Volume One: Rising as a Farmer Chapter 36: Father and Son Meet but Do Not Recognize Each Other

“What?”
Wen Lancang’s face was filled with bewilderment, then he roared angrily, “Who? Tell me, what’s going on?”
“Don’t be rash. I only heard this from others, I don’t know if it’s true or not. Please, don’t stir up trouble.”
He was apprehensive, afraid that telling Wen Lancang would bring him misfortune, but keeping it in made him feel stifled.
After a moment of hesitation, he couldn’t hold back any longer. “The magistrate’s father shares your name, Qian Lancang. Because of this, he secretly removed your name from the list and replaced it with someone else…”
Wen Lancang’s thoughts instantly tangled, memories flooding his mind.
He remembered now—the magistrate was named Qian Hui.
Indeed, a provincial official had once advised him to change his name, saying it suppressed his literary talent and that changing it would turn his luck around.
At the time, he had laughed it off, proud and dismissive, never expecting it would come to this.
A surge of indignation and frustration washed over him, but after a while, he calmed down.
What use was anger? Was he to confront the magistrate?
He forced a bitter smile, thanked her, and took his leave.
“Mr. Wen, are you feeling unwell?”
Seeing Wen Lancang’s pale face, Su Laibao hurriedly inquired.
“No, I just met an old friend and reminisced about the past. My emotions are unsettled, that’s all…”
Wen Lancang shook his head, deliberately concealing the fact that he had gone to see his former wife.

After repeated revisions, the draft’s poem and essay appeared flawless.
Chu Liu closed his eyes, mentally reviewing both poem and essay once more. Confirming everything was correct, he opened his eyes, drew a deep breath, and picked up his brush to transcribe his work.
“Spring returns, green fills the land, rural vistas reflect the azure sky. Wheat waves roll, emerald upon emerald, fields of rapeseed bloom golden and bright. Villages quiet, smoke curling from chimneys, streams ripple, willows casting shadows. Farmers toil, hoping for a fruitful year, children play, laughter boundless. Mountains and rivers, magnificent and blessed, peace and prosperity owed to the wise. Glorious times shine on sun and moon, imperial grace flows eternally.”
Such a poem would never be passed down through the ages, but it was enough for the county examination.
The closing lines cleverly praised the emperor, a finishing touch.
Coupled with his neat and elegant calligraphy, it would be difficult not to score high marks.
Though the imperial exams did not require beautiful handwriting, could one expect exhausted examiners, their eyes blurred from endless scripts, to carefully decipher messy writing and award high marks?
A good hand was, in fact, a hidden stepping stone to passing the exams.
Once finished, Chu Liu carefully checked his name, native place, and other details. Finding no mistakes, he packed his things and rang the bell to submit his paper.
Two minor officials entered, saw his clean script and beautiful handwriting, nodded in approval.
Then, shaking their heads, they collected, sealed, and packed his paper.
At such a young age, sitting the exam was merely a trial, a way to gain experience; passing was out of the question.

Leaving the examination hall, he found others had already handed in their papers, most gathered in groups discussing the questions.
Some were joyful, others distressed—the place was as lively as a marketplace.
“Chu Liu, Chu Liu, your father is here!”
Chu Liu was searching for his father when Doumiao waved his arm, shouting excitedly.
“Father, teacher, Uncle Su.”
Chu Liu stepped forward and saluted.
Wen Lancang was still unsettled, but seeing Chu Liu, he quickly composed himself and asked, “Shuxian, how did you do?”
“Not bad. The questions weren’t difficult. Full marks on the classics, as for the poem and essay…”
Chu Liu briefly summarized his answers. Wen Lancang’s eyes shone with satisfaction, and he nodded, “You should have no trouble passing. Only the ranking remains to be seen.”
His words caught the attention of those nearby.
They couldn’t believe such a young child could pass the county exam proper.
This gentleman was surely just comforting the child.
At that moment, Su Biao emerged from the exam hall. Wen Lancang asked about his performance, and Su Biao’s answers were much the same as Chu Liu’s.
Wen Lancang beamed, “Barring surprises, your names will certainly appear on the announcement list.”
Jin Ruizhe had already finished.
He and Jin Buhuan had spent half the day boasting among the crowds and were now strutting homewards. Hearing Wen Lancang’s words, Jin Ruizhe couldn’t help but sneer, “They’re only children, yet they hope to make the announcement list? Shameless! Go home and dream—anything is possible in dreams.”
He repeated this to Chu Liu, then added sarcastically, “But it doesn’t matter—their age is an advantage. They can try every year, after ten or eight attempts maybe they’ll pass…”
Doumiao saw him cursing his son and refused to hold back. He rolled up his sleeves, ready to confront him.
His eldest son was no longer an apprentice; he no longer felt obliged to show the Jin family any courtesy.
“Father, let it go. Don’t stoop to his level. Whether we’re mules or horses, the announcement list in a few days will show the truth.”
Chu Liu pulled his father back.
Nearby, constables kept order; provoking officials would be troublesome.
Seeing Jin Ruizhe crossing his arms and shaking his legs smugly, Chu Liu teased, “Master Jin, you really should change that habit. Otherwise, if you fidget during the exam and spill ink, you’ll ruin your paper…”
Jin Ruizhe’s heart skipped a beat.
He had indeed stained his paper—not from fidgeting, but because the desk was unsteady and he had accidentally dropped a blot of ink.
He’d propped up the desk with a tile before continuing.
That was his only dissatisfaction with this exam, and he hated that Chu Liu had guessed it.
“You’re the one who ruined your paper!”
Jin Ruizhe said, not looking back as he left.

Just then, a boy in his teens ran toward He. Wen Lancang’s attention was drawn to him.
Shao’er was fourteen now—did he still remember his father?
Wen Lancang wanted to catch a glimpse, but felt awkward.
After a moment’s thought, he made up his mind, called Su Biao and Chu Liu, and together walked toward the boy and He.
He was astonished, “Are these the two children you teach? So young, and already sitting the exams?”
“Whether they pass or not is secondary. The main thing is to broaden their horizons…”
Wen Lancang answered absentmindedly, his gaze fixed on Zhao Shao.
Zhao Shao was shy, a little uneasy.
He stared at Wen Lancang, a strange tremor rising in his heart—a feeling of familiarity, though he couldn’t recall why.
His mother had remarried when he was three; his impression of his father was vague.
He had never been allowed to meet him.
She was a concubine, of low status in the Zhao family, and such matters only invited trouble.
Had it not been for the need to share that secret, she would have avoided Wen Lancang altogether.
“Mr. Wen… may I ask, Master Zhao, how did you do?”
Wen Lancang nearly blurted out his son’s name, but quickly covered it up.
Zhao Shao shook his head, murmuring, “Not well.”
Wen Lancang’s mood instantly sank.
If only his son had been taught by him, he would surely have done better.
Chu Liu, however, saw through it.
Zhao Shao said he hadn’t done well, but inside he was full of joy.
He was the sort who always claimed to have performed poorly, only to place in the top three when results were announced.
Wen Lancang glanced at his son once more, then turned to leave.
“Teacher, Zhao Shao actually did very well.”
Chu Liu did not understand why his teacher cared for Zhao Shao, but seeing his teacher’s low spirits, he wanted to reassure him.
“He’s just used to keeping a low profile, reluctant to reveal the truth. One can tell from his inner delight that his answers were good…”
Wen Lancang listened; the tight furrow in his brow gradually eased, and a renewed light shone in his eyes.