WSMTATMC C128

Chapter 128

Wang Ying had not expected that, after so long, the court would still send a letter.

He did, in fact, have other methods to increase yields for various crops, but they required a slow, stepwise process of cultivation. He could not tell whether handing all this knowledge over now would be a blessing or a curse.

Seeing his hesitation, Master Liang spoke. “I have already replied on your behalf, declining. I said you only know how to grow wheat, and not other grains.”

“Master…”

“When a tree stands out in the forest, the wind will break it. Agriculture is the foundation of the state; if it falls under the control of common folk, it becomes a danger rather than a blessing. Understand: not everyone wishes the people to live in peace and plenty. Once you touch the interests of such men, there is no guarantee they won’t move to kill you.”

A chill ran through Wang Ying; he had not considered this angle. As Master Liang finished, gooseflesh rose over his arms.

“Fortunate that you refused for me—otherwise, truly, I wouldn’t have known what to do.”

The old are the shrewdest, and Master Liang—tempered by storms, a political thinker who had roamed far—had long since seen through the court’s ways. To protect Wang Ying and his disciple, he simply pushed the matter aside.

Master Liang continued, “There is no need to regret it. Qingyan has no official standing yet. Even if you presented your method now, credit would never fall to you. When Chen Qingyan is strong enough to stand alone, that will be the time for your knowledge to emerge—then it can genuinely benefit the people.”

“Grateful for Master’s guidance!” Wang Ying knelt and bowed, thanks from the depths of his heart.

“Up with you. I’m off to sleep—so long in a jolting carriage, my bones are nearly shaken loose. Qingyan and the boys just returned directly to the study—I left them assignments.”

“Yes, understood.”

After the old master left, Wang Ying wiped the cold sweat from his brow; his heart still thudded violently.

His thinking had been too simple. Leaning on a life’s worth of prior memory, he had looked down on the ancients—forgetting that a feudal order carries its own rules, above statute.

He recalled something from his schooling in his previous life—an anecdote from the Qing about “three taels to govern the people”: keep incomes slightly below subsistence so commoners must constantly labor for their daily bread, leaving no time or energy to resist the state.

There are times when the court does not wish the people to be too prosperous; obedience is enough…

Back in the bedroom, Wang Ying slipped into the experimental field and sorted through his manuscripts. This book would still be written—if not, he feared he might forget piece by piece. But once finished, he did not plan to offer it up yet; that could wait for a better moment.

He tidied the vegetables as well. Having sold one-fifth of stock today, there was still plenty left in the field; tomorrow he would bring more out to sell.

By the time he finished, it was late. Chen Qingyan and his two younger brothers had just returned. Seeing the carriage in the courtyard, they knew the master was back and hurried over to find him.

Wang Ying stopped them at once. “Master Liang just lay down. The journey exhausted him—don’t disturb him.”

The three halted and lowered their voices.

They had gone to the prefectural yamen to register for the exam. County results had already been sent with their scripts to Jizhou, so registration was smooth: present identity and household registration, and that was it.

As for guarantors, Liu Changyi had helped them find four in total—himself, his good friend Song Shian, and two older licentiates who often served as sponsors.

By custom, Chen Qingyan and Chen Qinghuai had to pay a fee, since guarantors bear risk: if either cheated, the sponsors would be implicated.

At the lightest, they’d lose court stipends and be barred from sponsoring further; at worst, they might be dragged into disqualification from future examinations.

Hence most young scholars avoid the role; older stipend-holders often take it to earn money.

Liu and Song refused payment; the two elder licentiates received five taels each as a guarantee fee and signed a contract: if implicated and barred from sponsoring, the Chens would pay them one hundred taels each and also compensate them at three pecks of grain per month (the court’s monthly ration for stipended students).

Registration complete, they now waited for the exam on the sixth day of the fourth month.

With half a month left, they would use the time to firm up past learning.

In the study, Master Liang had already set assignments, tailored to each brother’s weak points, with distinct review directions.

Here the advantage of a personal master was clear. At the academy, the tutors could teach, yes—but with dozens in a class, some things could not be attended to; it would come down to one’s own effort and aptitude.

They read late into the night before resting, then rose early to wait outside Master’s room for essay corrections.

Life returned to its old pattern: simple, full, and warm.

—

It was the third month; around Qingming the rains came steady, fine drizzle over three days.

Not heavy, yet not light—enough to soak through.

In the Liu courtyard, Master Liu was turning soil to plant flowers while two houseboys held umbrellas.

Soon Lady Liu came as well. “Cao Cao, did you find out what I asked you to?”

Since that day at the vegetable shop, she had kept thinking of Chen Qingyun. The girl was not only lovely but poised without a trace of small-mindedness—delightful to behold.

Add in the Chen brothers’ gentle manners, and her favorable view deepened. Back home, she pressed her husband to ask whether the girl was betrothed.

Master Liu wiped his hands. “Only learned that their family indeed has a daughter—name’s Chen Qingyun, two years younger than Yi’er.”

Joy flashed in Lady Liu’s eyes. “Has she been promised to anyone?”

“How would I know? Rather than have me ask, better let Yi’er himself sound it out—aren’t he and the Chen boys close?”

Qin Furong’s temper flared. At the sight of her husband’s dawdling, she snapped, “Marriage is no trifling game of words between youths—‘parents’ command and matchmakers’ speech!’ How could you have the child ask? Would that not make us seem to look down on their daughter? If the match fails, we turn friends into enemies!”

“Don’t be hasty…”

“How can I not be! The neighbor Ma’s boy is a year younger than Yi’er—and their child is already a month old. Our son hasn’t even a betrothal!”

“After the autumn exams, we can ask—no harm in waiting—”

“She may not be waiting! If she’s promised sooner, asking later is useless!”

Seeing his wife near to kindling, Master Liu relented. “Tomorrow—I’ll find out tomorrow.”

“That’s better.” Though most of her concern was for her son’s future, once matters were clear, she meant to pay a call and let the two young ones see each other.

As luck would have it, the very next day was a rest day, and Liu Changyi went to find the Chens to study.

Since he didn’t know their address, he first went to the vegetable shop to inquire.

The morning rain was heavy, easing just before noon. With an umbrella, he set out alone.

He searched along Zhengyang Street for half an hour before finding Wang’s Vegetable Shop. As he stepped in, a voice called out.

“Young sir—your book-satchel is coming undone at the back.”

He turned to find a maiden in pale green ruqun behind him—one hand holding an umbrella, the other a lunch box. She dipped him a small nod, then went straight into the shop.

By the time he came to, the rain had soaked one side of his body.

He quickly raised the umbrella and unfastened the satchel. The bottom was indeed loose—without her warning, the books would have spilled out.

He closed the umbrella and entered. The girl in green was counting coins; beside her, two gē’er sat eating.

“What vegetables are you after, sir?” Lin Sui rose from his meal to greet him.

Liu pulled his gaze back and stammered, “I—I’m here to find someone. Last time, Brother Qingyan said he didn’t know the lane’s name and told me to ask here…”

Wang Ying understood. “Your surname is Liu, yes?”

“Yes—Liu Changyi.”

“If you’re not in a hurry, my younger sister can take you when she goes back—on the way. Otherwise, I can’t describe the lane clearly either.”

“No hurry.” His eyes, however, flicked to Chen Qingyun.

Just then, she glanced his way—their eyes met—and Liu spun his head away, flustered, drawing a small smile from her.

When Wang Ying and Lin Sui finished, Qingyun packed the dishes into the lunch box and led Liu toward home.

The shop lay not far from their lane; a quarter-hour walk. The whole way, Liu trailed with head lowered, afraid to look up and seem forward—his eyes fixed only on the hem of that pale-green skirt.

“We’re here—just ahead.”

Qingyun stopped and knocked. Soon the porter opened.

“Young sir, please enter.”

Liu closed his umbrella and followed into a modest but serene courtyard. Flowers and grasses grew throughout; spring buds were bright, fresh green.

“Elder Brother, your classmate is here!” Qingyun called.

Qingsong ran over. “Brother Changyi—you came!”

“Brother Song.”

“Hurry in—Elder and Second Brother are working on exam papers.” For days, Master Liang had them tackling past prefectural exam sets—like a modern mock exam.

Inside, Master Liang sat reading, while Qingyan and Qinghuai bent over their scripts.

Liu bowed deeply. “Junior pays respects to Uncle Liang.”

Master glanced up. “Changyi—come, sit.”

Liu obeyed, untying his satchel and setting it on his knees, watching the two answer.

“It’s been half a year since we parted. How fares your master?”

“His health is steady—but the leg ailment worsens. On rainy days it pains him so much he cannot walk.”

Lu Zhongqi’s rheumatism was worse than Master Liang’s—an old chill from youth that showed itself with age.

“Good. When Wang Ying returns, I’ll have him draw the kang stove-bed design. Take it to Zhongqi and have him build one. It’s wonderfully comfortable to sleep on. We used one all winter at the estate, and the leg trouble never flared.”

Joy lit Liu’s face; he thanked the elder at once.

It would be a while before the two finished. Master Liang had Liu hand over his recent essays and poems for a look.

It was a rare chance. He hurried to draw them from his satchel and pass them over.

Soon, Qingyun entered with a pot of tea. Her eyes could not help but steal a glance at the young Lord Liu, intent on the lesson—without realizing, she stared, forgetting to set the pot down.

Not until Master Liang cleared his throat did she start. Color rushed into her cheeks; she set the pot down and fled in a hurry.

—

Footnotes

• “Tree standing out in the forest, wind will break it” (木秀于林风必摧之): A proverb warning that conspicuous talent invites attack. 
• “Three taels to govern the people”: A modern scholarly anecdote/interpretation about keeping subjects just above subsistence to reduce resistance, invoked here as the narrator’s prior-life lesson.