"Lester Liew, get in here!"
Clara's voice suddenly rang out from the bedroom.
It was just after breakfast. Lester had just finished wiping down the stove and was putting away the clean pots and bowls Adam and Deb had washed.
"What is it, dear?" Lester didn't move, calling out from the kitchen with a wary tone, even his hair bristling with caution.
Clara gave a short grunt in reply, then called again, "Hurry up and get in here!"
She turned to the four children. "A bunch of dry branches fell down the slope—go collect some firewood. Stay safe, just gather from the base of the hill and don't wander off."
Adam responded quickly, rallying Ben and Chad, who were still reluctant to leave their recitations in the main room. He picked up the small firewood racks Clara had made. He and Ben took one each, while Chad and Deb each got a little basket.
No one expected the twins to haul firewood—they were there more for moral support, maybe toss in a twig or two to look helpful.
Deb still wanted to stick to Clara like glue—it was rare for Clara to be home and not off at the watermill factory.
But the little girl was clever. She glanced at her father, who radiated danger, then at her mother, who had adopted the serious demeanor of a stern old schoolmaster. Deb gave Clara a quick kiss on the cheek, then strapped on her basket and followed her brothers out.
As they left, Adam even closed the gate behind them—thoughtfully protecting the family's dignity from airing out in public.
Lester looked around in despair.
With a heavy sigh between every step, he trudged toward the master bedroom. Only when Clara's sharp, impatient glare was aimed squarely at him did he quicken his pace.
It wasn't his first time entering this room, but he rarely set foot here.
The moment he looked up, he saw the bow and arrows hanging on the wall and the large broadsword resting at the head of the bed.
The room was sparsely decorated—no flowers, no frills. That made the test papers laid out on the big desk all the more conspicuous.
"Sit down!"
Clara picked up a bamboo stick, and it cracked against the edge of the chair with a snap! that made Lester's breath catch.
"Can't we talk about this like civilized people?" he squeaked. "No need to get violent."
He said that, but his body reacted faster than his words. He sat down cautiously, knees pressed together, hands on his lap, back ramrod straight like a schoolboy facing punishment.
Clara tapped the stack of question cards with the bamboo stick. "These are mock exam papers I prepared first thing this morning. Since you only come home for one day at a time, we don't have much time. Let's begin training immediately."
"From this moment on, this room is the examination hall. I'm the chief examiner. You are the candidate."
"This is the County Exam preliminary round in February. Begin your answers now. Follow the official civil exam format. Submit your paper before dinner tonight. I need to assess your current level."
She pulled out the Four Books and placed them beside him. "Considering your weak foundation, today's exam is open book."
Then she laid down a printed format guide in front of him. Clara walked over to sit on the bed across from the desk, adopting her examiner persona in an instant.
Lester stared in stunned silence for a full minute before reacting.
He opened his mouth to speak, but Clara barked, "Silence!"
He looked at the scene in disbelief, his mind screaming—If I'd known this was coming, I wouldn't have come home at all!
Still… this mock exam idea had a weird appeal. He figured he'd give it a shot.
Taking a deep breath, Lester picked up the question card.
But the moment his eyes landed on the requirement, his mind went blank. He wanted to chuck the card and bolt.
He glanced cautiously at the "chief examiner," sighed, and gave in—fine, he'd write it.
Thankfully, he still remembered some of County Scholar Fan's example answers.
He couldn't copy them outright, but he could mimic the style closely enough to fake it.
When Clara saw that Lester had actually begun writing, she let out a quiet sigh of relief.
It took him an entire hour just to complete the poem. Time was already running short, and he still had to write a 700-character essay—with correct format.
He tried to ask for a bathroom break. Clara granted him fifteen minutes.
The moment Lester stepped out the back door, he tried to flee.
But Clara had seen it coming. A flick of her bamboo stick lashed across his calf, and a scream of agony rang out.
Dragged back to the "exam hall" under the force of martial law, Lester had no choice but to behave.
He worked on the essay from noon until sunset and still didn't finish.
But the clock ran out—and the paper had to be submitted.
When he finally handed it in, Lester felt like he'd just survived a real civil service exam. He looked dazed, mentally drained, utterly exhausted.
Clara shooed him out to cook dinner, then sat down to review the exam.
The essay barely hit 500 characters and made no coherent sense. Even his attempts to copy from the classics missed the mark.
Clara had read the Four Books before—not memorized, but she had a solid academic foundation from her previous life, making comprehension a breeze. If she'd written that exam herself, two hours tops and she would've passed.
The poem, though, she'd need to study before she could replicate one.
Lester's poem… well, she couldn't really judge the quality, but it seemed like a decent imitation of a proper County Scholar's model—at least on the surface.
In summary: weak fundamentals, decent intuition, and loads of potential.
Clara realized she couldn't rush things. Foundations needed to be solid.
There were six months left before the exam. The plan? Finish all Four Books—one per month. That would take four months, leaving two months for reinforcement. Perfect.
She drew up a study plan on the spot and handed it to Lester, telling him to follow it strictly at the academy.
"What about the curriculum the teacher assigns?" Lester asked, surprised.
Clara waved him off. "Figure it out. Either ask the teacher to adjust, or tweak this schedule to match the class. I don't care."
Lester gave a weak "oh" and glanced at the plan. His eyes nearly popped.
Every minute of his day was scheduled—meals, sleep, even toilet time. He felt like he couldn't breathe. He wanted to drop dead on the spot.
What he didn't notice was the look of awe and envy in Adam and Ben's eyes as they peeked at the schedule.
Clara raised an eyebrow at the two boys. "You two want one too?"
They nodded enthusiastically. "Mhm!"
Clara always told them that hard work paid off.
Sure, talent mattered—but that was a luxury most people couldn't afford. If reaching their goal meant becoming "quiz warriors" in a small town, so be it.
Adam and Ben already sensed it—that dense-looking schedule their dad now clutched might just be the shortcut to their dreams.
"Smart kids," Clara said, ruffling their hair. "Once you're back at school, I'll draw up custom study plans for both of you too."
"Thanks, Mom!" Ben beamed.
Adam didn't say anything, but his eyes were filled with gratitude. Smiling, he rolled up his sleeves, carried out the dishes Lester had finished cooking, and set the table.
"Auntie, dinner's ready!"
"Let's go," Clara called to the twins in the courtyard, who were feeding the chickens. "Time to eat!"
"Coming~" Deb shouted back, dragging her little brother to the stone basin to wash their hands.
The whole family sat around the table, savoring a rare, delicious meal that only came once every two weeks.
All five of them practically licked their plates clean—a testament to Lester's cooking.
Defeated and hungry, Lester muttered through gritted teeth, "Thanks a lot, everyone…"
(End of Chapter)
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