As members of the Cheng clan, most were well aware of Cheng Jinzhou's sickly reputation. While his self-recommendation drew much commentary, the majority remained skeptical of his prospects.
Yet, more than anything, people feared the matriarch losing face.
Prefect Cheng Yun'an shared this concern. Glancing briefly at Jinzhou, he cleared his throat and said, "Mother, since Bingshun is older than Jinzhou, perhaps he should take the first challenge."
Though both Cheng Jinhao and Cheng Jinzhou studied for the imperial examinations, when comparing shortcomings, one inevitably proved worse...
Cheng Yun'an couldn't risk the matriarch's dignity over personal feelings.
Jinzhou looked up at his father, resentment flickering before fading. He consoled himself: This was just about money anyway—first or second place wouldn't make much difference in silver.
As he prepared to concede, the "Generous" gentleman smirked triumphantly. But the matriarch, stubborn as ever, refused the easy way out. Rising abruptly, she declared, "Jinhao may be older, but ancestral traditions don't work that way. Since Bingshun raised this, I'll examine them both here."
Her words, measured and proper, subtly implied the difference between true heirs and pretenders, making the Long branch members hang their heads in shame. Bingshun had started this, and they'd failed to stop him—now they had no rebuttal.
The challenge itself was trivial. The matriarch, indifferent, hadn't prepared any topics. Stern-faced, she announced, "I claim no expertise in mathematics, but with star scholars present today, let them pose one question, and I'll add another. Whoever answers both correctly proceeds first."
In this age where star scholars reigned supreme, mathematics was noble必修. The matriarch's "no expertise" was mere modesty.
Jinhao stepped forward, composing himself beside Jinzhou, while his father Bingshun appeared more nervous than his son.
Jinzhou casually turned his head and noticed another group of black-robed men emerging from the west. These were different from the three visiting star scholars—far inferior in standing. Sponsored by the Cheng family, these men lacked even single-star ratings, let alone prospects of becoming true star scholars. They relied on noble houses for both prestige and funding—research consumed resources regardless of quality.
Still, compared to those with no potential whatsoever, these western-robed men were fortunate, at least possessing decent mathematical skills.
One stepped forward, stroking his magnificent beard—a privilege afforded by noble respect for star scholars—and said playfully, "I'll pose a question to test you both: 'Chickens and rabbits share a cage with 35 heads and 94 legs. How many of each?'"
Jinzhou nearly laughed aloud.
The classic "chickens and rabbits" problem, dating back to the Nine Chapters, remained a staple even in modern civil service exams. Its essence was simple: chickens had two legs, rabbits four. Solving for quantities given heads and legs required only swapping counts—bright elementary students could manage it. Using equations reduced it to basic algebra, something even dull university students could brute-force (though speed was another matter).
In 21st-century China's civil exams, those who solved problems but ran out of time littered the battlefield.
Yet in this era where the Nine Chapters itself was rare, the problem left Jinhao deep in thought. Linear equations existed in Daxia, but weren't standard for teenagers. First encounters with such problems proved challenging.
Jinzhou glanced at his flustered cousin and decided against sparing their pride. "12 rabbits, 23 chickens," he answered bluntly—without even scratch paper.
His swift, accurate mental math impressed the robed scholar, who nodded approvingly. "Correct."
Jinzhou's mother beamed while he allowed himself a faint smile, recalling his past. Before university, his math and physics had been strong—he'd dreamed of becoming the next Einstein, Bohr, or Rutherford. But as peers grew more exceptional, his mediocrity became undeniable. By his master's degree, any trace of genius had vanished entirely.
Now, finding himself potentially elite again, Jinzhou wasn't sure how to react.
"The Generous" Cheng Bingshun paled dramatically. Before his son could solve it, he shouted, "This was rigged! Everyone knows Jinzhou's a walking medicine cabinet who barely attended school—"
The robed scholar flicked his sleeve angrily—star scholars prized their dignity.
Bingshun barreled on: "Aunt, you're always fair—this question doesn't count if even he could answer—"
His words dripped with contempt. Without his transmigration, the sickly youth's future would indeed have been bleak.
The matriarch slammed her teacup down sharply. "Must you disgrace yourself over children's games?"
"I demand fairness! An explanation!" Bingshun's face was pure shamelessness.
Others covered their faces in secondhand embarrassment. Jinzhou frowned—like many, he sensed this wasn't about a few hundred silver taels.
The matriarch turned away disdainfully. "Here's a ruler and compass. Construct a regular heptadecagon. You have twenty minutes."
She produced the tools—standard star scholar equipment in Daxia—and tossed them on the table.
Leaving "The Generous" Cheng Bingshun standing alone under everyone's gaze.