Chapter 10: The Academy Examination

Most academies nowadays rely heavily on the land granted by the imperial court under the academic land system to support their scholars. They lease this land to farmers in exchange for silver to sustain daily operations. As for Wang Juren, the founder of the academy, it goes without saying that he had just received his academic land and was already preparing to recruit a new batch of students—a great blessing for scholars from impoverished families.

The Huating Academy, being the most prestigious in the region, attracted countless aspiring students. Yet, more than those drawn by the academy’s reputation, Chen Ping’s chief concern at this moment was the tuition fees that Song Qiao had mentioned. If he could secure a spot here, would that not ease his parents’ worries over the lack of money for his education?

“Those interested may register on the list beside me. The instructors will then set the exam questions for you,” Song Qiao’s voice stirred the crowd.

Doctor Zheng glanced at Chen Duohai, as if asking why he hadn’t registered.

“My son is still young; Ping’er has never studied before…” Chen Duohai’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Clutching Chen Ping’s hand tightly, he was ready to retreat, thinking, “This test today… forget it, we simply lack the luck.”

“Father, but I want to try!” Chen Ping tugged at Chen Duohai, stopping him from leaving. His gaze was resolute as he looked at the elderly man seated at the highest place inside the academy.

Though he lacked full confidence in passing such an ancient-style examination, considering his family’s current situation and the hefty fee demanded, if only for Old Huang, he had to give it a try.

Old Huang: Moo Moo Da.

“This…” Chen Duohai hesitated, his eyes scanning the neatly dressed elder before settling again on Chen Ping. Around them, children urged their families on.

Recalling Chen Ping’s sharpness with arithmetic at the pharmacy earlier, Chen Duohai gritted his teeth, made a clumsy bow to Doctor Zheng, and pushed forward to the registration desk with Chen Ping.

Outside, the crowd was dense, but once inside, the space suddenly opened up.

Adults held children’s hands, queuing in orderly fashion. At the front desk lay a thick stack of registration lists.

To the left of the desk, someone occasionally called out a child’s name, and shortly after, a sullen-faced child would emerge from an alleyway to the right.

The room fell silent except for the soft scratching of brush on paper. Even Chen Ping, who had experienced major exams in a past life, found the atmosphere nerve-wracking.

“Chen Ping.”

It was his turn.

He took a deep breath and followed the man inside.

Passing through the corridor, Chen Ping noticed several children being led out from different rooms. As they turned a corner, the man stopped.

“This is it,” he said.

Chen Ping nodded, quietly thanked the man, and slowly opened the door.

Seated at the main position was an elderly man in a blue robe, beckoning him forward.

“Are you called Chen Ping?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Do you know how to write these two characters?”

Chen Ping glanced at the paper, nodded, then shook his head. “I can recognize them, but I’m not good at writing.”

“You’re an honest child,” the elder chuckled lightly before continuing, “Have you read any books?”

“No.”

“Then have you heard of anything?”

“...No.”

Chen Ping couldn’t answer any of the elder’s questions, and a wave of helplessness washed over him.

But he refused to bow his head, instead meeting the elder’s gaze with determination—as if daring the old man to test him further.

Interesting.

The elder hadn’t seen such an intriguing child in a long time. Over the years, he had encountered indulgent scions and ignorant braggarts aplenty, but Chen Ping gave off a different impression, prompting him to ask questions beyond the exam’s scope.

“What do you usually do at home?”

“I herd cattle and help with chores.”

“If from noon you herd cattle for two hours, and in between do chores for half an hour, how much time remains before sunset?”

“Half an hour,” Chen Ping answered instantly.

Finally, a question the boy could answer. The elder pressed on.

“If one jin of meat costs fifty wen, and you buy half a jin, then go to another place to buy two jin of salt, spending a total of one hundred sixty-one wen, what is the price of the salt?”

“Sixty-eight wen,” Chen Ping calculated after a moment’s thought.

With such quick mental arithmetic and his confident demeanor, the elder couldn’t resist raising the difficulty, curious to see how far Chen Ping could go despite being only seven years old.

“There is a field fifteen bu wide and sixteen bu long. What is the area of the field?”

“One mu.”

“Now, there is one dou of grain, which you want to convert into millet. How much millet will you get?”

Chen Ping hadn’t noticed the trap in the earlier questions, but this one struck a chord. He suddenly recalled that this was a problem from the “Nine Chapters on the Mathematical Art” in the grain section—a text he once found fascinating. He was startled and almost forgot who had said he never studied before.

He hadn’t expected to get so engrossed and carried away.

Simple arithmetic was one thing, but this question was beyond the grasp of an illiterate child. Being too clever could be a curse; Chen Ping quickly suppressed the answer that was about to slip out.

The elder, eager for a response, waited, but saw the boy clamp his mouth shut.

“Why aren’t you speaking?” he asked.

Chen Ping lowered his head, parted his lips, and finally uttered with difficulty, “I don’t know…”

After speaking, fearing the elder’s displeasure, he timidly looked up to gauge his expression.

To his surprise, the elder laughed heartily, “Don’t know? Ha ha ha, ‘don’t know’ is good! What a fine ‘don’t know’!”

The elder’s reaction left Chen Ping bewildered, but the hearty laughter eased his tension. He wondered if he still had a chance to pass.

“Chen Ping, where are you from?”

“Nanxi Village.”

“That’s quite a distance,” the elder frowned slightly, wrote a few characters on paper, then motioned for Chen Ping to leave.

Stepping outside, Chen Ping held the folded paper and walked slowly, glancing around in hopes of spotting other children who looked like him, but reached the end without success.

Following the elder’s instructions, Chen Ping handed the paper to the man at the registration desk, who paused his pen and stared at Chen Ping for some time.

“Is there a problem?” Chen Ping asked.

The man seemed to snap out of a trance, quickly finalized the paper, smiled, and bade farewell. He reminded Chen Ping not to forget to prepare his things.

“Prepare my things?” Chen Ping muttered as he left the building, pondering the man’s words.

“Prepare what things? What things to prepare?” Chen Duohai, waiting outside, was confused by Chen Ping’s murmuring.

“It’s naturally the ceremonial gifts for becoming an apprentice.”

Doctor Zheng, stepping forward with Chen Duohai, stroked his beard in satisfaction and congratulated the father and son, “Looks like someone will be bringing good news to your home tomorrow. Let me be the first to congratulate young Chen on becoming a student of Huating Academy. Don’t forget to visit me for tea in the future.”

Chen Duohai stood rooted, uncertain, glancing toward the still-long queue at the academy gate.

“So, it’s… it’s done? Prepare things… prepare things… prepare things!”

He slapped his thigh suddenly, joy lighting his face. Wiping the dampness from his eyes vigorously, he straightened his bent back.

“Yes, we must prepare things! We must… prepare things!”