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Tides from the West, a Chinese Autobiography, written by Chang Meng Lin, read by Tang Damin. Chapter 7 Imperial Civil Examination Early one morning, as the time for the civil examination drew near, I started for Shaoxing where the examination was to be held for our district. The luggage man slung his bamboo pole over his shoulder with my suitcase and bamboo basket rope to one end and bedding outfits balancing the other. I followed on his heels. As my luggage swung out of the college gate, a teacher who happened to see me smiled and wished me good luck. After passing through many granite paved streets and zigzag narrow Hangzhou alleys, we came to the banks of the Chantung River. I measured my steps along a gangway of narrow, frail planks a quarter of a mile long with the tides flowing underneath leading to the waiting ferry boat. The boat was plied by several heavy oars with the occasional help of sails. It glided along in leisurely fashion. As it could only be controlled by heading against the tide, the slow speed was further reduced and it took us two hours to cross. None of us imagined then that within some thirty years a long steel bridge would span the river with trains and cars passing over it. I then took a sedan chair through miles of mulberry groves to a busy trading city where I embarked for Shaoxing, arriving next morning after a night on the boat which was packed with passengers like sardines. One had to lie flat and straight, if you tried to move your legs you found your allotted space gone. If you tried to turn on your side, there was no space left to lie flat again. In Shaoxing I got a room and board in the fan-maker's family. The place was small and dark and filled with strange odors from certain vegetable oils used to make fans. In the evening I studied by a vegetable oil lamp which did not give enough light to read small letters without straining one's eyes. We refrained from using kerosene because of the inflammable materials that filled the place. In the dark we could not walk without stumbling over some sort of stuff for making fans. The examination began with roll call at the entrance of the examination hall at about four o'clock in the morning. The early autumn morning was chilly. A large crowd of literati, several thousand strong and each wearing a red tasseled hat without a button and carrying a lantern, gathered around the spacious courtyard. At the entrance to the hall the prefect sat in stately dignity at a long desk. He wore a red tasseled hat with a blue crystal button at the top, a black jacket over a deep blue gown, and the chain of beads around his neck. This was his full official attire. With a vermilion pen in his hand he began to call the roll. As he went down the list a man standing by him called out in long drawn tones the name of each candidate who promptly sang out at the top of his voice. Here so and so the guarantor. Immediately the guarantor sang his own name in acknowledgement of the sponsorship. The prefect then glanced about quickly to see if anything was wrong and made a red dot above the name with his vermilion pen. The candidate was then let in. His hat and clothes were searched to see that he carried no notes with him. Everything found written on paper would be confiscated. The candidates moved on in files to their respective seats which were numbered, each finding his place accordingly. The names on the examination papers were written on detachable slips to be torn off before the papers were handed in. Each paper was also numbered in a sealed corner which was not opened until the papers were marked and the successful candidates selected so as to prevent any possible favoritism. When corruption ran rampant in many branches of government office the imperial examination system remained independent and free, alike of external interference and internal corruption. This was one reason why the degrees conferred were so much honored in China. Questions were limited to the Confucian classics and this was why a candidate must commit to memory all the texts in the classics. This I had done through years of laborious conning in my country school and the sino-oxidental school in Shaoxing. Questions were shown to the candidates by means of cubic lanterns on the screens of which the questions were written. They were lighted with candles so that the black letters on the white screens could be seen distinctly at a distance. Bearers raised the lanterns high above their heads and carried them up and down the aisle several times so that none could miss them. About noon officials went around to check on how far the candidates had gone with their essays and said on each paper a seal at the spot to which the lines had run. At about four in the afternoon, canon began to roar, making the first call for the collection of papers. The gates were flung open and the band began to play. Candidates who were able to answer the first call handed in their papers and made their way out slowly through the gates with music playing and a anxious crowd waiting. After everyone had made his exit, the gates were closed again. The second call was made about an hour later with the same ceremony. The third or final call was made about six with both canon and band remaining silent. We had about a week or ten days to wait for the results of the examination. In the interim, there was plenty of time for amusement. Bookstores, large and small, were found everywhere near the examination hall. There were chest stands, temporary restaurants with famous Shaoxing wines and delicious dishes at moderate prices, and travelling theatres where we could go and enjoy ourselves. On the day when the results were to be made public, a large crowd waited anxiously in front of a high, spacious wall opposite the entrance of the examination hall. Canon and band announced the moment when the list of names, or rather numbers, of the successful candidates was issued. The numbers were set down in the circular formation instead of in the column so as to avoid having a top and bottom to the list. I was pleasantly surprised to find my own number in big black letters among the others in the circle on the enormous oblong paper posted on the wall. To make sure, I rubbed my eyes and looked at it several times. When I was sure they had not deceived me, I elbowed through the packed crowd and hastened back to my lodging house. As I made my way out, I noticed a man with an open umbrella which caught on a railing. When he jerked it off, the umbrella went upward, looking like a giant artichoke, but in his excitement, he kept on running and paid no attention to it. The second session of the examination came within a few days. Everyone who had passed the first had reason to worry, since some would be eliminated. I was lucky in the second trial. In the list of names which was posted on the wall, I found mine somewhere in the middle rolls. The third and final session was merely perfunctory. In addition to an essay we were supposed to write down from memory a section of the imperial instructions in morals. In reality, each of us had with us a copy of the text which we were allowed to carry into the examination hall and which we copied outright. The imperial examiner appeared in person to supervise the final examination. His official title, I learned from the inscription on two identical penance about 15 feet long which streamed in the air from flagpoles standing symmetrically at either side of the entrance. It read, the imperial vice minister of Ryzen concurrently, imperial examiner of public instruction for the province of Zhejiang, etc. Early in the morning, some days later, I was awakened from slumber by the rapid beating of a tom-tom outside my window. It was an official reporter coming to announce the award of the first degree, Fu Sheng, popularly known as Shou Cai. The official announcement, which was printed in bold block prints on a piece of red paper about six feet by four, read as follows. His majesty's imperial vice minister of rights and concurrently imperial examiner of public instruction for the province of Zhejiang, etc. wishes to announce that your honorable person, Zhang Menglin, is awarded the degree of Fu Sheng and entitled to enjoy the privilege of entering the district government school as a government scholar. The district school was an empty Confucian temple with one official in charge who acted as the government teacher but in fact never taught anyone or anything. One found actually neither school nor teacher. What was called the school was only symbolic. Yet I had to pay the traditional entrance fee of one hundred dollars, which I paid only partially through bargaining. After the examination, the pendulum of life swung back once again to my new education. In a few days, I went back to Zhejiang College. In leaving, I learned from my landlord that one of my fellow lodgers had complained to him in a rage that the imperial examiner was so blind as to pass a man almost illiterate like me and neglect him who possessed great literary merits. Such are the hazards of examinations. Back at the college, I plunged at once into studies again and found myself in the midst of algebra, physics, zoology, history, and so on. By way of extracurricular activity, I indulged in reading revolutionary literature and discussed contemporary politics with my fellow students. Imperial examination days and Zhejiang College were worlds apart. It seemed a transformation overnight from misty, immutable medievalism to the whirlpool of a new revolutionary world. I felt as if what had happened had been a dream. After two months, it was time for the winter vacation. I was called back home by my father to receive congratulations from relatives and friends upon my success. I was now 19. My close relatives saw a bright future for me. If the feng shui of my ancestral tombs were favorable, I would go right along passing the two remaining examinations to receive the highest degree to the glory of family, relatives, and above all, my ancestors, whose spirits were in heaven. My second brother had passed his civil examination a few years before me. He was now a student at the Imperial University of Peking, of which I was to be chancellor after some 15 years. Unpredictable chance. An announcement printed on a big piece of red paper like the one I had received in Shaoxing was presented by official reporters to the beading of a tom-tom to my relatives and family friends. On the day of celebration, I dressed in the blue satin gown and wore a red tasseled hat with a silver button on top. Several hundred relatives and friends, including women and children, came to feast for two days. The spacious guest hall was decorated with artistic red lanterns and an orchestra played Chinese tunes. The happiest man there was my father, who cherished the hope that someday his son might become a grand minister at his majesty's imperial court. For my part, I was puzzled. I was torn between two opposing forces, one pulling toward the old and the other toward the new. What shall I do? What shall I do? A voice cried out within me. After three weeks, the college reopened for the new session. Once more, I swung back again to my studies in the new learning. I stayed for about half a year, leaving before the summer vacation. All the conflicting ideas as between new and old, constitutional reforms and revolution buzzing around in this topsy-turvy world of mine were more than an immature mind could endure. I became restless and often had a fantasy in which, by a sort of somersault, I rocketed high into the air and then whirled down rapidly to the ground, where I burst to biz and was gone forever. Being born in a family which had a few cases of insanity among my close relatives, I wondered, whether I too had inherited a faint streak of instability which might occasionally tip the scale a little in my otherwise well-balanced temperament. I had been told, moreover, by my father and my grand-uncle that my ideas and actions during childhood had been quite different from those of the rest of the children. I still remember how my grand-uncle scolded me one day, remarking that when I grew up I would become either a wise man or a rascal, to which, not knowing the meaning quite clearly, I secretly replied to myself that I wanted to be a wise man. Was I crazy in this crazy world? At least one problem always remained clear in my mind. How to save China from dismemberment by the foreign powers? Revolutionary ideas were now fast gaining ground in the minds of students throughout the country. As more and more of them joined the movement, the influence of Dr. Sun Yat-sen grew wider and wider. The days of the reigning dynasty were numbered. On my part, I longed for a better and more westernized school, for by this time I could see that the wind blew in the direction of westernization, irrespective of whether China had constitutional reforms or revolution. One morning, as I passed unintentionally by a passageway where students were forbidden, I met the proctor, who asked me what I was doing there. On the spur of the moment, I improvised the story that my mother was ill and had written me to come home. That's too bad, he said. You had better go right away. I went back to my dormitory, packed up everything, and left the college the same morning. I took a small steamboat chugging along the Grand Canal down to Shanghai. There I took the entrance examination for Nanyang College and passed it. This was the year 1904, when the Russo-Japanese War was raging in all intensity for the control of northeast China.