All along the road home, Lin Fangming wore a dejected expression.
Comparison is a cruel thing. In past years, failing the county examination had never troubled him much. But this time, his younger brother—more than a decade his junior—had taken first place twice in succession.
He was, after all, a man who cared about face.
What he did not yet know was that his wife was anxiously awaiting his return. The reason lay in an encounter.
When Ai Xiaoya had once again gone to negotiate consignment fees with the bookseller, she happened to run into Qu Shuangshuang, who had come to purchase writing supplies.
Xiaoya had long intended to befriend Qu Shuangshuang but had been so occupied that she had forgotten. This unexpected meeting seemed almost providential.
Qu Shuangshuang stepped forward warmly. “To meet you again today, madam, is truly a pleasure. I have long hoped to make your acquaintance. Might I have the honor of inviting you for tea?”
Xiaoya had already failed to reach an agreement with the shopkeeper and was about to leave.
Smiling, she replied, “An invitation from Boss Qu is more than I could ask for.”
At Honghu Tower, each with the intent to cultivate goodwill, they soon fell into easy
conversation. Before long, one was calling the other “Sister Qu,” the other “Sister Xiaoya.”
Qu Shuangshuang noticed the manuscript in Xiaoya’s hands and inquired about her dispute with Shopkeeper Yuan. Xiaoya, seeing no harm in it, recounted the matter in full.
Curious about the story, Qu asked if she might borrow the manuscript to read. Xiaoya, having struggled to promote it, readily agreed, arranging to retrieve it the following day.
When she returned the next afternoon, Qu Shuangshuang was already waiting in the main hall. She wished to purchase the manuscript outright.
Honghu Tower had once engaged a female storyteller. At first, many ladies patronized her performances, but she only knew two stories. Once the novelty wore off, the hall grew quiet.
Qu Shuangshuang genuinely valued Xiaoya’s tale. After explaining her intentions, she added candidly, “I cannot understand why you thought to sell it to a bookshop. How many customers there buy storybooks?”
How did I think of it? Xiaoya thought wryly. Because that’s what happens in transmigration novels.
Having been worn down by recent frustrations, she asked plainly, “If you purchase it, how would you structure the payment?”
Qu Shuangshuang did not equivocate. “If you sell it outright, I can offer forty taels. If you collaborate with me, I will pay ten taels as a writing fee, and you shall receive forty percent of the audience gratuities from storytelling.”
Forty taels was no small sum. The Lin family’s hundred-odd mu of land yielded roughly two hundred taels a year. As housekeeper, Zhao Shiyue gave her merely one tael per month for pocket money.
Xiaoya was tempted to accept immediately, but much of the manuscript had been written by Lin Fangming. She felt it only proper to consult him.
“I am inclined to cooperate,” she said, “but my husband assisted in polishing the manuscript. I must first obtain his consent. When he returns from the prefectural examination, I shall give you my answer.”
The prefectural examination had concluded two days prior; they would not wait long.
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On the return journey, Lin Fangming caught a chill, perhaps from suppressed frustration. The delay cost them a day.
Meanwhile, news of the prefectural results had already reached the clan. Wine, firecrackers, and banquet arrangements were prepared in anticipation of their triumphant return.
When the carriage reached the entrance of Lin Family Village, several children stationed as lookouts rushed forward.
As the brothers alighted, Ermu bypassed his father and leapt onto Lin Fangxu.
“Little Uncle! It’s fortunate you did so well! Great-Granduncle said there’ll be a banquet—this afternoon we can eat Buddha Jumps Over the Wall again!”
Lin Fangqi laughed. “So passing the exam is merely for the sake of eating Buddha Jumps Over the Wall? Come then, today we all bask in Case-Head Lin’s glory!”
They entered the village amidst laughter.
Firecrackers strung across the entrance were lit, crackling in welcome.
The clan’s exuberance was understandable. Though securing first place at the prefectural level did not guarantee top honors in the subsequent provincial exam, it virtually assured passage. The Fang generation would now have an officially titled representative to uphold the clan’s standing.
Sixteen banquet tables were set.
Lin Fangxu, Lin Fangqi, and Lin Fangshao sat at the head table alongside Great-Granduncle and other elders.
Cousins from the Fang generation came in succession to offer toasts.
Fangqi and the others drank. But when it came to Fangxu, each would-be toast was rebuffed by the elders.
“He is only thirteen!” Great-Granduncle barked. “What if wine harms his constitution?”
“He sits the provincial exam in June,” Sixth Granduncle added sternly. “If drink impairs him and delays his success, none of you could compensate for it!”
The younger men dared not argue.
Fangxu, unwilling to dampen the mood, raised his teacup in return for each toast. By the end, he had scarcely eaten two bites of Buddha Jumps Over the Wall, yet had drunk a bellyful of tea.
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After the banquet dispersed, Lin Fangming did not return home. Instead, he walked alone along the riverbank, stopping beneath the willows at the edge of the village.
Ai Xiaoya believed she understood him well. It reminded her of post–college entrance banquet dynamics in her own world: those admitted to elite universities sat beside teachers speaking of bright futures; those who had fared poorly quietly reclaimed the cost of their banquet gifts.
She herself had contributed nothing and felt ill at ease partaking freely. Resolving to play the attentive wife, she followed him discreetly, intending to offer comfort.
Standing by the river, Fangming gazed at the moon’s reflection.
“Wife,” he said, without turning, “do you find the drooping willows and the bright moon upon the water beautiful?”
Xiaoya considered. “The willows are verdant, the moon luminous. Yes, it is beautiful.” He murmured, half to himself, “So beautiful. I wish to compose a poem in praise of it.”
“Then write one,” she replied cautiously. “Shall I fetch paper and ink?”—provided, of course, that he did not intend to throw himself into the river.
But Fangming continued as if she had not spoken.
“Must a scholar write only eight-legged essays? The shiwen and bagu were not crafted by the sages—how can they truly express the sages’ subtle depths? And can the beauty of this world, the affairs of men, truly be contained within the confines of eight legs? Must a scholar submit to their rigid forms, become one who chases hollow reputation, a parasite clinging to rank and salary?”
Very well, Xiaoya thought. There will be no need to console you after all.
Summoning all his courage, Fangming declared, “Wife, whatever rebuke my elder brother may deliver, I shall not sit the examinations again.”
Xiaoya found she did not particularly mind. Seeing he harbored no suicidal intent, she stood with him a while longer before they returned home.
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On the other side of the willow grove, Lin Fangxu stood with Lin Fangqin.
Fangqin idly snapped a willow branch and asked, “Xu-ge, must a scholar excel at eight-legged essays?”
Fangxu pondered. “A scholar need not excel at them. Nor does one who excels thereby become a scholar. It is merely a borrowed title—a means to accomplish what one intends.”
Fangqin snorted softly.
“You see clearly. It seems I need no longer press your second brother. If he does not wish to test, so be it. But then you must bear the burden of becoming that so-called parasite of rank.”
Fangxu shrugged lightly. “I have no desire to be a parasite of rank. But I have even less desire to be merely a scholar.”
Fangqin looked at him with open satisfaction. The brothers exchanged a knowing smile and returned home.
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The following day, Lin Fangxu and Lin Fangqi went together to Qixia Academy. At the gate they encountered Wu Zisheng and another candidate in his twenties, Wen Boyuan—both of whom had passed the prefectural examination.
After exchanging greetings, the five proceeded to their teacher’s study.
Master Xu Zhao, seeing them, smiled. “You have taken the first two steps of the preliminary examinations. Only the last remains. Do not grow complacent.”
“We would not dare,” they replied in unison.
“For the time being, return home and revise in peace,” Xu Zhao continued. “I have arranged lodgings through your senior brother Xu. Each of you take a card; upon arriving in Hangzhou, go directly to the Xu family residence.”
He then commented individually upon their county and prefectural essays, offering pointed advice.
When it was Lin Fangxu’s turn, the master said, “Xu-ge’er, though young, your mind is remarkably lucid. In matters of writing, I have little left to teach you. Yet there is one thing I would say.”
“Please instruct me, sir.”
Xu Zhao fell silent for a moment.
“At times,” he said slowly, “one must retain a measure of sincerity. Do not calculate every matter too finely.”
Fangxu’s thoughts stirred, though his expression remained respectful. “Your student will bear your words in mind.”
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By mid-fifth month, preparations for the journey to Hangzhou were underway. The distance from Wuyi to Hangzhou far exceeded that to Jinhua. They would depart a full month in advance, traveling with a merchant caravan.
Lin Fangqin and Lin Fangwu would escort them.
Before departure, Sixth Granduncle summoned Fangqin, pressing one hundred taels into his hand and assigning two guards to accompany the party.
The final step of the Little Three Primaries lay ahead.
