Chapter Seventy: The Palace Examination Question

The next morning, after finishing yoga with her two elder sisters, Li Yuechen ate a light breakfast and prepared to set out. Today was another day for her check-up at Master Liu Rengui’s house, so she planned to leave early and return early.

When she returned around noon and finished her meal, Xiao He approached her. “Your Highness, the ten palace maids are waiting outside. Would you like to meet with them?”

“No need.” Li Yuechen still needed to visit the workshop today and had no time to spare. She reached under the table and took out a tray, placing it on top.

On the tray sat a small porcelain bottle. Inside was a moisturizing cream she had made the day before, blending glycerin with water and honey.

“Take this to them,” she instructed, “and supervise them to apply it evenly on their faces each night before bed. After a period, report their impressions to me.”

“Yes, Your Highness!” Xiao He agreed, thinking to herself that the princess must have invented something new again.

After taking care of Li Yuechen’s instructions, she followed onto the carriage, heading once more to Jixian Lane.

This time, not only Fulai and Xiao He accompanied her, but also Shangguan Wan’er. Such a young child ought to see life outside the palace; being cooped up all day was surely too dull.

When the carriage arrived at Jixian Lane, Shangguan Wan’er alighted and looked around curiously. With only the walls of the lane surrounding them, she soon focused her attention on the large gate nearby.

“Is this Your Highness’s workshop?” she asked.

“Yes.” Li Yuechen nodded. “Come along.”

Inside, they saw the workers already busy. Though bustling, their work was orderly rather than chaotic.

Upon seeing Li Yuechen, they all stood and bowed respectfully. “Greetings, Your Highness!”

“At ease,” Li Yuechen waved, “Get started quickly. You’re still not yet familiar with the process, so for now only work in the afternoons. After a few days, you’ll need to work four hours a day.”

“Yes, Your Highness!”

Four hours a day was heavenly treatment compared to the relentless work hours of this era, so everyone replied with particular vigor.

Shangguan Wan’er walked around, quietly observing, but she did not wander off. Instead, she stayed by Li Yuechen’s side, watching her direct the workers.

When someone forgot a step, Li Yuechen did not lose her composure. She simply explained the procedure gently.

It was only after she left that Fulai would storm over and scold them fiercely: “Useless! If you can’t remember even this, how can you repay Her Highness’s kindness?”

Li Yuechen did not stop Fulai, for she understood this was the nature of good management—if she played the benevolent role, someone else had to play the strict one.

She had considered appointing someone for this task, but Fulai was perceptive and took it upon himself before she even spoke.

No wonder leaders value those who are quick to understand and act; regardless of loyalty, such people make things run smoothly!

Although Li Yuechen was kind-hearted, she was no naïve fool. Having been raised in the imperial family and exposed to state affairs, she had learned the art of rulership, even if unconsciously.

Perhaps she herself was not fully aware of this...

After a busy afternoon, the second batch of soap was poured into molds.

Chunmei placed the freshly-extracted glycerin into a porcelain bottle about ten centimeters high and handed it to Fulai.

As the sun began to set, Xiao He reminded her: “Your Highness, it is nearly time to return to the palace.”

“Very well.”

Li Yuechen nodded and turned to Chunmei. “I have taught you for two days now. Tomorrow, you all shall try making it on your own; I will only observe.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Chunmei bowed in acknowledgment.

Once on the carriage, Fulai and Xiao He sat by the door, with Li Yuechen and Shangguan Wan’er inside.

Shangguan Wan’er was rather quiet by nature. She had spent the entire afternoon observing, without the slightest sign of impatience.

After some thought, Li Yuechen asked, “What did you think of today?”

“It was very interesting,” Shangguan Wan’er replied. “I never knew that by continuously stirring oil and water, you could make this soap…”

“Ah, that’s not water, but lye…” Li Yuechen began to explain, but then shook her head. “Never mind. I meant to ask—did you find it boring?”

Shangguan Wan’er shook her head, hugging her knees against the carriage wall. “Compared to life in the palace, it’s not much different, but watching Your Highness teach them is quite amusing.”

Li Yuechen smiled slightly. “Those two clumsy Kunlun slaves are certainly a sight.”

What I meant was that watching Your Highness is amusing… Shangguan Wan’er added silently, but did not say aloud.

...

The following day, Shangguan Wan’er said she would stay in the palace and wait for her return.

Li Yuechen agreed. Her two elder sisters seemed interested in going out, so she took them along.

Today, she did not teach, but merely observed, only speaking when she noticed a mistake.

For her sisters, it was their first time leaving the palace, and they explored the house with some excitement. Soon, however, they lost interest and began chatting with Li Yuechen.

“So you’re saying the speed of this ‘stirring rod’ can be calculated?” Princess Xuancheng asked.

“Yes.” Li Yuechen nodded. “Perhaps we can’t do it now, but someday, someone will.”

Princess Xuancheng considered this. “You once said that everything in the world can be measured—what about sunlight?”

“That too can be measured,” Li Yuechen leaned against the wall. “The speed of light is six hundred thousand li per breath.”

“Six hundred thousand li in a single breath?” Princess Xuancheng had little concept of such a number but remained curious. “How was that calculated?”

“I don’t know how to explain, but just trust me,” Li Yuechen replied.

“I do,” Xuancheng nodded.

Beside them, Princess Yiyang glanced up at the dazzling sunlight and then smiled, lowering her head.

...

Overall, the workers performed well today; they had remembered all the steps.

Two people forgot, but Chunmei reminded them immediately. Li Yuechen did not speak at all.

Watching the soap poured into the molds, Li Yuechen nodded in satisfaction. Soon, she would no longer need to come in person.

Over the next few days, she continued to observe. Without any intervention, the workers flawlessly completed each step.

Li Yuechen was satisfied and told them to continue as they had.

Before leaving, she called Chunmei over. “From tomorrow, I won’t be coming regularly. Store all the glycerin you extract each day. If I need anything, I’ll let you know.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

With everything settled, Li Yuechen took the carriage back to the palace. From the next day, she could return to her usual routine.

She planned to let this batch of soap cure for a month, believing the results would be better.

Her memory of soap-making was rather vague, so she would have to review her own notes.

Having learned her lesson after her poem “On Pity for the Farmers” was discovered by Li Zhi, she now wrote many of her records in English.

After all, the United States did not exist at this time, and on the British Isles, it was merely some Anglo-Saxons; even whether the English language had truly emerged was uncertain.

Thus, for now, Li Yuechen was the only person in the world who could read her notes.

She took great care to organize them, minimizing the chance of discovery by Li Zhi.

After all, people of this era were highly superstitious. Should Li Zhi find her writing strange, unintelligible text, and suspect she was possessed, it would be disastrous.

...

As days passed, the Eastern Capital gradually grew livelier.

The reason was the imperial examination. The Ministry of Personnel was in charge, gathering all candidates in a place much like a prison for the exam.

Afterwards, they waited for the results, which would be posted after the spring plowing in the second month—usually the busiest day at the gates of the imperial city.

Those who passed cheered and celebrated, sometimes befriending each other, then brought gifts to the Ministry to visit the chancellors and examiners—a ritual known as “passing through the hall.”

As for those who failed, some prepared to try again the next year, while others returned to farming or commerce.

The Tang dynasty’s examinations covered many subjects, with categories such as Scholar, Presented Scholar, Classics, Law, and Records.

Li Yuechen learned only later that in this era, “Scholar” was the highest rank. The exam was so difficult that few even qualified to attempt it each year, and often none succeeded.

The most popular exam was thus the Presented Scholar.

Li Yuechen herself had little interest in the exams, focusing instead on the upcoming spring sowing.

...

Inside Anfu Hall, the small patch of land had been well tended for a year and was now of excellent quality. While not literally oozing oil when squeezed, it was as good as any first-class field.

Not knowing the exact process for sowing and transplanting rice, Li Yuechen simply sent for experts from the Ministry of Revenue.

The only inconvenience was that every time these people entered, they were closely monitored by a host of palace maids and eunuchs.

Li Yuechen didn’t mind—she was not shy, it was just a bit of a hassle.

Shangguan Wan’er, too, was unconcerned, having grown up in the secluded palace and unafraid of strangers.

Her two elder sisters, however, had never experienced life outside the palace, and suddenly having so many people around made them too embarrassed to leave their rooms.

At first, the workers were intimidated by the princess with her ponytail, answering all questions with extreme formality.

Over time, they relaxed and answered normally.

After all, although they were technically officials, they were skilled specialists. Many had never seen the emperor or even the Minister of Revenue.

Now, to be speaking with a princess face to face was understandably unsettling.

Li Yuechen did not care about these matters, so long as they did their work well.

So many outsiders coming and going in the inner palace made Wu Zetian uneasy.

But Li Zhi insisted it was for their daughter’s agricultural research, and if it succeeded, it would be worth the trouble.

Wu Zetian said little more, merely instructing Zhang Chengxin to keep a close watch on them.

...

As Li Yuechen busied herself, the results of the imperial examination were announced.

On the day the results were posted, the area outside the imperial city was crowded with onlookers. Even those who rarely crossed Tianjin Bridge gathered early to watch the excitement.

In the front row, people of all ages waited—some anxiously clenching their fists, some glancing nervously around, others scratching their heads.

Standing atop the city wall with Shangguan Wan’er, whom she had brought along in secret, Li Yuechen could well understand their feelings.

After all, to pass the imperial exam was to change one’s fate.

Soon, the officials responsible for posting the results emerged from the city gate, escorted by soldiers to the wall beside the gate. An attendant spread paste on the wall, and the official unrolled the list and posted it.

Turning around, he announced in a loud voice: “By the sacred imperial command—those who have passed as Presented Scholars are to enter the palace for an audience!”

With that, he stepped aside, leaving only two soldiers to maintain order.

Those at the front stepped forward to examine the list.

Not long after, a cry of joy rang out: “I passed!”

A young man in his thirties leapt in excitement, then hurried to bow to the official.

The official returned the salute. “Be patient. Once the others have gathered, you will all be led into the palace for an audience.”

From time to time, cheers or sighs of disappointment rippled through the crowd.

This year, nearly thirty candidates passed. Once all had gathered and greeted the officials, they were escorted into the palace to meet the emperor.

From the city wall, Li Yuechen told Shangguan Wan’er to return, while she herself slipped behind Qianyuan Hall, eager to hear what the emperor would say to them.

It was rare for the emperor to meet the successful candidates in person, as although they had passed, they could not yet be appointed to office; several years of training and waiting were still required.

Of course, immediate appointment was possible—if they could also pass the Ministry of Personnel’s further examination, though that was notoriously difficult and few ever succeeded.

Behind the screen, Li Yuechen leaned against the wall, arms crossed, ready to listen as if eavesdropping on court news.

The candidates entered the hall, bowed, and proclaimed, “Long live the emperor!”

Li Zhi raised his hand, excusing them. Paper and brushes had already been prepared; the candidates took their seats, ready to answer the emperor’s question.

From their trembling hands, one could sense their nervousness.

They waited for the emperor’s question.

From his dragon throne, Li Zhi’s gaze swept over the hall, pausing as he glanced at his youngest daughter behind the screen.

He set aside his health balls and spoke slowly: “Today, I have only one question. If a woman is talented, may she serve as a general in the army or an official at court?”