Every examination hall was arranged identically.
Left and right, adding up to approximately fifty compartments in total.
Like stalls in a food court, or like small booths at a buffet. But the difference was that they were completely open.
In front of every five examination rooms stood a capital clerk on duty, equivalent to an examination proctor.
Inside the examination hall, the only thing you could bring was dry rations.
Before entering their examination room, the capital clerk would inspect the dry rations to prevent smuggling.
Fuck, forgot to check the bundle.
It wasn't that he thought his mother would harm him.
He just feared Jiang-shi might pull some dramatic stunt, wrapping a slip of paper in each flatbread with some motherly encouragement written on it—"Son, do your best!"
Being discovered with smuggled materials meant immediate disqualification from the examination, and being banned from participating in the imperial examinations for life—even stricter punishment than the gaokao.
Fortunately, when the capital clerk opened the bundle and broke apart each flatbread one by one, he found nothing unusual.
Then he let Song Shi'an enter the examination room marked with his name plate.
In the cramped examination room, a reed mat was laid on the floor, with a standard writing desk on the mat. The desk held uniform brushes, ink, blank draft paper, and examination paper that was emphasized to be non-replaceable.
Yes, even the examination draft paper would be collected and filed—it was extremely important.
Beside the desk was also a water bucket with a long wooden ladle inside, for drinking water during the examination.
For almost an entire day, the examinee's eating, drinking, and resting all took place here, until the examination ended.
If you needed the toilet, you had to report to the proctor clerk, and a guard would personally escort you there.
Watching you piss.
After several decades of development, the imperial examinations had become remarkably strict and professional.
Although the aristocratic families controlled most educational resources, and the ruling class of Great Yu was still those celestial dragons, this was absolutely an opportunity for vast numbers of poor scholars to defy fate and change their destiny.
Just passing the provincial examination—never mind becoming an official—policy would specially grant certain rights, including up to two thousand mu of tax-exempt farmland quota.
Then those wealthy gentry and tycoons would simply register their farmland under your name, and you'd basically be set for life without worries about food or drink.
Similarly, for illegitimate sons of prestigious families like Song Shi'an, this was also an opportunity to "challenge from below."
An illegitimate son had to bow his head before legitimate sons his entire life, unable to commit transgressive behavior.
Only at this moment could one legitimately challenge the status of the legitimate-born.
Just by scoring better than you—so what about that?
Of course, Song Shi'an's opponent wasn't Song Ce, that fifteen-year-old child.
Even if he passed as a common juren, he could only become a clerk, and the possibility of staying in the capital wasn't great.
What he aimed for was sub-yuan status that could directly qualify him as a reserve official.
Or rather, jieyuan status that required no reserve period and went straight to posting.
Otherwise, he'd still have to rely on family connections.
Only by possessing independent status would he have a voice.
One after another, examinees took their seats and entered their examination rooms.
Song Shi'an could see the row of examinees opposite him, but they were very far away—completely impossible to see their writing content.
At one quarter before the hour of si (8:45 AM), the Jinyiwei arrived at the examination hall carrying sealed test papers.
The chief examiner sitting in the center stood up and respectfully bowed to them. Then, he received the test papers with both hands.
In earlier imperial examinations, because the rules weren't very complete, test leaks occurred frequently.
But after severely executing several waves of heads, and with the entire process supervised by the Jinyiwei, test leaks no longer happened.
Furthermore, those several big shots from the Imperial Academy who wrote the questions were currently still "confined" inside with meals specially delivered to them.
The examination hall atmosphere was extremely oppressive.
Perhaps it was the Jinyiwei's earlier appearance—several examinees across from him were trembling slightly.
The Jinyiwei were indeed terrifying.
Imagine this: you tell a political joke, and then the Jinyiwei on the roof beam laughs.
After waiting one quarter-hour, when the hour of si arrived, bronze bells suddenly rang throughout the Examination Compound.
The examination had begun!
The chief examiner in this hall stood up, picked up the sealed test paper envelope, and four capital clerks surrounded him.
The chief examiner displayed the intact seal to the four clerks, indicating no problems, then slowly broke the seal.
He took out the test papers.
Then, he loudly recited: "Lyrical Composition section begins. Examinees are to compose a lyrical composition on the topic of 'Books,' requiring smooth writing and profound conception."
Not long after, the chief examiner once again loudly emphasized and repeated:
"Lyrical Composition section begins. Examinees are to compose a lyrical composition on the topic of 'Books,' requiring smooth writing and profound conception."
After speaking, with a few seconds' interval, he stated it a third time.
This was part of the procedure. During imperial examinations people would be extremely nervous—the second and third repetitions prevented examinees from mishearing or hearing the question wrong.
However, after he said it the first time, Song Shi'an had already written it down on his draft paper, not a single character different.
Then, he began analyzing the question.
Having him compose a lyrical composition was somewhat difficult.
But for Song Shi'an, a humanities graduate student from a 985 university, pulling one from his mind was no problem.
Mentioning books, naturally that phrase came to mind: "Books are the ladder of human progress."
Mm, being able to say such things was indeed quite ahead of its time.
Song Shi'an understood Great Yu's examination evaluation format.
It could be said to be very broad.
As long as it related to the topic, or could be thought of as an extension, it wouldn't count as off-topic.
This semi-open topic of "Books" could extend far too broadly.
First, books themselves.
Ancient sages created books.
Books summarize that era's essence.
One could write from the perspective of good books' significance, their moral enlightenment for people.
Then, there was reading books.
This era had many books, even due to advances in productivity and the emergence of the merchant class, popular fiction had appeared.
Of course, you couldn't write that you liked reading that type of book.
This would be like during gaokao, when the topic is books, and you write: "Usually I just like browsing web novels."
Although web novels included some good novels, like My Super, you had to consider the grading teachers' own situation, and the examination's seriousness.
The examination's grading bosses were basically all old pedants.
Popular fiction, these things that had emerged in recent years—needless to say, they absolutely detested them.
But just praising sage books like that, regardless of writing quality, the conception would indeed be low.
Right, there was a great method to elevate conception—dialectics.
"Believing everything in books is worse than having no books."
Writing from this angle well would definitely stand out.
But...
There was a risk of giving offense.
Finally, after pondering for a while, Song Shi'an gradually determined his approach.
What are books?
Things to read.
What is reading?
Learning.
Then, regarding learning, the most classic and quite literary piece—wasn't it readily apparent?
At this moment, Song Shi'an, who had extensively read ancient sages' books and embodied millennia of concentrated essence, dipped his brush in ink.
In university, he had studied calligraphy and even won fourth place in the district amateur calligraphy competition.
His handwriting was fairly good.
But after this essay came into being, the handwriting issue could be completely disregarded!
Brush poised above draft paper, Song Shi'an directly channeled the divine, his brush falling to write two large characters:
An Exhortation to Learning.