Entrance Exam (1): The Written Test

Cheonmu Academy was a city within a city.

Tucked into one corner of Chengdu, another world lay sealed behind its own walls. The moment you passed through those gates, what opened before you was a staggering throng of people, thrumming with life.

"This must be the Outer Academy. Han Yumae ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠told me about it."

As Ye Hajun muttered to himself while shouldering through the crowd, the Spirit of Seeking Justice answered at once.

"If there's an Outer Academy, there must be an Inner one too."

"Yes. She said the entrance exam is held over there."

Han Yumae had already learned a great deal from senior brothers and sisters of her sect who had visited the academy before. Traveling with Hajun, she had passed much of that information along, so he had at least a basic grasp of how the place worked.

The Outer Academy, she had explained, was where the academy's many students and affiliated folk gathered, along with the inns, weapon shops, and merchant houses that served them. The Inner Academy—also called the Main Hall—was a restricted space that only enrolled students could enter.

"This body's estimation of the place was still too small. Well then—find me a beggar."

"A beggar? Why all of a sudden?"

"With this many people, there's bound to be one around."

Hajun scanned the street for a moment and quickly spotted one.

"There he is."

"Mm. I see him. Go do as I tell you. You have some money on you?"

"Barely enough to cover food and a night's lodging."

"Then give him all of it."

"Excuse me?"

"Just do as you're told. It's for your own good. If you pass, Cheonmu Academy feeds and houses you—money won't be a problem."

What the spirit was asking made no sense, but Hajun trusted the Spirit of Seeking Justice enough to obey. He approached the beggar and emptied every last coin from his pouch.

"Oh, young master—thank you!"

The beggar bowed his head in gratitude. Hajun hesitated a beat, then asked what the spirit had instructed.

"Um… could I trouble you for a scrap of your clothing?"

"…My clothing, young master?"

"I need a piece of it."

Hajun offered an awkward smile. The beggar looked puzzled, but as repayment for the alms he tore a strip from his own sleeve and handed it over.

Hajun scooped up a handful of dirt from beside the beggar's alms bowl, rubbed it between his palms, then took the strip of cloth and bound it around his arm.

"Thank you. May you earn well."

"Safe travels, young master."

Having given the beggar his money, Hajun put some distance between them and grumbled at the spirit.

"What was that about, mister? Can I at least wipe my hands?"

"Ah-ah. Don't spoil the blessing. Leave it. It's a rite of departure for battle."

"A rite? Isn't that just superstition?"

"It is superstition. But just in case. My disciple is heading out, after all."

"I'm not going to war—I'm taking an entrance exam."

"And how is that any different from war?"

Trading idle banter with the Spirit of Seeking Justice, Hajun pressed on. The closer they drew to the Inner Academy, the thinner the crowds became. Before long he saw several people blocking a narrow passage.

That must be the place.

The guards were checking something like travel papers. Hajun fell naturally into line and waited his turn.

"Student, are you? Your pass?"

"Not yet—I'm hoping to enroll. Here's my invitation."

Hajun drew the letter from his robe and held it out.

"The invitation itself is genuine… Where did you come from?"

"From the Guizhou Province side."

"Hmm. I see."

The gate guard handed the invitation to another man and stepped forward.

"Follow me."

The place he was led to resembled a waiting room. There, the guard put him through a battery of questions.

"What's your background?"

"I was a slash-and-burn farmer—it's unclear. Lately I've been living near Cheongpyeong County in Guizhou Province."

"And your sect?"

"A mysterious single-lineage school."

"Do you have any acquaintances inside the academy?"

"None."

Every answer was as vague as the last. By the end of it, the gate guard had made up his mind.

Another freeloader come for free meals. Unorthodox side, probably.

There were quite a few of that sort—men who'd swung a blade a few times and spun fantasies of Cheonmu Academy, where you only had to get inside to eat free, sleep free, and learn martial arts free. On the Unorthodox side, invitations were sometimes bought and sold, or simply stolen. It wasn't rare.

Even so, someone this murky in origin would almost certainly be filtered out by the entrance exam.

Best prepare the highest-difficulty exam for him.

Under Cheonmu Academy's rules, the more obscure a candidate's background, the harder the entrance exam became—on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the theory that even a man without a clear past would leave traces in his martial skill and knowledge. Following that rule, the guard requested an examiner for the top-tier test.

Hajun, of course, had no way of knowing any of this. He was killing time browsing the gallery when someone came for him before long.

"The entrance exam is ready. Follow me."

The first trial of Ye Hajun's entry into Cheonmu Academy had been prepared.

The first exam was a written test.

On that front, I had no worries at all.

Why? Because I had the gallery—a complete cheat.

But the wooden exam board they handed me was packed with Chinese characters so chaotic they made my head spin.

What the hell even is this.

The moment I'd fallen into this world, the Heuksabang lord had grabbed me, and I'd spent every day since grinding through every kind of menial labor. I'd never had time to properly learn to read. I abandoned any attempt to think it through and immediately cried for help from the gallery.

Under the flood of gallery advice, I carefully transcribed the correct answers one by one.

The problem was that there was too much of it—way too much.

"Excuse me…"

"What is it?"

"Would it be possible to get a few more writing boards ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for the answers?"

In the end, the surface area wasn't enough to fit everything, and I had to request extra boards.

As the answers kept ballooning, I worried it might look suspicious—but the gallery's reaction was different.

Every last gallery spirit was of the same mind: this is basic, this is common sense.

Fine. I'd trust them and write it down.

Stacked on top of my already clumsy handwriting, just finishing the answers took an age.

"I'm done."

"I… see. Good work."

The examiner accepted the armful of boards and skimmed the answers—then his face began to curdle. He lifted one board right up to his eyes and started going over it with painstaking care.

What? The gallery wrote these answers, so I doubt I got them wrong. Is it the handwriting?

I'd written a whole stack, yet the examiner only glanced at the first board before setting it down almost at once. Watching him, unease clawed at me.

"Um, about that…"

"Yes?"

The examiner opened and closed his mouth as if there were something he badly wanted to say, stalling for time—then finally spoke.

"Next is the practical exam. Head to the training grounds. Escort him."

"Yes, sir."

Following the gate guard toward the training grounds, I couldn't stop replaying the written examiner's expression.

It was the handwriting, right? The answers should be fine. But even perfect answers only matter if someone can actually read them… Ah, damn it.

If I failed, food and a place to sleep became immediate problems. And having already given the last of my travel money to that beggar, I had nowhere left to fall back to.

All I could do was steel myself and score as high as possible on the next test.

At this point, I have to make it up on the practical. No choice.