Chapter: 17
Calligraphy (2)
Do not let your weaknesses be exposed. Do not stand out in the crowd.
Be especially cautious of those in power.
Old Lady Geum repeatedly told Soram to keep her head low in front of such people.
“Take care of yourself too, Grandma. I’ll come again when the holiday arrives.”
“Don’t come. You’re just a nuisance.”
Despite her cold words, she continued nagging the noticeably pale Soram.
“Eat properly and sleep well. That comes first.”
Old Lady Geum even handed her a bundle filled with snacks—
all of Soram’s favorites.
* * *
Spring flowers of every color bloomed across the land.
Most people would be excited by such a scene.
All except a certain group—students studying for exams.
For Confucian scholars, spring flowers meant only one thing: the arrival of examinations.
Baekryeon Seowon was also approaching its annual private exam (sasi).
The exam consisted of three subjects, and the first was essay writing and poetry composition.
What was unusual this time was that it was suddenly announced without any prior notice.
“What a disaster. I couldn’t prepare at all.”
Yuran complained as they headed to the exam hall.
“I heard writing exams are usually done by class. Why are all of us gathered in one place?”
“Yeah. Maybe some important figure is coming?”
“What kind of ‘important figure’ is that?”
At Soram’s question, who had quietly joined their conversation, Kyeonghwa and Yuran burst into laughter.
“Every time you ask something like that, I can’t tell if you’re joking or serious.”
“It’s not that kind of ‘person,’ Soram.”
Only after Kyeonghwa slowly explained did Soram finally understand their meaning.
She arrived at the exam hall and separated from her roommates.
In a wide courtyard, mats were laid out in neat rows, each equipped with the Four Scholarly Treasures (brush, ink, paper, inkstone).
Candidates took their seats one by one, and soon the exam hall doors were firmly closed.
An examiner stepped forward and announced loudly:
“This exam will be conducted in the form of ‘Gakchok Bushi’ (刻燭賦詩: composing a poem before a candle burns down to a marked point). The judging will be personally overseen by His Highness Prince Yeong.”
Prince Yeong—Soram had vaguely heard of him before.
He was the nephew of the former emperor, and rumors said he was deeply versed in literature and the arts throughout the capital.
Soon, a man in formal robes stepped onto the platform.
Despite his royal status, his face carried traces of worldly hardship.
A large, warrior-like build, rough eyes, and deep wrinkles that made him look older than his age. Yet his gaze held a melancholy that contrasted sharply with his appearance.
He flicked his sleeve once and stood upright.
“The topic is spring. Write a piece related to it before the candle burns out.”
As soon as his brief announcement ended, the examiner tilted a long candle stand and lit it.
The thin wick quickly caught fire, brightening the hall.
Just as music does not always come to mind instantly, poetry was the same.
Most candidates could only hover their ink-laden brushes in midair, unable to begin. Soram was no different.
She had not expected to write poetry in such a short time. In fact, she had only just learned what Gakchok Bushi even was.
The candle, dripping wax like sweat, had already burned past half.
Hands that had been frozen in the air began moving in haste.
Seeing others write rapidly made Soram anxious.
She organized her thoughts into lines and finally picked up her brush.
The characters that spread across the paper were barely legible, messy like the scribbles of a child—but Soram steadied herself, recalling Old Lady Geum’s words.
“Even an ignorant child, untouched by the world, can write more emotional and insightful poetry than a scholar tainted by society. You are honest with your feelings and rich in emotion. If you write sincerely, you have a chance.”
Soram believed in Old Lady Geum. And because of that, she could believe in herself too.
While she focused, the man sitting directly in front of her darted his eyes around.
He was wearing large, newly made glasses with a hidden mechanism.
A clever device: the inner surface reflected like a mirror, allowing him to see not only beside him but also the answer sheets behind him.
So this was the benefit of his family’s long tradition of making glasses!
He smirked quietly and began spying on others’ work.
At first, he only intended to peek at ideas. But then one answer caught his eye—and stuck in his mind.
Even better, it belonged to the person sitting right behind him.
No suspicion would fall on him if he copied it.
It was like a gift from heaven.
The well-written poem kept tempting him.
“Screw it.”
He didn’t want to live forever as an ignored craftsman. If he wanted to escape his miserable family trade, he had no choice but to get good results—even if he had to close his eyes and cheat.
“Yes… that’s right…”
So absorbed was he in copying Sora’s work that he didn’t even notice the examiner approaching.
And not just any examiner—it was Scholar Nak.
청연 (Cheong-yeon), who moved silently through the exam hall, stopped beside him.
The man was copying exactly what the candidate in front of Soram had written earlier.
It was too precise to be a coincidence—line by line, word for word.
Every year there were inventive cheating cases, but such blatant plagiarism was rare.
Under normal circumstances, he would have immediately punished the offender.
But not now.
Since Prince Yeong was supervising, causing a scene was impossible.
Silently, he recorded the offender’s information in his notes.
Then he glanced toward Soram, who was still frowning deeply at her paper, unaware of anything.
Soon, the bell rang, signaling the end of the exam.
“Stop writing and return your brushes and ink.”
The examiners quickly collected all tools.
Now only the candidates’ works and their identification slips remained.
Instead of collecting the papers himself, Prince Yeong made each student stand and recite their poem aloud.
Regardless of quality, he listened carefully and offered his impressions.
One by one, the students’ turns passed.
Then it was the man in front of Soram.
Finally—her turn was next.
Soram’s heart pounded violently as she tried to calm herself.
She did not want to sound foolish.
While she cleared her throat nervously, the man ahead began reciting:
“Spring sunlight shines on the green-roofed cottage… spring rain colors the green pavilion…”
Huh?
Soram suddenly lifted her head.
The very lines she had been repeating in her mind echoed in her ears.
It was her poem.
The same poem she had carefully written was now flowing from the man’s mouth.
How could this be? Did he have eyes in the back of his head?
Plagiarism was strictly forbidden in this subject. Of course, she had not plagiarized—but she had no way to prove it.
And now it was her turn.
What should she do?
Her hands trembled as she gripped her head.
If this continued, she would be branded a criminal.
She needed a solution—anything.
“Is this the deep spring of March, or a half-ripened season of green youth?”
The recitation ended, and Prince Yeong nodded in satisfaction.
“Hmm. A fine composition. Some call youth a green spring—it is indeed the most beautiful season of life.”
Now it was Soram’s turn.
“Gon-ga Sora!”
At the call of her name, Soram forced her trembling legs to stand.
Please… let my sincerity reach them.
She thought of lonely springs beneath falling petals.
And began to recite, carefully pressing each word out:
“…from afar, I hear the sound of a stream… from a thousand miles away, I smell the scent of blooming fields…”
Though hastily composed, every emotion was genuine.
“The barren branches sway through the long night… unable to travel to distant ends…”
As spring winds deepened, so too did longing.
Faces she could never see again and a faraway hometown came vividly to mind.
“Spring always returns along its winding path… but when will the one I sent away come back?”
Her trembling voice faded, and silence filled the hall.
Everyone waited for Prince Yeong’s judgment.
Did he realize it was improvised?
As his silence stretched on, Soram’s throat burned dry.
How much time passed—like an eternity?
Finally, Prince Yeong spoke.
