Chapter 287 – Three Character Classic, Who is Wang Yinglin? (Part 2)
“At least the Host didn’t say the Three Character Classic was written by her, right? The author column clearly states ‘Anonymous’.”
“Honestly, I think the Host’s approach is really smart. After all, in ancient times, scholars looked down on one another. If you want to truly convince someone, you better have solid skills and literary cultivation. Simply relying on copying has a high chance of backfiring.”
In fact, many audience members urged Jiang Pengji to write her name on the pages. After all, the Three Character Classic is an introductory book, and if it became widely known, it could be the first text every child encounters while studying. Her name could be immortalized!
However, her response left the audience stunned.
“According to the Federation’s laws on original literature, plagiarism is a serious offense—starting with three years in prison, maximum life sentence. Even if not prosecuted by the original author, ninety percent of the profits must go to the original author, plus hefty compensation for emotional distress.”
Beyond this reason, Jiang Pengji had an even more important one.
She was focused on a distant future, rather than the trivial gains at hand.
The Three Character Classic provided by the audience was short, and Jiang Pengji quickly finished copying it for Ta Xue to dry with incense.
With nothing else to do, Feng Jin sorted the dried papers by content and bound them into a booklet.
Compared to the books he read before, this short Three Character Classic was rather simplistic, yet easy to understand.
“Ah, during the chaotic times of the Sixteen Kingdoms, I wonder how many treasures have been lost, severing the lineage.”
Feng Jin flipped through the Three Character Classic several times. Clever as he was, he vaguely sensed the true purpose of this booklet.
Due to Jiang Pengji’s misleading, he had already assumed this was a lost manuscript from the chaos of the Sixteen Kingdoms, not knowing where Cheng Cheng had dug it up from. The fact that the content remained relatively intact was impressive enough, so he didn’t fuss over the identity of the author.
Because of this, Feng Jin admired Cheng Cheng’s persistence even more.
In his eyes, that was the true spirit of a scholar, not the intrigue and deceit of the court.
Jiang Pengji, having heard this, casually remarked, “They are all lost manuscripts. If they are destroyed or the people who know the content are gone, future generations will never see what’s inside. If we can expand its reach, with everyone having a copy or more people reading, it will be much easier to pass it on.”
For an era to progress, books cannot belong solely to one family or a small group of people.
Yet, the current situation is precisely that—many precious lost manuscripts are held by singular or only a few long-established scholarly families. If these families face disasters, the manuscripts might be lost or entirely vanish, severing the lineage.
There are many reasons for this phenomenon, but Jiang Pengji identified two main ones.
Firstly, the paper-making technique had not matured, bamboo slips were cumbersome, and paper was lightweight. In other words, societal technological productivity was insufficient, leading to high costs for education that common people struggled to bear. If they couldn’t even afford food, who had spare cash to study?
Secondly, the upper strata monopolized the transmission of knowledge systems.
The first issue is bearable, but the second is much trickier.
To break the existing knowledge transmission system and popularize education would inevitably clash with these scholarly families who monopolize knowledge.
Just imagining it, she could guess how great that pressure would be.
However, roads are paved by people; as long as there is will, nothing in this world is unachievable.
Feng Jin didn’t respond but merely looked at Jiang Pengji with a different intensity in his eyes.
Jiang Pengji noticed this detail but didn’t mind, continuing to juggle the various annotation versions that were giving her a headache.
At this moment, she particularly missed the once-virtual network and the powerful intelligent brain.
Whatever you needed was just a call away; why bother writing it out yourself?
“System, are you dead yet?”
She was multitasking, glancing at the bullet screen, copying the text, while tapping on the system’s interface.
The system grumbled, “I’m already dead. If you have matters to attend to, burn incense; if not, go visit a grave.”
Jiang Pengji secretly clicked her tongue. After a while of ignoring it, the system’s temper was getting worse by the day.
“Can’t you just copy the content from the bullet screen? Look at me struggling to write everything; at least have some sympathy.”
The system coolly replied, “Sorry, host, your streaming level isn’t high enough for that capability. You need to upgrade to level three at minimum.”
Jiang Pengji snuck a glance at the backend popularity points, frowning slightly. Her accumulated popularity points had already surpassed a million—just enough to elevate a level two streamer to level three—but doing so would exhaust all her points.
If she did that, she would undoubtedly place herself in a constrained position.
The system had been eyeing those points for quite some time, even tempted her to spend it. But Jiang Pengji had remained unfazed.
Thinking of this, she shoved down the thought of leveling up.
She deliberately kept the system in suspense, and after a long pause said, “Oh well, guess I’ll just copy it myself; consider it practice for my writing.”
The system: “…”
Oh, is she trying to tease it?
To avoid raising Feng Jin’s suspicions, Jiang Pengji not only copied the Three Character Classic and the annotations but also seriously transcribed several rolls of military books that Cheng Cheng had recorded. Coincidentally, Feng Jin’s family also possessed this collection, except for an important half roll that was missing.
When he saw Jiang Pengji completing a full copy, he immediately cherished it, carefully reading through the missing content.
“Mr. Cheng is truly a remarkable person,” Feng Jin sincerely marveled, as if he’d stumbled upon a treasure. “My father adores this book and often laments that he can’t grasp its entirety in his lifetime, searching through various sources but never fully gathering it. I never expected I would be able to see the complete version…”
Time quickly flew by as Jiang Pengji meticulously copied, and soon it was time for the evaluations.
The evaluation system was the current hiring system in Dongqing, similar to the nine-rank system familiar to the audience, but with significant differences.
Evaluations occurred every three years, divided into three upper categories: [Family Background, Morality, Knowledge], and three lower categories: [Appearance, Ability, Personality].
Family background, no need to elaborate—it’s all about how well-connected your parents and ancestors are. Good education doesn’t trump a good birth.
Morality, this can be cheated through backdoor means; bribing evaluators can net you some pretty scores.
Knowledge, where evaluators set questions within a time limit.
Appearance, simply put, it’s about looks, how you dress; you’ll see a bunch of flamboyantly dressed pretty boys and girls at the time.
Ability, this standard is quite vague, typically an individual writing a self-assessment report and exaggerating it. This part ties closely to knowledge; if your bragging is too much but your knowledge is dismissed by the chief evaluator, then this section is hopeless.
Personality, this aspect is interesting, as it’s entirely based on the chief evaluator’s personal preferences. If they like you, you’ll get a score; if they find you unappealing, well, tough luck—that’s a bad personality, making this the easiest section for backdoor dealings.
Overseen by these six categories, the chief evaluator’s role is crucial.
Unlike the closed testing rooms the audience might imagine, the evaluation resembled a grand royal elegant gathering.
As Jiang Pengji, “son” of Liu Zhi, she naturally received an invitation.
Looking at the invitation, Jiang Pengji took a long time to exclaim, “I’ve never seen such a farcical exam…”
She felt that she would need to let everyone know what a real “exam” looks like from now on!
