WSMTATMC C82

Chapter 82

Sensing his disciple’s uncertainty, Master Lu nodded. “This is the very ‘Foremost Talent of Jiangnan’ you often mention—Liang Liufang.”

Liu Changyi lost his composure, and his gaze toward Chen Qingyan and the others turned fervent. He turned and knelt before Master Liang. “This junior greets the great scholar!”

“Ah, I don’t deserve it—please rise.”

“I’ve read your collected poems and essays. That line—‘I do not know how high the blue sky is or how thick the yellow earth; I only feel the moon’s chill and the sun’s warmth, both consuming human years’—it is truly stunning. I have always… always admired you!” Note 1

Master Liang knew his own strengths. That poem, Bitter Daylight Short, was something he wrote at nineteen; many scholars had first heard of him through it.

Old Master Lu stroked his beard with a chuckle. “Liufang, how long will you be in Jizhou?”

“About half a month, then we head to Laizhou.”

“Then let me prevail upon an old friendship. In these days, give my disciple some pointers. He’ll take the provincial exam next year—perhaps he’ll be a classmate of your students.”

Liang did not refuse—this trip was meant to broaden his disciples’ horizons, after all.

“I’ll bring them to the academy these days. If any wish to listen, they may come. And I must trouble Master Lu to guide my three as well.”

“As long as you don’t mind this old man.”

Chen Qingyan and the others were both nervous and overjoyed—how could they possibly mind receiving Master Lu’s instruction?

The two elders fell into reminiscing, while the younger ones were waved off to read.

The library held many rare editions unseen elsewhere—better to read as much as possible while they had the chance.

Liu Changyi followed close by, introducing shelves and sections, his face full of envy. To be Master Liang’s disciples—these three must be extraordinary!

In truth, Chen Qingyan had an uncertain sense of his own ability. He had studied under Liang for two years, and self-studied for a year after being expelled from the exams.

In that time, he felt he had advanced rapidly. Yet, having never competed, he didn’t know his level—only that he ought to be a little stronger than an average xiucai.

So, learning that Liu Changyi already held the rank of provincial student (bingsheng), he set his posture very low, almost speaking to him as a junior and asking about the academy. It made Liu Changyi quite uncomfortable.

In his impression, Master Liang was a proud talent who disdained the mediocre; therefore, his disciples must be brilliant and naturally aloof. But these young men—why were they more well-behaved than the academy’s own students?

Every question came with honorifics—he felt embarrassed by their deference.

The halo of awe cracked a little…

Elsewhere, Liang Boqing and Lu Zhongqi talked on excitedly. Ten years apart had left them with too much to say.

“Do you remember Zhang Yaozhi?” Lu asked.

“I do. What of him now?”

“He entered the capital. He now sits as Minister of Rites and has entered the Grand Secretariat—one close to the throne.”

Liang gasped. “Only ten years to enter the Secretariat?”

“That’s why he’s formidable. You praised him then, saying he had the talent of a prime minister. Turns out your eye for people was better than most.”

“I don’t understand the court, but I did think he wasn’t made for small ponds. I didn’t expect to be proven right.”

Lowering his voice, Lu asked, “These three disciples of yours—they must be remarkable as well?”

Liang waved it off. “They have far to go.”

“If you took them on, they can’t be ordinary.”

“Compared to them, I’d rather take a ge’er as a disciple.”

“A ge’er?” Lu was surprised.

“He’s this eldest disciple’s husband. That little ge’er’s mind and breadth of view surpass these three’s. He’s also skilled in agriculture—his improved seed stock has caught the eye of the Grand Minister of Agriculture. A rare talent.”

“To earn your praise—now I’m truly curious.”

“Pity he’s a ge’er and cannot serve as an official.”

Both men sighed. In Wu Dynasty custom, ge’er were forbidden from holding office; to break that taboo was treason, punishable by death—no one dared risk their life.

Liang brought up another old friend. “What of Qian Muzhou? I thought to visit him these few days.”

Qian Muzhou was gifted in calligraphy—his running script was peerless, though he was eccentric. Liang had once asked him for a few inscriptions.

Lu paused. “Qian Muzhou… passed away years ago.”

“Muzhou is gone?!”

“Yes. Six or seven years now.”

“He was younger than me—how did it happen so suddenly?”

“They say he drank too much at a tavern, fell from an upper floor, and died…”

Liang hissed softly, sorrowing. A great calligrapher, gone so early.

“These days his works are worth fortunes. I hear people privately pay high prices—ten gold for a foot of paper. Alas, I didn’t know him well then and never had him inscribe anything—otherwise, I’d be rich on just that.”

Liang didn’t mention that they had in fact been close for a time, composing poems together in those days. He simply sighed, “All the more reason to cherish what remains—keep mice from nibbling them.”

They talked straight past noon and took their midday meal at the academy canteen, bringing dishes back for the two teachers.

Benches and tables were set; each meal came with soup, both meat and vegetable dishes, and millet rice and coarse buns for staples—not bad.

After lunch, the younger men continued to soak in the library, while Liang and Lu went out to visit another old friend.

“Qingyan, take the two of them and read here. We’ll be back soon.”

“Yes, sir.”

But the two old men didn’t return for most of the day; dusk fell and they still weren’t back.

Since lamps and flames were forbidden in the library, reading had to stop after dark. Liu Changyi took them outside to chat.

“Where are you all from? How old are you?”

“Twenty,” said Qingyan. “Qinghuai sixteen, Qingsong thirteen. We’re from Jizhou—Longquan County’s small town.”

“Longquan County…” Liu thought. “You have a famous spring there, don’t you?”

They nodded. Qinghuai added softly, “The Mountain Spring Travelogue wrote Dragon Spring Rhapsody—that was our teacher.”

“Oh—right, right. I’m not a Jizhou native either. My hometown is Tianyang County—not far from you. I passed xiucai there and later came to the academy.”

Qingyan blinked. “My uncle is from Tianyang as well.”

“May I ask his surname?”

“Li—single name Cheng.”

“Li Bingchen is your cousin?”

Qingyan nodded vigorously. “Mm!”

Liu laughed. “Hahaha—he and I were classmates! I never thought you’d have that connection!”

From acquaintances to kinsmen by friendship, they warmed quickly to each other. Relaxed now, Liu asked more candidly, “When did you take the county exam?” By Master Liang’s disciples, they ought to have shone—in the least, taking first place at the county. Why had he never heard of them?

“We two are still tongsheng,” said Qingyan. “My youngest brother hasn’t even taken the children’s exam.”

“Why not?”

“We were delayed. Qinghuai attempted the county exam last year, but a severe spring chill struck—he fell ill midway. This year is a major exam year, so we plan to take it together.”

“The spring chill last year was brutal. They say some candidates even froze to death!”

They all sighed. Qinghuai added, “The county exam is one thing—but I hear the provincial exam has three sessions of three days, nine days sealed inside—hard to endure.”

“Indeed,” Liu said. “Luck matters too. The provincial takes place in mid-seventh month—sweltering heat. If your seat is near the latrine, hope is slim.”

“Why?”

“Think—over a thousand candidates relieving themselves there for days, and the August heat. The stench can fell a man—who could still concentrate on writing?”

They all felt queasy—and more awed by the ordeal.

“Let’s hope none of us gets a ‘stink seat.’” As he spoke, Liang and Lu returned, and they stood to greet them.

“Come, go rest. We’ll return tomorrow.”

They bid Liu farewell and went back to the relay compound.

Master Liang, weary from the day, retired early. The others returned to their rooms.

There were many rooms; each had a private chamber—convenient for Qingyan to enter the experimental field.

He barred his door, opened the field—and entered to the sound of Yuanbao wailing.

“What happened?”

Wang Ying stood there with a feather duster. “The little rascal tried to sneak into the field again today. If I hadn’t noticed in time, he’d have set Mother into another panic!”

By day, he’d been playing with the two new boys when—suddenly—he vanished.

Chunsheng burst into tears; Mutou was frightened too, but level-headed. He didn’t rush to the old lady, but ran to Wang Ying instead and explained.

Wang Ying knew at once where the boy had gone. After calming the two, he entered the field and plucked Yuanbao back out.

With Li Shi present, he hadn’t been able to scold him, so he brought him in at night to lecture him sternly.

Qingyan hardened his expression. “Didn’t we tell you last time you aren’t allowed to come in by yourself?”

“Do you know your mistake?” Wang Ying lifted the feather duster to scare him.

“Yuanbao kn-knows…” The little one smeared tears across his face, aggrieved.

Qingyan’s heart pinched, but he could not coddle—the matter was too serious. If word ever got out they had a place like a paradise, men would kill for it.

“From now on, you may only come in when Ah Fu brings you. If you come alone again, Daddy will spank your bottom!”

“Waaah—” Seeing both fathers ready to punish him, the boy plopped down and howled.

But after crying a long while and seeing no comfort, he got up on his own, shuffled to Wang Ying, hugged his leg, and hiccuped, “Ah Fu… Yuanbao… knows wrong… Ah Fu hold…”

Wang Ying’s resolve loosened. “Have you remembered?”

“Remember—remember…”

He wiped the tears and picked him up. A small bundle nestled in his arms, and guilt pricked him—was he too harsh? The boy was only a year and a half.

Qingyan patted his shoulder. “You did right. If we don’t make it clear once, he’ll cause trouble again. Let this stick in his memory so he won’t dare next time.”

Footnotes:

1. “I do not know how high the blue sky is or how thick the yellow earth; I only feel the moon’s chill and the sun’s warmth, both consuming human years.” A line from Bitter Daylight Short, a classical-style poem.