The Great Song Dynasty's Soul-Forging in Progress

The ninth day of the ninth month in the second year of Jiayou (1094) was the Double Ninth Festival.

At the precise moment of dawn, the gates of the Bianjing Examination Hall swung open with a resounding boom. The morning light poured in from the east, bathing the blue brick floor of the entire examination hall in a warm, pale gold. More than three thousand candidates filed out of their respective examination cells. Some were pale and unsteady on their feet, having endured days of grueling study; others remained upright, their steps steady, their minds resolute and undisturbed; many more simply followed the flow of people in silence, like a river that had overflowed its banks and was now calming, finally relieved of the heavy burden of months of writing.

The long street outside the examination hall was already packed with people. Family members, servants, and attendants filled the streets, some holding up food boxes to await their children's exit, others carrying new clothes to keep warm, and countless people craning their necks to look, eagerly anticipating the emergence of this generation of brilliant scholars who would shake the world. No one knew that the scholars in plain clothes who walked out of the examination hall today would, in the next century, change the fate of the Song Dynasty, imprint a thousand-year mark on the cultural heritage of China, and create the unique "Jiayou Literary Prosperity" in history.

Su Shi followed the flow of people out of the examination hall gate. The gentle autumn morning light shone on his clear, bright eyes. He squinted slightly and looked up to see Wang Anshi squatting on the stone steps by the roadside, dressed simply, clutching a dry biscuit in his hand, silently eating. Su Shi slowly walked over and squatted down beside him. Wang Anshi didn't speak, but silently handed him half a biscuit. The two ate side by side in the morning light, neither discussing the examination questions nor their rankings. Through years of hard study, a thousand words were left unsaid, all contained in their unspoken understanding.

"Last night I dreamt that I failed the imperial examination," Wang Anshi suddenly said in a low voice, his tone calm but revealing a hint of cautious trepidation about the great cause of the nation.

Su Shi chewed on a pancake, smiling freely: "Dreams are the breath of the heart. You have the world in your heart and seek truth in your writing. You earnestly write about national policies and people's livelihood, so you have no regrets. Why should you fear the list of names?"

Wang Anshi was silent for a moment, then nodded solemnly: "That makes sense. One should enter officialdom not for fame or fortune, but solely to accomplish something."

Under the shade of a tree not far away, Zhang Zai was bending down to tend to Cheng Yi, whose face was deathly pale. This autumn imperial examination had been voluminous and extremely time-consuming; Cheng Yi had been writing furiously by candlelight all night without rest, and by the end, he was utterly exhausted and nearly fainted. Zhang Zai helped him sit up, took a cool mint from his sleeve, and gently placed it in his mouth, his voice warm and steady: "Hold it in your mouth for a while, calm your mind, and your blood will flow smoothly. Your brother has gone to get the porridge; he'll be back in a moment."

Cheng Yi nodded with a hint of sweet coolness in his eyes, his eyes filled with exhaustion, yet revealing a sincere devotion to the Great Dao.

At the foot of the west wall of the examination hall, Zeng Gong stood in a corner, meticulously memorizing the key points of the examination essays on the inside of his sleeve with charcoal. He was rigorous in his scholarship and sought truth in everything, unwilling to overlook a single word in his impromptu writing, memorizing everything for future review and study. Having memorized the last word, he brushed the dust from his sleeve, looked up at the majestic eaves of the examination hall, the gilded plaque gleaming in the autumn morning light, and calmly awaited the judgment of fate.

Ten days have passed in the blink of an eye, and the Dragon and Tiger List has finally been made public.

On the day the results were announced, Bianjing (Kaifeng) was deserted as everyone flocked to the city. The Imperial Street from the Examination Hall to the Donghua Gate was packed with people, shoulder to shoulder. People had been waiting since before dawn, some climbing onto rooftops, others carrying their children on their backs, all hoping to witness this once-in-a-century literary spectacle of the Song Dynasty. However, the world was unaware that this list was no ordinary register of successful candidates, but rather a pinnacle of Chinese literary achievement, recognized by later historians as the "Number One List of All Time."

Throughout history, no imperial examination has ever been able to encompass and gather all the top talents of the time as comprehensively as the one held in the second year of the Jiayou reign. Literary giants, founders of Neo-Confucianism, reformers, and capable ministers who would later resonate throughout history all gathered for this autumn examination; none were overlooked, none were absent. These scholars would later dominate the fate of the Song Dynasty for a century, reshaping the five major pillars of politics, literature, Neo-Confucianism, people's livelihood, and military administration. Their thoughts, writings, national policies, and methods of scholarship will be passed down for millennia, influencing subsequent dynasties and becoming an enduring foundation of Chinese civilization.

As the vermilion imperial edict was slowly carried out of the examination hall, the entire street fell into a moment of deathly silence, with countless eyes focused on it. Then, the crowd surged and roared.

The list, from top to bottom, revealed illustrious names one by one, each word resounding throughout Bianjing:

First place in Class A: Zhang Heng

First place, second place: Su Shi from Meishan

Third place in the first category: Linchuan Wang Anshi

Fourth: Zeng Gong of Nanfeng

Fifth: Su Zhe of Meishan

Sixth: Zhang Zai of Guanzhong

Seventh: Cheng Hao of Luoyang

Eighth: Cheng Yi of Luoyang

This single list encompassed half of the literary stars of the Song Dynasty, a constellation of brilliance, unprecedented and unparalleled.

The brothers Su Shi and Su Zhe, collectively known as the "Two Sus," were two outstanding figures from the same family. Their poetry and prose were unparalleled in the Song Dynasty, pioneering the bold and unrestrained style of Song Ci poetry. For a thousand years afterward, no one in the literary world could surpass them. Wang Anshi ranked third in the imperial examinations and would later lead the earth-shattering Xining Reforms of the Song Dynasty. He rectified officialdom, reformed finance and taxation, built water conservancy projects, and strengthened the military, single-handedly reversing the decline of the Song Dynasty from poverty and weakness. His reform ideas and his approach to governance and scholarship were regarded as the standard by reformers of later generations. Zeng Gong was a core leader of the Eight Great Masters of the Tang and Song Dynasties, known for his profound literary style and rigorous scholarship. His prose and academic system became the orthodox and standardized style of the imperial examinations in later generations.

Zhang Zai of Guanzhong, rooted in Guanzhong and with the world in his heart, cultivated practical learning and cared for the people's livelihood. He founded the Guanzhong School, based on local conditions and pragmatically served the world, laying the foundation for the development of practical learning and the academic philosophy of applying knowledge to practical affairs in later generations. The Cheng brothers of Luoyang, Cheng Hao and Cheng Yi, devoted themselves to understanding the Tao and deeply explored the principles of morality. They founded their own school and laid the foundation for the Cheng-Zhu school of Neo-Confucianism for thousands of years, reshaping the ideological system, academic standards and worldview of Chinese people for hundreds of years to come.

Eight top scholars from one list, each shining in their own way. Some, after ten years of diligent study, shed tears of joy upon achieving their goal; others, having devoted themselves to scholarship, were silently moved upon finally gaining recognition; and strangers to each other embraced, a simple "fellow examinees" encapsulating a lifetime of hard work and a shared path. They had all reached the pinnacle in their respective fields, yet they emerged from the same list and lived in the same prosperous era—a remarkable phenomenon in literary history, unprecedented and likely to remain so.

Su Shi stood on the periphery of the crowd, gazing at his ranking as the second-place scholar, a carefree smile playing on his lips. He didn't push his way into the bustling throng, but instead took two steps back, leaning against an old locust tree, and looked up at the sky. Sunlight filtered through the locust leaves, dappling his worn blue robe. He recalled his conversation with Wang Anshi the night before the exam—rankings were merely a piece of paper; true worth lay in serving the people and bringing peace to the world. At that time, he had no idea that his writings and his magnanimous spirit would become a spiritual totem for Chinese literati for a thousand years, comforting countless disillusioned people throughout history.

Among the crowd before the list, Wang Anshi stood silently, gazing at the list for a long time. Seeing that he was ranked third, he showed no joy or sorrow, neither surprised nor agitated. He turned and slowly squeezed through the crowd, walking to a willow tree at a street corner. There, he took out the maxim he had written before the exam: "I entered officialdom not for fame and fortune, but for the sake of the land, granaries, taxes, and people of the realm."

After reading it carefully for a moment, he solemnly folded the paper and put it into his sleeve, his original aspiration unchanged, waiting to put it into practice. As later generations all know, this scholar from Linchuan who silently guarded his heart would eventually use swift and decisive measures to reform old malpractices, cultivate people's livelihood with his original aspiration to save the world, become a turning point in the fate of the Song Dynasty, and influence the pattern of governance for a thousand years.

In a secluded spot, Zhang Zai stood quietly, gazing at his name securely displayed in the register, his expression serene and composed.

As everyone knows, several years ago, four profound and thought-provoking proverbs circulated among the people. It is said that they were casual remarks made by Wang Zhonghua, a close minister of the crown prince. The people called them the "Four Sentences of Zhonghua" and spread them throughout the world, known to everyone, young and old: "To establish a heart for heaven and earth, to establish a destiny for the people, to continue the lost learning of the past sages, and to create peace for all generations."

For years, these four maxims have been regarded by scholars across the land as the highest standard for learning and conduct. Everyone recites them and they are passed down from generation to generation. They are considered to be profound insights from abroad and the unparalleled wisdom of a close minister of the crown prince.

Only Zhang Zai himself knew the truth.

From his youth, when he began his studies, he harbored this ambition in his heart, pondering it day and night and putting it into practice. To establish a moral compass for the world, to save the people and bring peace to the nation, to continue the sacred learning, and to usher in an era of peace had long been his lifelong pursuit, etched into his very bones. However, he came from humble origins and remained unknown. He never wrote books or made his teachings public, but silently adhered to his principles and practiced diligently.

Wang Zhonghua once casually uttered a phrase that perfectly encapsulated his lifelong pursuit and aspirations, which is why his name became famous and caused a sensation throughout the world.

At this moment, having passed the imperial examination and established himself among the scholars, Zhang Zai gazed upon the vast autumn scenery of Bianjing (Kaifeng) and quietly made a vow in his heart:

Today, I borrow the world's renown for the "Four Sentences of Chinese Culture" to hone myself. In the future, when I have traveled far and wide, comprehended the great path, retired with honor, and achieved great success in my studies, I will surely trace back to the source, establish my words to be passed down through the ages, and take these four sentences as my own, naming them "Hengqu's True Words," so that they may be passed down for eternity and shine for thousands of years.

He did not seek fleeting fame, but only the righteous path for all ages. His ambition was concealed in his youth, put into practice in middle age, and established in his later years; the sequence of time and the natural order of things unfolded perfectly, without the slightest abruptness, seamlessly aligning with Zhang Zai's true trajectory of enlightenment and scholarship. These four maxims will become the ultimate faith of Chinese literati, shining through the ages, eternally undiminished.

Three days after the results were announced, all the newly appointed scholars entered the palace to express their gratitude.

The Chuigong Hall stood solemnly. Emperor Renzong sat on his throne, gazing at the rows of young men in blue robes below. Their faces were youthful yet sincere, vibrant and resolute. In his decades of ruling, he had never witnessed such a grand spectacle of talented individuals gathering here for the imperial examinations. At this moment, Emperor Renzong may not have fully realized that this galaxy of stars was not only the pillars of the Song Dynasty's golden age, but also a once-in-a-millennium spark of Chinese civilization, which would underpin the intellectual, literary, and political foundations of future generations for centuries to come.

Emperor Renzong turned his head and softly remarked to Zhao Zongshi, who was standing beside him, "In my thirty years on the throne and in reviewing countless imperial examinations, I have never seen such a remarkable list of successful candidates. The literary fortunes of the Song Dynasty have reached their zenith today."

Zhao Zongshi's gaze fell upon the crowd below, his eyes revealing a profound understanding. He was well-versed in later historical records and understood better than anyone the enduring significance of the Jiayou Dragon and Tiger List. This was not a simple imperial examination, but a convergence of literary traditions and outstanding talents spanning a millennium. Previously, the Song Dynasty had suffered from a superficial literary style, weak governance, widespread social ills, and lax military and political affairs. Today, the scholars entering the arena would use their respective strengths to fill the gaps in the Song Dynasty's resources: Wang Anshi would reform and innovate, eradicating deep-seated problems; the Cheng brothers and Zhang Zai would rectify the course of history and reshape the orthodox tradition; Su Shi and Zeng Gong would revitalize the literary style and educate the people; and Su Zhe would assist in governance, ensuring peace and stability while remaining pragmatic and righteous.

With a constellation of brilliant civil officials in place, the foundation for a prosperous and civilized era has been laid. But he also understands that a flourishing culture requires a strong military, and a prosperous era is not just empty talk. These pillars who will support a thousand years of civilization need a stable and powerful national stage so that they can fully realize their ambitions and benefit all people.

Therefore, before the other officials could fully display their talents, he needed to solidify the foundation of the country, rectify the military, government and people's livelihood, strengthen the army and secure the territory, so that the Song Dynasty's ultimate civil administration could be paired with unparalleled military prowess that crushed other countries, so that both civil and military affairs could flourish, and only then could there be lasting peace.

Emperor Renzong spoke in a clear and resonant voice that filled the hall: "I have read your strategies and proposals, which discuss land systems, water conservancy, military affairs, and education. Every sentence is pragmatic and every word is filled with concern. The Song Dynasty is fortunate to have you all. I hope that after you enter office, you will not forget your original aspirations, dedicate yourselves to serving the people, protect our country, and bring peace to our people."

The scholars below the steps bowed and kowtowed in unison, their voices echoing throughout the hall.

After the ceremony of expressing gratitude, everyone withdrew from the Chuigong Hall in turn. Su Shi walked to the hall's entrance, looked back at Emperor Renzong, whose temples were now streaked with gray, and then at the Crown Prince Zhao Zongshi beside him, a man of understated elegance and a heart full of ambition. He whispered to Su Zhe, "Second brother, we are fortunate to live in a golden age, a once-in-a-millennium opportunity. We have peers in the imperial examinations, a rare occurrence in literature; above us, a wise and capable emperor and crown prince, diligently governing the country; below us, the people's hearts are won over, and new policies are implemented. Such an opportunity is unparalleled in history."

Still bearing the awkwardness of someone newly arrived in the capital, Su Zhe asked blankly, "What constitutes a good opportunity?"

Su Shi smiled but did not answer, only patted his shoulder, and strode towards the Meridian Gate where the autumn light was in full bloom. Thousands of people in blue robes stood against the wind, like a newly unfurled sail of a prosperous era, about to carry the thousand-year literary fortune of the Song Dynasty and sail far away.

The flourishing of literature and art has shone brightly for a thousand years. And the iron-fisted military might of the Song Dynasty will also begin today.

The ninth day of the ninth month in the second year of Jiayou (1094) was the Double Ninth Festival.

The old locust trees of Bianjing have shed their last leaves, carpeting the ground like frost, while the maple forests on both sides of the Imperial Street, taking advantage of the most vibrant autumn light, are a breathtakingly fiery red. A crisp morning mist shrouds the imperial city, and before daybreak, the ten-mile-long Imperial Street outside Xuande Gate is already teeming with people, completely blocking the streets and alleys.

Sailors from the Bianhe Canal, actors from the theaters of the southern city, vendors from Tianshui Lane, and students from the Imperial Academy—people from all walks of life, from the most humble to the most humble, all gathered here. Everyone stood breathless, their eyes fixed on the southern end of the Imperial Street. This imperial road, running north to south through the capital, had witnessed countless grand ceremonies and imperial tours over the past century, but never before had it been so poignant, awaiting a momentous ceremony that would overturn all notions of north and south and awe all nations.

The crowd stretched from Xuande Gate to Zhuque Gate, spreading southward along the Imperial Street like a long river slowly filled with morning light, quiet and still, with only the burning expectations surging in the hearts of the crowd remaining.

The grand viewing platform in the middle of the Imperial Street was strictly organized and clearly tiered. Officials of the Song Dynasty, both civil and military, stood solemnly on the east side, their hats and belts neatly arranged. On the west side, the seats for foreign guests were arranged in order: envoys from the Liao, Western Xia, Goryeo, Jiaozhi, and Dali kingdoms were in the front row, followed by envoys from the Western Regions kingdoms of Gaochang, Khotan, and Kucha. Everyone sat upright, each with their own thoughts, quietly observing this momentous ceremony.

The seat of Yelü Zongwang, the chief envoy of the Liao Dynasty, was only three zhang away from the throne. It was the most forward and had the widest view among all the envoys from various countries. It was also a position that the Song Dynasty had deliberately arranged for him to directly confront and intimidate the emperor. When he sat down, his expression was calm and his demeanor was dignified, without the slightest oversight. However, from the moment he sat down, his sharp eyes, which had seen through the wars in the northern frontier and understood the military appearances of various countries, were fixed on the southern end of the imperial street.

There, layers of curtains hung low, blocking all view and concealing not a single soldier, armor, banner, or flag. From behind the curtains, one could faintly hear the orderly neighing of horses, the soft clanging of armor, and the clattering of weapons being put away—a sound utterly orderly and undisturbed, a stark contrast to the usual disorganized and chaotic state of the Song Dynasty's imperial guards.

As the hour of Chen approached, the morning bell on the city wall rang out for the first time, its nine deep tones piercing through the thin mist and resounding throughout the entire capital, Bianjing.