The graduate-level examination papers—several pages thick, with an intimidating sense of weight entirely unrelated to physics—landed softly on the desk in front of Shi Kefa.
Thud.
Shi Kefa felt calm. Confident, even.
After all, he was an Imperial Scholar.
Did these people even understand what an Imperial Scholar represented?
In the Great Ming Dynasty, that title alone was proof of surviving a nationwide intellectual meat grinder. Only the sharpest minds, the most stubborn souls, and the most calligraphy-calloused hands could crawl out the other side.
Shi Kefa lowered his gaze.
The first half-page was poetry.
"Sunlight on Incense Burner Mountain creates purple smoke…"
Shi Kefa almost laughed.
Is that it?
This wasn't a question—it was muscle memory. Years of grinding classics had etched these verses directly into his bones. He didn't need to think. His hand moved on its own.
Swish.
Swish.
Swish.
The brush danced across the paper, strokes smooth and elegant, the kind of calligraphy that—if accidentally discovered by future collectors—would immediately cause several auction houses to fight to the death.
By the time he finished the half-page, Shi Kefa was certain of one thing:
Whoever grades this is about to feel deeply inadequate.
Then—
He flipped the page.
And froze.
Completely.
High school freshman mathematics.
Shi Kefa's fingers tightened around the brush.
They trembled.
Just slightly.
He stared at the page as though it were staring back at him.
"…Principal Wang," Shi Kefa finally said, voice dry, "what… what in heaven's name are these questions?"
Principal Wang didn't even hesitate.
"These are first-year high school math problems," he replied calmly. "All of our graduate students are self-studying this material. Whether someone can reach this level basically determines if they qualify for graduate studies."
Shi Kefa's mind stalled.
"…What kind of work," he asked carefully, "requires this sort of knowledge?"
Principal Wang chuckled, the sound light and utterly unconcerned with Shi Kefa's dignity.
"Dao Xuan Tianzun has said that mathematics is the foundation of all sciences. Without mastering mathematics, one cannot properly study anything else."
Cold sweat slid down Shi Kefa's spine.
"I feel," he admitted after a long pause, "that the realm of graduate studies may be… slightly beyond my current cultivation. Perhaps this official should begin by self-studying high school material first."
Principal Wang nodded, entirely reasonable.
"To enter high school, one must score at least sixty percent on the middle school graduation exam."
Shi Kefa straightened. Confidence returned.
"That will pose no difficulty," he declared. "Bring forth the papers."
Swish.
Several more pages were placed before him.
This time, Shi Kefa had learned his lesson. He barely spared the first half-page of poetry a glance. His eyes flicked over it; his brush followed like a loyal servant, dispatching the verses with ruthless efficiency.
Then he turned the page.
He inhaled.
Fill in the Blanks
(1 point per blank, 27 points total)
There are only ( ) types of electric charge in nature. Clothes made from certain synthetic fabrics tend to get dirty easily, mainly because synthetic fabric is prone to ( ) phenomena.
When a machine performs work, the extra, unavoidable work we undertake is called ( ).
An object with magnetic properties is called a ( ), and the process by which a non-magnetic object acquires magnetism is called ( ).
Shi Kefa's hand began to tremble again.
This time, noticeably.
"…Principal Wang," he said weakly, "what… what connection do these questions have to practical governance and utility?"
Principal Wang smiled faintly—the sort of smile that suggested you will understand someday, but not today.
"Of course they are useful. This is physics. Dao Xuan Tianzun has said that only by mastering physics can one comprehend the principles governing all things—and only then can one truly manage the world."
Shi Kefa swallowed.
"You just said," he asked slowly, "that middle school graduates can score above sixty on this test. Does that mean… the Gao Family Village middle school graduates I've met before—like Shopkeeper Wang Tang—can answer these questions?"
Principal Wang laughed.
"Ah, Wang Tang! My adopted son. An excellent child. He scores above ninety on these questions."
Shi Kefa's brain short-circuited.
Wang Tang.
The man ran inns. Carriage services. Grain stores. A pile of ordinary businesses that barely deserved the word remarkable.
Shi Kefa had always assumed he was simply a clever clerk.
And now he was being told that this same man could casually score ninety on questions that made an Imperial Scholar break into a cold sweat.
Sweat gathered on Shi Kefa's forehead.
"Wang Tang is… terrifying," he said honestly. "Given time, he will surely rise to great heights."
Principal Wang waved a hand.
"An exaggeration. He is diligent, yes—but still far behind our graduate students."
Then his eyes lit up.
"Come, let me show you something."
He walked to the side and flipped a switch.
Click.
Above Shi Kefa's head, an electric lamp flared to life.
Light flooded the room.
Shi Kefa gasped.
Principal Wang gestured upward.
"This is the result of physics. The electric lamp factory is already under construction. Soon, Gao Family Village will use these lamps extensively. We also plan branch factories in Puzhou—and certainly one in Xi'an."
He paused, letting the light speak for itself.
"This is what applying physics to governance and utility looks like."
Shi Kefa stared at the lamp, then at the papers, then at his own hands.
His knowledge felt… painfully insufficient.
"…Very well," he said at last. "This official is unfit to begin at high school. I shall start from first-year middle school."
Principal Wang nodded.
"To enter first-year middle school, however, one must score at least sixty percent on the elementary school graduation exam."
Swish.
Another stack of papers appeared.
This time, Shi Kefa didn't even pretend.
He skipped the poetry.
Straight to the back.
Elementary school mathematics.
The greatest common divisor of 12 and 18 is ( ).
The least common multiple of 16, 24, and 48 is ( ).
Shi Kefa exhaled slowly and set down his brush.
"It seems," he said with quiet dignity, "that this official must begin his studies… from elementary school."
Principal Wang hesitated.
"As long as Lord Shi can accept it…"
Shi Kefa immediately understood.
Elementary school classrooms were filled with children.
Very young children.
An Imperial Scholar. A judicial commissioner. Sitting among toddlers.
This was not humiliation.
This was annihilation.
In the end, Principal Wang found a solution.
A "distinguished visitor's seat" was placed at the very back of the classroom. It was publicly announced that Lord Shi Kefa was inspecting educational standards at Thirty-Two Middle School.
Thus, everyone believed he was observing.
No one suspected he was studying.
Shi Kefa skipped language arts classes and attended only mathematics.
Every lesson, he took meticulous notes.
Every concept, he pondered deeply.
Several times, when the teacher posed a question, his hand nearly shot up on instinct—eager, competitive, completely forgetting the audience.
Each time, he stopped himself just in time.
Unbeknownst to him…
Shi Kefa had fallen in love.
These strange new forms of knowledge awakened something long-dormant.
After all, one does not become an Imperial Scholar without loving learning.
Once the door was opened, he was like a fish returned to water.
Xi'an Prefecture.
Wu Shen pulled aside one of his subordinates.
"Why haven't I seen Shi Kefa lately?"
The subordinate hesitated.
"I heard Lord Shi has fallen gravely ill and hasn't attended to his duties for several days. The cases in the yamen…"
"…are being handled by the Xi'an Prefect."
Wu Shen's face changed.
"What? Brother Shi is ill? Quickly—prepare gifts. I must visit him at once."