Chapter 162: The Examination Begins

It was foggy today, and the early morning Kaitai Academy was shrouded in a hazy, pale mist. It looked as though a gigantic net had been cast across the sky, obscuring everything in the distance.

Today was the long-awaited grand occasion—the beating of the drums for the opening ceremony of the "First Talent of All Under Heaven Arts Competition." Therefore, very early in the morning, many staff members of Kaitai Academy were already busy making preparations.

The competition venue was set in the very center of the academy—a spacious flagstone plaza. Usually used by the students of Kaitai Academy for group lectures and training, it spanned a hundred zhang in circumference. The ground was paved with neatly sized granite blocks that had been polished to a smooth finish.

Now, hundreds of soft cushions were laid out across the granite for the representatives of the scholars from all directions. In front of each cushion stood a small writing desk. Above the plaza stood a modest temple.

This temple was entirely different from the monasteries and shrines built by Buddhist monks. It was square and upright, resembling a grand hall rather than a traditional temple. Its gates were forever wide open, completely devoid of door panels. Outside the entrance were three tiers of white marble steps. At the base of the steps, two trees stood symmetrically: one was a cypress, and the other was also a cypress.

The two trees were not only of the same species, but they were also nearly identical in height and size. Clearly pruned regularly, their branches and crowns matched so closely that they appeared to be a pair of exact duplicates.

A row of grand master chairs was arranged neatly beneath the cypresses on either side, naturally reserved for the visiting officials and masters.

As the hour of Chen arrived, a clear and resonant bell tolled from within the temple.

Following the chime, the student representatives who had rushed in from various provinces and academies, alongside the officials and teachers, filed into the plaza in an orderly stream.

The soft cushions and small desks had been assigned in advance, marked with slips of paper bearing the participants' names, and the students were required to take their seats accordingly. There was a strict hierarchy to the seating arrangement: the front row belonged to the representatives of the Imperial College, followed by those from Yuelu Academy, Kaitai Academy, and so on, descending in order of prestige—

By the time Chen Jianchen and Xiao Hanfeng reached their seats, they were placed almost at the very back of the plaza.

Faced with this scenario, Chen Jianchen was instantly reminded of the seating arrangements from his past life, where seats were assigned purely by academic ranking rather than height. Even if someone possessed the build of a fierce tiger and could block half the blackboard just by sitting straight, as long as their grades were good, they sat at the front. It was the classic distribution of rewards based on merit: the exceptional got the sweet fruits, while the poor performers were left with bruised and sour pears.

On the day of the competition, all the student representatives were dressed impeccably and with absolute precision. Zheng Shuliang was particularly exaggerated; apart from wearing a scholarly robe as pristine as freshly fallen snow, he wore a tall cap upon his head—a retro-style high crown at least a foot tall, towering and majestic like a mountain peak. At the very sight of it, Chen Jianchen felt an urge to walk over and deliver a flying scissor kick.

"Senior Liuxian, Kaitai Academy truly lives up to its legendary reputation. That is the Sage Temple!"

What Xiao Hanfeng referred to was the temple perched above the plaza, known as the Sage Temple.

Since the founding of the Tiantong Dynasty, across a millennium, only a single person had ever earned the designation of a "Sage"—Sage Dong. Naturally, the Sage Temple was a sanctuary dedicated exclusively to his worship.

A Sage Temple could not be built just anywhere, nor was it as common as a local earth-god shrine. To erect a Sage Temple, an academy had to possess an extraordinary reputation and a long, illustrious history. Consequently, third-rate institutions like Minghua Academy lacked the qualifications to build one. To do so otherwise would be an overreach, a violation of propriety and ritual codes.

Gazing intently from the back, Chen Jianchen saw that the Sage Temple of Kaitai Academy was neither large nor towering. Above the steps stood two stone tablets carved with flowing, dragon-like calligraphy—likely texts and essays praising the Sage. Peculiarly, the statue of Sage Dong was not placed inside the temple, but rather positioned at the entrance. Standing six feet tall, adorned in a high crown and long robes, he was barefoot, gazing up at the sky with his right hand clasped behind his back, holding a tightly rolled scroll.

The Sage gazed at the sky, his brows slightly furrowed, while his left hand gently stroked three strands of long beard. He appeared deep in thought, perhaps burdened by silent worries—the quintessential portrait of a benevolent scholar deeply concerned for his country and people.

Upon entering the plaza, neither the student representatives nor the officials and masters could sit down immediately. Instead, they had to bow to the Sage in the traditional manner of disciples before taking their designated seats.

Following this, the president of Kaitai Academy, a gaunt and refined elderly man, stepped forward to deliver a speech. It consisted of the usual welcoming remarks and hopes that the scholars would perform admirably...

Chen Jianchen listened halfheartedly, occasionally glancing left and right to see that everyone else appeared thoroughly earnest and solemn.

Once the old president concluded his remarks, it was time for the scholars to prepare. One by one, they retrieved their customary "Four Treasures of the Study" from their bamboo book-baskets and arranged them meticulously upon their desks.

No servants or pageboys were permitted to accompany the participants into the competition, making the regulations almost as strict as the imperial examinations.

Dozens of scholars and dozens of distinct styles of book-baskets displayed on the ground presented a magnificent and imposing spectacle.

A short while later, a stout official ascended the platform to speak. Judging by his attire, he was a high-ranking official. Upon self-introduction, he turned out to be the Education Commissioner of Zezhou, bearing the surname Liu.

Commissioner Liu's primary purpose was to announce the rules of the competition, which were roughly as follows:

First: The competition is divided into three main categories: "Calligraphy," "Poetry," and "Current-Affairs Essays."

Second: The competition operates on an elimination system. Today's test is "Calligraphy." Those who fail the calligraphy round are directly eliminated and lose all qualifications to proceed. Tomorrow will test "Poetry," and the day after, "Current-Affairs Essays."

Third: Each stage of the competition will be evaluated and graded by three venerable, impartial, and fair masters.

There would be three rounds across three days.

Placing "Current-Affairs Essays" last was undoubtedly due to their supreme importance; proficiency in writing the eight-legged essays of current affairs boded exceptionally well for future imperial examinations.

"Very well, the rules have now been explained. Thus, today's competition officially begins. You have one hour, and gentlemen may now lift your brushes to write. As a final reminder from this official, the calligraphy round is not merely an assessment of your handwriting..."

At this point, Commissioner Liu paused. However, the scholars in the plaza were far from foolish and quickly grasped the underlying meaning: any phrasing or content written with exceptional originality would earn extra bonus points.

Calligraphy required both writing skill and substance, with the substance carrying significant weight. For instance, even if one possessed a brilliant pen and divine mastery of structure, writing something vulgar or entirely devoid of meaning would render the artwork worthless. To put it more bluntly, if one used a magnificent brush to boldly and forcefully write a crude curse word, no matter how rigorous the brushwork or peerless the technique, of what use would it be? Such a piece would be unwanted even as a gift, for one could hardly paste it over an outhouse.

Therefore, the choice of content was of paramount importance.

An hour equaled two full periods, providing relatively ample time. Consequently, the scholars present were in no rush; they began grinding their ink in a leisurely manner. Some, having prepared their ink, spread out white sheets of paper to practice a few strokes first and get a feel for the rhythm.

Calligraphy was a profound and vast art, and as an art, it relied on inspiration rather than casual, hasty brushstrokes. Writing words was easy; writing them well was difficult. The principle was identical to composing essays— cobbled-together nonsense was writing, and meticulously carved masterpieces were also writing, but the difference between them was as vast as heaven and earth, like clouds and mud, incomparable.

Having finished grinding his ink, Chen Jianchen smoothly spread out a sheet of paper. With a slight gathering of focus, he lifted his brush, infused it with energy, and completed three large characters almost in a single flowing breath:

"Thought without depravity."

These three characters naturally had their origins. Confucius had said: "The Book of Songs contains three hundred pieces, but all can be summed up in a single sentence: 'Thought without depravity.'"

This was not the first time Chen Jianchen had written these characters; indeed, he had practiced this piece several times. Practice made perfect, and writing it now on the spot required neither excessive effort nor time.

Following that, he inscribed his name at the bottom, stamped his seal, gently blew to dry the ink, and raised his hand to signal the completion of his submission.

Scarcely the time it takes to brew half a cup of tea had passed.

Chen Jianchen was the very first to submit his paper.

His action immediately drew the attention of many. A multitude of gazes registered his presence for the first time—some filled with surprise, others with bewilderment, but most with incomprehension. Upon realizing that Chen Jianchen was merely a student representative from Minghua Academy, every single gaze reflected a silent realization: *Ah, so that's how it is...*

Ever since arriving at Kaitai Academy, the conduct of both Chen Jianchen and Xiao Hanfeng had been timorous in the extreme, devoid of any striking display. In truth, this was entirely expected; student representatives from third-party academies possessed only third-tier capabilities. As the old saying went, "Among the blind, the one-eyed man is king," but no matter how one searched, in front of true masters, they remained mere pygmies.

Therefore, the reason Chen Jianchen had finished and submitted his work so quickly was by no means due to extraordinary prowess, but rather because he recognized his lack of competitiveness, threw together something hastily, and surrendered early.

Examples of such behavior were commonplace and frequently witnessed. The sentiment of "breaking a cracked pot further" described precisely this mindset.

Commissioner Gu, seated beneath the trees of the Sage Temple, watched Chen Jianchen effortlessly become the first to submit. Far from pleased, he frowned deeply: Why had Chen Jianchen acted with such careless haste? This was a talent competition gathering the finest minds under heaven, not a market in Jiangzhou selling calligraphy and paintings. In the mundane streets, a casually written piece might fetch a few copper coins, but in a competition crowded with titans, how could such hasty brushwork catch the eyes of the judges? The three venerable masters would likely glance at it once before crumpling it into a ball and tossing it into the wastebasket.

*Ah, a worthless youth; mud simply cannot be plastered onto a wall...*