Chapter Twenty: The Anonymous Examination System

The imperial examination system began in the Sui dynasty and was refined during the Tang, yet during the early and middle Tang, it was not held in as high regard as it would be in the Song and Ming dynasties. At its core, this was because people had not yet fully grasped the true purpose of the examination system.

In Pei Min’s view, there were currently three major flaws in the system:

First: the use of real names on examination papers. This led directly to those in power being able to manipulate the results at will, resulting in rampant corruption and cheating.

Second: those presiding over the examinations were officials of too low a rank, yet held too much authority, which made it impossible for them to command respect. The official in charge of the spring examination was chosen from among the sub-directors of the Personnel Ministry, specifically the Assistant Director for Merit Assessment, who bore full responsibility for the imperial examinations. While a sixth-rank official might hold some sway in the provinces, in the capital—where nobles and princes crowded the streets, and high ministers abounded—a mere sixth-rank functionary could hardly withstand external pressures. Not to mention figures as powerful as Princess Taiping—even an ordinary minister could easily overpower He Zhizhang. Yet, such a minor official wielded the authority to determine who would be ranked first, second, and third among the successful candidates; the titles of top scholar, second laureate, and third laureate rested on his word alone. Such disproportionate power granted to a minor post was an open invitation to coercion.

Third: the prevailing atmosphere was lax, and cheating in the examinations was not severely punished as it would be in later dynasties. Unlike the Song, Yuan, Ming, and Qing, where bribery and smuggling of notes into the examination hall were met with harsh penalties, in Pei Min’s memory, later dynasties disqualified cheating candidates outright; those already selected lost their qualifications, were handed over to the Ministry of Punishments for investigation, and could be imprisoned for life. Exam officials who failed in their duties and allowed impersonation or false registration faced demotion, dismissal, exile, or even execution.

In contrast, the Tang had a tradition known as “presenting one’s works,” where candidates would send their poetry or essays to influential officials in hopes of gaining their favor and recommendation to the examiner-in-chief. The renowned Poet Buddha, Wang Wei, attained his top rank in this very manner. As for smuggling notes or cheating in the examination hall, being caught typically resulted only in expulsion from that year’s exam and a ban of three to five years from sitting again—rarely did it lead to bloodshed. Since the Tang held imperial examinations annually, even a three- or five-year ban was hardly disastrous.

These three flaws led to inconsistent quality among those selected by the examinations. Admittedly, there were talents such as Zhang Jiuling, Wei Zhigu, Song Jing, and Wang Jun, but just as many who gained high office through back doors and corruption.

To eradicate all three flaws at once would not be easy. What’s more, Pei Min did not yet possess the power to do so. However, to resolve He Zhizhang’s present predicament and make some modest improvements was well within reach.

Pei Min said, “Brother Zhang, your worry today lies in the examiner-in-chief wielding too much power, able to decide the ranking of all three laureate classes with a single word. Yet if we make a simple change—if you don't know the candidates' names and can only judge by their answers—then this is beyond your control. What could Princess Taiping possibly do to you?”

He Zhizhang’s spirit was reinvigorated, and he bowed, saying, “Pray, tell me your idea, my worthy brother.”

Pei Min smiled. “Change from real names to an anonymous system, so that until the results are announced, no one knows who wrote which paper.”

He Zhizhang frowned. “That system was tried in the early years of Empress Wu’s reign but abandoned due to poor results.”

Pei Min narrowed his eyes. “That was because the system was not thorough—if it’s only a superficial masking of names, loopholes are easily found. My version involves several steps: a dedicated official to handle the papers, another to mask the names, a third to copy the papers; the papers would be separated into originals and copies, the originals sealed, and only the copies sent to you for grading. The person masking the names would not know the answers, and the person copying the papers would not know the candidates’ names. All you could do is assess the answers on the copied papers and assign the laureate ranks accordingly. Once the rankings are decided, they would be matched with the originals, the names revealed, and the list of successful candidates announced. Throughout, you would have no means of knowing who wrote which paper. If even then Princess Taiping wishes to blame you, she would no longer have the standing to dominate the court as she does now.”

He Zhizhang pressed his hands together in admiration. “Marvelous! Not only does this help me out of a bind, but it truly allows the selection of worthy talents. The purpose of the imperial examination is to seek talent for the country, yet it has become a tool for political maneuvering—what a pity. If this anonymous system is implemented, those who pass will certainly be people of real ability.”

Pei Min said, “So you may continue to appease Princess Taiping openly while, in secret, you report this anonymous system to His Majesty. The Emperor is wise and just, and this move would also check Princess Taiping’s influence—he will surely adopt it. But the new rules should not be announced too early, lest Princess Taiping prepare a countermeasure. It would be best to issue the edict right before the examinations, so that even if she thinks of a response, there will be no time to act.”

He Zhizhang nodded and smiled. “I understand…” With this heavy matter resolved, all his worries were swept away. The thought that he need not offend Princess Taiping and risk exile to the southern frontier put him in high spirits. “Let’s drink! You have done me a great favor, and I must toast you three times!”

Zhang Xu squinted with a grin. “Indeed, it’s worth celebrating that we won’t have to go all the way to the southern frontier to drink with you!”

“More drinking?” Pei Min’s vision grew a bit blurry. “The spring exam is approaching, and I still need to study…”

“Drinking won’t interfere with your studies!” Zhang Xu nudged him. “Drinking with us will benefit you far more than studying alone.”

At first, Pei Min doubted this, but after three cups, he discovered that as He Zhizhang and Zhang Xu drank merrily, every topic they discussed revolved around the classics and history.

He Zhizhang, an official top scholar in his own right, had served as Professor of the Four Gates and Grand Ritualist—both scholarly posts—and his mastery of the classics was second to none in the age. Zhang Xu, together with He Zhizhang, Zhang Ruoxu, and Bao Rong, was acclaimed as one of the “Four Scholars of Wu,” renowned for talent and erudition. They had studied the classics for three or four decades and possessed unique insights. Pei Min, relying on knowledge from later times, was able to converse with them, but in true literary skill, he was their inferior. To engage with them in deep discussions of the classics was, for him, like listening to two master lecturers debate—his own gain was immense.

After this session of drinking, Pei Min truly realized he learned far more than by reading alone.

So, though he was not fond of alcohol, he found himself eagerly awaiting He Zhizhang’s return from court each day, looking forward to their drinking sessions.

One morning, as he washed up, Pei Min noticed his breath reeked of wine—he was truly becoming a little drunkard. Realizing how fatigued he was from days and nights of study, he decided to give himself a day off, go for a walk, and buy some tea to avoid drinking wine as if it were water all day long. In these few days at the He residence, he had drunk more wine than in all his previous lives combined.

Though tea could not be found in Youzhou, there was no reason it could not be purchased in Chang’an.

Thinking of the fragrant green tea of later ages, Pei Min could no longer contain his desire to go out. By this time, He Zhizhang had already left for his duties at the Personnel Ministry. After exchanging a few words with Zhang Xu, Pei Min walked out of the He residence.

Perhaps because He Zhizhang had already departed and would not return until evening, the entrance to the He residence was uncommonly quiet. Mounted on his little chestnut horse, Pei Min rode toward the Western Market of Chang’an.