WSMTATMC C89

Chapter 89

“Qingyan!” The old master’s vision went black; he nearly fainted.

Chen Qinghuai and Chen Qingsong were so terrified their legs went weak; they held their teacher up and burst into tears.

Chen Guang reacted first, rushing forward to haul away beams and clods; Ershun hurried to help. As they dug, they shouted, and soon Qingyan’s voice came from within.

“I’m fine—my foot is caught under a timber. Help me lift the beam.”

Qingsong let out a wail. “Big brother, you scared me to death!”

Together they raised the beam, and Qingyan wriggled free. Aside from filthy clothes, he didn’t have so much as a scraped skin.

Master Liang, seeing him unharmed, broke into relieved sobs. For all his sternness, he had long loved these boys like sons. If anything had happened to Qingyan, he would have regretted it for life.

Qingyan said, “When the beam came down, I happened to be beside the clay idol. The timber hit the statue first and lost much of its force; when it pressed me, it was already weak.”

“Quick, bow in thanks—the deity protected you.”

Qingyan knelt and gave three solid kowtows, and the party set off again.

Perhaps the strain of long travel, compounded by the shock, was too much—on the road, Master Liang developed a high fever.

He was old now, and the illness came hard; he babbled deliriously in his sleep.

The group panicked and had Chen Guang change course for the nearest county for a doctor.

It was near nightfall by the time they reached Simǎ County. They went straight to a clinic.

Acupuncture and scraping (gua sha) brought down the fever, and the doctor prescribed several doses of decoction. They couldn’t continue on; they had to nurse the master back to health.

They stayed at an inn in town, where Qingyan, Qinghuai, and Qingsong took turns tending the sickbed—bringing water, administering medicine—each doing his part well.

Illness descends like a mountain and recedes like drawing out silk thread; it was seven or eight days before the master recovered somewhat. His face remained wan, and a little more white had crept into his temples.

Qingyan would have had him rest a few more days, but Master Liang couldn’t bear to linger. The plan had been to reach Laizhou by the fifth month; now it was mid-sixth month—delay further and how would they make it to Yangzhou?

They resumed the southward journey. Fortunately, the bad weather did not return—rain came only lightly now and then.

On the eighteenth day of the sixth month, they finally reached Laizhou Prefectural City.

Laizhou, a coastal city, had well-developed sea routes. Goods from the south arrived by ship, making it more prosperous than inland cities.

Everywhere, seafood stalls—crabs, shrimp, sea snails… Qingyan and Qingsong had never even seen such things, let alone eaten them.

Qinghuai knew them well. He had grown up here. Chen Jing had served as Prefect in Laizhou for six years; Qinghuai knew the place like the back of his hand. Sitting in the carriage, he pointed things out as they passed.

“This is Changping Street. Ahead it’s all shops—selling just about everything! That Jinji Soup Dumpling place makes crab roe buns—an absolute must. When there’s time, I’ll take you to try them!”

The mention of food made Qingsong sit up at once. “What’s crab roe?”

“Crab roe is the eggs of a female crab—sweetest, richest flavor. Around mid-eighth month, the roe is fullest. You take crab roe and meat, add pork, water chestnut, scallion, and ginger for filling. The dumpling skin is thin as a cicada’s wing; one bite and your mouth is flooded with freshness—unforgettable!”

They all swallowed at the description.

Master Liang tapped him with a fan. “Stop thinking only of eating. In a few days I’ll send you to the prefectural academy—your old classmates are there. See you don’t get shown up.”

Qinghuai stuck out his tongue. “Got it.”

Chen Guang drove straight to the old master’s residence: not large, only two courtyards, enough when Master Liang lived with two servants.

At the gate, he knocked. A middle-aged man emerged, puzzled. “Who are you looking for?”

Master Liang lifted the curtain. “Liang Bin, I’m back.”

“Master!” Liang Bin’s face lit up. He opened the gate at once.

The carriage rolled into the courtyard. The group dismounted. Qingyan looked around. Though small, the yard was elegant: three main rooms and two side rooms; hair bamboo grew lushly in the courtyard—very charming.

“Sit and rest,” said Master Liang. “Liang Bin, make up the west room with an extra bed, and have Liang An go buy some food.”

“Yes, sir.”

With the two servants off to work, the others sat in chairs to rest.

After ten-some days on the road, they were weary. At last, in their teacher’s home, they could relax.

The master began to arrange the coming months: they would go to the prefectural academy tomorrow to enroll the three, then he would take time to visit old friends.

As the years had gone by, and especially as some of his friends had passed, he missed those old fellows more and more.

Before long, Liang An and Liang Bin returned with food—the specialties of Laizhou. “Young sirs, you’ve come a long way. Try our local flavors.”

“Many thanks.”

Qinghuai was at his ease. He knew these two well. “Uncle An, did you get the fried yellow croaker?”

“I did. I know you love it—how could I forget?”

“Excellent. Brother Yan, Brother Song, try this—best hot. One bite—fragrant and crisp—the bones fried to a crunch.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Teacher?”

Liang An smiled. “Master had scallop porridge and has gone to rest. You eat.”

Qingyan called Chen Guang and Ershun in to eat. They wouldn’t sit at table, so portions were set aside to take to the side room.

The yellow croaker really was good—each fish only as long as a forefinger, coated in a thin egg wash and deep-fried to golden crispness, sprinkled with salt and pepper. One bite, and fragrance lingered on the palate.

Whenever he ate something delicious, Qingyan thought of Wang Ying and their son. He decided to set some aside to bring into the experimental field at night.

There was also steamed flounder—rather odd-looking, so no one dared move chopsticks at first.

“Try it,” said Qinghuai. “It’s a true delicacy.”

Qingsong took a bite. “Mm! What meat is this—so tender and silky!”

“Flounder—caught at sea. Pricey!”

Ancient fishing methods were limited, and the sea unpredictable; flounder wasn’t often caught.

A single fish could cost two strings of cash, and at a restaurant the price would be at least three.

They clicked their tongues at the extravagance.

Liang An chuckled. “We don’t eat this often either. Since it’s your first time here, master specifically ordered a flounder so you could try it.”

Warmth rose in Qingyan’s chest. Truly, the master loved them like sons.

After the meal, the rooms were ready. The east room was the old man’s bedchamber; the west room had an extra wooden bed. The three would fit.

They wouldn’t be here long; tomorrow they would go to the academy. Lodging and meals would be at the academy through the end of the eighth month.

At noon nap, Qingyan slipped into the experimental field and placed the oil-paper-wrapped croaker on a little stool; he also left Wang Ying a note saying they had reached Laizhou and that the three were sharing a room, so night meetings might be scarce.

When Wang Ying entered that night, he saw the packet at once. He opened it and couldn’t help but laugh.

Qingyan was so thoughtful—saving him a taste of little fried fish.

Even cold, they still tasted good—fragrant and crisp, like a snack. In his previous life, he’d had fried yellow croaker as a bar dish. In this life, it was his first time—nostalgia stirred.

He opened the note and read every word—it said they’d arrived in Laizhou Prefectural City. He relaxed a little.

By rights, they should have arrived a week ago—what had delayed them? Something must have happened. But since he had only just come in, Wang Ying couldn’t ask.

He adjusted the field’s climate and picked some grapes and cherries before leaving.

Wang Ying had been writing a book—recording what he’d learned in university, fearful that with long disuse he might forget.

Since giving birth to Yuanbao, he’d felt his memory wasn’t what it used to be; he’d forget what had been said the moment before.

Third Aunt said it was normal: “pregnancy brain” for three years—she’d been the same after birthing Lin Qiu and Lin Sui.

Wang Ying didn’t want to lose what he’d learned. Even if it had little use now, it might one day benefit the people.

He wasn’t adept at classical prose, so he wrote in plain language—starting with seeds.

He outlined seed structures in detail, with simple illustrations—sketched in charcoal on rough paper, then carefully copied into the book with each part labeled.

He then wrote: “Wheat seeds belong to semi-winter cultivars, mid-early maturity; the seedlings stand upright, leaves broad and lanceolate…”

It was a vast undertaking; it would take half a year to capture the agronomic knowledge.

It was late into the night when Wang Ying finally set his brush down. He rubbed his sore shoulders, blew out the lamp, and went to bed.

—

At daybreak the next morning, the three were called up.

Master Liang would take them to the academy.

The afternoon before, Liang An had taken them to buy necessities: wooden basins for washing faces, wooden clogs for the bath, pig-bristle toothbrushes, and cloth face towels.

On the road, the master repeated instructions. “Once at the academy, heed your teachers and get along with classmates—no quarrels. If someone bullies you, do not fear. The dean is a disciple of Cai Tingjun, who is my dear friend. Should anything arise, we won’t be at a disadvantage.”

“Yes, sir.” They nodded.

“If there’s anything you don’t understand in your studies, ask. Those old pedants may not be more talented than I—but in matters of the exam, they are a notch stronger. Don’t waste this chance.”

“Understood.”

Still uneasy, he patted Qingsong’s head. “The academy rests two days every ten. On rest days, I’ll have Liang An fetch you home, and I’ll cook something good.”

Qingsong’s eyes reddened. He nuzzled the master’s hand. His father had died when he was six—he could scarcely remember his face.

With Master Liang, he felt a long-lost father’s love.

—

Footnotes:

• Gua sha and acupuncture were common traditional therapies used to reduce fever and relieve symptoms. 
• Simǎ County (驷马县) is a county name within the story’s setting; relay stations and county clinics reflect typical administrative and medical waypoints of the time. 
• Crab roe buns (蟹黄包) and flounder are coastal delicacies; their costliness in the period reflects scarce sea catches and laborious preparation.