Chapter 84: A Strategy That Startles the World

Seeing this, Song Mu also cupped his hands and said,
“Yes, Brother Zhang, are you here to choose books as well today?”
Zhang Yiqi waved his hand and replied, “Not really. I’ve found a job here copying books, earning some silver to help with the household expenses.”
Hearing this, Song Mu suddenly understood and smiled in response.
“Brother Zhang, you are truly diligent and thrifty.”
Zhang Yiqi then explained further, and Song Mu learned that Manager Zhang was actually from the same village as Zhang Yiqi—they were relatives of the same surname. Before the preliminary exam, Zhang Guiyun had secured this work for Zhang Yiqi, allowing him to earn some money to cover his expenses in the provincial city.
Song Mu felt reassured upon hearing this and glanced at Zhang Guiyun beside him. Though the man was shrewd in business, he was also a person of integrity and kindness.
After exchanging a few more words with Song Mu, Zhang Yiqi asked,
“Brother Song, have you also come to pick out some books today?”
Song Mu was taken aback and was about to explain when, unexpectedly, Zhang Guiyun, who had not yet left, quickly stepped in to resolve the situation for him.
“My dear nephew, Young Master Song came to inquire about certain classics, but your uncle is out of stock for the moment, so I’m afraid he has to leave empty-handed.”
“Oh?” Zhang Yiqi replied with interest, asking again,
“What books on the classics are you looking for?”
Song Mu hesitated for a moment, but Manager Zhang explained,
“He’s looking for Lin Huiyuan’s annotated questions on the classics from Fujian, which were published more than a decade ago.”
Hearing this, Zhang Yiqi nodded in understanding. Though he found it odd that his uncle was so forthcoming with Song Mu, he still replied,
“Lin Huiyuan’s annotated questions are indeed excellent. Brother Song need not worry; the prefectural school will have copies in due time.”
“You’re right, Brother Zhang. I just happened to be passing by and thought I’d take a look,” Song Mu responded, taking the opportunity to excuse himself.
Manager Zhang was indeed a seasoned man of business; his attitude had shifted since learning of Song Mu’s identity. His words were flawless and gave Song Mu a bit of face as well.
Though he could handle all sorts of situations, he was also discreet and trustworthy.
After exchanging a few more words, Song Mu was about to leave when Zhang Yiqi suddenly called out to him.
“Brother Song, how about we go together to see the results when the list is posted in three days?”
“That would be wonderful. I look forward to seeing your name on the list, Brother Zhang, and raising a cup in your honor,” Song Mu replied with a smile. Zhang Yiqi laughed and turned upstairs to the second floor of the bookshop.

Having left the bookshop, Song Mu took advantage of some free time to stroll around Jizhou Prefecture. By afternoon, the heat was rising, so he returned to the Kong residence.
Kong Zong had once again been taken out drinking and carousing by a group of local officials’ sons. Fortunately, Song Mu hadn’t been home at the time, or who knows where he would have ended up.
Song Mu took a book, slipped out the back door of the residence, and sat on a stone stool by the small river, sipping tea and gazing at the beautiful landscapes of the south.
It was a rare moment of leisure, and Song Mu let out a long sigh of relief.
…
Meanwhile, in the examination hall, the examiners let out long breaths, their faces tinged with disbelief.
“The conception of this essay rivals the style of Academician Yan in his youth.”
“Such a piece on the classics—I haven’t read anything like it here in years. This is a four- or five-star literary talent!”
The examiners spoke in succession. On the desk before them lay two essays, each marked with six red circles.
Vice-examiner Xiao Li was also present, having just overseen the collection of the classics essays and sorted seven belatedly submitted scripts from the child students. He was now arranging them in order.
“Gentlemen, since you’ve all finished reading the papers, let’s rank them. For the top ten, please write down your choices.”
As Xiao Li instructed, everyone took up their brushes to mark the essays, and soon a list reached his hands.
Using the essay titles, Xiao Li neatly arranged the ten chosen scripts, then turned to the rest.
Once done, he looked at the two essays with six circles each, somewhat at a loss, while the others began to argue.
These two papers were matched in quality; no one could choose between them.
At that moment, Fan Zhengxiong arrived, saw that the ranking was done, and reviewed the scripts, adjusting the order of several essays with the group’s consent. Then, looking at the two leading papers, he, too, seemed helpless.
“Let’s judge the essays on statecraft and poetry next. Whoever stands out there will take first place in the classics as well.”
As the chief examiner, Fan had the final say in the results, but even he hesitated and chose to wait.
Everyone nodded, setting aside the classics essays and taking up the rest.
Another exhausting day of grading began, but compared to the classics, the essays on policy and poetry were a delight. Spirits were high, and exclamations of praise were heard from time to time.
“This ode to the plum blossom is excellent. Using the flower as a metaphor for heroes—surely this is the paper from the day of the examination when something extraordinary happened in the hall?”
“Yes, it shows real accomplishment and talent.”
Some were pleased, others confused.

“These late-found essays are indeed dreadful. Look at this policy paper—discussing frontier affairs, he advocates both appeasement and toughness, but then claims the southern barbarians should decide their own fate. If Commander Tao were here, he’d have twisted the writer’s head off.”
“The topic for this year’s policy essay was too difficult. With a group of boys who’ve never seen battle, it’s hard to expect good writing from them.”
A middle-aged scholar named Feng Dongwei had just finished reading a paper, marked a cross on it, shook his head, and picked up the next one.
As soon as he looked at it, his eyes lit up.
The handwriting was utterly unique—the same style as on the outstanding classics essay he’d seen before.
It must have been written by the same person.
With this in mind, Feng Dongwei grew eager, wanting to see how the author of such a fine essay on the classics would handle a policy paper.
Time passed. While others got up to drink tea, Feng Dongwei sat motionless, eyes glued to the essay in his hands as if he hadn’t moved since picking it up.
Everyone knew Feng Dongwei’s standards: after years serving as a legal advisor on the border, he had broad experience and a keen, critical eye—if an essay displeased him, he rejected it without hesitation.
But now, he stared at the paper, transfixed.
Someone nearby patted him on the shoulder, and Feng Dongwei suddenly shuddered and drew a sharp breath.
“What’s wrong, Brother Dongwei?”
Feng Dongwei looked up, gripping the essay tightly. He realized his back was damp with cold sweat.
After so many years in office, even facing barbarian invasions, he had never known fear.
But the essay in his hands made him tremble.
It contained not just clear strategy,
but, on closer reading, a blood-soaked ruthlessness.
…