The Examinee Who Knew the Hyangsi Questions Uncannily Well

The Gu Clan.

Among the many houses rooted in Agyang, none had produced more geoin — scholars who had passed the provincial civil service exam. That abundance of successful candidates had, in turn, sent a great many of their sons into the imperial court. In the past hundred years alone, the Gu Clan had produced seventeen successful examinees. Five of them had entered the Hanlin Academy; four had served as prefects of provincial seats.

With so many high officials of Gu blood, the clan's influence at court was inevitable. Even the prefect of Agyang himself dared not treat the Gu Clan lightly. In short, within Agyang the Gu Clan stood as a peerless great house — a family whose prestige was almost beyond reckoning.

And yet, for all that formidable power, the face of the current clan head, Gu Hyuk-do, remained stubbornly dark.

"Dear, the weather is turning cold. Why don't you come inside? Un-sang may be a little lazy, but he's a clever boy. He'll manage."

So said his wife, Lee Ok-sang.

"Hah… He had better. If it weren't for that wastrel streak of his…"

"Honestly. You've seen how he's changed lately, haven't you?"

"Hah… Still, I can't help worrying. If that boy Un-sang had only studied a little harder, I wouldn't be fretting like this over whether he'll pass the Hyangsi…"

And the young man who so troubled the head of Agyang's foremost clan was, at that very moment—

"!!!"

—reading every character on the page with painstaking care, marveling again and again.

"Impossible! Who on earth wrote this?"

Gu Un-sang had forgotten that the Hyangsi was practically upon him. He was lost in the book, lost in pure admiration.

Reading diligently with the exam so near would ordinarily have been something to praise. But the book Gu Un-sang was reading was not the sort one praised for that reason.

A volume titled Romance of the Three Kingdoms looked, by any generous measure, utterly unrelated to studying for the provincial exam.

Not long before, Gu Un-sang had purchased a copy of Collected Solutions to Past Hyeongju Provincial Exam Questions — and received Romance of the Three Kingdoms as a free extra. The day he brought both books back to his lodgings, he had tossed the novel aside and promptly forgotten he even had it. With the Hyangsi so close, he had no attention to spare for some miscellaneous volume a bookseller had recommended.

He opened the solution book at once and set to work. Day after day he read and reread it, concentrating with everything he had. Then, on the very eve of the exam, for all his hard study, confidence still eluded him.

The Hyangsi consisted of three sections.

The first tested knowledge of the Confucian classics — the Four Books and Five Classics. The second tested practical ability: drafting memorials and official documents. And the third and final section posed questions drawn from history, asking how well a candidate could apply what he had learned.

That third section was the one Gu ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Un-sang dreaded.

In memorizing the classics, he yielded to no one. He had also been told he had a fair gift for polishing sentences and composing prose. History, however, had never held his interest. Whenever he read of the countless figures of the past — what they had done, what they had achieved — the sheer number of names left him hopelessly confused. History had always been set aside; when he studied, he returned to the classics he already handled well.

But for the Hyangsi, historical study was essential. He could not avoid it. So Gu Un-sang reached for one of the history books among the volumes on his desk — never realizing it was the very Romance of the Three Kingdoms he had carelessly thrown aside. And the moment he opened it—

Unlike the stiff historical chronicles he knew, the sentence seemed to look down upon the whole world and speak of the land's destiny. From that single line came a weight and pressure he could not name, and Gu Un-sang thought: this book might be something extraordinary — nothing like the volumes he had read before.

"Wh-what is this… this sentence? Is this truly a work of history?"

Marveling, he read on. The further he went, the more he could only click his tongue in awe at the author's historical insight.

"Hahaha… So such things truly happened in the age of the Han? Yellow Turbans? Weren't they simply bandits who preyed on the common folk?"

The terror of the Yellow Turbans as the book described them was of a different order entirely from anything Gu Un-sang had ever read. The uprising, the text argued, was not merely a grab for power — it was a rising against officials who bled the people dry. And yet the book did not spare the Yellow Turbans either. They, too, it said, were no different from those same officials. Having risen in the name of setting the world right, they still plundered the people for military grain. The book cut sharply into that contradiction — and still concluded that the Han was so rotten that the people had no choice but to join the rebels.

Officials who extorted the people in the emperor's name. A court that saw it and looked away, eyes fixed on bribes. Eunuchs in the ascendant. Ministers who wielded power for private ends.

The more Gu Un-sang read, the more he pitied the common folk — and the more he understood why, even while being plundered by the Yellow Turbans, they had no choice but to flock to their banners.

"Truly… a court ought to soothe the people and ease their hunger. Instead it only fattened corrupt officials. Small wonder the people gathered beneath the Yellow Turbans' flags…"

So he continued, marveling at the historical substance and the insight on every page. Then he turned the next leaf — and a figure appeared without warning.

He was no heroic prodigy. He was a man selling straw sandals and woven mats. Introduced as Liu Bei, he fretted over his own mean station and over the state of the realm.

"Well now… how can there be such a man? With nothing to his name, and still he worries first for the country. Remarkable."

So absorbed was Gu Un-sang that he never thought it strange for a historical chronicle to introduce a speaking character out of nowhere. He simply read on. And the further he read, the more extraordinary Liu Bei's insight proved. The judgment and eloquence of a mere mat-seller? And once Guan Yu and Zhang Fei appeared, the conversation among the three left Gu Un-sang in open admiration.

"Hahaha… How can such men exist?"

Convinced the author was no ordinary man, he pressed on. Amid talk of the realm's condition came Liu Bei's confession: that he was a descendant of Prince Jing of Zhongshan, Liu Sheng — in other words, a kinsman of the imperial house!

At that abrupt revelation, Gu Un-sang finally realized something was wrong.

This was no simple history.

It was a novel. A novel grounded in history. The solid background laid out from the very first page had been so convincing that he had never guessed it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for fiction.

"Th-this is still historical study, after all…"

The moment he understood, he ought to have set it down and reached for a proper chronicle. He did not. Instead, half making ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠excuses to himself, he turned the next page.

Then came the Oath of the Peach Garden. Beneath the peach blossoms, Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei shared wine and swore brotherhood. Though of different surnames, though they could not share the same day of birth, they vowed to die on the same day. Next, they rose to save the realm and began recruiting a volunteer army. As the world fell into chaos, they did not spare themselves — they stepped forward in person. Even on the page, the sight set Gu Un-sang's chest ablaze.

"Hah… If a man is a man, ought he not be just like that…?"

Three men of different birth, different means, different everything, advancing as one as if to save the world — that scene lit a fire in Gu Un-sang's heart.

And on the next page was written:

???

A question mark bloomed across Gu Un-sang's face — the kind that asks why it ends here. Having kindled a roaring fire in his chest, the book simply stopped.

"Munhyuk… who in the world is this man? And this book… what on earth…"

Having long since forgotten that Romance of the Three Kingdoms had come free with his bookstore purchase, Gu Un-sang fretted over its origin. But he had forgotten the source, so fretting brought no answer. He could only guess it might be a volume he had brought from home.

"A pity… There must be a next volume at the main house, surely?"

With that thought, he decided it was time to return to proper historical study, and closed the book.

However…

"Ahem… Just once more. One more reading. This is history too… and I may have missed something, may I not?"

And so, on the eve of the Hyangsi, Gu Un-sang read Romance of the Three Kingdoms carefully through five full times before he finally set it down.

When the exam began, he regretted it — and regretted it again. He should have studied even a little more. He weathered the first and second sections without disaster. Only the third remained.

The third section was history. Weak in the subject, Gu Un-sang had no confidence at all. His heart hammered; sweat beaded on his palms.

If I'd known it would be like this, I would have studied even a little more…

Regretting inwardly, he lifted trembling eyes to the third-section question written on the platform ahead. And in that instant his eyes flew wide, as if he could not believe what he saw.

That question!

It was a question he knew. The very matter he had read five times over only the day before — drawn straight from Romance of the Three Kingdoms.

At the sight of those words, Gu Un-sang let out a breath thick with excitement and set his brush flying — summoning every thought he had turned over countless times during those five readings the day before.

"Hahaha… They say the young ones these days neglect their history, but this — this is an absolute shambles."

"Indeed. You can tell at a glance they haven't studied."

"Look at this. This one. 'The uprising happened simply because the people could not eat'? And why write down half-heard nonsense you can barely stand to read?"

"Hah… How is this Hyangsi so barren of talent?"

"Well, this question was set by a Hanlin academician, was it not? And it concerns events of the distant past. Of course it would not be easy."

"Even so… how are we supposed to select anyone from this? It's a quandary."

The examiners each sighed over the papers before them.

"Th-this! Look at this!"

One examiner suddenly lifted a paper and began to read what was written on it.

"'There are those who call the Yellow Turban Rebellion the greed of the people, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠but this is to miss the root of the matter. The common folk are, by nature, beings who till the soil to feed their families and wish only to continue their lives in modest peace.'"

"Oho! So he even knows the rising was the Yellow Turbans'? This one has studied his history well."

Most of the papers did not even identify the uprising as the Yellow Turban Rebellion. This one began with that very fact. The examiners nodded in satisfaction from the first and listened on.

And the more they heard, the more extraordinary the candidate seemed. He understood the conditions of the late Later Han as if he had seen and heard them himself. He explained with clarity the tangled relations among the Yellow Turbans, the court, and the people. And at the last, he set down perfectly both the reasons things had come to such a pass and what a ruler ought to do.

"The Haewon of this Hyangsi is right here!"

At so flawless an answer — as if the candidate had seen the question in advance — one examiner cried out in delight.

"Indeed! A thoroughly satisfying response."

By the mood of the room, a geoin was already assured, and the top rank of Haewon was well within reach. No one raised an objection.

"Hahaha, calm yourselves, all of you. No one yet knows how this fellow fared on the first and second sections, do they?"

"Hahaha, Academician Song, why worry over that? A man who can submit so lucid an answer — what difficulty could the first and second sections pose him?"

Having seen Gu Un-sang's paper, the examiners already seemed to have settled the Haewon in their hearts. Only then did they turn, lighter of spirit, to grading the rest.