ITIEQ C38

Chapter 38 – Basic Education

Lord Shen’s ability is truly as formidable as ever…

The old-guard officials of Qiuquan Commandery sighed inwardly.

In the past, the harsh sting of his words had felt unbearable, but now, heard again, they sounded strangely like celestial music—clearing the ears, refreshing the spirit.

The meeting ended.

Several newly appointed officials quickly slid away like greased glass—now reforms pressed ahead at every scale: from agriculture to mining, and down even to the bright swords at every villager’s cooking stove. The whole commandery thrummed with vigorous momentum, life blossoming anew.

Shen Qinghe emerged from the inner chamber. Today’s schedule would take him into the countryside, so he left aside the governor’s formal robes and instead wore a bean-red cotton tunic—the first finished cloth from Qiuquan’s new weaving mill. Stitched in haste, its vivid brightness stood out sharply in this windswept, dust-dyed northwest, delivered directly to his desk.

As the factory’s inaugural product, it was of course significant. Shen Qinghe liked it immensely, and only when a new belt and boots were prepared did he wear the full set—less like a provincial magistrate, more like a handsome scion of some great house.

At his side, another youth in official garb emerged, holding a pile of documents. His brows tightened as he noticed a strange round figure waiting by the gate.

Zhao Jinshan had been startled as well, dazzled by the youth’s vividly fresh clothing. He blinked at both men, uncertain, asking:

“You two are…?”

The official-clad youth merely said, “Xue Bufan,” and no more.

The red-robed boy, however, was polite. Producing a handkerchief, he offered it to Zhao Jinshan to wipe sweat before speaking gently:

“Shen Qinghe, Governor of Qiuquan.”

The fat merchant’s hand quivered upon his brow.

So this was that Shen Governor—whose name had thundered in his ears.

—And such a youthful face!

Suppressing his astonishment, Zhao Jinshan squeezed forward with a smile.

“Since coming here, I have long wondered at the governor’s bearing—truly, hearing is not as seeing!”

He then bowed to Xue Bufan. But his mind raced—Qiuquan… and a man surnamed Xue here, matching rumors of a Xue scion demoted to the northwest. And beside him, this extraordinary young governor not of the common stock.

Once, this land was mocked as barren. But clearly, something strange was brewing here.

In troubled times—had this been any other place—being detained would only mean coveting his wagons of rice, beans, cloth, and porcelain. Yet here, he had passed through garrisons of robust men and healthy commoners. Unlike shriveled skeletons elsewhere, even children here thrived. Something is not right.

After brief courtesies, Zhao Jinshan, still nervous, pressed:

“My lord, may I ask why you summoned me? My caravans still bear goods, and two hundred mouths at home await my return. I must soon leave, lest wife and daughters worry…”

The governor looked no petty county man—but Shen was not a known “Shen clan” scion either. With iron at belts, armed guards abound, even a Xue present as foil—this was no ordinary officer. Not of the great gentry, then perhaps some trusted court client.

Whatever hidden “mountain of gold” lay buried, Zhao told himself: Play deaf, escape early, keep my life intact.

“I do indeed have business.” Shen Qinghe did not delay:

“Merchant Zhao—word has it you hail from Jiaozhou?”

“Yes, yes…”

“Jiaozhou is good. The central regions—neighboring Huizhou and Yanzhou, wealth abounds.” Then Shen’s tone shifted: “As it happens, I have a business proposition for you.”

That word electrified Zhao Jinshan’s merchant soul.

“You yourselves have seen—our land grows fine things. Yet we are remote, Hu nomads press to the north, internal markets closed. Trade is near impossible.” He sighed theatrically.

Zhao Jinshan inwardly sweated. No—this was no “decent harvest.” This county was richer than most he’d seen elsewhere.

Shen Qinghe smiled faintly.

“And now Heaven sends you here. Is this not fate?”

“You mean… to use me, to sell your county’s goods?”

“Indeed.”

He led Zhao into a warehouse. Mountains of beans and millet stood, but more shocking were stacks of silk thread, gleaming iron tools, cups of worked metal… things only the great families would own.

Zhao’s knees weakened. For such a remote frontier… how could it hold such treasure? What backing sustained this?!

He retreated swiftly, muttering:

“My lord, I am but a small traveling merchant. Weak in body, light in words—I cannot manage trade on this scale. Best that you find another…” Casting glances at Shen, he added: “But I do know great houses in Jiaozhou—perhaps I could introduce them?”

Shen’s eyes narrowed slightly. Introduce others? Once he leaves Cangzhou, he’ll vanish into thin air.

“Zhao, do you know the clan of Yue from Yanlin?”

The merchant startled. “Of course! Who does not? Great Yong’s foremost clan!”

“Good.” The boy leaned on the doorframe, caught the drifting wind in his sash, clenched it idly in hand, and asked:

“Then guess—what is my relation to Yue?”

Xue Bufan’s brows jumped. His eyes flickered at Shen in surprise, again, and again.

The merchant stammered: “What… what relation?”

Shen grinned brilliantly.

“Why, of course—none at all!”

“Since you are unwilling, we are gentlemen; we will not press. Relax. Do you fear that I or Assistant Xue will devour you?”

Zhao blinked blankly, wiping sweat with the same cloth Shen had given him at first. “Ah… ah so it is…”

Xue Bufan, for his part, nearly snapped in two. Shen had bluffed, pretending ties to Yue—the most terrifying family in the empire! To toy with such fire was to court death. Yet Shen, laughing, claimed innocence: “I never said I truly was. What’s the harm?”

And so Shen closed the matter, turning aside:

“Escort our guest. As for you, Assistant Xue—today’s schedule stays unchanged.”

Xue’s veins bulged. “Assistant,” Shen called him. A new “title” Shen had imposed—grand-sounding, yet requiring endless toil. He rose before roosters, slept after dogs, drowning in paperwork, far more exhausted than during his supposed “disgrace.” His resentment festered: All Shen’s fault.

While Shen hummed along, praising him for hitting targets, overfilling KPIs, promising fat red envelopes, Xue only scowled:

“What use of your filthy money!”

More pressing, Xue seethed:

“No caravans visit Cangzhou for half-years. You sneer at local merchants as too small, yet now you dismiss this large one too. What do you want?!”

Shen only quoted lightly:

“Did I not see in the academy catalogue you borrowed the Investiture of the Gods? Jiang Ziya fished with straight hook—‘the willing bite.’ That is my method.”⁵

“You—when did I ever read your worthless academy’s heresies?!” Xue snapped, mortified. Shen chuckled slyly, fanning away his anger.

But the truth stood: Shen Qinghe’s goals ran higher. Feeding, weaving, and mining were not enough. He pressed open literacy across ages—even the elder weavers, the roughest farmers and craftsmen. Where Xue called it waste, Shen said:

“How can you despise the elders? At forty or fifty, they are still prime. It is never too late to read.”

Others moaned and shirked. Yet Shen declared, firmly: Tools are not enough. Without minds to comprehend, repair, and innovate—this county would remain barbarous.

To read is to shed savagery. To reason is to grow resolve.

A man must not merely be a tool.

—

Later, at Qiuquan’s expanded Qingbei Academy, Shen greeted all. Now, where once it was a “birdcage,” it was a broad racetrack. The Emperor’s own calligraphy for “Qingbei Academy” hung above the gate, brought a thousand li, lending dignity.

The academy was split: inner court students (the core disciples) and outer court (public classes). Boys like Shan Bowen, Xu Lesheng, Gao Rong formed the first. Outer court was crowded—children and adults learning, even miners and weavers, where literacy mingled with practical subjects.

Adult classes aimed for “speed.” Farmers learned punctuation, timekeeping, weather reading, arithmetic. Miners learned safety and tools. Weavers learned spinning and numbers. Even health and hygiene were taught. Lessons of geography and politics introduced—“who are the Hu on our border, what ties bind Yong to them.”

One day, Shen attended, walking amid fields of makeshift school huts. Children chanted loudly: a o e i. In midst, tugging at his sleeve, a small girl looked up—big eyes, nervous fist clenched.

“Brother Shen…”

He crouched, recognizing—“So it’s Er-Niu.” Once a skeletal wretch, she now had flesh and spirit in cheeks.

“Why not in class?”

“Class dismissed,” she answered shyly, face flushed. “Brother Shen, I am no longer Li Er-Niu. My name is Li Qing. ‘Qing’ as in clean water.”

“Oh? Li Qing?” Shen blinked.

“Yes! Teacher helped me rename. Many classmates too!” She scratched in dust to show characters. Nervously she asked: “Brother, may I? May I never again be called Er-Niu?”

Shen smiled warmly. “Of course. You may be whatever name you choose.”

She brightened, adding proudly: “I already know over a thousand characters! And consult a dictionary! I’m top of my class.”

“Good girl,” Shen patted her head, “If you take first at the term exam, I’ll give you a gift.”

Blushing, she swore agreement.

As she skipped away, Shen walked into the inner court, noting flowers untended, students quarreling fiercely: who should manage the new fertile fields. Each vied for projects, craving their names in upcoming publications.

Arguments rose, but Shen simply let them fight. Ambition sharpened them.

At last, Shen reminded of greater problem—basic education.

To govern, to civilize—food and clothing were the foundation. But the pyramid of human desire rose higher: morality, ethics, discipline. And only through study, reasoning, and self-cultivation were these forged.

Here lay the truest battle.

Just then, the doors opened. Dust-covered You Luo stumbled in, eyes red. He had gone to Huizhou for the prefectural imperial exam.

“How was it? Did you pass?”

He shook his head, lips pressed.

“How? With what you gained here, you should have been unmatched.”

But You Luo spat bitterly: in Huizhou, they mocked his homespun garb as “country bumpkin,” almost barred him. Only through bribes did he enter. Worse—local aristocrats snatched his examination script, labeled it “shallow, undeserving,” publicly ridiculed. When results came, eight-tenths were their own clan names. His own name erased.

He even found taunting poems left for him:

“Boastful and loud without cease,

Pretending proud from lowly crease.

Pheasant can dream of phoenix flight,

But never climbs to heaven’s height.”

Enraged, he vowed vengeance. Shen placed a steadying hand.

“I know your fury. For now—take this new experimental field. Work with your fellows. Justice is not won by quarrel. Let them see, with broad eyes, whether you shall not fly to heaven in truth.”

Footnotes

1. Jiaozhou, Huizhou, Yanzhou – historic names of prosperous prefectures in central China. 
2. KPI – anachronistic modern term Shen jokingly uses, hinting at target quotas he sets for officials. 
3. Jiang Ziya (姜太公) – the legendary strategist in Fengshen Yanyi (Investiture of the Gods), whose straight-hook fishing was a metaphor for attracting the worthy who “choose” themselves.