Chapter Two: Forced to Pretend

Zhu Yuanzhang still wanted to ask further about those grave robbers, but unexpectedly, a flippant voice interrupted.

“Well, if it isn’t our provincial champion from Fujian! Why are you hiding here all alone?” The speaker was a scholar named Yuan Cheng, also from Fujian, though not from the same prefecture as Zhu Yang.

Yuan Cheng was from Jianning Prefecture, while Zhu Yang’s household was registered in Fuzhou Prefecture.

“Oh…I see now. The esteemed provincial champion must have thought our literary debate beneath him, too childish to bother with!” Yuan Cheng spoke as if on Zhu Yang’s behalf, yet with every word, he placed Zhu Yang in opposition to all the other scholars.

Sure enough, at these words, everyone’s gaze fell upon Zhu Yang.

Scholars are especially intolerant of anyone who tries to appear loftier than themselves, particularly when gathered from across the empire. Young, proud, and brimming with ambition, they were as numerous as fish in the river.

If anyone dared proclaim himself the best, the rest would not hesitate to brand him a fool.

Now, in their eyes, Zhu Yang was precisely that fool.

Yuan Cheng, seeing the scene unfold, could not hide the flicker of satisfaction in his eyes.

Before meeting Zhu Yang, Yuan Cheng had always been the prodigy of Jianning Prefecture—beginning his studies at seven, passing the county examination at thirteen, and then, by fifteen, clearing both the academy and prefectural exams, becoming the youngest top graduate in Jianning.

Since then, Yuan Cheng had lived in a constant chorus of praise, the model child of Jianning, and over time, he fell into the illusion that, in the great Ming realm, no one but him could claim supremacy in knowledge.

This conviction lasted until the twenty-third year of Hongwu, when the provincial examination was held in Fujian, gathering all scholars in Fuzhou.

Yuan Cheng, eager to make a name for himself before the chief examiner, met Zhu Yang—a younger prodigy from Fuzhou Prefecture.

The exam results were announced swiftly: Zhu Yang won the championship, while Yuan Cheng placed sixth—not even second.

Having grown accustomed to adulation, Yuan Cheng could not accept this. He searched for excuses: the second and third place finishers were older, and had taken the exams more than once.

Only against Zhu Yang could he find no excuse. In age, Zhu Yang was sixteen, Yuan Cheng eighteen; in attempts, Zhu Yang was also on his first.

From then on, with every praise Zhu Yang received, Yuan Cheng’s resentment grew deeper.

For days now, Yuan Cheng had been searching for an opportunity to draw Zhu Yang into the fray among the scholars, but Zhu Yang was slippery as an eel, always avoiding confrontation.

Just when Yuan Cheng was cursing his luck, Zhu Yang appeared of his own accord tonight.

Yuan Cheng was not about to let such a chance slip by.

He decided that if Zhu Yang made the slightest misstep before the assembled scholars of the nation, he would seize the opportunity to brand Zhu Yang as unworthy, ruining his reputation completely.

In the capital, reputation was as crucial as scholarship in the metropolitan examination. For someone with a bad name, no matter how learned, the court would never employ him.

“Sigh…” Seeing the aggressive faces all around, Zhu Yang sighed and handed the remaining sunflower seeds to Zhu Yuanzhang, signaling him to enjoy them at his leisure.

Zhu Yuanzhang accepted without protest, cracking the seeds while watching to see how Zhu Yang would handle the situation.

For Zhu Yuanzhang, making Zhu Yang an official was a matter of a single word. Protecting his own—why not? Object? Then they could all be executed!

Zhu Yang had no inkling of Zhu Yuanzhang’s true identity or intentions, believing the old man to be just as he claimed: surnamed Huang.

Standing up, Zhu Yang looked at the crowd, torn between sorrow and frustration. In order to keep the mood light for everyone post-exam, he had avoided nearly every gathering since arriving in Yingtian.

Yet, on the eve of the examination, he could not escape.

“It’s not that I refuse to participate, Vice-Champion, but I worry I might affect your performance tomorrow!” Zhu Yang decided to try one last time; after all, a display of overwhelming ability could have serious consequences.

But the moment he spoke, the crowd took it as arrogance, not humility.

Voices rose in condemnation:

“Hah…such arrogance!”

“Insolent…”

“Who do you think you are?”

On and on.

As the crowd’s indignation grew, Yuan Cheng laughed inwardly: Zhu Yang was finished.

Seeing their outraged faces and Yuan Cheng’s almost ear-to-ear grin, Zhu Yang rubbed his aching head. “I’m telling the truth—why won’t they believe me?”

As a proper transmigrator, Zhu Yang had memorized five thousand years of Chinese poetry, sparred in verse with countless internet jesters, and even taken on the persona of an ETC barrier, driving many a netizen to despair.

In verbal duels, Zhu Yang feared no one.

“Fine, since you’re all so earnest in forcing me to show off, I’ll oblige. But first, you’ll have to sign this agreement!” Zhu Yang produced a sheet of paper and spread it out before the crowd.

Written on it: The participants guarantee that tonight’s contest has no bearing on the metropolitan examination. Should any scholar perform poorly tomorrow—due to confusion, mental block, or any related issue—Zhu Yang bears no responsibility.

“What’s this?” someone asked, puzzled.

“Ah, I have no choice,” Zhu Yang replied. “Tomorrow is the big exam. If you all lose too badly tonight and perform poorly because of it, and if His Majesty asks, you’ll surely blame me. Even with ten thousand tongues, I couldn’t defend myself!”

It was well-known that holding office under Hongwu was perilous—but so was participating in the imperial examinations.

Before transmigrating, Zhu Yang had read in the “History of Ming” about the thirtieth year’s metropolitan exam, where southern scholars performed so well that the top fifty were all southerners, with the northerners completely shut out.

Rather than reflecting on themselves, the northern candidates blamed the chief examiner and filed endless complaints, their rumors spreading far and wide.

Zhu Yuanzhang was furious, and upon investigation found nothing amiss with the successful southerners.

Yet, to pacify public anger, Zhu Yuanzhang executed the chief examiner and the officials involved in the review, some by lingering death.

The southern scholar initially awarded top honors was also, it was said, executed in the end.

Determined not to repeat that poor scholar’s fate, Zhu Yang decided to secure some insurance for himself.

If these scholars were crushed tonight and thus did poorly in the exams, leading to a drastic drop in both the number and quality of successful candidates, Zhu Yuanzhang might order executions. Zhu Yang could then produce the agreement and perhaps save his own neck.

“If you wish to compete, sign and seal!” Zhu Yang had the waiter bring ink and a brush, passing them to the crowd.

“Well, you’re confident—I’ll sign!” The Zhejiang champion, Wu Wentao, stepped forward and signed his name.

With Wu as an example, the others followed suit, including Yuan Cheng.

“Excellent!” Zhu Yang blew the ink dry, carefully folded the document, and placed it in his robe.

“Set the questions, then!” Zhu Yang gestured to the assembly.

“I’ll go…”

“No, let me…”

Soon, four scholars came forward—all provincial champions from different provinces, including Wu Wentao from Zhejiang.

“We won’t gang up on you. If you answer all four of our questions correctly, you win. But if you miss even one, you must kneel and respectfully call us ‘Grandfather’!” announced Sun Decai, the Shanxi provincial champion, laying out the rules.

“Grandfather?” Zhu Yuanzhang raised an eyebrow, casting a sidelong glance at the crowd—these youngsters wanted his possible grandson to call them grandfather?

Zhu Yuanzhang’s murderous intent surged. He wondered if he should have all these scholars executed, perhaps eradicating their entire clans.

Jiang Huan, meanwhile, gripped his sword, ready to cut down these foolish scholars at a word from Zhu Yuanzhang.

“And if I win?” Zhu Yang asked.

“If you win, we’ll avoid you from now on,” Sun Decai replied.

“Oh no, if I win, every one of you here must kneel to me and call me ‘Grandfather’!” Zhu Yang countered. “But if you can answer my four questions, you’ll be spared that. Fail, and you’ll have to kowtow and call me ‘Grandfather’ as you do so!”

Hearing Zhu Yang’s terms, the four provincial champions exchanged glances, confident in their victory, and nodded in agreement.