Chapter 1906 - Public Trial Continued One

He Xi raised the spirit tablet high, staring directly into Mo Rongxin's dead-fish-like eyes, and said through gritted teeth: "Go down to the eighteenth level of hell!"

At that very moment, the trapdoor opened and Mo Rongxin's body dropped down. The venue immediately erupted in thunderous cheers. Even Zeng Juan, who had no connection to Mo Rongxin, couldn't help but join in the cheering.

Bi Defan was on guard duty before the gallows. Taking advantage of his colleagues all being occupied with the crowd, he turned his back and swiftly used a hidden dagger to cut off one of the corpse's hands, stuffing it into a prepared oilcloth bag and tucking it into his chest. He quietly moved aside, and seeing He Xi collapsed on the ground as if all strength had drained from her body, gasping on the ground, he hurried over to help her up, slipping the oilcloth bag into her hands.

"Aunt-by-marriage, you should go back now. It's too crowded here. Please take care of yourself!" Bi Defan added, "Don't think of doing anything foolish!"

He Xi was beyond words, only nodding bleakly. Bi Defan called over a colleague and instructed him to escort He Xi out.

Zeng Juan's mood was both excited and curious, but he had no time to keep watching—the sun was already beginning to set westward, around three in the afternoon. He'd been gallivanting outside all day, and if he didn't get back to the Wanshengliu Teahouse to watch the evening business, his parents would have words for him. Even Old He at the shop would natter on about "one who accepts another's trust should be loyal to one's duty."

He squeezed out of the venue and ran back to the Wanshengliu Teahouse, which was already packed. Many people, like him, had just come from the venue and were all discussing the exciting events.

When Zeng Juan returned and settled behind the counter, Old He immediately rushed over to ask him about the day's public trial.

"I heard they hanged many villains and scoundrels—is it true?"

"It's true." Zeng Juan nodded and named some of those who'd been executed.

Old He's eyes lit up and he couldn't stop grinning, repeatedly saying how wonderful it was.

Being a waiter was not easy work. Every day one had to deal with all manner of people, and the status was very low. Being bullied for no reason, receiving unwarranted beatings—these were common occurrences. And waiters couldn't get angry or upset; after being beaten, they still had to put on a smiling face. The street thugs—the "city foxes and social rats"—didn't dare provoke the great households or even ordinary people with some power, so they used bullying waiters and shop assistants as their way of establishing their "authority." Old He had suffered no small amount of abuse from these people in the past.

"With the Great Song here, everything is better! A bright and clear world!" Old He sighed with emotion. "Even work feels more energizing..."

Before he could finish, someone outside called for a waiter. Old He hurried over to serve them.

Zeng Juan began organizing the accounts when he suddenly heard someone call: "A... Juan..."

Only Agui spoke in such a halting manner. Zeng Juan looked up and sure enough, it was Agui.

Since it wasn't his shift, he was dressed in civilian clothes today, and beside him was someone who'd disappeared for quite some time—Yuan Shuzhi.

Seeing him, Zeng Juan was somewhat startled.

Yuan Shuzhi was someone who, regardless of season, always wore a torn Dongpo cap on his head and an old dark-colored silk robe so worn that the right sleeve and seat were both torn. On his feet were a pair of old red silk shoes, toes poking out as usual. His face was thin and dark, his beard streaked with gray.

Now, however, his clothes and hat were all new, and he'd even put on some weight. His spirits were excellent. As for the legendary lame leg—that seemed to have disappeared as well.

"Agui, what brings you here?" Zeng Juan was both surprised and pleased. Agui was Li Ziyu's "follower," an unofficial member of their little circle. Moreover, as Zeng Juan was now acting as the teahouse's manager, propriety required some hospitality.

"Come, have a seat," Zeng Juan was about to call for someone to get them a table when Agui said: "I... didn't come to drink tea... Is there somewhere... we can talk privately..."

Zeng Juan wondered what he had to say privately. And why bring Yuan Shuzhi? He nodded: "Alright, let's talk inside."

Inside the shop was an accounting room. Zeng Juan showed them in and lowered the bamboo curtain.

Then Agui haltingly explained: Knowing that Zeng Juan was preparing for the civil service examination, Yuan Shuzhi also wanted to take it. But he knew nothing of "Australian learning" and hoped to learn from Zeng Juan as his teacher, to receive some "instruction."

Zeng Juan understood—so Agui had come to help a friend.

It turned out that after Yuan Shuzhi had injured his leg, Agui had stood up for him and helped him obtain compensation. The detention center, seeing his injuries were serious, had even arranged for a bonesetter to treat him. When he left the detention center, his injuries had mostly healed. With nowhere else to go, he'd returned to squat in his temple.

Now that he had money, the monks' attitude improved as well. He passed some comfortable days in the temple. Agui would sometimes come to visit, chatting with the monks at his side. Agui knew Yuan Shuzhi's learning wasn't exactly stellar, but in this era where most people were illiterate, being able to read and write counted for something. So he suggested that Old Yuan take the civil service examination.

"The Australians' civil service exam requirements are quite low these days. To become a policeman, you don't even need to be literate. But sir, at your age, becoming a police officer isn't possible. Why not try for a clerk position or something? It's respectable, and you won't be bullied anymore."

The monk also advised him: "Old Yuan, at your age you can't just keep drifting like this. This time Agui happened to stand up for you, but next time you get beaten and injured, or beaten to death, who's going to save you? Bury you? Probably the police bureau's corpse collection team! Think about it—is your life really worth living like this? You can read and write a decent hand. Go take the Australian clerk examination—at least you'll have food and clothing."

After hearing both of them, Yuan Shuzhi said nothing, but his eyes rolled rapidly. His long-dormant ambitions were stirring again. He thought: since this is my situation anyway, why not give it a shot? Being a clerk for the "kun bandits" doesn't sound bad. As for whether the kun bandits would be defeated in the future—who cares? It wasn't as if the Great Ming would come back and prosecute a mere clerk—worst case, he could abandon his post and flee.

However, to "take the civil service exam," one needed to know the examination content. Yuan Shuzhi had spent a lifetime taking the child candidate examination and didn't even know what the provincial examination looked like, let alone the Australian "civil service exam." He asked Agui, but Agui didn't know either—he'd passed the police exam purely through running.

Then he thought of Zeng Juan. Zeng Juan was preparing for the exam, and he understood "Australian affairs." Consulting him couldn't be wrong.

Agui stuttered and stammered through various polite phrases. Zeng Juan responded to each, secretly pleased: Speaking of experts in Australian affairs in Guangzhou, besides their little band of brothers, who else was there?! Agui certainly had good judgment. Now that he'd made good, he still remembered to look after his friends—he was definitely someone worth knowing!

But looking at Yuan Shuzhi, Zeng Juan felt troubled. He didn't know exactly how old Old Yuan was, but he'd heard people mention that Old Yuan was born in the Wanli era and was now over fifty.

This age was no problem for the Ming civil service examinations. As long as you could move and remembered how to write examination essays, you could enter the examination hall at seventy or eighty—it could even become a "beautiful tale." But Zeng Juan remembered that the Australian civil service examination explicitly required applicants to be no older than forty sui.

"Old Yuan! I have no problem tutoring you, but at your age..." Zeng Juan looked troubled.

"An old steed in the stable still aspires to gallop a thousand li. Besides, I'm not old—I'm in my 'knowing destiny' year, in the prime of my life. What's the problem?" Yuan Shuzhi didn't even blush when lying.

"Alright," Zeng Juan thought the Australians couldn't verify when someone was born anyway—reporting one's own birthday was the only option. "But the Great Song civil service examination is completely different from the bogus Ming's imperial examinations. Your belly full of old learning is certainly impressive, but it has nothing to do with Australian learning. You'll have to start from scratch."

Yuan Shuzhi laughed helplessly: "When was I ever qualified to take the Ming examinations? I sat for the child candidate exam dozens of times and never even made supplementary student. It's precisely because the kun people's system differs from the Ming examinations that people like us have any chance of turning our fortunes around!"

These words struck a chord with Zeng Juan. With his level of accomplishment from community school, he had no hope of an examination career either—and he wasn't someone content with being a small craftsman, so he would probably have used "examination preparation" as an excuse to avoid work. After his parents passed, there was an eight or nine in ten chance he would end up in Yuan Shuzhi's situation!

Thinking of this, he felt a sympathetic kinship. Besides, Old Yuan had after all studied and taken exams for decades more than him. His experience with essay writing was considerable. When it came time to write the shenlun (policy essay), his experience could be useful.