Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Scientific Expedition (Part One)

The strange turmoil in the imperial court had nothing to do with Pei Min at present; his only thought was the imperial examination.

Before coming to Chang'an, Pei Min had been confident, believing that with his abilities, winning the top scholar's title would be an easy feat. Yet, after befriending He Zhizhang and Zhang Xu—both much older and accomplished—he witnessed their profound literary mastery and finally understood the endless pursuit of learning. He also came to realize that achieving the top rank in the imperial examination was far more difficult than simply passing the qualifying exam, especially since he had enrolled in the Jinshi division.

The Tang dynasty's imperial exams were divided into several categories, the most common being the Jinshi and Mingjing divisions. There were also others, such as Talented Scholars, Outstanding Individuals, Legal Scholars, Character Scholars, Mathematical Scholars, and Learned and Erudite Scholars. Among these, the Talented Scholar division was the most difficult, but its challenges led to it being discontinued. Next in difficulty and importance were the Jinshi and Mingjing divisions—the two pillars of the examination system. The Jinshi division was particularly prestigious, with each session admitting only a tenth as many candidates as the Mingjing division, making it the most esteemed and ranking highest among all. Thus, those who succeeded in the Jinshi division were called "White-robed Ministers." There was even a saying: "Thirty is old for Mingjing, fifty is young for Jinshi," meaning that passing the Mingjing exam at thirty was considered old, but attaining Jinshi at fifty was still young.

Of course, there were youthful prodigies who claimed top honors at a young age.

Having understood the difficulty of becoming a Jinshi, Pei Min quietly lowered his expectations, no longer aiming for the top scholar's title. To be among the top tier Jinshi would suffice.

The Jinshi rank, commonly known as the Top Scholar, Second Place, and Third Place, was divided into three tiers. These were not merely the top three names, but three distinct levels. The first tier consisted of three positions—Top Scholar, Second Place, and Third Place. The second tier was Jinshi by origin, and the third tier was also Jinshi by origin, but of a lower rank. The first tier always had three spots, while the second and third tiers varied; all three tiers qualified for official posts.

The day of the imperial examination arrived. Pei Min was fully prepared, and Zhang Xu had risen early to personally warm Daughter’s Red wine, wishing him success.

Daughter’s Red was also known as Scholar’s Red.

Pei Min shook his head with a wry smile; a drunkard could never part from his wine. Grateful for Zhang Xu’s gesture, he drank it in one gulp.

The Jinshi examination took place in the Hall of Tribute within the Ministry of Rites, far stricter than the qualifying exam. Candidates entering the Ministry of Rites were subject to rigorous checks, with each stage more demanding than the last. Outside the Ministry, only identity and household registration were verified. Inside, belongings were searched in addition to identity. At the Hall of Tribute, body searches were enforced, and candidates had to remove their upper garments to prevent cheating, passing through one inspection after another.

If any rules were broken, the officials showed no leniency, ejecting candidates immediately.

Pei Min saw with his own eyes a man who had copied scriptures onto the inner lining of his sleeves; the inspector recorded his name, expelled him, and forbade him from retaking the exam for a year.

In another dynasty, such an offense would have led to imprisonment and punishment, but Tang law was known for its leniency. Here, the consequence was merely expulsion and a warning.

Pei Min thought to himself: If he ever had the chance, he would propose stricter measures. Lenient laws were not a bad thing, but they should be harsh where necessary. The country should be governed with Confucian grace and Legalist discipline, especially in the imperial examination. After all, the exam selected officials for the nation and people; if someone succeeded through trickery and became a local magistrate, wouldn’t that bring disaster to the land?

Lost in thought, Pei Min passed the strict inspections and entered the examination hall.

Looking at the paper before him, Pei Min realized that the qualifying exam in Youzhou was nothing compared to this provincial exam. The qualifying exam consisted of three sessions—dictation, interpretation, and scripture copying. The provincial exam also had three sessions: classics, poetry, and current affairs. Indeed, the three sessions of the qualifying exam barely equated to the first session of the provincial exam, and its scope was even broader.

According to earlier Tang regulations, each session eliminated a batch of candidates. While this method improved efficiency, it greatly hindered the discovery of true talent. The classics portion was general knowledge, but poetry relied more on artistic talent—not everyone could master this art. By the time candidates reached current affairs, many truly outstanding talents had already been eliminated at the poetry stage.

The implementation of the anonymous marking system remedied this. Since papers were not directly marked by name, and the total score across three sessions was considered, candidates with a strong specialization had a chance to shine.

As usual, the first session focused on classics and history.

During his two or three months in He’s residence, Pei Min’s foundation in classics and history, nurtured by He Zhizhang and Zhang Xu, deepened considerably. He might not be a grand master yet, but he was certainly worthy of being called an expert.

Facing the first session, Pei Min felt no trace of nervousness. After reading the questions and pondering briefly, he began writing.

Besides his improved grasp of classics and history, Pei Min’s handwriting had also progressed greatly; his small script had become increasingly skillful, not merely imitating but subtly developing his own style.

The first session went smoothly; Pei Min completed it perfectly.

The second session was poetry and prose—the one Pei Min feared most, and yet, oddly, the one he felt most assured about. Pei Min understood and could learn classics and history, but he simply lacked talent for poetry and prose. Whether in his past life as Pei Jingyuan or in this life as Pei Min, this was unchanged. Yet, the Tang dynasty valued poetry and prose highly—even if your classics and current affairs were mediocre, as long as your poetry excelled, you could still win the top spot. This cultural emphasis was why Tang poetry left such a brilliant mark in history, and why someone like Li Bai could have the likes of Gao Lishi remove his boots.

Pei Min’s anxiety stemmed from his lack of talent, but his confidence arose from a unique gift granted by his transmigration…

The Three Hundred Tang Poems—even if he excluded poets from earlier and this current era, he still had many options.

After careful consideration, Pei Min chose a quatrain by Li Shangyin from his memory. Li Shangyin, a famed poet of late Tang, was often paired with Du Mu as “Little Li and Little Du,” and was one of Pei Min’s favorites. His untitled romantic poems, in particular, were ideal references for love letters. After much deliberation, Pei Min copied Li Shangyin’s “The Brocade Zither” onto his answer sheet:

The brocade zither, unreasonably, has fifty strings,
Each string, each fret recalls youth’s golden years.
Zhuang Zhou’s morning dream confused him as a butterfly,
The Emperor’s spring longing entrusted to the cuckoo.
Moonlit seas, pearls weeping tears,
Warm sun over Blue Fields, jade mist rising.
This feeling might one day be recalled,
But then, it was already lost in confusion.

This poem was among Li Shangyin’s masterpieces; Pei Min believed that even if Li Bai competed on the same stage, unless he produced an immortal verse like “Bring in the Wine,” he might not surpass him.