ITIEQ C66

Chapter 66 – Branch Campus Admissions Begin

At first light, with dawn just brushing the sky, fishermen at the new harbor hauled in their nets again and again; because of the constant disturbance from boats coming and going, last night’s sleep had been uneasy and today’s catch was poor, barely a few large fish to be seen. Fish‑Sheng leapt down from his father’s boat and, by the newborn light piercing the cloud‑cover, looked toward the county gate: an unending line of carts and horses already filled the entire river embankment, and boat after passenger boat was still landing. He scratched his sparse hair; the little vest on his torso fluttered in the wind. Turning to ask his father: “What festival is it today—why are there so many outsiders coming into the county?”

Osmanthus trees by the shore had already borne pale blossoms—could it be the Eighth‑Month Festival had arrived?! Fish‑Sheng remembered that last year on the Eighth‑Month Festival he watched fire‑dragon dances all night, and even stole a sip of the sacrificial osmanthus wine—his father chased him down the street to beat him.

“What Eighth‑Month Festival.” Old Fish tightened in the nets and also lifted his head to glance at the endless caravan. “They’re all going to study. Isn’t there a new academy being built to the south since last year? They’re all heading there!”

“Academy?” Fish‑Sheng didn’t know what an academy was for, but he’d heard aunties and uncles in the lanes say that those who came out of academies could later become officials. Everyone wants to be a grand official with prestige; Fish‑Sheng did not. He wanted to catch the biggest fish in the world, hang it at the door, and tell everyone who passed that he, Fish‑Sheng, had caught it—that too was something gloriously prestigious.

Old Fish took one look and knew what this good‑for‑nothing fool of a boy was thinking. Barefoot, he came ashore and squatted to watch the long line. A cousin of Widow Chen, who ran errands at the yamen, had said that this academy didn’t just enroll high officials’ sons—it also took ordinary folk like them. Fish‑Sheng had been found by the riverbank and taken in; next year he would turn seven. Old Fish treated him like his own son. Should Fish‑Sheng be made to live as he had—living by the water, forever hungry one meal and full the next, ending up a lifelong bachelor? Even if he couldn’t become an official by studying, learning a few characters and doing copywork would beat waking and plunging into black water with no prospects!

Old Fish gritted his teeth and stomped his foot, deciding instantly: if there was a chance, he would sell pot and pan to send Fish‑Sheng in. Er—what was this academy called again?

Something like… Qingbai Academy?

Old Fish smacked his lips; the name hit him right in the heart. He didn’t ask for great wealth and rank—he only hoped Fish‑Sheng would be a clean, upright good lad someday.

…

At a quarter past the hour of Chen, beneath the eight bold characters “Qingbei Academy – Pingyun Branch,” amid the crowds craning their necks with expectation, the main gates slowly pushed inward from within.

Xu Lesheng and Lang Xinyue had previously traveled with Zhao Jinshan to Jiaozhou, where they sold a good amount of Qingbei‑made goods; with fresh, eye‑opening products and modest prices, sales channels opened quickly. Zhao Jinshan had been half‑skeptical at first, but real silver came in for real—often halfway along the road, the cart would already be cleaned out. Now he wished he could send letters to Shen Qinghe every three days, even bragging that he would contract all of Qiuquan’s goods.

Naturally, Shen Qinghe did not agree. A single‑handed monopoly was not his goal. After several successful trade fairs across multiple prefectures, he held quite a few merchant resources. These itinerant traders were living billboards, pushing products bearing the “Qingbei” mark across the thirteen provinces—thus making the name “Qingbei‑made” ring throughout the land. The situation had reversed; from being chosen to holding the power to choose, he could also sift their character and conduct, select a few for long‑term cooperation as his distributors.

The two students also returned with ample gains; as if competing to out‑hustle each other, their assigned internship reports came in at three full volumes. Xu Lesheng was already a smooth operator, and mercantile work fit him to the core; the biggest change, however, was in the formerly quiet Lang Xinyue—he could now manage a few glib lines with any stranger. Born in humble circumstances, he was more willing than anyone to gamble hard at a negotiating table; with his slightly dangerously androgynous looks that disoriented others, and a push‑pull patter, his closing rate even exceeded Xu Lesheng’s, drawing tutting admiration.

Since Shen Qinghe was riding one donkey while seeking a horse—wavering—Zhao Jinshan was displeased. The black‑haired youth offered a stabilizing workaround: he granted a few special‑admit quotas at the academy. This was also why the roads and rivers outside were so crowded—several of the major academies prided themselves on being “pure streams,” unwilling to mix scions of great houses with “lowly” merchants, but Shen Qinghe—he didn’t care!

Beyond necessary local students, there were seats reserved for the Pingyun Prefecture Princess’s household; the remaining spots were open to the general populace—so long as they were willing to “contribute” to the school, they could be admitted by exception!

Enrollment was enrollment, and investment was also enrollment; one student meant one building, and a few more would even fund a brand‑new indoor gymnasium. Shen Qinghe was, of course, delighted; even Xiao Yuxi, upon hearing, was speechless, remarking that he had turned opening an academy into running a business—throwing the doors open wide to anyone, worse than a profiteer.

Shen Qinghe only smiled and said: “Not so, not so—that’s called education without class distinctions: regardless of birth, if one has the will, one may study here.”

Xiao Yuxi rolled her eyes and spat at his hypocrisy.

Thus—the reason for the jam of carts and boats: these students from merchant families were slated for the third opening cohort. You Luo and Lang Xinyue, as excellent graduates, were assigned to remain and do the grunt work, “contributing” to the new campus, tasked with admissions.

If scions of lineage were peacocks with raised tails—proud yet still mindful of station—then these wealthy heirs admitted by donating buildings were truly steeped in money jars. If they were newly rich, coddled countless times over, not even a speck of oil would mar their skins; if they didn’t study, they didn’t. Families who knew a little sense, unable to get their sons into usual academies, would invite private tutors to teach at home. Yet these young masters came from households dominating their regions—enough to let them swagger with impunity. Lacking nothing, wanting nothing, every desire easily met; at home they were not pressed to succeed in the examinations—as long as they behaved and caused no major trouble. A book might be gulped down whole, while a frivolous heart was cultivated to perfection.

Qingbei Academy had begun publicity half a year earlier. These far‑ranging, well‑informed merchants were the first to hear—an academy recruiting without asking origin, only asking for a donated building, and seemingly backed by the Five Surnames? Excellent! Money was what they had most. In a flurry, they registered, sending both eldest and youngest sons en masse!

This led to a third cohort of mixed quality; some had nothing but boundless wealth—and a body full of stinking bad habits.

Lang Xinyue frowned, recognizing the severity of the problem.

He had crossed paths with such rich heirs in the capital; with lineage behind them they were already dirty—how much worse would these brazen ones be! None of them any good. To make them obey and follow the academy’s rules would take no small effort.

You Luo bared his teeth in a grin; he knew these brats’ bad roots too. Polite phrasing called it “calves unafraid of tigers,” but bluntly, they were arrogant, ignorant of heaven’s height and earth’s depth. Just look at this procession—their entourage surged forward, as if wishing to bring every houseboy and maid to wait upon them. No wonder other academies wouldn’t accept them.

“No vehicles past this point—park at the outer lot! Only one attendant allowed! Even if you’ve laid bedding, clear it all out!”

His shout stirred the crowd. A young master in gold‑embroidered robes lifted his curtain and bellowed: “Mind your tongue! I donated a building! What if I bring a few people in?!”

Arms folded, You Luo replied: “Who in this line hasn’t donated a building? Pack up sooner and you’ll get in sooner to choose your bunks. Four‑person dorms are few; once they’re gone, only six‑ and eight‑person rooms will remain.”

What! Four to a room—and live with others?!

No—judging by his words, four‑person rooms were the better option—there were even six‑ and eight‑person rooms!

Most had had a private courtyard from swaddling days, with four or five wet nurses feeding and tending them at the bedside—when had they ever suffered the “indignity” of sleeping with others!

Intolerable!

“Damn you—we donated so much to build your halls and we still have to live in four‑person rooms! Worse than a profiteer!”

A few, fuming, turned to leave. Coolly, You Luo added: “You can go; tuition is non‑refundable. Might even free up a few four‑person rooms for others. Farewell.”

Those already signaling their drivers to turn around glared at one another. Though they were not short on money, the tuition was no small sum; to toss it away without even a sound—no matter how profligate they usually were, that hurt.

Not all among them were empty wastrels—some were clear‑headed. They had money, but lacked avenues upward. Though coin could buy playtime with aristocratic sons, they knew better than anyone how solid Great Yong’s class walls were. The present Emperor did not permit the buying and selling of offices—if caught, heads would roll. The examinations were a lost hope; entering an academy to “gild their edges” might let them learn some of the Five Surnames’ accumulated family learning. This was one of the few paths remaining upward.

Thinking thus—the notion of sharing a room, not a bed—suddenly seemed endurable.

Resolved, they signaled their servants to pack; choosing only one attendant, they approached. The golden‑robed boy, miffed to see “defectors,” pointed at one entering student and cursed: “Whose brat are you! Name yourself! How can you be so spineless!”

Outside the academy gates, he could curse all he liked—You Luo had no jurisdiction. With great “backbone,” the gold‑robed boy watched one after another step over the threshold, fury to shame, neck stiffening. Seeing more and more go in, he realized he would be the odd one out. Stamping his foot, he jumped from his carriage, took the bundle from his servant, and hurried inside.

You Luo murmured aside to Lang Xinyue: “Eh—how did they just go right in? Our plants haven’t even gone on stage. What a waste of arrangement.”

Lang Xinyue’s frown deepened. He held grudges—these fellows were strangers to him, yet he would log their names together in his mental ledger.

Clapping him on the shoulder, You Luo gazed meaningfully at the bevy of silk‑robed sons. “Don’t fret. Don’t forget who our teacher is. Ten generations stacked together can’t match the shocks of a few years with him. However rotten these brats are, can they overturn the sky he holds up?”

Lang Xinyue quelled his disgust, but still trusted his teacher’s judgment—blindly, almost. Since he arranged it thus, there must be reason.

“Besides, the teacher said—in school we are seniors; juniors must respect seniors. Whatever they do outside—in here, hm‑hm…”

The two exchanged a look, each seeing the other’s wicked glint.

Du Guangzong crossed the threshold. The walls here were unusually high—what was this, a prison? Only after entering could one tell there was a world within worlds.

He finally saw where the dean had spent their funds. Unlike the low houses outside, these buildings towered, built like stout keeps—some like inns, standing in great blocks—hardly what one expected of a place of study.

He recalled a rumor: this had once been the site of White Lotus Monastery, later seized by the court and converted into an academy. Du Guangzong’s heart thumped—had his father been conned?

As he gaped, a youth in white with dark‑blue trim, collar oddly turned down, waved him over to sign and register, then pointed off into the distance. “From now on, those will be your study father and mother.”

Du Guangzong cried out in shock: “Father—mother?!” He seized upon the words and raked his eyes over the pair indicated—one man, one woman; their complexions not exactly fair, and when they smiled, only white teeth were visible. Their attire was neat, but the rustic air could not be hidden from head to toe.

He opened his mouth to rant: “Your academy has nerve! Do you know who my father is—Du Xianzong, Jiangnan’s most prominent cloth merchant! And what are you—two country bumpkins—thinking to be my father and mother!”

The blue‑trimmed student gave him a glance. The earlier freshmen had also shown odd looks upon hearing they must “recognize study parents,” but none went off like this lit firecracker.

The pair labeled “bumpkins” showed neither anger nor embarrassment at the offense; still smiling, they drew a paper from their sleeves and lowered their heads to scribble a few notes.

Just then the next student came to register. The blue‑white‑clad youth clapped his hands. “Good—both sons are here.” He then introduced in a clear voice: “Our academy implements a ‘Senior Mentorship System.’ If ‘one day as teacher is a lifetime as father,’ then each year, upperclassmen ‘adopt’ a pair of freshmen. Beyond guiding you through early campus life like parents, they will also evaluate your—mm—overall status, including character. After all, we are a well‑rounded academy that prizes moral, intellectual, physical, aesthetic, and labor development.” Twirling his pen, he added kindly, “If you fail to meet standards for an entire term, you’ll have to repeat this course.”

As for how to repeat—well, that was another story entirely. Suffice it to say it would not be pleasant.

At that moment, Du Guangzong did not know what “repeat” entailed, but the subtle looks on faces told him it was no good. He widened his eyes; a thousand curses pressed at his throat; under their expectant gazes he gulped them all down.

He had never heard of such absurd regulations at any academy!

The youth smiled and opened his hands as if to say, “What can we do—that’s how our academy is,” and waved the two along before turning to assign “parents” for the next pair.

As for the pair labeled “bumpkins”—they were senior students transferred from Qiuquan. When they first received their mission, they had been nervous. Qiuquan was a small place; many had never set foot beyond it in their lives—let alone “raise” children so big! Some had never even held hands with the opposite sex!

On the road to Danyang Prefecture, they were still uneasy. But after a few days on site, their fear utterly vanished. This place was better than their native Qiuquan had been of old—but compared to the present Qiuquan, well… it was only so‑so!

There were no roaring mines, no steel tubes belching black clouds, no rows of spinning machines; beggars in rags still begged along the streets; bones of those starved in dark alleys… The Governor had vowed to rectify the county’s appearance; the widowed, orphaned, lonely, and weak all had some care, the elderly had support—far better than here! Perhaps Qiuquan’s transformation had been so swift that they realized the wider world was not so unreachable after all. It was all thanks to little Lord Shen.

And sizing up the richly dressed freshmen—once, they’d only have seen “rich family’s sons,” and if met on the road would lower their heads and stare at their own toes. But times had changed. Now they could peel past the surface to see within—foul mouths, lacking basic civility; shifty steps, lacking vitality; no fighting spirit in their eyes, no passion for learning… In short—problems everywhere. They lacked something great within; lacking the irrigation of knowledge, their lives would remain incomplete!

The dean had said they must play the role of guides and inspectors. Since they were needed here, then even if their hearts fluttered, they must do the job beautifully!

As study father and mother, they would ensure the new students fully experienced the academy’s scholarly fervor!

Thus they set aside all earlier offenses, wearing smiles of warm classmate‑ly love at their lips.

Du Guangzong turned pale with shock. “Don’t come any closer!”

Footnotes:

1. “Education without class distinctions” (有教无类): A classical ideal from Confucian tradition meaning all should have access to education regardless of background. 
2. “Senior Mentorship System”/“study father and mother”: A satirical institutional practice here—upperclassmen assigned as guardians/mentors responsible for new students’ orientation and character evaluation, echoing the proverb “one day as teacher, a lifetime as father,” extended into a quasi‑familial academic structure. 
3. “Eighth‑Month Festival” and “fire‑dragon”: References to local folk festivals common in various regions, especially around the Mid‑Autumn period, involving dragon dances and offerings such as osmanthus wine. 
4. “Dragon‑Rampart Camp” (龙骧营): A military unit name implying elite cavalry/infantry; exact historical equivalence may vary within the fictional setting.