Chapter 2: Questioned in the Second Hall: Man or Woman?

The Second Court was dead silent.

It was so quiet you could hear the occasional *tick* of charcoal cracking in the brazier. Shen Zhao stood her ground. She hadn't retreated an inch. Her back was straight, her arms hanging by her sides, though her knuckles were turning white as she gripped her fingers together.

“What the Honorable Magistrate is asking is—male or female.” She said her voice steady. “Shen Yan has one child. And that child is alive, standing right here.”

Fang Jing looked at her. His gaze swept from her face down to her hands, then back up again.

“The question this official is asking is—”

“Magistrate, you already know the answer.” Shen Zhao looked up. “You read my exam paper three times last night, and today you’re asking this? You don’t have to know, Magistrate. You just want me to say it myself.”

Fang Jing didn’t speak. The only sound in the hall was the occasional pop of the charcoal fire.

A draft from the corridor caught the edge of the door curtain, lifting it up before it fell back down. Outside, the sky was the color of ash, like snow was about to fall.

“Fine.” Fang Jing suddenly smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. The corners of his mouth twitched just once before disappearing. “You speak better than your father did. Back when he was in the court, he wouldn’t trade a single soft word with anyone.”

Shen Zhao’s fingers twitched.

“The Magistrate knows my father?”

“Same batch.” Fang Jing walked back behind his desk and sat down, the hem of his official robe brushing against the chair legs. “The year he passed the Juren, this official failed. Three years later, I passed the Jinshi. By then, he was already in jail.”

Shen Zhao didn’t respond.

“I won’t drag up your father’s case with you.” Fang Jing lifted his teacup. The tea was long cold, but he didn’t drink it; he just held it. “I’ll just ask you one thing: why did you enter this examination?”

Shen Zhao was silent for a beat.

“To survive,” she said.

Fang Jing stared at her, twisting the teacup halfway around in his hand. A ring of dried water spots had formed on the inner wall of the cup, pale and stark.

“The Provincial Examination is in August,” he said. “If you pass, I have a message from your father for you. If you don’t pass—”

He flicked the leftover tea into the brazier. *Hiss.* A plume of white steam rose up, hiding his face for a moment.

“Then this official will pretend he never saw you today.”

Shen Zhao stood there. She waited for a long moment before bowing deeply, a formal salute.

“Go.” Fang Jing said. “Close the door behind you.”

By the time she got back to her room, the sun had already set. The snow in the alley had been trampled into a wet, hard crust.

Granny Chen slid the bolt into place before she dared to light a lamp.

“How was it?” She kept her voice low, leaning in half a step.

Shen Zhao took off her hat. Her hair fell loose, spilling over her shoulders.

“It was fine,” she said. “They told me to go take the exam.”

Granny Chen’s hand trembled. She snipped the lamp wick crookedly, and the flame flickered twice.

“He saw through you?”

“He did.” Shen Zhao turned her back to her and started unfastening her outer robe. “But he didn’t plan to say anything.”

Granny Chen stepped forward to undo the bandage wrapped around Shen Zhao’s chest. The layers of cloth unraveled, and Shen Zhao took a long, shaky breath. Her shoulders slumped, as if a heavy weight had been lifted off her.

“It’s been constricting you all day,” Granny Chen said, her eyes reddening. Her hands moved with extreme care. “If you keep squeezing your ribs like that, your body will break.”

“Granny.” Shen Zhao cut her off. “The Provincial Exam is in August.”

Granny Chen fell silent.

She turned and went to the kitchen, coming back with a bowl of hot soup which she placed on the table. Oil droplets floated on the surface, steaming in the cold air.

“Drink it,” she said. “I put ginger in it.”

Shen Zhao sat down, holding the bowl. It was hot, but she didn’t let go.

Granny Chen sat across from her, watching for a while. Then she suddenly got up, crouched down, and pulled a small cloth bundle from under the bed. She placed it on the table and began to unwrap it layer by layer. The cloth was old, washed until it had turned white.

Inside was half an inkstone.

The break was old, worn smooth and shiny.

Shen Zhao’s hand stopped on the rim of the bowl.

“Your father left this,” Granny Chen said. “The year he died, he smashed the inkstone. He buried one half behind the old house. He said, ‘Wait until you pass the Juren, then I’ll give it to you.’”

Shen Zhao reached out and picked up the half-inkstone.

It was very light. On the broken edge, a single character had been carved, only halfway finished—*Zhao*. The chisel marks were deep, as if carved in a hurry.

She stared at it for a long time.

“What else did he say?”

“Said don’t take the exam,” Granny Chen lowered her head. “Said that every male in the Shen family who takes the exam dies.”

The room went quiet. The lamp wick gave another *pop*.

Shen Zhao placed the inkstone back on the cloth, wrapped it up, and tucked it inside her clothes.

“I’m not a male,” she said.

There was a knock at the door. Three raps, not too hard, not too soft.

Granny Chen grabbed a fistful of Shen Zhao’s hair and shoved it back under the hat. Shen Zhao tied the chin strap herself and went to open the door.

Gu Qingyuan was standing there, holding a paper package. His nose was red from the cold, and unmelted snow dust still clung to his shoulders.

“Brother Shen.” He smiled, exhaling a cloud of white breath. “I looked into it. There are eleven candidates from our county going to the provincial capital for the exam this year. I hired a boat. We’re leaving the day after tomorrow. Come with me.”

Shen Zhao stepped aside to let him in.

“I’ll pay for half the boat fare,” she said.

“You pay half, I pay half, so who pays the other half?” Gu Qingyuan put the paper package on the table and opened it. It was two slices of osmanthus cake, the sweet fragrance seeping through the wax paper. “My mom said, when you’re traveling, eat something sweet.”

Granny Chen coughed from the kitchen.

Gu Qingyuan lowered his voice: “Your old maid treats every stranger I send like a thief.”

“Granny doesn’t trust strangers,” Shen Zhao said.

“I’m a stranger?” Gu Qingyuan sat down, patting his robe. “We’ve been classmates for three years.”

Shen Zhao pushed one of the osmanthus cakes back toward him.

“Brother Gu,” she said. “The Provincial Exam has three rounds. Nine days and six nights. Can you handle it?”

“Like it or not, I have to.” Gu Qingyuan sighed. “My dad said if I don’t pass this time, I’m coming home to manage the shop.”

He suddenly remembered something, leaning in a bit. The stool creaked under him.

“I heard they do searches at the gate,” he said. “You have to strip down to your underclothes.”

Shen Zhao’s hand froze in the air.

“I know,” she said.

“What’s there to be afraid of?” Gu Qingyuan looked at her. “We’re all men. Stripping is stripping.”

Shen Zhao looked down and took a bite of the osmanthus cake. She chewed slowly.

“I’m afraid of the cold,” she said.

On the eighth day of the eighth month, the Palace Examination Venue was packed with people.

Shen Zhao, her exam basket on her back, stood in the crowd. She was surrounded by scholars in blue cloth robes. Some were flipping through books, others were crouching on the ground gnawing on flatbreads. The sun was out, making the back of her neck feel hot and prickly.

Gu Qingyuan pushed through the crowd and shoved a wax-paper package into her hand.

“Eggs my mom boiled,” he said. “Keep them. Eat if you get hungry at night.”

“You can’t bring stuff in.”

“Who said so?” Gu Qingyuan whispered. “Hide it in your sleeve. If they find it, we’ll deal with it then.”

Shen Zhao pushed the package back.

“Keep it,” she said. “I brought dry rations.”

The gate opened.

A row of guards stood inside, shirts off, holding wooden placards. Candidates entered one by one, first checking their papers, then undergoing the body search. The line moved slowly.

By the time it was Shen Zhao’s turn, it was fully light.

“Strip.” The guard said.

Shen Zhao took off her outer robe, draping it over her arm.

The guard reached out, patting from top to bottom. His hand stopped at her chest.

“What’s this?”

“Report,” Shen Zhao said. “This humble candidate has sores on her chest. It’s wrapped in medicated cloth. The doctor said it would rot if exposed to wind.”

The guard frowned.

Someone behind them urged them on. The guard pressed his hand against her chest, through the cloth. It felt hard and firm. His gaze lingered on her face for a second.

“Bad luck,” he muttered, pulling his hand back and flicking it to the side. “Move along.”

Shen Zhao pulled her robe back on and bent to pick up her exam basket. Her hands were shaking. She tried to tie the straps twice before they clicked into place.

The exam cell was so narrow you could only lie on your side. Two wooden boards. One was the desk, one was the stool. At night, you pushed them together and it became a bed.

Shen Zhao set her basket down, then reached out to touch the wall. The wall was carved with characters, left behind by candidates in previous dynasties. Some had carved “Must Pass,” others had carved “Regret Coming,” the strokes deep and shallow.

She laughed softly.

The first round: three questions on the Four Books.

She ground the ink. The stick revolved on the stone, round and round. The wind picked up outside, and the oilcloth on the exam cell flap rustled loudly.

The candidate next door peeked his head over.

“Sister,” the guy whispered. “How many brushes did you bring?”

“Three.”

“Lend me one.” The guy had a miserable face. “The tip fell off mine.”

Shen Zhao pulled one out of her basket and handed it over.

“Thanks, thanks,” he took the brush and added, “You don’t look that old. Which year are you?”

“First time.”

“First time and you’re brave enough to come?” He made a *tsk* sound. “It’s my third time. My dad said if I don’t pass this time, he’s breaking my legs.”

Shen Zhao lowered her head, dipping her brush in the ink.

“Then you really have to pass this time,” she said.

At night, the candle had burned down to halfway.

Shen Zhao set down her brush and worked her stiff fingers. Nine days and six nights, and they’d only been one day in.

She unfastened her outer robe, reached to her chest, and loosened the bandage by one finger’s width.

Just that one inch of relief, and she could finally breathe properly.

Footsteps outside. The light from a lantern swept past the front of the exam cell.

Shen Zhao immediately let go and sat up straight.

“Anyone inside?” The patrol officer’s voice called out. “You’re not sleeping.”

“Report,” Shen Zhao said. “The student is reviewing the questions.”

The lantern stopped in front of the cell.

“If you’re reviewing questions, do it on paper, not in your head,” the patrol officer said. “Go to sleep early. There’s still another day to go.”

“Yes.”

The lantern moved away.

Shen Zhao sat still until the footsteps had completely vanished, then slowly rewound the bandage, tightening it up again.

September. The Rose Ranking.

On the day the results were posted, Shen Zhao didn’t go to see them.

Granny Chen went. Gu Qingyuan went. She sat alone on the second floor of the inn, the window shut, grinding a full stone of ink but writing not a single character. The ink dried out, she added water. The water evaporated, it dried again.

Running footsteps went past downstairs. More running footsteps.

She could hear people shouting, but she couldn’t make out the words.

The door burst open.

“Passed!” Gu Qingyuan rushed in, his hat askew. “Brother Shen! You passed!”

Shen Zhao stood up.

“What place?”

“Yayuan!” Gu Qingyuan was panting, one hand braced on his knee. “Second! You came in second!”

Shen Zhao stood there, saying nothing.

Her hand gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white.

“Who was first?”

“Some guy named Lu,” Gu Qingyuan said. “Forget about first place. You’re the Yayuan!”

Granny Chen came up the stairs, stopping at the threshold. She didn’t come in. She was pressing her sleeve to her eyes.

Shen Zhao walked over and steadied her.

“Granny,” she said softly. “I passed.”

Granny Chen nodded, hard.

The announcement singers were still chanting downstairs. The whole street was a sea of people.

Shen Zhao walked to the window and looked down.

In the crowd, a small sedan chair with a blue fabric top was parked across the street.

The curtain was lifted a bit. Fang Jing was sitting inside, looking up at her.

Shen Zhao’s fingers curled around the window frame.

Fang Jing didn’t say a word. He raised his hand and held up one finger.

“First.”

Then he lowered the curtain.

Not long after, there was the sound of the stairs.

A guard climbed up and stood at the door, holding a letter on a plate.

“Master Shen,” he said. “My lord invites Master Shen to visit the rear alley of the Palace Examination Venue tomorrow at noon.”

Shen Zhao took the letter.

There was only one line written on it—

“Bring your father’s…”