“The reasons are all written in the remarks. They were eager to seek out clues and spent all their silver in just one afternoon, only realizing the importance of money at dinner. For a fangshi, going hungry means you won’t last until the seventh day, so they chose to withdraw from the exam.”

“Spineless fellows,” Kevin Baker commented. “If they don’t have any themselves, they could just rob others!”

“If they had your strength, of course they could.” Ethan Sullivan smiled. “In my opinion, the fact that they chose to withdraw shows at least some self-awareness. Those who try to tough it out will only make their failure look even worse.”

The short man picked up the roster and flipped through it. “So those who are lower in silver are all facing elimination?”

“Reporting to you, sir, they are indeed more likely to be eliminated than others.” Compared to answering Kevin Baker, Ethan Sullivan responded to his question more earnestly. “Fangshi often encounter unexpected situations during missions. Only those who use their resources wisely and fully have a chance to turn danger into safety.”

“Is that so? But this person only had half a bag of silver to start with. Isn’t that a bit unfair?”

Ethan Sullivan followed the direction of his finger and saw the name “Brian Carter” written in that column. Compared to the full ten taels for other candidates, his less than five taels was indeed particularly conspicuous.

“We can only ensure the rules are generally fair. Besides, how well one prepares also reflects how seriously they take it.” He paused. “Moreover, this person’s spending was no less than anyone else’s, which shows he didn’t even realize he was at a severe disadvantage. It’s only natural he was eliminated.”

The short man nodded, as if accepting his explanation.

But Ethan Sullivan felt a bit regretful. He still remembered this candidate named Brian Carter, since it was now extremely rare to see a candidate unable to gather ten taels of silver—hard not to notice. When others mocked him in low voices, he wasn’t affected at all and responded with remarkable maturity, which was praiseworthy.

But in just one night, he had spent almost all his silver, even choosing the most expensive dinner, as if he had no idea he only had half as much as the others—completely lacking vigilance.

He could only admit he had misjudged him.

“There’s nothing worth discussing about these useless people,” Kevin Baker waved his large hand. “Let’s talk about the top three candidates this time. Who do you think they’ll be?”

The short man flipped the roster back to the front. Ethan Sullivan noticed he lingered much longer on each page, as if trying to memorize the candidates’ names.

“Barring any surprises, the Fisher family’s Nancy Fisher, the Ford family’s David Ford, and the Lawson family’s Lily Lawson will be the top three in the Qingshan Town exam.” Ethan Sullivan reported word by word.

“One from each family?” Kevin Baker showed a playful smile. “You really are a qualified proctor.”

“You flatter me, sir.” Ethan Sullivan cupped his hands and bowed his head. After years of proctoring, he understood that the scholar’s exam was both a talent selection and a distribution of interests. Besides, these three were indeed exceptionally gifted, had started cultivating qi earlier than the others, and were unlikely to perform poorly. There was little to criticize about them, inside or out. “Of course, the final result will still be decided by you after the exam.”

“Not a single one from outside the established families?” the short man suddenly asked. “Not even in the top ten or top twenty?”

“Well…” Ethan Sullivan hesitated, sensing some dissatisfaction in the other’s tone. “The roster order doesn’t represent actual results. The final ranking will depend on exam performance…”

“Heh, it’s only natural there aren’t any.” Kevin Baker interrupted with a laugh. “Think about it: if both are promising seedlings, but one is born poor and only learns to read at ten, while the other recognizes characters at three and senses qi at five, which one has the brighter future? If the former is still stronger than the latter, you’d be overestimating the word ‘genius.’”

The short man didn’t respond, as if lost in thought.

The inspector cleared his throat and stood up.

He clearly had important instructions. Ethan Sullivan hurriedly stood as well, hands cupped in front.

“I don’t care about the exam rankings. Handle that as you see fit,” Kevin Baker said with his back to him. “What’s more important than the scholar’s exam is eliminating hidden dangers. You should know why the Shumi Office sent us to supervise.”

Ethan Sullivan’s heart skipped a beat. He licked his lips and cautiously asked, “Because of the ‘Listeners’?”

“Hmph, so you do know.” Kevin Baker’s tone suddenly darkened. “Ten years ago, just knowing that term as a proctor would have been a serious crime.”

“I have overstepped…”

“No matter. There are no secrets that never leak—unless everyone who knows them is dead.” Kevin Baker waved his hand, returning to his previous casual tone. “You’re expected to keep your mouth shut, but also to stay alert. There’s no such thing as a perfect situation. If you notice anything unusual, good or bad, report to me immediately.”

“Yes, sir!” Ethan Sullivan bowed his head in acknowledgment. “However… I’ve only heard others mention the term ‘Listener.’ I have no idea what their characteristics are or how to identify them. Could you give me some more detailed clues?”

“There’s nothing. Because a Listener is not a single person, but a type of person.”