running. Banxia had worried he’d come unprepared, so she had packed an extra set of supplies. Sure enough…

“You came empty-handed?”

“My mother didn’t know what to pack, and my father’s been away on a case for days. Besides, I knew Banxia would get it ready for me.” Lin You beamed, all brotherly camaraderie.

Banxia almost regretted giving him anything.

It was considered unlucky for women to enter the Tribute Academy, so Gansui insisted Banxia stay in the carriage. Once they arrived, he told her to head home. Seeing there was no reason to stay, Banxia told the driver to turn back.

The pre-exam inspection was strict. Candidates had to wear seam-ripped clothing, single-layer shoes and socks, and could only bring certain items: a test basket, a small stool, food—cut into pieces—an inkstone no thicker than a certain size, a hollowed-out writing brush holder, limited charcoal—every measure was taken to prevent cheating.

After the inspection, Gansui glanced up at the sun hanging high overhead. Inside, all was silent, the noise of the outside world kept at bay. He took a deep breath and quickly found his assigned cell. In the years to come, countless books would record the story of the youngest Grand Chancellor in the history of the Great Yun Dynasty, and his brilliant life would begin right here.