The First Place of the Imperial Examination — Zhu Ping’an!
The herald’s voice echoed across the grand hall for the second ti, sonorous and majestic — “First place of the Imperial Examination’s First Rank… Zhu Ping’an!”
The shout was like thunder rolling across still water, shattering the dull haze that had settled over Ouyang Zishi, who had been standing among the rows of new scholars like a walking corpse, his movents chanical, his thoughts blank.
He blinked. Wait… what?
He suddenly realized that he had taken two steps forward, almost as if sleepwalking. His body froze mid-step, the confusion flooding in. Why am I out here? How did I move? What’s going on?
“Are you Zhu Ping’an? Please, follow .”
The official from the Honglu Temple — who had descended from the dais after the second announcent — spotted a young man stepping out from the line of four hundred newly appointed scholars. Naturally, he assud this must be the newly crowned Zhuangyuan, the top scholar himself.
The official’s actions were perfectly by the book. According to ancient ceremony, the na of the first-ranked scholar — the Zhuangyuan — must be proclaid three tis. Afterward, a Honglu official would lead him forward, to kneel on the Imperial Path, the sacred walkway beneath the palace steps, and offer thanks to the emperor for his boundless grace.
Remove AdsThus, when the official saw “Zhu Ping’an” — or rather, Ouyang Zishi, who had prematurely stepped forward in his daze — he smiled, mistaking the gesture for eagerness.
“Ah, our new Zhuangyuan is truly moved,” he thought approvingly, walking up to guide him toward the Imperial Path.
But just as the official approached, sothing strange happened. Ouyang Zishi’s face suddenly went scarlet, the color rushing up as if all the blood in his body had surged to his cheeks. His expression twitched uncontrollably, like a puppet whose strings had been yanked too tight.
The official paused, slightly taken aback. What’s wrong with him? Has he… gone mad with joy?
Then, through clenched teeth and sheer humiliation, Ouyang stamred, “N-no, I… I’m not. I’m Ouyang Zishi.”
His voice was barely above a whisper, but the sha in it could have filled the entire courtyard. He wished the earth would open up beneath him so he could vanish forever.
Fortunately, he had only taken a few steps forward. The ceremony was being conducted outside the great hall, beyond the gaze of the grand ministers and court elders seated inside. The Honglu official, who knew of Ouyang Zishi’s connection with Grand Secretary Yan Song, decided to turn a blind eye. After all, the young man hadn’t done anything truly inappropriate.
The imperial censors, watching from afar, shared the sa sentint — they quietly pretended not to notice.
Among the remaining scholars waiting in the courtyard, a ripple of shock spread through the ranks. None of them were much better off than Ouyang Zishi himself.
Zhu Ping’an? How could it be him?
He was known to have scored only seven “o”s on the examination papers, and he had chosen the Golden Rooster, hardly considered the best. How could he possibly take first place?
Murmurs, disbelief, and wide-eyed astonishnt filled the air. Ironically, their collective shock spared Ouyang much of his embarrassnt.
Only Zhang Siwei and Wang Shizhen remained calm. After their initial surprise, both n broke into genuine smiles — they were sincerely happy for Zhu Ping’an.
As for Zhu Ping’an himself, he seed utterly composed, even serene. His expression betrayed neither excitent nor surprise.
But to Ouyang Zishi, that calmness was pure provocation. Look at him — pretending not to care, acting all lofty and detached. Hah! As if he’s not thrilled beyond belief!
To Ouyang, it was the very definition of arrogance — a quiet, smiling kind of pretentiousness that made his teeth grind.
Zhu Ping’an, however, had noticed Ouyang’s predicant. With impeccable timing, he stepped forward, clasped his hands, and said politely to the official:
“Your humble student, Zhu Ping’an.”
The Honglu official blinked in mild embarrassnt, coughed twice, and quickly gestured, “Ahem… yes, please, follow .”
Under the envious gaze of the entire assembly, Zhu Ping’an followed the official forward. His steps were asured, calm, but there was a quiet energy about him — the steady confidence of one who had reached the pinnacle through his own strength.
Before him lay the Imperial Path, gleaming white under the morning light.
This path, reserved only for the emperor’s feet, was sacred beyond compare. Only on this day — the day of the palace examination results — could three n walk upon it: the Zhuangyuan, the Bangyan, and the Tanhua — the first, second, and third of the realm.
Every other soul under heaven, no matter how noble, could not set foot upon it.
Ouyang Zishi watched as Zhu Ping’an’s figure ascended the path, his robe catching the sunlight like flowing ink on white jade. A storm of emotions churned within him — envy, jealousy, resentnt, and a helpless sense of loss.
That should have been his back, his glory.
At the official’s signal, Zhu Ping’an knelt on the left side of the Imperial Path. His voice rang clear and steady:
Remove Ads“Your servant, Zhu Ping’an, humbly thanks His Majesty for the boundless grace!”
He bowed deeply, his forehead touching the stone.
And in that solemn mont, beneath the vast sky of the capital, a new “Son of Heaven’s disciple” was born.
After the Zhuangyuan’s na was sung three tis, the crier moved on.
“Second place of the First Rank… Han Yupeng!”
Another Honglu official descended, leading Han Yupeng to the path, where he knelt to the right and behind Zhu Ping’an.
Then ca the third — the Tanhua, his na sung three tis as well. He too was guided to kneel behind the first two.
By now, Ouyang Zishi’s spirit had all but collapsed. His face burned as though afla.
Not the Zhuangyuan. Not the Bangyan. Not even the Tanhua.
How could this be?
He thought of all the flattery he had received before the rankings, the confidence, the whispers of his inevitable triumph — and now? The humiliation was unbearable.
Inside the hall, even the venerable Grand Secretary Yan Song was struck speechless, unable to steady his breath.
The crier continued reading nas — now the second rank, sung only once, and without the ceremonial walk to the Imperial Path. Those privileges belonged solely to the top three.
Finally, when the crier reached Second Rank, Second Place, Ouyang Zishi heard his own na.
But it was cold comfort. The title that had once seed glorious now felt hollow, mocking.
His eyes lifted to the youth standing proudly at the head of the Imperial Path. That position — that very stone beneath his feet — should have been his.
Mine, he thought bitterly. That should have been mine!
When all nas were read, the Herald of Proclamation stepped forward once more. The three top scholars — Zhu Ping’an, Han Yupeng, and the third-ranked Tanhua — were led to the front, all the way to where the Imperial Path joined the palace steps.
There they stood in formation, waiting for the presentation of the Golden List.
Zhu Ping’an’s position was central and slightly forward, forming a subtle triangle with the other two.
Remove AdsAs he waited, his gaze fell to the first stone slab beneath his feet — it was unlike the others.
Carved upon it was the figure of a mighty turtle-dragon, its body like a tortoise, its head a dragon, the symbol of enduring strength. The creature’s head was exactly where Zhu Ping’an’s foot now rested.
He smiled faintly. So this was the origin of the saying — “to stand upon the head of the Ao, the turtle-dragon” — the symbol of supre scholarly triumph.
How fitting.
A soft breeze drifted through the courtyard, carrying the warmth of the sun. The light shimred upon the polished stones and danced across Zhu Ping’an’s robes.
For the first ti, emotion swelled within him — deep, quiet, and powerful.
From herding cattle at the foot of Nanshan, he thought, to secretly learning outside the village school, to carving characters on wooden boards by lamplight…
Every dawn, every night — it all led to this.
From a humble mountain boy to the first scholar of the realm — it was unbelievable, and yet, sohow, it felt inevitable.
That day, under the golden light of the palace, the herald’s voice rose once more:
“He who once presented his essay on peace before the throne,
now stands alone — First among n, the one who rides upon the head of the Ao.”
Zhu Ping’an lifted his gaze toward the imperial gates.
“Great Ming,” he murmured in his heart, a surge of pride and destiny filling his chest,
“I am here.”
User Comments
0 comments from readers