Chapter Seventy: Responding to the Policy Question

Seeing this, Song Mu only smacked his lips a few times and said nothing more. Since the other party showed no particular reaction toward him, he felt there was no reason to do anything, no matter how moved he was. He swept these distractions from his mind and went back to arranging his exam booth. Once everything was in order, Zhang Yiqi came over to return the broom.

“Thank you for lending me the broom, Brother Song. I wish you victory today,” Zhang Yiqi said, his face adorned with a gentle smile. With his dark, honest features, he exuded a simple and sincere air.

Song Mu bowed and replied with a smile, “You’re too kind, Brother Zhang. I wish you to take first place as well.”

The two exchanged knowing smiles but did not speak further, each returning to his booth. Their exam stalls were adjacent, so even separated by a wall, they could easily catch the sounds from each other’s side.

Song Mu had just sat down and was nibbling on some pastries, waiting for the proctors to announce the start, when Zhang Yiqi’s voice came from next door.

“Brother Song, I’ve heard you’ve composed several remarkable poems. Could you perhaps write another today?”

Song Mu was taken aback by this sudden request, but Zhang Yiqi seemed to realize he may have spoken out of turn and quickly added, “I only mean, I heard how you composed a poem that day, and I’ve long admired you for it. Now that fortune brings us together, I would dearly love to witness your talent firsthand.”

Song Mu licked his dry lips, a half-smile playing at his mouth. So, the other had recognized him, and it seemed he’d left quite an impression. Once Zhang Yiqi finished, Song Mu grinned and replied politely, “You’re too modest, Brother Zhang. Your essays are just as formidable. I look forward to admiring your work as well. Though I have a small request—if you inspire a Literary Star today, would you let me know first? So I can put down my brush and compose myself.”

A soft, hearty laugh came from the next stall, clearly amused by Song Mu’s words. Then came the reply: “Brother Song, let us encourage each other. After the exam, we’ll see whose work prevails.”

Song Mu popped the last piece of pastry in his mouth and nodded, “Agreed.”

By this time, candidates were filing into the examination hall. After a drum sounded, squads of soldiers entered just as the day before, taking up positions in front of each booth and scrutinizing the candidates within.

From the north tower came a loud cry; the presiding priest ascended the altar with a bronze box, opened it, and a plain Literary Star floated above the platform.

“The second round of the Provincial Exam begins!” A booming voice rang out, and clerks began distributing the papers.

Song Mu quickly received his questions, unfolded them, and immediately furrowed his brow. The poetry section required one poem, one lyric, and one rhapsody, with no restriction on form, but all works had to praise a hero.

Works extolling people were common enough, but who, indeed, counted as a hero? Song Mu scratched his head in thought.

The policy essay, on the other hand, posed a question on current affairs: “The southern frontier has long been plagued by barbarians and demons. The terrain is perilous, governance is ineffective, and the barbarians collude with monsters to wreak havoc. Suppression is difficult everywhere—how should this be addressed?”

A question on frontier governance—one that resonated with Song Mu. In this world, the tribes of the southern border were much like the native chieftains of the Ming dynasty. These communities had always been beyond routine administration, adhering to their ancestral customs, ruling their own lands, distant from imperial authority, and unwilling to heed government orders.

Song Mu knew that the current administration of the southern border was overseen by the former top scholar Tao Sheng, but even now it was barely stable, with unrest flaring up from time to time. Of the nine million troops stationed on the borders of the Wen dynasty, one million were deployed in the southern frontier alone. Every year, the court allocated vast sums and dispatched both heavy troops and countless scholars to garrison these regions, yet they remained a constant headache.

This topic was troublesome for the entire court, so Song Mu was surprised the Prince’s Tutor had made it an open exam question. But he did not dwell on the reasoning; instead, he began drafting his answer.

Meanwhile, the north tower was crowded with even more officials observing the exam. The prefect of Jizhou, Qiu Buchu, arrived with a distinguished, commanding gentleman at his side.

“I heard that Song Mu composed a piece that moved the Literary Star five times yesterday? I missed it, what a pity,” Qiu Buchu remarked as he gazed from the window at the round exam booths, his long face full of regret.

Beside him, Dean Fan stroked his beard and smiled, glancing at the man accompanying Qiu Buchu. “Brother Yongfang, you’re not late today. The test is on policy and poetry—Song Mu’s strengths, I hear.”

Qiu Buchu’s interest was piqued. “I look forward to it. His essay ‘Recollections of the County Academy During the Stone County Night Disturbance’ is now famous in the capital. Even His Majesty has read it and ordered a great scholar to write a commentary.”

The surrounding instructors exchanged glances in astonishment. If this was by imperial command, did it mean…

“It’s said His Majesty has also issued a reward and instructed the prefect to prepare it, though no one knows what it is,” Qiu Buchu added, making the listeners all the more awed as they thought of the awe-inspiring emperor in the imperial city of Chang’an.

Such attention was only fitting, for it had been a decade since a poem of such caliber—one of nine measures of talent—was last seen.

As Qiu Buchu spoke, admiration showed in his eyes. He turned to the man beside him. “If he dazzles again today, I’ll be happy to add a reward of my own. What do you say, Master Fengming?”

All eyes turned to a man in blue robes by the screen, tall and thin with disheveled hair tied with a jade ring, his face pallid and his eyes shadowed, giving him a languid, slovenly air. If one did not look closely, he was easy to overlook, but upon noticing him, a gentle presence seemed to emanate from beneath the unkempt exterior.

The crowd wondered who this Master Fengming could be, but Dean Fan only smiled in silence.

“A gentleman does not judge men by their words, nor words by their men,” came the lazy, hoarse reply, leaving many more puzzled, though Qiu Buchu laughed aloud.

...

Back in the examination hall, Song Mu had pondered his questions for a while and finally smiled, carefully setting down his brush. He took a fresh sheet, wrote his name, place of origin, and the name of his guarantor, then moved to the center and began.

“Policy on the Southern Frontier”

He chose to write the essay first.

“From the founding ancestor, after years of campaigns, the vast southern frontier came under the Wen dynasty. Thus was the world united and the times brought peace…”

“But first comes effective governance, then harmony among the people. The south is rugged, travel is difficult, cliffs and precipices isolate it, and some places are untouched by the world. In my view, to govern the southern border, first open the roads, then promote trade.”

Song Mu wrote lightly, his thoughts already composed. He’d seen similar themes in other books; even if the “World Literary Review” only analyzed the current situation without offering solutions, it was enough for him to lay out the facts and then present his reasoning.

To govern such a remote place, the key was letting the customs of the wider world seep in fully.

First, open the roads. With roads, government orders could reach every corner, news would spread, and the mountain folk would no longer be isolated but learn of the present age. With roads, the state could also deploy troops swiftly, suppressing any unrest.

Moreover, these roads would bring prosperity to the people of the region. Tribes would interact more, ideas would not be stagnant, and economic and cultural exchanges would flourish.

Once the roads were open, trade would follow. Trade was even more direct—by connecting the tribal people with those of the Wen dynasty, economic and cultural integration would increase. As they benefited from advanced technology and goods from the Han people, they would gradually become dependent, moving further along the path of assimilation.

The mountain people could exchange local products for goods from the outside. At the same time, the state could use economic means to win over the mountain folk more easily.

Here, Song Mu’s pen paused. Some of his past ideas surfaced; these methods seemed harsh and might have negative consequences.

But after a moment’s thought, Song Mu sighed and continued writing.

He was only a humble scholar. What he wrote was but his own shallow views—how likely was it that the great officials would heed them, let alone adopt them as doctrine?

So Song Mu earnestly laid out the facts and presented his arguments.

...

ps: All events and characters in this story are purely fictional; any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.