ITIEQ C67

Chapter 67 – Born with a Sacred Body for Finance

Du Guangzong’s heart was brimming with ten-thousand suspicions of fraud. True, he hadn’t read much, yet even going three generations up, his family had never really produced any scholarly polymath. Still, the House of Du was large and prosperous, with wealth inexhaustible! He couldn’t understand it—his father had thought he was too comfortable idling at home, and instead of letting him enjoy life, had forced him into this academy!

And now, look at the result: he had been coerced into recognizing two bumpkins as his “parents”—utterly humiliating!

While Du Guangzong grumbled inwardly, one of the bumpkins spoke up:

“Our academy, aside from the particularities you’ve already seen, still has one most unique and defining feature.”

Du Guangzong thought miserably: I cannot bear any more of this so-called “unique torment”… But then Liu Weiwei added with a smile:

“That is the system of Majors. Apart from the compulsory courses for everyone, each student must choose his own specialized direction.”

Majors? What nonsense was that supposed to be?

His newly assigned “Academic Mother,” Liu Han, smiled gently and explained:

“Each craft has its own mastery.”

His “Academic Father,” Zhang Jilian, added seamlessly:

“And that mastery is what we call a Major.”

His face remained as blank as a fog. To be honest—he hadn’t understood a thing.

By contrast, another young heir nearby understood somewhat. Still… until now, academies had always existed simply to teach scions of noble houses cultivation of virtue. Later their function became even more practical—the exams, the official route to court. Students read the writings of sages, the words of ancient masters. Never had anyone heard of such things as “specializations”…

Liu Han smiled with a touch of mystery. “You’ll know soon enough.”

They walked down a long corridor, lined with makeshift tents. Once they appeared, heads poked out from within—each person holding stacks of thick pamphlets at hand. As the group walked, a buzz of hawking broke out from both sides.

“New students! The new students are here!”

Compared to the other Qingbei students in blue-white robes, these ones wore bright red armbands and exuded overbearing enthusiasm.

They were older students drafted into the Admissions Team; each carried their own recruitment quota KPI.

“Junior brother! Join our Civil Engineering Major. Great Yong is practically a paradise for construction these days—work three-hundred sixty days a year, no worry about employability! Deep experience, high benefits—choose now, reap forever!”

“Bah! Rubbish! Come to our Metallurgy Major! Nothing today can do without basic materials. Agriculture, military, and construction—all need metallurgy! That’s where the greatest growth lies!”

“Tch. All digging in dirt and mines—where’s the joy? Come to Medicine! Save lives, heal the sick, enjoy high social status and deep fulfillment. Medicine is the true profession of life!”

Du Guangzong: ???

Liu Han smiled: “You must select carefully. The teachers say—the path you choose now will shape your future employment.”

Though he still hadn’t grasped the whole concept, one thing was clear: he was being asked to pick. Civil engineering? Metallurgy? Bah—those sounded like low, sweaty trades. He wavered endlessly. Seeing this, Liu Han and Zhang Jilian exchanged a covert glance, then slowed by the very last tent, loudly clearing their throats.

Inside, a red-armbanded girl snapped awake from her nap. Her gaze instantly caught upon Du Guangzong’s silver robe embroidered with golden thread, and in her eyes burst a gleam so bright it was as though she meant to tear the garment straight off him.

She leapt up, advanced aggressively. Du Guangzong sensed danger, took a step back, but she was already face to face.

“Look at that bearing! A student like you—why, you belong in our Business School! Master the very flow of the realm’s economy. Learn through simulated trading, case studies, project practice. By graduation, you’ll hold ample real-world experience, guaranteed internships, and exclusively receive our imported, gold-trimmed academy uniform—the hallmark of our Finance Major. Isn’t it splendid?”

Liu Han and Zhang Jilian both nodded vigorously, glancing back just in time to see Du Guangzong halt in his tracks.

Pleased by the praise, Du Guangzong’s spirits swelled. “Finance…?”

Yes—the word rang smoothly in his ear, much better than dirt and ore!

“You likely don’t know, Junior,” the admissions girl smiled on, “if you came in through the normal process, our Major has the priciest tuition in the academy. So think of it this way: your admission here makes this the best value for money!”

Of course, though privileged by a Special Quota, he had already donated an entire building at no light cost.

The more expensive it was, the better it must be! Reason affirmed it.

Du Guangzong tapped a finger on the offered pamphlet. His choice was made.

“Excellent! Let us register you.” The recruiter instantly leapt to record the name. “Fair and just, nothing hidden!”

The newly founded Finance program indeed was a prestigious existence—not only lowering entry thresholds, boasting custom uniforms and innovative teaching models, but also linking directly with corporate projects in Qiuquan. The first true school-enterprise joint venture. The only cost of that prestige: endless top-ups of coin.

The girl placed down her charcoal stylus, smile unabated. All other information gaps—the freshmen themselves would eventually discover.

…

Evening light lingered over the Dan Cloud River, reflecting like vermilion silk upon the waters.

Zhao Chuke awoke rubbing his dazzled eyes.

He had dozed upon a small drifting boat all the way downriver. Awake he admired mountains, reclining he listened to bubbling water. When his rations of pastries ran out, he went ashore to buy food. So repeating, half a month passed, and his purses were drained clean.

Now he stared at the crimson light and listened to his belly grumble, only to find an empty pouch at his waist. In one motion, he leapt to shore—he must find some work at once.

He had written several teaching compilations and treatises; with some small reputation, many called him a “minor master.” Finding work should not be difficult. But coin-making required finesse.

First, look for a wealthy household: as the saying goes, “a hair plucked off a magnate’s leg is thicker than a poor man’s waist.”

Second, examine character: stingy, miserly clients might cheat and delay payment—not worth the effort.

Lastly, choose tasks wisely: never teach the immoral, never waste labor on the hopelessly stupid, never bow to those he despised.

Filtering thus, it was no easy job finding work that was quick to profit and true to his own will.

Fastening his boat, he tied up his hair with a stick and noticed a barefoot boy staring at him. Following the thought, he asked:

“Child, tell me—where is there such a place both wealthy and reputable?” Reputation meant such clients cared greatly for prestige—if even a street urchin could name them, then they surely were solid.

Yu Sheng happened to be carrying lunch for his father when he saw this odd stranger step off a boat. At once asked about the question of “wealthy and well-known households,” he pointed brightly:

“Southward, five li—the Qingbai Academy.” His father spoke of it daily, “Academy this, Academy that,” till his ears grew calloused.

“Qingbai Academy?” He hadn’t heard of it.

But no matter—academies always had money, and prized scholars like him. Perfect fit.

He spoke words of thanks, then walked straight toward it.

The gate stood high and sealed, extraordinary in splendor. Several passersby whispered nearby: just days ago, carriages jammed the street, wealthy scions of almost all Great Yong swept inward. Zhao Chuke frowned; this was exactly the sort of ostentation he loathed. Yet noting the plaque properly, he laughed amused:

“Qingbai? Truly not pure at all. But if there is profit here, Zhao Chuke will take his bite.”

He rolled up his sleeves and knocked.

“Eh—hey you! What’re you doing there?”

Evening bells tolled. Old Attendant Zhang poked out from the guard kiosk. Usually, the gates were wide open, but these days things were different—the students inside were enduring military training. Many a youth, unable to bear hardship, had tried sneaking away. It was only thanks to Zhang and the elder guards’ vigilance that none had escaped. Lord Shen had praised them, promising end-of-year bonuses. Thus Old Zhang stood straighter, eyes sharper, pride swelling as he guarded.

Zhao Chuke bowed gracefully. “I am Zhao Chuke, author of the Treatise on Clarifying Learning and Inquiry into Yong Learning. My name is not unknown. I hope to serve as a teacher here.”

“A teacher?” Old Zhang’s ears pricked sharp. His own son was preparing day and night for the same teacher qualification exam—wife brewing tonic soups to strengthen him. Their whole family hoped he might win such a post.

And here arrived a rival?

His eyes narrowed. “Well… tell me, have you got your Teaching Certificate?”

“Teaching Certificate?” Zhao Chuke frowned—what was that?

At once Zhang relaxed. No certificate. Threat diminished. Proudly, he declared:

“You wish to teach here, yet don’t even know of the Teacher Qualification? Of course there is an exam! Without it, no academy will hire you!” It so happened he had learned this from his son’s endless practice chants. How grand it felt to wield cultural superiority at last!

“A qualification? To be a teacher? Even an exam?” Zhao Chuke looked down at himself—did he not look qualified enough already?

Zhang, boisterous with intoxication of pride, continued:

“Think of it! Just because one knows study, does it mean he can teach? Not at all! To regulate teachers—yes, that’s it—we require certificates!”

Hmph. It did sound reasonable. After all, not everyone in the world deserved the honor of Master.

Zhao Chuke thus began to observe the academy anew. A place where even a gateman thought thus? Perhaps something extraordinary indeed lay within.

He wished to enter at once—but Zhang the gatekeeper barred him with utmost certainty. The more denied, the stronger his desire grew. Hours passed till the red faded, the moon climbed high—still no chance.

Angry now—at the mansions of the Five Clans, his name always won deference and invitations as guest. How dare he be stonewalled here?

But with nowhere else to go, and no coin in pocket, he simply stripped off his outer robe and slept by the doorway.

Surely this Academy would not remain shut forever!

…

A few days later, Du Guangzong, beneath Danyang prefecture’s sweltering summer, completed the so-called “Military Training.” His tender flesh was charred black—so much so that his parents themselves might not recognize him.

Always idle and pampered, he was forced to circle courtyards, march endlessly, swing left and right. Led by veteran soldiers harsh as warlords, he was near half-dead. Word spread—that some had tried to run by night; caught, their whole unit punished. His thoughts of escape melted away.

Days of exhaustion scrubbed off his arrogance. Where once he feared neighbors in the dorm might disturb his sleep, in fact he collapsed into the deepest slumber of his life!

The hardships of physical toil were bearable. What stung his pride most was this: in every place of old, he had been first, shining, superior. But here—in this infernal academy—even his gold-embroidered uniform became a curse. Walk anywhere, and whispers followed.

Unable to endure silently, he finally seized someone whispering and interrogated them. That person laughed nervously, saying: “I’m from another campus. Never seen such clothing before. It looks… rather fine.”

Du believed only half. At last turned to his “Academic Mother and Father.” Unlike others, they did not deceive him: they explained fully.

The truth: most students in Finance were recruited through “Special Admission.” Everyone knew it. Such students were those admitted through lowered standards, quotas bought by donations. A rough analogy—other Majors were legitimate heirs, orthodox children, while Finance was the fostered illegitimate child.

Illegitimate… child.

Du’s expression visibly split.

Yes, Finance was called a “Blue Ocean” sector. But Blue Sea meant unexplored territory: rich with potential, but also unmapped, unfathomed. The first crab-eater might be lauded courageous. Yet why gnaw a crab when whole banquets of delicacies already stood ready and certain?

“But that thinking is not right!” Liu Han wagged her finger. “Dean Shen says—every Major was opened with careful thought. You’re the first cohort; to reverse bad impressions depends on you all!” She winked at him, though he was frozen like stone.

So—the uniform he thought just uniquely splendid truly was unique for a reason.

Sheer, naked discrimination.

From the moment he had entered, with promises splattering like golden rain—it was all a scam!

Fury seared him, but there was nowhere to vent. Day after day, parents replaced, punished like a dog, errands run for seniors, beaten out of all fire. Now all he could do was stand in silent bitterness.

Had he traveled all this way only to endure such humiliation?

A thought clicked vaguely in his mind: ah, such a thing existed—the Abyss-Major. A “Heaven-pit Major.”

“Tian-keng Major?” Shen Qinghe rolled lazily over. He had dragged the beauty-couch into the courtyard, reclining beneath the noon blaze, hair streaming like dark seaweed. He had grown taller, body stretched like pear blossom in bloom. One hand shielding his eyes, he conversed with the System.

“No, no, no!” the System objected sharply. “At this time, manpower is scarce! No resources would be wasted opening dead-end specialties. Instead only talents that are immediately applicable.”

“Immediately applicable?” Shen Qinghe feigned hurt. “You think I admit these rich brats just to milk tuition?” He clasped his chest in mock agony.

The System snorted.

“Yet even rich heirs have their uses,” Shen Qinghe continued slyly. “Haven’t you heard the saying? ‘If your family has no elders, keep away from Finance.’ These heirs of wealthy houses—they are born Sacred Bodies of Finance. Perfect candidates for this Major.”

Even in his own era, financial interests lay under strict feudal rule. All the more so in a fundamentally feudal age. Craftsmen guarded their secrets jealously; merchants even more so guarded their trade networks. Even if the heirs themselves were useless, they at least had years of drinking, feasting, socializing behind them. Closing deals over wine? Negotiating clients? Once he captured these second-generation heirs, in time, the locked commerce of thirteen provinces would unfold before him.

He remembered—when the Emperor had stormed Wei Manor with the Dragon Cavalry to save him, and then returned to the capital. The entire court had risen in protest, memorials filling the throne-room to the rafters.

The realm boiled—and even a monarch had to appease.

Shen Qinghe closed his eyes, letting the blazing sun scorch his pale skin.

Money—once he had enough—meant new campuses. Once Qingbei bloomed across the provinces, once its brand name echoed in every common household—then his final goal would be close at hand.

He patted the rosewood couch. “Only with the Princess of Pingxiang’s investment do we live so well today. But one family’s funds aren’t bottomless. We must stand on our own.”

The System caught on. “So—you want these heirs to serve you? And you still demand they donate buildings?”

“Ha! People are like this. What is too easily gained is discarded like trash. Only what they strive for themselves is cherished. Whether they can win the honor of ‘Qingbei Alumni’—that’s their affair.”

The youth turned, hair veiling his face but eyes flashing with cold steel.

“If I wish to win, I must seize every ounce of strength. What others refuse, I will claim. What they despise, I will strip away.”

“If they see me as an ant, so be it. But even an ant colony can collapse the dike of a thousand li—crumbled from an ant’s nest.”*

Footnotes:

• Academic Mother / Academic Father (学母 / 学父) – In ancient-style academies (as adapted here), incoming students were assigned older-student mentors, called their “academic parents.” This is reimagined as part of the academy system. 
• Special Admission (特招) – Admission outside normal exams, often through donations or lowered criteria. In Imperial exam metaphors, this equals “buying one’s way in.” 
• Blue Ocean (蓝海) – A modern business term: “markets full of potential yet unexplored, without rivals.” Here transplanted into the feudal setting. 
• “Heaven-pit Major” (天坑专业) – Popular slang in contemporary Chinese higher education, meaning a “trap major”: sounds promising at first, but brings terrible prospects, a bottomless pit. 
• “If your family has no elders, stay away from Finance” (家里无人，别碰金融) – Contemporary proverb: success in finance depends on deep family connections and capital networks; rich heirs have innate advantages. 
• “A dike of a thousand li falls from the ant’s nest” (千里之堤，毁于蚁穴) – Classical Chinese idiom, meaning even the greatest things fall to minute causes. Shen Qinghe here appropriates it, turning himself into the “ant.”