Chapter Eighteen: Incognito Investigation

With only limited intelligence at hand, Zhao Dezhao could hardly guess the true intention behind Zhao Kuangyin appointing him as deputy chief examiner for the provincial exams. Yet, by common sense, he was certain of one thing: Zhao Kuangyin must be hoping for him to deliver some remarkable performance in this provincial examination.

The reasoning was simple. Any father, even if not especially fond of a particular son, would feel a deep sense of pride and comfort if that son accomplished something worthy of admiration, proving that the effort of raising him had not been in vain.

Having long resolved to secretly contend with his formidable uncle, the “Car God,” Zhao Dezhao was naturally unwilling to miss this opportunity to shine. So after much thought, on the noon of the second day after his appointment as deputy chief examiner, inspired by later theatrical depictions, Zhao Dezhao decided to disguise himself as an outsider candidate and quietly investigate the popular Jinliang Bridge area near the provincial exam site to get a sense of the examinees’ actual situation and see if there was any chance to make a name for himself.

The less conspicuous the disguise, the better; thus, Zhao Dezhao declined the offer of Liang Zhouhan to accompany him to Jinliang Bridge—this man’s brilliance was too well-known among scholars and might easily attract attention. Taking only his attendant Wang Zhifa, Zhao Dezhao disguised himself as a candidate from Shu and traveled by carriage inside Wansheng Gate to Jinliang Bridge, beginning his tour of appearances.

In the early Northern Song, there was no dedicated examination hall; provincial exams were held temporarily in temples, Taoist shrines, or official offices, and candidates lived relatively scattered. However, since the provincial exam results were announced outside Wansheng Gate at Jinming Pond, candidates from all over the country generally gathered near Jinliang Bridge adjacent to Jinming Pond, a place teeming with hidden talents and many genuinely learned scholars.

Unfortunately, Zhao Dezhao’s knowledge was limited, having barely graduated from a mediocre university through open-book tests. Though Jinliang Bridge was bustling with visitors, mostly scholars donning headscarves, uttering classical phrases and reciting poetry, Zhao Dezhao still managed to find people to chat with and opportunities to insert himself into conversations.

Even Wang Zhifa was bored, yawning widely before asking, “My lord, where exactly are we headed? We’ve been wandering here for nearly half an hour. Shouldn’t we find a place to rest?”

Looking around at the circle of examinees he found hard to blend into, Zhao Dezhao scratched his head, then suddenly had a clever idea. He hurriedly asked, “Is there a large tavern nearby? The busier, the better.”

Without hesitation, Wang Zhifa pointed northwest. “My lord, there’s a large tavern called Banlou over there. It’s also the most prosperous in this area.”

“Lead the way,” Zhao Dezhao said without hesitation, instructing Wang Zhifa, “When we arrive, if I ask you to tip the waiter, be generous. Let others see at a glance that we are wealthy.”

“Why?” Wang Zhifa asked, puzzled. Zhao Dezhao dismissed the question, urging him to hurry. Wang Zhifa obeyed without further inquiry, leading him straight to Banlou.

The spacious Banlou was lively even outside of meal times, with numerous guests upstairs and downstairs, many dressed as scholars, clearly candidates lodging nearby. Zhao Dezhao was pleased and deliberately spoke with a strong Shu accent to a waiter who approached to flatter them: “Are there any private rooms upstairs?”

“Excuse me, sir, the private rooms are all taken,” the waiter bowed apologetically. “But there are several window seats left. Would you like one?”

“Very well, lead the way,” Zhao Dezhao ordered happily, then called out, “Wang Xiaoyi, tip the waiter.”

Wang Zhifa, carrying the money pouch, promptly produced a hefty handful of copper coins, attracting many glances from other guests. The delighted waiter thanked Zhao Dezhao profusely and respectfully showed them to a table upstairs with a view of the street.

Surveying the bustling room, Zhao Dezhao raised his voice deliberately: “Bring all the best wine and dishes, don’t spare any expense on me! Tell the kitchen to put their heart into the cooking and serve me well. You won’t be short of tips!”

“Thank you, sir!” The waiter accepted happily, though many guests secretly sneered, muttering, “What a bumpkin, a nouveau riche.”

Having successfully built the image of a wealthy but unsophisticated man, Zhao Dezhao settled in to listen to the conversations around him. By chance, a nearby table was betting on who would be the top scorer of the provincial exam. A middle-aged man wearing a round cap spoke resolutely: “I’d bet any amount—the top scorer this year will definitely be Chai Chengwu, Chai Baochen, last year’s first-place candidate in the Kaifeng prefectural exam! With him in the race, no one else can snatch the top spot.”

“Exactly,” another scholar chimed in confidently. “Chai Chengwu was personally endorsed by the Second Prince. With the prince’s keen eye, there’s no way he picked the wrong man! This year’s provincial exam top scorer must be none other than Chai Chengwu!”

Perhaps due to widespread expectation, the other scholars at the table all agreed, convinced that Zhao Guangyi’s favored disciple, Chai Chengwu, would easily claim the top honor. No one dared to bet on any other candidate; some even began speculating about who might take second or third place.

Observing this, the naturally suspicious Zhao Dezhao couldn’t help but wonder silently: “Could these people be plants arranged by my uncle? They’re creating hype so that Chai Chengwu can secure the title of top scorer. Then any other candidate hoping to succeed would have to curry favor with my uncle first.”

As he considered this possibility, a voice suddenly spoke from behind him: “If mere fame could decide the outcome, there’d be no need to hold the provincial exam at all. Whoever has the greater reputation would be the top scorer. My son must always remember that empty fame is burdensome, and moderation is the true path.”

At last, among the chorus of praise for Chai Chengwu, a different voice emerged. Curious, Zhao Dezhao turned to look and was surprised—this scholar appeared extremely young, no older than thirty by any estimation. Sitting beside him was a boy who looked very much like him, seemingly sixteen or seventeen years old, appearing to be his brother.

“Did I hear right? Are they brothers or father and son?” Zhao Dezhao thought he must be mistaken.

Just then, the younger boy spoke with great respect: “Father’s words are correct. I will always remember his teachings, remain humble, and never seek empty fame.”

“Really father and son?!” Zhao Dezhao, never having seen father and son so close in age, grew even more incredulous. He cupped his hands in greeting and asked the elder scholar politely, “May I ask, sir, what relation is this young gentleman to you?”

The scholar smiled heartily and returned the greeting: “He is my son.”

Zhao Dezhao’s mouth dropped open. After a pause, he asked in disbelief, “Truly your son? May I ask your age and when you married and had a child?”

The scholar was clearly used to such questions and smiled: “Please forgive my youth. I have just turned thirty this year. My father arranged my marriage by betrothal long ago. I was married at thirteen and had this son the same year.”

“Married and had a child at thirteen?!” Zhao Dezhao, now in a mage’s body, was utterly astonished and joked, “Sir, please tell me which deity you worship. If any of my friends struggle to have sons, I’ll send them to pray to your god for a blessing—they must be incredibly effective.”

The scholar laughed heartily. “Sir, you jest. I only respect Confucius and Mencius, and never worship gods.”

“That works too,” Zhao Dezhao continued teasingly. “Next time I have a friend eager for a son, I’ll tell him to bring plenty of offerings to the Confucius Temple and pray that the Sage bestows upon him a well-read son.”

The scholar was clearly not a narrow-minded man. Despite Zhao Dezhao’s joke about Confucius, he was not offended; instead, he laughed more and invited, “Sir, I am a few years your senior. May I call you younger brother? Since fate has brought us together, shall we share a few drinks?”

Impressed with the scholar, Zhao Dezhao accepted politely and sat opposite him, generously instructing Wang Zhifa, “Xiaoyi, tell the waiter to bring the dishes and drinks to this table, and include this gentleman’s bill. I will settle it.”

“No need, sir, I shall pay,” the scholar quickly declined.

Zhao Dezhao waved him off with a smile. “Brother, please don’t be polite. We have fate to meet. I am Zhao De. May I ask your name and where you come from?”

“I am An Deyu, and this is my son, An Dalang,” the scholar introduced himself and his son, then had his son perform the proper father-son courtesy to Zhao Dezhao before continuing, “I am from Luoyang in the Western Capital.”

“From Luoyang,” Zhao Dezhao repeated. “Traveling all this way, you must be here for the provincial exam?”

“You misunderstand, younger brother,” An Deyu shook his head, surprising Zhao Dezhao. “Though I have passed the prefectural exam in Luoyang and qualified for the provincial exam, my purpose in Kaifeng is not to take the exam.”

“Why not?”

Zhao Dezhao’s curiosity deepened, but An Deyu’s answer astonished him again: “I am here to mourn my adoptive father.”

Never expecting such an answer, Zhao Dezhao naturally pressed for details. An Deyu readily explained that he was orphaned young and raised by a friend of his father who helped him establish a family and career. His adoptive father passed away over two years ago. Although he had passed the Luoyang prefectural exam, An Deyu chose to observe a three-year mourning period for his adoptive father, foregoing the provincial exam twice already.

His character was clearly far from corrupt. Even Zhao Dezhao felt a deep respect upon hearing An Deyu’s story. He personally poured a cup of wine and raised it sincerely: “Brother Deyu, please allow me to toast you. I truly admire your devotion. According to our laws, a candidate only mourns the death of a biological parent. I never expected you to voluntarily sacrifice three prime years to repay your adoptive father’s kindness. I am truly impressed.”

“You flatter me, younger brother. I am humbled,” An Deyu responded graciously with a smile. “I brought my son to the capital not only to settle family affairs but also to broaden our horizons and familiarize ourselves with the provincial exam process in advance. Meeting a young hero like you is truly a blessing.”

Zhao Dezhao knew humility and quickly waved his hand. “Brother, you are too kind. I am but a scholar from Shu, how dare I be called a young hero?”

“Don’t be modest. I can assure you, you are no ordinary person,” An Deyu slightly lowered his voice. “Though you speak with a Shu accent, I can see you are not really from Shu.”

Zhao Dezhao was stunned and asked curiously, “How can you tell?”

“Your silk robes are from Jiangnan, around Wu and Yue,” An Deyu said with a smile. “Shu also produces fine silk, just as good and cheaper than Jiangnan’s. If you were truly from Shu, you would wear Shu brocade, not silk from so far away.”

Zhao Dezhao suddenly realized his clothing was a significant oversight. An Deyu casually added, “Also, your attendant’s voice lacks strength, and he has no Adam’s apple. He is no ordinary man either.”

Glancing at Wang Zhifa, who liked to reveal his identity, Zhao Dezhao smiled ruefully and sincerely said, “Brother, your insight is remarkable. I admire you.”

“No need for thanks. I am but a fool who occasionally sees clearly,” An Deyu replied modestly.

After a while without further questions from An Deyu, Zhao Dezhao grew impatient and asked, “Brother, why don’t you ask about my true identity?”

“Since you choose not to reveal your true self, there must be a reason. Why trouble yourself?” An Deyu replied, confident in his reasoning. “Our friendship is one of sincerity; our identities matter little.”

Used to scheming, Zhao Dezhao was pleasantly surprised by An Deyu’s straightforwardness. He raised his cup: “Brother, you are right. Let us be sincere friends, regardless of identity. Here’s another toast.”

An Deyu smiled and accepted. As they drank, the fine dishes Zhao Dezhao ordered arrived and were spread across the table. The two drank face to face, enjoying lively conversation like old friends, while An Deyu’s son respectfully poured their wine.

Suddenly, a middle-aged Taoist holding a Tai Chi Bagua diagram approached their table. He bowed to them and smiled: “May I ask, gentlemen, are you here in Bianliang for this provincial exam? Would you like a fortune reading to inquire about your futures?”

“Not interested. Please find someone else,” Zhao Dezhao said eagerly, waving off the Taoist, engrossed in conversation with An Deyu.

The Taoist did not move, smiling more gently: “Please don’t be impatient, sir. I won’t waste your time. If you desire success in officialdom, I guarantee you will not be disappointed.”

“What do you mean?” Zhao Dezhao sensed an ulterior meaning and looked closely at the Taoist.

The Taoist smiled silently, prompting Zhao Dezhao to quickly glance at the table laden with fine dishes and suddenly realize something. He hurriedly said, “Honored sir, please sit and speak freely.”