Chapter Twenty-Two: Examination Questions

Among all the landscapes I have witnessed, this one certainly ranks among the finest,” Yi An spoke with sincerity, for his words were no exaggeration. In the primordial world, countless caves and fairy realms existed, and the scenery within the celestial palace was beyond description. Yet, for the mortal realm to boast such beauty was already a rare feat.

“Yi An, have you actually seen scenery even grander than this?” Li Zhihe was astonished, his tone filled with disbelief.

He had traveled far and wide in his younger years and considered himself quite experienced. He believed places comparable to West Lake were few and far between—he himself had never encountered one. Yet, Yi An, still so young, claimed to have seen such sights, and more than once. If Li Zhihe hadn’t come to know Yi An these days, and understood that he was not one to speak idly, he might have suspected him of boasting.

“I saw it in a dream, ha ha ha.” Yi An laughed, avoiding further discussion. Such matters could not be shared with others; he had simply let it slip in a moment of carelessness.

Li Zhihe, with an expression of realization, replied, “That explains it.”

This year’s literary gathering was set in a manor by the West Lake. The entire estate was festively decorated, and two attendants stood at the gate, welcoming every scholar without exception.

Inside, Yi An discovered that the gathering attracted not only promising young talents, but also esteemed elders and learned men from the city. These figures served as judges for the event.

Hundreds of tables and chairs were arranged throughout the manor, allowing guests to sit wherever they pleased, which made it convenient for friends to converse. Outside, scholars continued to arrive in a steady stream, making the gathering lively and bustling.

“This year’s gathering draws far more people than in past years,” Li Zhihe remarked as he swept his gaze around, somewhat surprised.

“Brother Li, have you attended before?” Yi An, equally surprised, wondered why a martial artist like Li Zhihe would be present.

Li Zhihe had no interest in scholarly pursuits—Yi An knew this well.

“They always invited my teacher in previous years, so he sent me in his stead. Only in the last couple of years did the invitations cease,” Li Zhihe explained.

Just then, a well-dressed man approached and greeted them, saying, “Isn’t this Young Master Li? Has Master Yinshan come today?”

“Don’t call me young master—I am no such thing.” Li Zhihe replied coolly, clearly unimpressed.

The man merely smiled. If it were someone else, he might have taken offense, but everyone knew Li Zhihe was rough around the edges, so there was no need to take him seriously.

He then turned his gaze to Yi An, who stood beside Li Zhihe, his eyes betraying a hint of surprise.

“I am Qin Menghui. May I ask who you are, brother?” he inquired.

Many had sought to ingratiate themselves with Li Zhihe, hoping to use him as a connection to Master Yinshan—Qin Menghui was no exception.

Yet Li Zhihe refused to show favor to anyone, always standing apart.

Now, who was this person beside him, to warrant Li Zhihe’s respect? Perhaps he had already won Master Yinshan’s favor, prompting Li Zhihe to regard him differently.

Yi An returned the greeting and said, “Yi An—a nobody, really.”

“Brother, you mustn’t be so modest. Anyone who befriends Young Master Li can hardly be ordinary,” Qin Menghui replied, refusing to believe it and assuming Yi An was being evasive.

Before Yi An could respond, Li Zhihe grew impatient. “I am no great figure—my friendships are based on instinct, nothing more. As for Yi An’s scholarly talent, he may not be the best, but he certainly surpasses you.”

His meaning was clear: he had little regard for Qin Menghui.

“Well, then I look forward to seeing your performance later. I hope you won’t let me outshine you,” Qin Menghui said with a forced laugh; even with the best temperament, his face could not hide his embarrassment. He bid Yi An farewell and walked away, his expression dark.

Seeing Qin Menghui rebuffed by Li Zhihe, others who had hoped to strike up a conversation also abandoned the thought.

Yi An asked, puzzled, “Do you have some feud with him?”

“No feud, really. I simply can’t stand such hypocrisy. They look down on people like me for being crude, and I know that even without them saying so. Yet they feign friendship and try to use me for their own gain,” Li Zhihe said with a hint of disgust. His personality was straightforward, and he despised scheming above all.

“I see. Still, you shouldn’t provoke him—I have no intention to compete with them,” Yi An said. He was merely here for the atmosphere and cared nothing for fame or fortune.

He paid no heed to empty reputation; no matter how grand a name, in a hundred years, all would be mere bones, returning to nothingness.

“Haha, that was my teacher’s instruction—don’t blame me. Concealing one’s brilliance is wise, but sometimes being too reserved hinders growth. Only by comparing oneself to others can you see your own shortcomings,” Li Zhihe replied with a smile.

His words silenced anything Yi An had intended to say next.

After a short wait, the gathering officially began. A middle-aged man stepped onto the platform and addressed the crowd, “Thank you, gentlemen and elders, for coming. The gathering is about to begin. We are honored to have Master Chen as our chief judge today. Please welcome Master Chen to say a few words.”

The man’s name was He Ting, the owner of the manor. He was an old scholar who had repeatedly failed the imperial examinations and eventually turned to business, building a large enterprise with his sharp mind.

Though he had given up on the exams, he still harbored a desire for fame.

As for Master Chen, he held the title of juren and was a notable figure among scholars in Hangzhou.

Though this gathering attracted many talented scholars, the elite considered it a minor affair. Thus, securing a juren as judge was already quite an achievement.

Master Chen, advanced in years, struggled up to the stage and, following tradition, delivered much the same address as in previous years before announcing the contest’s focus.

“Compose a poem!”

Everyone seemed to expect this, showing no surprise. Year after year, the contest centered around poetry or essay writing.

After all, these were the true tests of a scholar’s talent. Other arts were rare specialties and unsuitable as subjects for competition.