Eyes Wide with Astonishment

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After a long and elaborate speech full of platitudes in which the director of academic affairs boasted about their achievements, just as he was getting into his stride, Director Song suddenly interrupted, “When does the exam start?”

This, too, was a redundant question. The mock exam timetable was set citywide; just a glance at the schedule would make it clear. But since Song was a superior, everyone naturally paid close attention to his every word and gesture.

Sure enough, the principal, standing on Song’s other side, glanced at his watch and chimed in, “It’s already started.”

“Very well, let’s go take a look at the exam rooms then!”

With that, Song strode off, surrounded by a crowd, and in no time they reached the small classroom building.

At this point, the director of academic affairs popped up again. “This is our school’s small classroom building, one of the exam venues, and it’s normally used by the senior grade.”

Song made no comment. “I’ve heard that some students from other schools are also sitting the exam here.”

“Oh yes, yes, that’s in the Chemistry Lab Building!” the director replied. “Some of our own candidates, along with all the students from other schools, are taking the exam there.”

“Then let’s go take a look over there!”

Hearing this, the school leaders exchanged glances; two vice principals even shot the director a look, hoping he’d say something, but before he could gather his thoughts, Song was already striding toward the Chemistry building.

As they entered the building, the clatter of dozens of leather shoes suddenly shattered the corridor’s silence.

Song frowned and instructed, “Let’s split up into groups of three to patrol the exam rooms, all right?” Then he pointed at the director, “You, and Xiao Yan—come with me!”

The school’s leaders had no choice but to accept this arrangement, however reluctant they were.

After receiving his Chinese exam paper, Yang Tang didn’t start with the short-answer questions. Instead, after filling in his name and candidate number, he turned straight to the section worth ninety points—couplets, poetry, and essay writing.

The four couplet questions weren’t particularly challenging, so thanks to his memories from a previous life, Yang Tang matched them up quickly.

Next came the poetry section, which was similarly straightforward: “Compose a poem or lyric on the theme of ‘Spring.’”

After a moment’s thought, Yang Tang casually wrote down the first half of “A Joyful Rain on a Spring Night”: “A timely good rain knows its season, when spring arrives it brings new life. With the wind it slips in by night, moistening all things in silence.”

“Hmm?”

By now, Song had already patrolled three exam rooms in a cursory fashion. Suddenly, he paused at Yang Tang’s desk, drawn by the boy’s unique, slender, and elegant penmanship.

In fact, the reason Song had flitted from room to room like a butterfly was to find students whose handwriting on the exam paper stood out. So far, few had caught his eye, but now, at last, here was Yang Tang.

Seeing the poem he’d written, Song, who hadn’t intended to make a sound, couldn’t help but let out a surprised gasp.

“Uncle,” Yang Tang said, not bothering to look behind, calmly moving on to study the essay prompt.

“Zheng Wengong said, ‘Do not rejoice in external things.’ Shou Gong said, ‘Do not grieve over oneself.’ Please write an essay on the topic of ‘Do not rejoice in external things, do not grieve over oneself.’ Any genre is allowed except poetry; choose your own title, no fewer than 800 words.”

After reading the prompt, Yang Tang was somewhat speechless. In this world’s history, there was no Fan Zhongyan, thus no famous “Memorial to Yueyang Tower.” Instead, Zheng Wengong and Shou Gong, old classmates, had each, during a symposium, spoken one half of the phrase “Do not rejoice in external things, do not grieve over oneself.”

On second thought, Yang Tang found this rather convenient. He didn’t need to rack his brains; by patching together some thoughts, he could easily reach the 800-word requirement, so he began to write:

“The snow lotus blooms in bitter cold, the thornbird presses on through sudden storms.”

At just the opening, Song was taken aback. With his level of cultivation, it wasn’t hard for him to grasp Yang Tang’s intended message, but it was truly rare for a candidate’s casual opening to seize his attention so completely.

Reading on, he saw Yang Tang’s pen take a turn: “Mencius said, ‘A gentleman in hardship does not lose his integrity; in prosperity, he does not depart from the Way.’”

Song understood this line deeply and saw how Yang Tang’s words echoed earlier imagery. Yet he couldn’t help but smile inwardly—are people really like birds? Thornbirds, due to their obstinacy, keep pressing on regardless of storm or sunshine, but humans, when impoverished, often lose their moral compass.

Why is this so?

Song found himself pondering this question along with Yang Tang’s essay. He realized it was precisely because people have nimble minds; when poor, they seek change, unlike the stubborn thornbird.

But is it really so bad to stubbornly uphold moral principles?

Taking it further, what would it be like to be “single-minded for the public good, thinking only of the public good” in such a stubborn way?

Song couldn’t help but think of his own grandfather, and for a moment his heart was filled with emotion. When he came to, he looked back at Yang Tang’s essay and saw the boy was writing just at this point.

“Let’s see how you conclude this essay, young man,” Song thought to himself.

Unexpectedly, Yang Tang started a new paragraph and shifted his tone:

“Not rejoicing in external things, nor grieving over oneself—how hard that is! When in high office, one worries for the people; in distant exile, one worries for the ruler. Whether advancing or retreating, there is always worry. So when, then, is there joy? Surely it is when one first grieves for the worries of the world, and only later rejoices in its happiness. Alas, such people are rare indeed!”

With that, Yang Tang set down his pen, reviewed his essay from beginning to end, and finding no errors, was about to turn back to the earlier fill-in-the-blank questions. But just then, Song’s large hand reached out and pressed down on his paper.

“What are you doing?” Yang Tang turned to look at Song.

Song took out his private phone and said, “May I take a picture of your essay?”

Yang Tang did not refuse outright; instead, he shrugged and raised his hand to call over the proctor.

Of the two proctors, the male one glanced at Song, and seeing no objection, hurried over. Without first asking if Yang Tang had any questions, he instead greeted Song obsequiously: “Director Song, hello, hello, I’m—”

Seeing other students turning to look, Song raised an eyebrow and said, “Don’t disturb the other candidates. This student has a question for you.”

“Yes, yes!” The male proctor turned to Yang Tang. “Student, what is it?”

Yang Tang’s face was expressionless. He simply pointed at Song. “He wants to take a picture. You’re the proctor—if you agree, I have no objection.”

Only then did Song realize what Yang Tang was doing, and his appreciation for the boy grew. The male proctor, however, seemed not to think deeply and immediately gave his assent: “No problem, if Director Song wants a picture, of course that’s fine.”

At this, Song’s brows furrowed in displeasure. He put his phone away, patted Yang Tang on the shoulder, and said in a low voice, “Young man, you’re impressive. Do your best on the exam. I wish you a successful mock test!” With that, he strode out of the classroom.

Once in the corridor, the director asked, “Director Song, what’s that student’s name?”

“Yang Tang!”

“Oh?” Now it was Song’s turn to be surprised. “You didn’t even need to check—you knew the boy’s name right away. Not bad for a director of academic affairs!”

Hearing this praise, the director felt a touch of Spartan irony, thinking that the only reason he remembered the name was because Yang Tang had once broken a classmate’s arm. But aloud, he could only say, “You flatter me, Director Song. I’m just doing my duty!”

After the Chinese exam, Yang Tang finally breathed a sigh of relief. The remaining history and English papers were his strengths and wouldn’t drain him much.

Heading for the school gate, Yang Tang was planning to go straight to lunch when he spotted He Jianni’s Wendtisa parked across the street.

Strolling leisurely across, he came to the driver’s side. “Hey, Jianni, I thought—” As he spoke, he glanced inside and was surprised to see Bai Keqing curled up in the passenger seat. “Hm? Committee Member Bai, you’re here too? You finished your paper early?”

Bai Keqing made no secret of her motives. “I was waiting for you.”

“Waiting for me? What for?”

“I’ve spoken to my friend, and we’ll proceed under the same conditions as yesterday. You’ll keep the authorship rights!”

“Huh?” Yang Tang was slightly surprised—he thought the matter was off the table, but apparently, there was a twist after all. “When and where, though? It can’t be too far off!”

“I know,” Bai Keqing replied lazily, and then, in perfect unison with He Jianni, said, “You have your college entrance exams coming up!”

“Wait, when did the two of you get so close you’re finishing each other’s sentences?” Yang Tang exclaimed in mock alarm.

Again, the two girls answered in unison, “Mind your own business!”

“Fine, I won’t.” Saying this, Yang Tang turned and headed toward New Street.

“Hey, where are you going?” He Jianni called after him.

“To get lunch!”

In the end, the two girls dragged him off to a high-end restaurant, apparently booked in advance by He Jianni. The prices were steep, and a musician was playing the guzheng.

Once seated, Yang Tang couldn’t help but laugh. “Jianni, Committee Member Bai, with the three of us sitting here like this, don’t you think it’s a little awkward?”

A flicker of discomfort crossed Jianni’s face, but Bai Keqing was perfectly at ease. “It’s just a meal. What’s there to be awkward about?”

“A meal? I guess I’m overthinking things,” Yang Tang joked at his own expense.

Unexpectedly, He Jianni smiled mysteriously. “Not necessarily. Maybe you’re underestimating things.”

“Oh?”

At that moment, a waitress in traditional Han attire approached, pushing a bamboo cart. As she served them tea, she asked softly, “We have a full menu of specialties today. May I recommend anything in particular?”

Bai Keqing exchanged a subtle glance with He Jianni, then said, “Please bring us the poetry and couplet menus.”

“Certainly.” The waitress took out two bamboo scrolls from beneath the cart—one for Yang Tang, the other for He Jianni.

Yang Tang unrolled the scroll and found the dish names all written in a calligraphic script. “Come on, it’s just a meal—why all the theatrics? Reading a menu shouldn’t feel like an archaeological dig.”

As soon as he said this, not only did the two girls shoot him a look, but even the waitress regarded him with a hint of displeasure.

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