A live-streamed Chinese language lesson under the sky—the ancients were taken aback.

Heze, Shandong, in the second year of the Qianfu era.

A failed scholar sat in a dilapidated inn, staring blankly at the gray sky outside the window.

His name is Huang Chao. He is in his early thirties and has just failed the imperial examination for the second time in Chang'an.

On the table lay a well-worn copy of the Analects, next to a crumpled notice without his name on it.

As dawn broke, he was smashing the Analects against the wall.

The spine of the book bounced off the earthen wall, fell to the ground, and turned to the page with the phrase "to learn and practice what one has learned".

Then he heard Shen Moyan's voice.

The woman was telling the story of a man named Kong Yiji, a scholar who failed the imperial examinations his whole life, was beaten for stealing books while wearing a tattered long gown, and finally had his leg broken, crawling away on his hands to support himself on the ground.

Huang Chao stopped.

He stood in the very center of the inn room, head tilted back, motionless.

The books were spread out on the ground, but he was too lazy to pick them up.

"Kong Yiji." He pondered the name for a moment, then suddenly chuckled.

A laugh that seemed to be squeezed from deep in the throat, with a bloody taste.

"Isn't that me?"

He sat down next to the list of those who had failed the exam and listened to Shen Moyan recount how the imperial examination system had transformed from a fair invention into a cannibalistic cage. She talked about the format of the eight-legged essay, about tens of thousands of people vying for a single-plank bridge, about Ding, the successful candidate, breaking Kong Yiji's leg, about the shopkeeper saying "Oh," and about how everyone thought it was perfectly justified for a successful candidate to beat a novice.

Huang Chao slowly clenched his fist.

This wasn't the first time he had failed the exam.

The last time was in the sixth year of the Xiantong era. He rode a horse from Caozhou to Chang'an for half a month, stayed in a small shop that was even more dilapidated than his inn, took the exam for three days, and failed.

That time, he could comfort himself by thinking, "It's my first time, who can win on their first try? I'll go back and study for a few more years, and try again next time."

Now it was the second time. He rode a longer horse, traveled on a worse road, stayed in a more run-down inn, and then failed the exam.

The list was filled with hundreds of names, but none of them had the surname Huang.

Every name seemed to mock him: You don't deserve it.

You are not worthy of wearing a long gown, not worthy of strolling into the next room, not worthy of ordering wine and dishes and sitting down to drink slowly.

You only deserve to stand outside the counter, spend four coins to buy a bowl of wine, drink it standing up, and then go back to your hometown of Caozhou to continue being that failed scholar.

Shen Moyan then spoke of Scholar Ding.

He recounted how he beat Kong Yiji for most of the night, breaking his leg in the process.

He said he didn't need to send someone to the authorities because he himself was an official.

Huang Chao suddenly stood up.

He stood up so abruptly that the chair fell to the ground with a dull thud.

The innkeeper called from downstairs, "What's going on upstairs?"

No one answered.

Huang Chao thought of the examiners in Chang'an, those examiners who sat on high armchairs and didn't even glance at him; they were Ding Juren.

They hold fame and fortune, privileges, and the power to break someone's legs with impunity.

And Huang Chao was none other than Kong Yiji.

A good-for-nothing who came from the countryside, studied all his life, and thought he could pass the exam.

He looked down at the open copy of the Analects on the ground.

The five characters “学而时习之” (learn and practice regularly) blurred into a blob of ink in the hazy light.

He suddenly realized that he had been wrong all his life; he was not Kong Yiji, he was even more stupid than Kong Yiji.

Kong Yiji at least still wore that tattered long gown, still believed that "stealing books cannot be considered stealing," and still considered himself a scholar.

What about Huang Chao? He no longer believes in him.

He didn't believe that the imperial examination could change one's fate, he didn't believe the words of the sages, he didn't believe the smiles on the examiners' faces, and he didn't believe the large characters carved on the walls of Chang'an.

He believed in nothing anymore, but he still came to take the exam. Why? Because he had no other choice.

Shen Moyan spoke until the last lesson.

She asked that question: Why didn't we sympathize with Kong Yiji as much as we sympathized with Xianglin's wife when he died? She said a failed man is not worthy of sympathy.

Huang Chao kicked the Analects on the ground into a corner.

The kick was heavy; the book hit the corner of the wall and bounced back, turning to another page. He recognized it as the chapter on "Duke Ling of Wei," which read, "A gentleman remains steadfast in poverty, while a petty person becomes reckless in poverty."

He used to know it by heart, but now all he wants to do is vomit.

"Persistence in poverty." He repeated the two words, then suddenly looked up at the ceiling, as if trying to communicate with the voice on the sky.

"I accept being poor, and I accept being poor, but why? Why can they sit there and decide my fate with just a word? Why, after studying for so many years, can't I even become a Xiucai (a successful candidate in the county-level imperial examination)? Why are those who passed the exams, whose essays are worse than mine, able to become Juren (a successful candidate in the provincial-level imperial examination) just because they were born in Chang'an, know the examiners, and have an official father?"

He spoke faster and louder, until finally he was shouting.

"Why are they the ones who set the rules? Why are we the only ones left to follow them? Why are we crushed by the rules and then told we deserve it?"

Huang Chao stood there, his chest heaving violently, his eyes red.

Shen Moyan's class continued on the sky screen.

She mentioned that Kong Yiji refused to take off his long gown until his death.

Huang Chao sat down again and straightened the chair.

He suddenly remembered a scene he had witnessed on the streets of Chang'an.

After failing the exam that day, he left the Ministry of Rites and walked east along Zhuque Avenue.

The streets were full of people: business people, street performers, people on horseback, and people in sedan chairs.

But no one looked at him.

He walked to the outside of Chunming Gate and saw a beggar sitting by the roadside.

The beggar's leg was broken, wrapped in rags and resting on his shoulder. He used his fingers to support himself on the ground, inching forward.

No one looked after him, no one gave him money, and no one asked him how he broke his leg, when he broke it, or who broke it.

Huang Chao did not stop at that time.

He walked past, thinking himself different; he was a scholar taking the imperial examination, while the other man was a beggar. They were not the same.

Huang Chao closed his eyes, realizing that they were the same.

He opened his eyes; the sky outside the window was still a hazy gray.

He bent down, picked up the copy of the Analects from the corner of the wall, and flipped through it.

He had memorized the densely packed words on the pages thousands of times before.

Now, when he looks at those words, it's like looking at a group of strangers.

He stood up, put the book on the table, next to the crumpled notice of failure.

Then he took out a flint and steel from his pocket and struck it.

Sparks landed on the pages of the book, slowly turning into small flames.

The flame licked at "learning and practicing regularly", at "a gentleman remains steadfast in poverty", at "Confucius said" and "the Book of Poetry says", at every single word he had memorized over the years.

The firelight shone on his face.

He neither laughed nor cried.

I just watched as the book rolled up page by page, turned black, and turned gray.

Huang Chao smothered the last embers, got up, and opened the window.

The sky outside the window was still gray, but so what?

He was going to Chang'an, not because he had failed the imperial examination for the third time.

He wanted to let those sitting on their laps know that rules can be changed and doors can be broken down!