For a full two hours, with no entertainment to liven things up, few in the audience could endure the boredom. Soon, people began chatting, moving around, pulling out their own snacks, or stepping outside the venue to grab a bite from food stalls while chatting. Some even dozed off right in their seats, snoring loudly. As long as you didn’t actively interfere with the contestants, the guards wouldn’t bother you. This was one of the unique features of the competition—testing the contestants’ ability to adapt to a noisy environment.
By the first hour, one contestant on the east side had withdrawn, while two on the west side were ejected for getting into a physical altercation.
Not even half an hour later, another contestant on the east side fainted from nervousness and was carried out by their own bodyguard, marking another withdrawal.
As the competition neared the hour-and-a-half mark, a contestant on the west side made an offensive remark due to a spectator’s provocation and was dragged out of the venue. No one cared what happened to them afterward.
In the final half-hour, six more contestants were disqualified for various reasons, leaving only twenty-nine who managed to complete the competition.
After evaluation, twenty were selected for the finals. Among the fourteen eliminated, only one was deemed unsuitable, while the other thirteen were immediately snatched up the moment they stepped off the stage. Though Lin Fang had known about this rule beforehand, witnessing it firsthand still left her stunned.
Lin Cui’e and Lin Juan had a tacit understanding—each had embroidered scenes from the other’s previous works. The judges praised their pieces as “sisterly embroidery,” and both advanced to the finals.
Combined with yesterday’s finalists, there were now thirty in total—twenty-five deemed suitable and five unsuitable, including Zhong Meizhen.
The afternoon of the second day and the entirety of the third day were reserved for the embroidery finals. Compared to earlier rounds, the conditions were far more relaxed. Contestants could select their materials from the storeroom, take as much time as they needed to start, and rest at will during the process—though they couldn’t leave the venue. At the end of the afternoon session, the embroideries were collected by the judges for safekeeping. On the morning of the third day, contestants retrieved their works to continue. There were no restrictions on subject matter—they could freely choose their designs. The final judging would combine these pieces with their initial submissions, with the top fifteen selected.
Lin Fang cursed her overly precise internal clock but, powerless to resist, had no choice but to go home and sleep as she had the day before. For some reason, her midday naps had been growing longer lately. Yesterday, she had slept straight through until dinner, and if not for her mother shaking her awake out of concern for her hunger, she might have slept even longer. Lin Xia teased her, saying that with her ability to eat and sleep so much, she’d soon turn into a meatball.
Before sleeping, Lin Fang repeatedly reminded her mother to wake her early so she could watch her aunt and third sister compete in the finals. Yet when she awoke, it was already the afternoon of the second day. At first, she thought she’d only slept an hour or two. Aside from feeling ravenous, she noticed nothing unusual. After a quick bite to eat, she urged her mother to hurry to the venue—only to realize something was wrong. How had the contestants managed to embroider such large pieces in such a short time? Some had already submitted their works, and the number of contestants had dwindled below thirty. Had several already been disqualified in just half a day?
Only when the judges announced that time was up and all contestants had to stop embroidering for evaluation did Lin Fang finally accept that she had slept an entire day away.
She complained to her mother for not keeping her promise to wake her. Her mother laughed and said, “I did try, but you wouldn’t budge. Your second grandmother said you’ve been too excited these past two days and needed the rest. If you hadn’t woken up today, I would’ve found a way to rouse you.” Lin Fang pouted and turned her attention back to the competition.
Both Lin Cui’e and Lin Juan employed their signature techniques—double-sided embroidery.
Lin Cui’e couldn’t resist embroidering the scene she had shown Lin Fang earlier, “Elder Sister-in-Law Teaching Her Younger Sister-in-Law,” though with slight modifications. The background was changed to daylight, and the perspective was widened to obscure facial details. The reverse side featured two words emerging from the fabric: “Loving Mother.”
Lin Juan’s piece depicted the “Colorful Star” from Lin Fang’s backpack, though on a larger scale with more intricate floral details. Upon closer inspection, it was slightly more refined than the version Lin Cui’e had embroidered. The reverse side showed a jujube tree laden with fruit, its leaves meticulously detailed down to the serrated edges, the fruit so lifelike it made one’s mouth water. Both sides were painstakingly crafted.
In the end, twelve-year-old Lin Juan took first place in the embroidery competition. Second place went to a twenty-year-old wealthy bride from a neighboring town, while fifteen-year-old Lin Cui’e secured third place in embroidery and first in the combined three-discipline ranking. Fourth place went to a suitable candidate, fifth to the only middle-aged woman in the competition—who had participated purely for the experience. The remaining ten finalists were all unmarried suitable girls. Zhong Meizhen placed thirteenth.
As the judges announced the winners in order, Lin Juan and Lin Cui’e were whisked away by their family the moment their names were called. Starting from fourth place, each announcement triggered a scramble among the audience to claim the named contestant. By the end, only Zhong Meizhen and the middle-aged woman remained on stage—no one wanted the latter, as her age ruled her out as a concubine. For embroidery, which demanded sharp eyesight, nearing forty was already considered past prime working age. However, several people approached her afterward, asking if she’d consider becoming a sewing instructor for their households, offering support in her old age. This unexpected boon delighted the woman, who never imagined she’d find security in her later years.
Zhong Meizhen, however, stood on stage in tears, humiliated that despite placing, no one wanted her. “Looks are given by parents,” she thought bitterly. She had only competed at her mother’s insistence, never expecting to end up unwanted despite her ranking. The sight was truly pitiful.
The Lin family, though sympathetic, had no intention of meddling. They escorted Lin Juan and Lin Cui’e to collect their prizes—thirty taels of silver for first place and ten for third. Thus, Lin Juan received thirty taels, while Lin Cui’e took home forty. Both were overjoyed; though the Lin family wasn’t short on money, this silver held special significance.
Dàláng asked the two if they wanted to apply for official artisan certification. Since the town’s talent competition was privately run, such certification required a separate government application.
“No,” Tóng shì cut in before the girls could answer. “What’s the use of that? It might seem honorable, but if trouble comes, those with certification are the first to suffer. Even though you and Èrláng have official status that exempts the family from corvée labor, who can predict how the authorities will act? Must our niece and granddaughter rely on such papers to earn a living?”
*Second Grandmother is wise!* Lin Fang cheered inwardly.
While the government awarded a sum of money to certified artisans—a boon for the poor—and prioritized them for employment, there were downsides. Certification meant being registered in official records, making holders the first to be conscripted for state projects. If the court decided to reclaim wasteland somewhere, certified farming experts would be forcibly recruited without negotiation. Life in untamed wilderness was harsh, and even if the land eventually flourished, survival was never guaranteed.
A rare few did benefit from certification—like Zhōu Yú, who had sold himself to the Lin family. If the court ever decided to develop fisheries somewhere, he might be summoned, forcing the Lin family to release him from servitude. He and his descendants would then gain freedom, with sons eligible for civil service exams and daughters able to marry free men. But such luck was vanishingly rare—and survival remained uncertain.
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