But contrary to expectations, there was no sign of weakness, no hint of despair. This young man had an even more remarkable presence than his father, Mr. Zhao.

The handsome youth stood in the center of the hall, neither servile nor overbearing. His gaze was firm, his bearing upright and principled. A single glance brought a particular phrase to mind: a man of jade-like refinement and pine-like integrity, his beauty singular and without peer in the world.

This was a young man far more outstanding than Mr. Zhao had ever been. He must surely possess a level of scholarship no less impressive than his father’s.

’No wonder Mr. Zheng had gone ahead with the murder, even knowing it was a terrible move.’ If they were in his shoes, they too would be unnerved by this young man. They couldn’t help but think: ’The day he makes a name for himself, won’t he surely seek justice for his father’s death?’

The stipend students fell silent, their gazes on Zhao Jing deepening with contemplation.

But for the most part, they were gratified. To see their old friend have such a worthy successor was, after all, a joyous thing.

Mr. Cheng, the County Magistrate, was also watching Zhao Jing.

This was Chen Song’s son-in-law. He’d never imagined that such a remote and rustic county could produce such an exceptional individual.

’If only I had known sooner,’ he thought. ’I would have snatched him up to be my own son-in-law.’

However, since the young man was already married, it simply wasn’t meant to be.

Still, even if they couldn’t be father- and son-in-law, he hoped they could form another kind of bond.

He had read the essays Chen Song had brought him, written by this very youth. They were not only substantive but also elegant, proper, and rigorous. Passing the county examination would be a given; he could even take a shot at the Provincial Examination.

Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, the County Magistrate couldn’t say much more. He simply gave a slight nod and said softly, "You may go."

Zhao Jing bowed respectfully, then followed behind De’an to find his assigned seat.

Rows of examination stalls, built with green bricks and tiled roofs, were arranged neatly in the courtyard. They all faced south, each stall a long, narrow compartment.

Each compartment was typically three feet wide and four feet deep, and the candidates had to sit, sleep, and write entirely within that space.

A taller person would find it incredibly cramped, and even when sleeping at night, their feet would stick out.

Zhao Jing and De’an had registered together. Perhaps by coincidence, De’an was heading in the same direction Zhao Jing needed to go. So, he followed leisurely behind De’an, waiting for him to find his seat first.

After turning a corner, they weren’t far from the examination grounds’ latrines.

A faint, foul odor was discernible from this area. Zhao Jing noticed De’an’s steps growing heavier, and he couldn’t help but frown himself.

The latrine stalls. This was not a desirable location.

The smell ruined one’s appetite and soured one’s mood. And with a troubled mind, how could one’s writing flow smoothly?

Fortunately, De’an eventually passed the latrine stalls, continuing for about thirty more paces before stopping.

This spot was a good distance from the latrines. If the wind picked up or the sun grew too hot, a hint of the smell might still drift over, but on the whole, it wasn’t a major issue.

De’an visibly sighed in relief, and his movements became a little lighter as he stepped into his stall.

Once inside, he didn’t think about sitting down to rest first. Instead, following Chen Song’s instructions, he began by inspecting the desk and the roof.

If there were any splinters on the desk, they had to be removed promptly to avoid tearing the examination paper. If the desk wobbled, small wooden shims needed to be placed underneath to prevent ink from spilling and interfering with his writing.

De’an remembered his father’s instructions clearly and didn’t dare forget a single detail.

Just as he was inspecting his surroundings, he saw a familiar corner of a robe drift past him.

’That’s familiar,’ he thought. ’I think I just saw it this morning.’

He looked up. Who else could it be but Zhao Jing?

De’an rolled his eyes at Zhao Jing. ’If you’re going to follow me, you could at least make a sound! Then I’d know you were there, and I could have sent you a signal or something.’

As for what signal he would have sent, De’an had no idea.

But in this place, at this time, seeing Jing was an immense comfort to him.

Unfortunately, Jing’s seat wasn’t close to his. Even when he craned his neck, he couldn’t see exactly where he ended up.

He rounded a corner and disappeared from view.

More candidates began passing by or settling into their own stalls, so De’an stopped worrying about Zhao Jing. He picked up the rag he had prepared and meticulously wiped down his desk again and again.

De’an couldn’t see Zhao Jing, but in reality, Zhao Jing wasn’t far from him at all.

He had turned the corner and sat down in the second stall in the "alley." The straight-line distance between him and De’an was less than twenty meters.

They were so close that if De’an were to sneeze over there, Zhao Jing would probably hear it clearly.

These thoughts flashed through Zhao Jing’s mind for only a moment before he, too, got busy with the tasks at hand.