ITIEQ C10

Chapter 10 – “If You Want to Learn, Start by Farming”

The most perfect doctrine?

The four students pondered for a while. Each had already gathered his own insights from what he had read, and so, brimming with confidence, they spoke one after the other.

Xu Lesheng said:

“To govern the realm with benevolence and affection: if the ruler is benevolent and the ministers are loyal, if fathers are kind and children filial, then the world becomes a single family. That is the way to strengthen the nation and bring peace to the land.”

Shan Bowen disagreed:

“But benevolence distinguishes between greater and lesser; if one applies this, then closeness and distance, the noble and the common, will still be divided. How is that any different from our officials of today who judge men by clan reputation and give offices by rank? Yet if one adopts universal love without distinction, treating all as the same, is that not the true ‘Grand Unity’ of the world?”

Xu Lesheng countered:

“Benevolence is like water with a source; universal love is like a tree without roots. The late Emperor upheld filial piety and integrity as the foundations of governance—only those who are dutiful sons and incorrupt could be recommended for office. But if one truly ‘loves universally,’ does that not mean even the unpardonably wicked, the thieves and petty rogues, are included in this love? Shall we rely on heartless villains to govern the world?”

Shan Bowen replied:

“To love one another universally, to benefit one another mutually, with no distinction of high and low, noble or humble—among all pursuits, nothing is higher than righteousness. So long as human nature still exists and Heaven’s conscience remains within us, he who is useful to all shall live, he who is useless shall not thrive. If hearts and minds unite, what difficulty lies in universal love?”

Xu Lesheng chuckled:

“Brother Shan, what you describe is not a human being—it is a living Buddha with boundless compassion.”

Gao Rong said coldly:

“Neither universal love nor benevolence will serve. What is good? What is evil? Who decides? Let the public law prevail; abolish private considerations; let prince and commoner alike be judged by the same law. Only then can justice be upright and impartial.”

You Luo nodded vigorously:

“I agree! If a man will not submit, then let the law beat him until he does!” *

Shen Qinghe let them debate among themselves as he watched. After half a day of verbal sparring they were parched and exhausted, yet none would yield. In the end they turned pleadingly to him, asking whose theory was truly perfect.

Shen Qinghe shook his head.

He had deliberately chosen for them the brilliant writings of the Axial Age[¹] for their reading. Compared to Dayong’s single and extreme cultural system, the dazzling crystallization of many civilizations from that age was enough to shake their narrow views.

That they championed one school or another was only to be expected—yet it was not the result he wanted.

The students looked at one another in surprise.

“Could it be we have sought the wrong answer?”

Shen Qinghe replied:

“The world is harsh, for men of humble origin the road is not easy. I know it was long and difficult for you to rise from such backgrounds and achieve the degree of juren (provincial graduate)[²]. Among your peers you already stand out. I thought you might see further—alas, I overestimated you.”

“I am no great master of classical exegesis. I cannot teach you polished commentary on ancient texts. What I can give you is something else. In this age of Dayong, the so-called ‘Qing Studies’[³] are all the rage, and scholars grasp at them like drowning men clutching floating timber. You think you have cast off one mountain that oppressed you, only to let another fall upon your shoulders. When I first tested you with essays, I accepted you precisely because you seemed a little rebellious, capable of thinking beyond convention. But now—now you disappoint me.”

“Teacher, what do you mean by this?”

They had thought sincerely their positions were worthy of saving the realm.

Shen Qinghe said:

“Do you truly believe that by these doctrines alone you can display your talents? When you exclude, slander, and defend your chosen doctrine, how is that any different from the Yue family?”

These words struck heavy. The students hastened to defend themselves:

“It is indeed different! If we gained the chance, we would surely aid the world, never use power for selfish gain, never prey upon the people!”

Shen Qinghe rebuked:

“You can guarantee this now. But can you guarantee it in ten years? If one day a dragon rides in Heaven and you too rise to serve as grand ministers—can you still guarantee it? Do not make promises when the future is uncertain. Even the ancestoral Yue once exhorted to be pure of heart and desireless—yet look at his followers in later generations; how clean are their hands?”

Shan Bowen asked, bewildered:

“Teacher, if there is no clear doctrine to follow, then how does one govern?”

“Comprehensive tolerance, embracing all streams,” Shen Qinghe declared.

“Learning has no fixed way; Mount Tai does not reject a clod of earth; oceans do not spurn a single rivulet[⁴]. All rivers return to the sea; all schools of thought serve governance. At Qingbei, we do not bind ourselves to convention. So long as an argument is logical and effective, Qing Studies themselves ought to study it with devotion.”

Now, the dignity of learning in Dayong was such that whether serving a master or entering a college, students were expected to dedicate themselves exclusively to one single doctrine. Mixing schools invited expulsion and scorn. How could “inclusiveness” be acceptable!

The four were greatly shaken. Rising, they bowed:

“Your students are enlightened.”

But Shen Qinghe knew: deeply rooted notions cannot change in a day. To revive the great flourishing of a Hundred Schools Contending would take time.

You Luo asked, puzzled:

“Then why, Teacher, did you first let us argue, laugh at us in our distress?”

“Heh.” Shen Qinghe gave a cold laugh.

The four had a bad foreboding.

“This is my second point. In this world, no such thing exists as perfection. To claim that a ‘perfect’ doctrine can exist is ridiculous. You would rather quarrel endlessly with one another than doubt my words at all? Do you recall your first day in the academy? You were bold enough then to question me. Where is that spirit now, that you take my words as sacred law?”

“Is it because you wish to show respect for your teacher, dare not dispute me? Or because you think, born as I am to a great house, my words must be broader in vision? Or because I am the teacher, so it is safer to flatter me?”

“Are my books poison, dragging you backward the more you read?”

His harsh words left the students burning with shame.

“A disciple need not be inferior to his teacher; a teacher need not be wiser than his disciple. The hearing of the Way has order; the pursuit of skills varies between men. That is all.”

“In future, do not repeat this mistake.”

They bowed their heads, and the atmosphere turned heavy.

Shen Qinghe coughed lightly and let his tone soften:

“All right, enough. No need to hang your heads over trifles. Still, I am dissatisfied with today’s lesson—your punishment: all of you run laps. You have spent days buried in books, so it will do you good to exercise your bodies as well.”

Teacher’s expression changed faster than the weather. The students, stunned, found themselves already herded out of the classroom.

Outside, the autumn wind blew gently under bright sun. Shen Qinghe urged them to run circles around the courtyard. They were not pampered weaklings unacquainted with toil; after several circuits they were winded but unhurt. On the contrary, it was Shen Qinghe himself, running with them, who was gasping desperately, his pale face reddened like steamed shrimp.

“Teacher, your stamina is poor indeed,” Xu Lesheng teased as he passed.

From the rear Shen Qinghe shouted between breaths:

“Hey! Hey! Don’t you know to slow down for your teacher? Have you forgotten respect for your master!”

Ahead, laughter broke out, and they ran the faster.

After lunch, Shen Qinghe led them onto an ox-cart, bringing them to a patch of abandoned farmland behind the academy.

Shan Bowen scratched his head at the sight of several desolate acres:

“Teacher, what are we doing here?”

Their teacher often took eccentric approaches, speaking of strange yet fascinating things. Thus, though dragged out into a field, they felt more amused than alarmed.

Shen Qinghe:

“To study science.”

The students asked curiously:

“Science? What kind of study is that?”

Shen Qinghe explained:

“Ke (科), from the characters ‘grain’ and ‘measuring vessel.’ It is a great discipline. And so, let us begin with farming.”

You Luo waved dismissively:

“Teacher, surely I know more of this than you.” He did not mean insult—yet aristocrats had always been known for idleness of body and ignorance of crops. Judging from Shen’s appearance, fine-skinned and delicate, he must never have worked soil in his life. How could he be anything of a match in farming?

Shan Bowen added in support:

“My family has tilled land for generations. In our households, farming in summer, studying in winter, is the way. I began helping tend the land when I was three.”

“Oh?” Shen Qinghe turned toward them.

“Changzhou is called the ‘Abundant Province’; its yearly yields are said to be the highest in Dayong. By that account, everyone there must be an expert farmer! Yet tell me—why is it that, in recent harvests, yields per acre barely reach two or three pecks?”

“They say good weather and stability are rare—this year we had calamity.”

“Then suppose pests came—what cure do you have? Why does rice thrive in the south, but millet in the north grows poor? If the soil exhausts, how to increase yields? Why does an orange tree south of the Huai bear sweet fruit, but north turn bitter thorn? How to balance flood and drought? Is there no method more effective than slash-and-burn with water-harrowing?”

These questions thronged one after the other. Stunned, Shan Bowen could answer a few from experience, but not the reasons underlying them.

“Teacher, do you have a solution?”

“That depends on how well you can learn science.”

Shen Qinghe tapped the earth beneath his toes. Grain selection gave birth to biology; measuring land produced mathematics; designing farm tools contained principles of mechanics; determining farming seasons invoked astronomy; trading agricultural goods opened into economics. One could say: the beginning of science itself lay in farming.

“Do you still think you know how to farm?”

The two flushed bright, yet felt no shame. If solutions could be found, that would be a plan to benefit all people—then they must study science with devotion!

Enthusiasm roused, Shen Qinghe waved to call for the system.

On the ridge of the field appeared a golden-haired, golden-eyed youth, wearing a robe of pale yellow—like a little idol of gold from afar.

“Teacher Xi has arrived!” the students called joyously, half in jest as they hailed him “Teacher.”

Teacher Xi clasped his hands behind his back, striding forward—only to trip on a stone in the wasteland and fall flat into the dirt.

“Teacher Xi has fallen!” the four cried in alarm, rushing to help him to his feet.

Shen Qinghe pressed his brow: this did not look reliable.

The system, hauled up by several hands, staggered forward clumsily left foot with left, right with right.

Shen Qinghe folded his arms.

“Those limbs of yours don’t seem well domesticated.”

“Too long since I’ve come outside. I almost forgot how to walk,” the system confessed. Its forehead and cheeks were reddened from the fall.

Shen Qinghe said:

“I have leased this plot. Divided in four—north, south, east, west. Each of you shall have one. Day-to-day labors I’ll hire for, but management and cultivation are yours. At the end of term we’ll see whose crop fares best—his score will be highest.”

“Teacher Xi—you will teach them.” Shen turned to the golden youth.

“Don’t drop the chain.”

—

Yancheng, at the Lantai of Lord Yue’s household.

Golden saddles atop green-jade embroidered steeds; jeweled harness dripping with tassels of silk; bamboo rods suspending jade pendants; fountains cut through rocks. A solitary moon lofted above the horizon, and within the pavilion the atmosphere shimmered like vernal dawn.

It was said half the city’s wealth supplied this one estate—grander yet than royal lodges, magnificence to the extreme.

“Elder Brother, I’m losing again.” Yue Yin rubbed his head in frustration. “Three games, three defeats! What use is all this chess? I play daily yet gain nothing. Better to practice my spear-forms!”

“He Pingzhi was right to tell me you are restless—you need tempering.” Yue Zhi rested one hand on the board, one holding a scroll.

“That Liu Xianglin dares to gossip behind my back? I’ll show him color next time!” Flinging down his black piece into the basket, Yue Yin’s eyes flashed with electric menace, his body bristling with energy, fierce enough to overawe.

Yue Zhi cast him a glance; the towering youth at once collapsed into meekness, shrank his hands, and sat obediently to continue the game.

With one more move, the encirclement on the board was complete; the white stones flourished.

Yue Zhi looked up.

“Ziyuan, you are distracted. This play is worse than your first game.”

Yue Yin bowed rapidly.

“It is but that Brother is too skilled—none in the world can match! Please spare me!”

Yue Zhi sighed and said:

“Clear away.”

“Good!” Delighted, Yue Yin hurried to return each piece to the basket.

“You say, this is written by the new Tanhua?” Yue Zhi smoothed the essay and laid it on the table.

Kneeling at the side to spectate, Yue Jie nodded.

“Shen Qinghe? I do not recall the name.”

Brows furrowing, Yue Jie sneered:

“This man is vulgar, insolent, shameless. Unworthy of mention—naturally you have not heard of him.”

“Never have I seen you despise a man so passionately—that is rare.” Yue Zhi’s eyes softened. “You won top honors; I have yet to congratulate you. Here.” He pushed a sandalwood box toward Yue Jie. “It contains the solitary edition by Master Shan Yin—you searched long for it. Take it as a gift. In serving henceforth at the capital, guard yourself well.”

Yue Jie accepted gladly; joy lit his face.

“My deepest thanks, Cousin! But this is nothing—if you yourself entered the exam, surely you would shine like the moon of Kyoto, unmatched beneath Heaven.”

Yue Zhi waved a hand.

“My will lies elsewhere. Father too says my heart is unsettled, and the time not yet come.”

“As for this Shen Qinghe…he is interesting. Ziyuan, perhaps you and he may get along.”

Yue Yin, having just finished dropping the last stone into the basket, looked up indignantly.

“Brother, my days are too full already—first you grind me down in chess, and now you would throw me in with some random curs? I have no time for this!”

“Too clever by half, yet scheming.”

Yue Zhi reached and, with a flick, tossed the essay into the golden brazier by his side.

“Many years since I walked the capital. It seems the city has turned upside down, new characters entered the stage.”

Lounging back against the rail, he watched the clear moonlit breeze beyond the window, bored.

“…I almost wish to return and see for myself.”

FOOTNOTES

[¹] Axial Age – a modern historical term (coined by philosopher Karl Jaspers) referring to the period roughly from 800 BCE to 200 BCE, when great, transformative philosophical traditions simultaneously flourished in China, India, Persia, Judea, and Greece. Here Shen Qinghe introduces concepts beyond Dayong’s singular orthodoxy.

[²] Juren (舉人) – provincial graduates who passed the xiangshi examination, one step below the highest jinshi who were chosen in the capital.

[³] Qing Studies (清學) – in this fictional setting, a fashionable school of orthodox learning scholars chase as the sole “legitimate” doctrine, similar to Neo-Confucian orthodoxy.

[⁴] Classical metaphors: Mount Tai does not refuse a clod; the great river does not reject a rivulet—meaning greatness lies in accepting all.