Echoes of My Heart Throughout the Court-Chapter 358: If You Don’t Know Math, You Just Don’t Know It

After all these chapters, In the Years When I Was a Father—the heartfelt story of Qi Sheng’s journey—has finally been completed today. Thank you for following along through every twist and emotion. Please support on Ko-fi, every bit helps with translation and maintaining this website. Stay tuned for more heartwarming stories ahead!

[Whoa! The competition for the child prodigy exam is intense—more brutal than the regular imperial exam!]

[This time, out of forty-four prodigies nationwide, only the top nine were selected!]

[I wonder what ranks those two prodigies, who were helping others argue lawsuits, got this time.]

[Whoa! Impressive! One got fourth place, the other fifth.]

The newly appointed Minister of Works raised his eyebrows.

He had been certain his son would place first—yet he only came in fourth or fifth?

Well, that kid really stumbled this time. But perhaps that’s a good thing. A little humbling will do him good. There’s never been a shortage of geniuses in this world.

[A-Amazing! The first-place winner is only three years old!]

[Some answers weren’t as sharp as the others’, but still right on topic—mostly because, well, this kid is three! No wonder Princess Yan and Young Master Bing couldn’t take first place.]

Xu Yanmiao could hardly believe his eyes.

Even officials who usually didn’t care about the prodigy exams couldn’t believe their ears.

They all said the new generation overtakes the old, but this? This wasn’t just a “new wave”—this was a tsunami stirred up by a typhoon!

Three years old?! I was still nursing at three!

[Let’s see who’s second… Wow, also incredible! They have a photographic memory! This is my first time seeing that! And they’re familiar with all Nine Schools—able to speak knowledgeably about each one!]

The old emperor paused in thought.

The “Nine Schools” referred to: Confucianism, Daoism, Yin-Yang, Legalism, Logicians, Mohism, Diplomacy, Miscellaneous, and Agrarianism.

Truth be told, he had always considered himself a prodigy for conquering the realm at eighteen—but… there’s always someone better out there.

Still, all those mountains of talent now belong to him! Heh heh!

[Third place… gasp! Wrote an essay at age six!—Even though the prodigy exam doesn’t test essays, after finishing their answers, they used the extra time while others were still writing to draft an essay on the spot, using the thought processes of other test-takers as the theme—just to preempt accusations of cheating or memorizing something in advance.]

[That essay? It caught the examiners’ eyes, of course!]

[Help! Can I have a piece of that brain, please?!]

Several officials in their fifties and sixties—who only earned their positions later in life—nodded along in agreement, their envious gazes nearly solidifying in the air.

If only they had brains like that.

[Princess Yan placed fourth. Young Master Bing is just as talented, but he’s older by a bit, so he came in fifth.]

[Come to think of it, I wonder if the old emperor will give Princess Yan an official post. These days, there are a few minor government roles available to women. Should be doable, right?]

The old emperor’s lips flattened into a line.

If it were any other official scheming to get his daughter a job, he might not grant it. But this was Yan Linghui—his granddaughter, his precious little heart. When she visited the capital two years ago, she had even brought him a new cotton jacket and pants she “made herself.”

—For royalty and nobility, “made herself” typically meant instructing her servants to make them.

Oh well, it’s just a job. He already has two daughters in court. What’s one more granddaughter?

What the old emperor didn’t realize was this:

In the past, he would’ve insisted, No way I’m giving her an official post, though maybe a noble title or an honorary mention.

But now that two princesses had already broken precedent to serve in court, he thought, What’s a third? Not a big deal.

—This is how the bottom line gets lowered, bit by bit.

Since he thought of it, he acted on it.

The old emperor immediately ordered, “Summon those nine prodigies.”

While waiting, they continued with court affairs.

Half an hour later, the prodigies from various families were all brought in. The youngest was three, the oldest fourteen. Each one performed the rites they’d been rigorously trained in: “We greet Your Majesty!”

The old emperor stood up and slowly paced before them, examining each one: “Very good, very good. You are all pillars of Great Xia.”

The nine prodigies immediately bowed again: “Thank you, Your Majesty!”

On a whim, the old emperor declared, “You haven’t had your palace exam yet. Let’s hold it right here.”

—They had already passed the Secretariat’s retest, meaning they were eligible for appointments. The palace exam was just a formality for them to meet the emperor.

Normally, palace exams weren’t held in front of the entire court. This was a “Palace Exam Plus.” Even many adults would struggle to maintain composure under such pressure.

At his words, some of the nine froze on the spot, some looked bewildered, some straightened up solemnly to prepare, while others were visibly thrilled, their eyes nearly catching fire with excitement.

The old emperor glanced at his granddaughter and issued the final challenge: “Whoever can answer the palace exam questions shall be admitted to the Hanlin Academy.”

The court officials: “!!!!”

A direct appointment?!

It was true that those who passed the prodigy exam were eligible for titles, but throughout history, most were given honorary or placeholder roles until they turned fifteen. Very few were granted actual posts immediately.

The last exception had been Prime Minister Wang Yu’ai of the previous dynasty.

—He was composing poetry at five, playing chess and writing rhapsodies at six, reciting the Four Books by seven, studying military texts by eight, annotating classics and planning military formations by nine, and passed the prodigy exam at ten—entering the Hanlin Academy.

—But his genius wasn’t just natural intelligence. From a young age, he had extraordinary self-discipline. While his peers played, he made daily study schedules: reciting books in the morning, studying national laws at noon, and practicing the Six Arts—ritual, music, archery, chariotry, calligraphy, and math—in the afternoon and evening. His timetable was packed. Aside from eating, sleeping, and bathing, it was study, study, study.

The second-place prodigy looked directly at the emperor and chirped clearly, “Your Majesty, please give us a question!”

The emperor didn’t speak. He slowly began to pace around them again, making a few of the children fidget nervously.

After a while, he stopped and said slowly, “I am not satisfied with the current civil service exams. Due to the prevalence of the eight-legged essay in the last dynasty, many scholars have become rigid in their thinking. They know only theory, not action—full of ‘dao’ but no ‘shu.’ Do you have any ideas on how to break this stalemate?”

—This had been on his mind ever since Fifth Ang said that most people passed the child scholar exam just by memorizing model essays.

He hadn’t gotten much from discussing with adults, so he figured—why not see what the kids thought? Maybe their still-flexible minds could offer a new perspective.

And if nothing worked… well, he had a radical idea: suspend the civil service exams and bring back the recommendation system.

After all, his eldest daughter’s consort was all about founding academies. Let them raise a new generation of thinkers, then reopen the exams.

The court had no idea the emperor was harboring such a dangerous thought, but the question alone startled them.

—You really don’t see them as kids, do you?!

We’ve been debating this exam reform issue for months and gotten nowhere—and you expect them to solve it in one incense stick’s time?!

The emperor didn’t care. He clapped his hands and ordered incense lit.

A stick of incense—that was their thinking time.

—Of course, if someone figured it out early, they could jump in with an answer.

One incense stick isn’t long or short, but none of the prodigies rushed to answer. This was about their future. They were all busy organizing their thoughts.

When the incense burned out—

The fifth-place prodigy, the Minister of Works’ son, Bing Yan, stepped forward and saluted formally: “Your Majesty, this subject has an idea.”

He wasn’t nervous—but his father definitely was, sitting stiff as a board.

The Minister of Justice whispered, “Stay calm.”

Bing Hui replied guiltily, “If only I had talked more with Yan’er about politics, he might be more confident now.”

—Stay calm? Not happening.

The Minister of Justice thought for a moment and said, “Don’t worry. Your son transferred schools on his own, taught himself law, and even tested it out on a thug. He’s probably been thinking about politics long before you did.”

Bing Hui: “…”

Well great. So much for staying calm—now it just hurts.

Bing Yan had done his homework: “This subject attended both the Imperial College and National Academy. I noticed that students vary greatly—some are excellent self-learners, while others can only parrot the texts. The former are few, the latter many. But even if all we study are the Four Books and Five Classics, an official can’t govern by rote. I believe that if we could provide more practical ‘texts,’ even rigid thinkers would have a guide.”

He gave an example: The Art of War. Not everyone who reads it can lead troops. But those who study New Book of Military Efficiency can at least conduct a clumsy campaign.

Because New Book of Military Efficiency includes specific, practical details: how to select soldiers, how to form units, how many soldiers in a column or row, key points during engagement, how to manage camps…

“If there were similar guides for each of the Six Ministries and local governance, officials could get through the awkward learning phase faster and handle their duties more effectively.”

Practice enough, and mastery will come. Eventually, the books wouldn’t be needed anymore.

Xu Yanmiao commented: [Freshly manufactured brainpower really hits different.]

The old emperor nodded. “That method is effective—but a bit… dull.”

Bing Yan lifted his chin and said seriously, “The most dangerous opponent in war is the one who plays it safe and sticks to the rules.”

Minister Bing broke into a cold sweat for his son, but the emperor laughed heartily. “Indeed! All clever strategies are risky and easy to counter. But a disciplined, by-the-book approach? That’s hard to break. Very well—you pass.”

Bing Yan’s eyes lit up. As he stepped back, he couldn’t help but glance at Princess Yan Linghui and flash a smug little look.

Yan Linghui locked eyes with him—and felt like magma was boiling in her veins. She stepped out briskly and declared, “Your Majesty! I request that the civil service exams reintroduce the mathematical portion of the Six Arts!”

“When I arrived in the capital, I heard a saying—”

(Originally spread by Xu Yanmiao.)

“When pushed to the edge, people can do anything—but if they don’t know math, they just don’t know it!”

Yan Linghui said loudly, “Essay questions can be memorized, but math? No way. Change the numbers in the problem, and people with rigid thinking won’t know how to solve it. Including math in the exams will filter out those with inflexible minds!”

If you'd like bonus updates or early access, you can support me over on Ko-fi! Every bit helps me keep translating and bringing you more stories to enjoy.

👉 Support me on Ko-fi

Thanks for reading and being here~ 💕

Happy reading!