“Hey, isn’t that the Zhou family’s… relative? So, how did the exam go? Did you completely disgrace Director Zhou’s reputation?”

Another person chimed in, “He’s a relative of the Zhou family, after all. He probably got the inside scoop long ago. Something like scripture memorization and transcription is probably child’s play for him, right?”

They sneered with mocking laughter, their eyes full of contempt.

Zhao Rui’s face instantly flushed a deep purplish-red, a mixture of shame and anger. His lips trembled, but he couldn’t utter a single word in rebuttal.

Su Ming turned around and calmly looked at those few students.

“In the examination hall, everyone relies on their own ability. Outside the hall, excessive talk is pointless.”

His voice wasn’t loud, but it was like a bucket of cold water, dousing the arrogance of those few. Looking into Su Ming’s clear and utterly unperturbed eyes, they felt inexplicably unnerved and slunk away awkwardly.

Zhao Rui stared blankly at Su Ming’s back, a tumult of mixed emotions churning in his heart.

The second exam: policy discussion.

Zhou Wenhai stepped aside, replaced by an elderly man with graying hair and beard and a gentle demeanor. He was Professor Liu of the County School.

Professor Liu walked to the front of the platform, his gaze sweeping gently over the crowd, his voice resonant:

“Today’s policy discussion topic will not discuss classical meanings or literary flair. It asks only one thing—’Discussing solutions for summer floods and autumn droughts in the five southern townships of Qingzhou.'”

As soon as the topic was announced, the hall erupted in a wave of astonished murmurs.

Most of the students were dumbfounded. They had prepared for grand, abstract topics like “The Way of the Ruler” or “Benevolent Governance and Loving the People.” Who would care about flood and drought disasters in some rural backwater?

Instantly, cries of despair rose. Many racked their brains but could only write empty statements like “The ruler should cultivate virtuous governance to move Heaven.”

Zhao Rui’s face turned ashen. He didn’t even know where the five southern townships of Qingzhou were, let alone anything about summer floods and autumn droughts.

However, when Su Ming heard this topic, he inwardly let out a long sigh of relief.

He raised his head and looked at Professor Liu on the platform, a trace of a smile appearing in his eyes.

This exam question… it was practically tailor-made for him.

Xu Qing, I owe you one for this.

“Disciple, what are you waiting for? It’s an open-book exam!” Lin Yu’s voice grew excited. “Take the stuff from that County Records of Qingzhou, mix it with the farming experience your dad has been drilling into you for over a decade, mash it all together, and shove it in their faces! Let them see what real wisdom from the laboring masses looks like!”

Su Ming smiled.

He picked up his brush, almost without any hesitation.

Ink gathered at the tip of the brush, then transformed into lines of clear, forceful small regular script.

He didn’t use any flowery rhetoric, getting straight to the heart of the problem from the very beginning—”The calamity of floods and droughts is not a natural disaster, but actually a disaster caused by neglected water conservancy.”

Next, he cited records from the County Records of Qingzhou, analyzing in detail the topography, landforms, and river courses of the five southern townships. He pointed out that the main local rivers suffered from silted-up channels and poorly maintained, aged dikes, which were the root cause of disastrous flooding whenever heavy summer rains occurred.

Then, his writing took a turn, and he began proposing concrete solutions.

“First, dredging silt and reinforcing dikes should be undertaken. It is appropriate to conscript laborers during the winter slack season to deepen river channels, use the excavated silt to reinforce the banks on both sides, and extensively plant soil-stabilizing trees along the shores…”

“Second, new canals should be dug to divert water. At higher elevations, new diversion channels should be excavated to channel excess floodwater during the rainy season into low-lying wasteland, transforming water damage into water benefit. This can create water storage ponds for use during autumn droughts…”

“Third, adapt measures to local conditions. Rice can be planted during flood-prone periods; drought-tolerant crops like sorghum and beans can be switched to during dry periods. The government should exempt taxes for three years to encourage farmers to change crops…”

He wrote fluently, nearly a thousand characters. Every suggestion was well-reasoned and supported, specific down to which river should be dredged how, which location was suitable for building a pond, and he even provided preliminary estimates for the wages and food standards for conscripted laborers.

This essay didn’t read like a student’s policy discussion; it more closely resembled a detailed administrative report written by an experienced old official.

As he wrote the final character, the bell signaling the end of the exam precisely rang.

The next day. A side office in the County School.

Professor Liu sat alone before his desk. A stack of exam papers piled beside him was so high it seemed about to topple.

Outside the window, the sun was scorching, cicadas screeching, tearing at the air. He picked up a cup of long-cold tea broth, took a gulp, the astringency bitter on the back of his tongue. His fingertips pinched a paper from the stack, his gaze sweeping over it.

“The sage rules with effortless ease, and the world naturally finds peace…” He snorted, fingers applying force, flicking that paper aside onto a pile of discarded papers. The paper pile grew taller by one.

He picked up another. “Cultivate virtuous governance, move Heaven’s heart…” He shook his head, wrist flicking, the paper floating down to land by his feet.

“Empty talk… nothing but empty talk!” A low growl rolled from his throat, like a trapped beast. He had read Sage’s Books his whole life, taught students for decades, and in the end, these youngsters only had eyes for the clouds in the sky, blind to the mud and muck on the field ridges beneath their feet.

He took a breath, suppressing the irritable fire in his heart, his fingers reaching for the next paper. The paper surface was coarse, but the ink strokes carried a forceful presence.

“The calamity of floods and droughts is not a natural disaster, but actually a disaster caused by neglected water conservancy.”

Professor Liu’s hand, holding the teacup, paused in mid-air.

He set the tea bowl down, its base thudding against the wooden desk with a solid *dong*. He pulled that paper close, leaning forward, his nose almost brushing the ink.

His gaze devoured each line. Dredging silt, reinforcing dikes, digging canals, diverting water, changing crops, tax exemption… item by item, framework by framework, numbers and methods, solid as rammed earth.

His breathing tightened, fingers unconsciously tapping the desk in rhythm with his heartbeat.

“Dredging silt… using mud to reinforce dikes… planting soil-stabilizing trees… digging canals to channel water… storing water in ponds… exempting taxes for three years…”

His lips moved silently, reciting those phrases. This wasn’t an essay; it was a prescription! A potent, aggressive prescription for that chronic ailment afflicting the five southern townships!

He abruptly flipped to the front of the paper, searching for the name.

Su Ming.

“Good!” A short, forceful sound burst from his throat. He grabbed the vermilion brush, its tip loaded with crimson ink, and heavily circled the top of the paper, the ink almost bleeding through. Next to it, he wrote two characters in critique—

“Top Grade!”

Just then, an academic supervisor silently approached him and whispered in a low voice, “Professor Liu, Second Young Master Zhou sent word through someone. He mentioned his nephew Zhao Rui also participated in this assessment and hopes you… will show him some extra consideration.”

Professor Liu’s brow instantly furrowed into a deep knot, the joy on his face vanishing completely.

What he detested most was precisely this kind of favor-seeking.

His face cold, he rummaged through the pile of papers resembling waste paper and fished out Zhao Rui’s.

After just one glance, his expression grew even more unpleasant.

The entire text was filled with statements like “If we desire favorable weather, the ruler must be diligent in governance and love the people.” It was devoid of substance, logically chaotic, and even had several wrong characters.

“Extra consideration? How?!” Professor Liu’s anger flared. He almost wanted to directly mark this paper as “unqualified.”

But in the end, he still had to consider the Zhou family’s reputation. Zhou Wenhai was also watching from the side.

He took a deep breath, forcing that anger down.

He lifted his brush and, with great reluctance, wrote the two characters “Low Middle” at the end of that paper, then tossed it into the pile for the lowest grade.

After doing all this, as if having touched something filthy, he picked up Su Ming’s paper and read it once more. Only then did the gloom on his face gradually disperse, replaced once again by an appreciative smile.

He must meet this young man named Su Ming.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep