My Wife Is The Female Lead In A Scum Alpha Novel - Chapter 15

15

The elderly man, his hair completely white, stood with a straight back, his expression solemn and dignified. Clad in a suit of iron armor, each step he took seemed arduous, yet resolute.

This was the General Song often mentioned by the academy students.

“Students of Honglu Academy, ahem… this old man, Song Qianji, apologizes for the disturbance. Recently, the southern barbarians and northern tribes have repeatedly invaded our borders, and the Dachu eyes our Daheng with covetous ambition. This old man longs to fight on the battlefield, but alas, my body fails me, ahem… In these times of need, it is the moment for you to lay down your brushes and take up arms, to achieve glory and distinction! Do not let the enemy nations mock our Daheng for lacking successors, for lacking young heroes!”

His deep voice carried a hint of breathlessness, as though he was forcing himself to speak, adding a touch of sorrow to his imposing presence.

Listening to him, Gu Qingci could sense just how eager the old general was to recruit more students.

As for the state of the military academy, Gu Qingci knew nothing. For someone like her, who felt no sense of national belonging, this impassioned speech failed to stir any empathy.

“Old General Song is fearmongering again. There’s no war at all. For an old man his age to go to such lengths just to boost enrollment in the military academy is truly pitiful.”

“What’s the point of joining the military academy? It’s just asking for trouble.”

“Remember those few from last time? They didn’t last three days in the military academy before being carried out on stretchers. Tsk tsk.”

“The worst part is killing yourself training only to fail the exams. Even if you pass, you won’t be valued. Only a fool would go.”

The murmurs from the people around Gu Qingci gave her some insight into the military academy.

Government policies dictated many things—prioritizing agriculture over commerce, and literature over martial arts.

If none of these people were willing to join, there must be significant drawbacks.

“Students, I am Sun Pengdun, an instructor at the military academy. This year’s military licentiate examination consists of three physical tests: mounted archery, foot archery, and blade-and-stone lifting. The written test no longer includes policy essays—only a memorization section from the Military Classics. Choose a passage to transcribe. If it’s fully accurate and the handwriting is neat, you pass the written test. We hope you will enthusiastically sign up and become pillars of our Daheng!”

After Old General Song finished speaking, a middle-aged man in light armor, who looked fierce and imposing, raised his voice to announce the details.

The faces of those around showed no change in expression, still lazily indifferent.

Even the students in the lowest-tier Class D, who had little hope of passing the civil licentiate exams, remained uninterested.

The military academy was established by the court to train young officers, so it set certain thresholds—only those from scholarly or military families could enroll.

However, among the military families, most heirs could inherit official positions without needing to take the military exams, so they rarely joined the military academy.

Many who enrolled were illegitimate sons or distant relatives without inheritance rights, leading to a mixed and inconsistent student body, lacking in connections.

As for those from civil official or noble families, few could endure the grueling physical training required for the military exams—exposure to wind and sun, endless drills.

Among the scholarly-class youth with no hope of passing the civil exams and no inherited privileges, those willing to endure hardship were already few. The difficulty of the mounted archery, foot archery, and blade-and-stone tests further discouraged many.

Even if one passed the military exams, they were rarely valued. From its inception, the military academy had been a “cold and neglected institution.”

The crowd waited with blank expressions for this “recruitment drive” to end as quickly as possible. But as Gu Qingci listened, her eyes gradually brightened.

Was a military licentiate the same as a civil licentiate?

Did military licentiates enjoy the same benefits as civil licentiates?

This question was crucial to her!

Gu Qingci wanted to ask the people around her, but the “recruitment assembly” ended abruptly, and the crowd dispersed.

She noticed that the speakers from earlier were still standing nearby, with a clerk seated at a desk, ready to register applicants.

Seeing that almost no one had stayed to sign up, Gu Qingci suspected the military academy was like unplucked fruit by the roadside—unwanted because it offered no benefits.

Still, she decided to approach and ask.

At the deserted registration desk, the group’s eyes locked onto Gu Qingci as she walked over, their faces breaking into eager smiles.

She felt as though she’d stepped into a pyramid scheme.

“Um, greetings, Generals! I wanted to ask—what’s the difference in treatment between a military licentiate and a civil licentiate?” Gu Qingci bowed slightly and cut straight to the point.

“Esteemed student, the benefits are the same. Both receive one tael of silver and one dan of rice per month. Military licentiates additionally get ten catties of meat.” the middle-aged man who’d introduced himself as Sun Pengdun replied with a friendly grin, shedding his earlier stern demeanor.

“They’re the same? So military licentiates are also exempt from transit taxes?” Gu Qingci pressed.

She hadn’t known licentiates received stipends—an extra salary!

“Licentiates are exempt from corvée labor and taxes. Naturally, this applies to both civil and military licentiate. Young scholar, reading and writing are so dull. Come to our military academy, and I’ll take you to the training grounds every day—riding horses, shooting arrows, lifting stone locks, wielding broadswords!” Sun Pengdun continued with a jovial smile.

Nearby students who hadn’t left yet shuddered at his words.

This instructor, with his thick eyebrows and large eyes, was clearly lying through his teeth.

Everyone knew that those who’d tried the military academy had been carried out on stretchers within days.

But Gu Qingci’s eyes only grew brighter. She was deeply tempted.

Military licentiates also enjoyed tax exemptions!

Instead of enduring tedious lectures on classical texts she couldn’t understand, she could ride horses and shoot arrows to achieve the same goal.

Could there be a better deal?

For Gu Qingci, it truly sounded like fun.

In the past few days at school, she hadn’t even ridden the horse she’d borrowed from her father-in-law.

“How exactly does one pass the physical tests?” she asked, calming herself to focus on the specifics.

“For mounted archery, hitting two out of nine shots; for foot archery, three out of nine. Swinging an eighty-catty blade with front-and-back flourishes, or lifting a one-dan stone lock—all count as passing. For an alpha, these aren’t difficult.” Sun Pengdun said.

“And the written test—how long is the passage to transcribe? Is it assigned, or can we choose?” Gu Qingci had already made up her mind but wanted to confirm.

“For the written test, you choose a five-hundred-character passage from the Military Classics to transcribe.” Sun Pengdun replied.

“Ah? Five hundred characters!” Gu Qingci’s eyes widened in shock.

From what she’d heard, the civil licentiate exam involved poetry and essays, spanning several days.

But the military licentiate exam only required transcribing five hundred characters!

“Uh, three hundred characters would also suffice.” Sun Pengdun said, mistaking her surprise for dismay. He glanced at the white-haired old general, who gave a subtle nod, and quickly amended the requirement.

“Three hundred characters!” Gu Qingci was stunned again.

“That’s already very little. Those from the military academy can’t be illiterate, can they?” Sun Pengdun said, worried she’d still find it too much.

“Three hundred characters it is, then.” Gu Qingci said, no longer bargaining in the face of such desperation.

The military academy was practically tailor-made for her.

“Would you like to sign up? The Minshan Military Academy isn’t far from Honglu Academy—just east of the lake.” Sun Pengdun urged.

“Could I just register for the military licentiate exam without attending the academy first? I’d enroll after passing.” Gu Qingci asked after a moment’s thought.

“Of course! You’d just return for the exam. I’ll register you now and issue a temporary exam permit.” Sun Pengdun said, signaling the clerk to record her details immediately, as if afraid she’d change her mind.

The “temporary permit” functioned like an exam admission ticket, listing the holder’s information, test location, and time, stamped with the military academy’s seal.

“You mustn’t skip the exam. This is officially recorded. Absence will result in a public notice for several days.” Sun Pengdun added with a smile as he handed her the permit.

“…” Gu Qingci’s lips twitched at his seemingly earnest face.

Fine. She’d definitely go anyway.

Her reason for not attending the academy immediately was simple: her handwriting still needed work.

She’d focus on calligraphy practice and preparing for the written test.

Tucking the permit into her sleeve, Gu Qingci bid them farewell and returned to class.

“Instructor Sun, that person just now was so slight and frail. How could they pass? Why were you so eager to recruit them?” the clerk asked after Gu Qingci left.

“Even the frail can help boost our numbers. This year, the court sent officials to oversee the exams. If our enrollment is too low, the military academy might be shut down.” Sun Pengdun sighed, glancing around.

He held no real hope for Gu Qingci—but one more was better than none.

“Old General Song, it doesn’t seem anyone else will come. Let me help you to the carriage so you can rest.” Sun Pengdun said quietly to the upright white-haired general.

“Daheng has no worthy successors—only cowards and opportunists! How tragic, how lamentable!” Song Qianji remained seated, fuming.

Hearing Gu Qingci ask about “benefits” had angered the old general.

But with the military academy at risk of closure due to low enrollment, he had no choice but to endure it.

Sun Pengdun quickly soothed him with a few placating words.

Meanwhile, as soon as Gu Qingci returned to the classroom, laughter erupted around her.

“Gu Qingci, did you just sign up for the military licentiate exam? Can you even ride a horse? Can you draw a bow?” someone teased.

“Well, I’m not passing the civil licentiate exams anyway, so I might as well try.” Gu Qingci replied with a smile.

The surrounding students laughed again, and she joined in.

She’d already memorized the exam requirements Sun Pengdun had outlined.

She’d tried horseback riding before—far tamer than riding mutated beasts in the apocalypse.

As for archery, if no one had brought it up here, she might have forgotten.

In the apocalypse, her other survival skill had been marksmanship.

Bows, firearms—she’d used them all.

She hated the stench of zombies, so she’d trained extensively in long-range attacks.

The only drawback of this body was its lack of conditioning—her strength was subpar.

With a month left, besides preparing for the written test (selecting a passage from the Military Classics to practice), she’d need strength training.

And she’d have to learn how to wield a broadsword.

Planning her next steps, Gu Qingci hurried back to the Gu residence after school.

When Ruan Zhi returned to the Xiuyi Garden slightly later, she found Gu Qingci in the courtyard, dressed in athletic attire, lifting stone locks.

“…” Ruan Zhi paused.

What on earth was she doing?

Lifting stone locks out of the blue?

Entering the room, Ruan Zhi summoned Shimo and learned what had happened. She pinched the bridge of her nose.

Signing up for the military licentiate exam?

In some ways, the military licentiate was harder than the civil one.

What was she thinking?

Ruan Zhi massaged her temples, deciding to ignore Gu Qingci. After freshening up and settling in her room, Gu Qingci came to see her.

“Madam, could I borrow some silver?” Gu Qingci asked somewhat sheepishly.

“What for?” Ruan Zhi lifted her gaze.

“To place a bet. I heard someone’s taking wagers on whether I’ll pass the licentiate exams—odds at a hundred to one. If I bet a hundred taels, could I win ten thousand?” Gu Qingci asked eagerly.

“…” Ruan Zhi said nothing.

Staring into Gu Qingci’s clear, guileless eyes, Ruan Zhi wondered if she’d truly lost her mind.