ITIEQ C41

Chapter 41 – Baizhang vs. Qingbei

The four walls were narrow, and it felt cramped even for them to simply stand inside. After finishing their meal, they did not linger long, but instead inquired about a nearby post station.

Originally, their plan had been to rest for a night, replenish their dry rations in the morning, and then continue along the endless span of the Lian-Cang mountains to seek out lands of spiritual abundance. But there was something unusual in this realm; even with nothing more than Old Man Sun’s words, the students of Baizhang Academy¹ were already thoroughly intrigued.

They were young people, after all. Even their teacher, Tan Ping, was just past thirty. However wealthy and high-born they might be, they had seen their share of worldly delights, yet never before encountered such oddities in a humble little place like this. Their curiosity was piqued—they wanted to probe further into this “Qingbei Academy,” enshrined with tablets, and discover exactly which “immortal” was stirring up such winds and storms in secret—

As for danger? None of them even considered it. After all, with such powerful family backgrounds behind them, they bore surnames well-known even far from home. It was precisely this lifelong conditioning that nurtured in them a fearless spirit, unafraid of even tigers.

Tan Ping booked the finest private rooms and carefully arranged his students inside. Then, catching sight of the inn server just stepping through the door, he pulled him aside for questions.

This was a major patron, so naturally the little waiter dared not show neglect: he answered every query freely. But the moment the guests asked about Qingbei Academy, the man froze—then quickly broke into a grin.

“You must be from out of town, right? Qingbei Academy is the most famous place in our whole prefecture! Every student who graduates from there becomes an official!”

“An official?”

Mundanity.

The students looked scornful. Though titles and reputation no longer came from traditional family evaluation but rather from essay compositions and state policy responses, it was no different in practice. For them, students of Baizhang Academy, becoming officials was an effort as light as turning the palm.

Yet serving in a powerless local office was tedious and dull. Better this kind of wilderness excursion, far more entertaining.

The crowd’s lofty manner did not escape the waiter’s eyes, but he made no attempt to explain further. He only added with pride:

“Our Prefectural Governor—Lord Shen—is a living immortal descended to earth. To merely spend a moment in his presence and breathe in his immortal aura, they say the line of hopefuls stretches on for dozens of miles.”

“Governor, Lord Shen?” Tan Ping pricked to the core of it.

“Yes indeed! Our Qiúquán² Prefect’s a living deity. He’s so busy his feet scarcely touch the ground—perhaps, if you visit the Academy, you might actually catch a glimpse of him.” The man’s back straightened subconsciously, his whole expression alight with pride. “Ordinary folk aren’t allowed inside the inner compound, but the outer courtyard is open enough. If you travelers are interested, you may take a look.”

“I heard even old men of seventy can study there?”

“Of course! Anyone you see here, so long as they’re registered as residents, will surely have spent time learning at Qingbei.”

The waiter pointed to himself: “I also must attend four days a week. If I fail the examinations, my monthly wage is docked compared to those who pass! Pity that I’m foolish—failed twice already—meanwhile my brother-in-law’s little brat is making better progress than me!”

“All of it is immortal learning—there’s no other place in the world that feels more dreamlike.”

The moment he touched on schooling, his conversation box flew wide open. But even as his chatter filled the air, a faint mocking laugh was suddenly heard from among the guests.

Once the server departed, and the door shut again, the students voiced their thoughts openly: “So, it seems that the mastermind behind this Qingbei Academy is none other than the Governor.”

Another student stroked his chin. “Initially I suspected obscure schemes. But clearly, we worried too much… This chicken-scratch academy really is desperate, it seems—not even selecting students by lineage or talent but enrolling any lowborn simpleton!”

“Exactly, only peasants trouble themselves with chickens and rabbits. But frogs in a well³—poor villagers with no vision. They may live their whole lives never blessed to glimpse the vast profundity of proper scholarship. Pitiful indeed. Teacher, I’d say there’s no need to linger here.”

Tan Ping privately agreed, his earlier interest cooling. He lifted the fresh tea that had just been set out, inhaled its aroma, and immediately set it down with a frown.

“Since we’ve come this far, and since this place dares call itself an Academy, it would do no harm to exchange insight. Tomorrow we’ll have a look, then continue on our way, so as not to miss the unrivaled scenery of the Lian-Cang peaks.”

No objection was raised—his words were final.

Early next morning they hired a carriage and went at last to see the much-whispered Qingbei Academy.

“This little place isn’t nearly the desolate wilderness I expected.”

More than that—it was no wilderness at all. A flat road smooth enough that the wheels scarcely jolted. Rows of neatly aligned buildings. Townsfolk clad cleanly and properly. Compared with the customs of their own prosperous prefectures, there was little difference—it was a picture of peaceful life and contentment.

Not at all what one would think of as a remote border prefecture.

Even Tan Ping was surprised. He had harbored prejudices against this Governor, but now he felt a glimmer of respect. No wonder the locals praised him to the skies—there was substance there.

But as he stepped off the ox-cart, his eyes were caught immediately by the large plaque hanging above the main gate.

“Decent calligraphy,” he murmured, staring for quite a while, recognizing a faintly familiar touch. Inwardly he wondered—could this be the hand of a renowned master?

Two guards stood before the gate. Seeing the strangers stepping forward to enter, they instantly barred the way.

“The teacher already said—no entry without wearing Academy uniforms.”

Their tender complexion and refined airs clearly marked them as no mere laborers or craftsmen. If they belonged here, the guards would have known their faces.

Certain they were outsiders, the guards spoke curtly: “Off with you! Outsiders forbidden within! Do not loiter and disturb the students’ study!”

The Five-County Joint Examinations⁴ loomed near, and pressure bore heavily on every household. Whose child wasn’t a student at the Academy? Naturally, the guards had little patience.

The students flushed with humiliation at being shoved away, but Tan Ping stopped them.

“We come from Baizhang Academy,” he said calmly. “Hearing that Qiúquán houses an Academy as well, we have come to seek instruction.”

Baizhang Academy—one of the famed Four Academies of Great Yong⁵! No scholar in the empire would fail to know it by name.

His students straightened proudly, awaiting the inevitable apology when these ignorant guards recognized their error.

“Baizhang?” The guards blinked at one another.

“Where’s that?”

“I’ve no idea. Think it compares to Qingbei?”

“Of course not!”

The two swung back, faces stern: “Idle rabble! Move along now, or we won’t be polite!”

Outrage! They had descended in good grace to entertain such a farcical Qingbei, only to be barred from the gates like vagabonds—and by mere guards! A disgrace beyond endurance.

“You dare! Such insolence from mere sentries—send for someone in authority at once!”

The guards, unaccustomed to such attitudes, held their ground. Their duty was to protect the gates, and no private grievances would sway them. Spying a teacher emerging from within, they eagerly waved him over.

“Here! They claim to be from some Baizhang Academy.”

The one called over was Gao Rong. Lately, with Zhao Jinshan opening a trade route, Xu Lesheng and Lang Xinyue had departed for Jiaozhou, leaving him and a handful of fellow instructors to shoulder heavier duties within the Academy.

He regarded the strangers briefly—recognizing that aura of cultivated pride.

His eyes shifted.

So—they were no impostors after all.

“And what business do you have here?” Gao Rong asked with a veneer of courtesy.

At last, recognition! The students smirked triumphantly at the guards.

Tan Ping explained their purpose once again. Gao Rong hesitated only briefly, his expression unreadable.

“Are we… unwelcome then?” Tan Ping finally asked.

A fleeting smile curved Gao Rong’s lips, the twist of cold satire.

“Only because we’ve never had such ‘guests’ before,” he said. Then quietly to the guards: “Log their visit in the guest registry.”

“Our, our—this Qingbei Academy has stricter gates than even a Prefectural Office!” the students grumbled. Born to noble houses, rarely had they encountered such affronts. And Gao Rong, with his plainly simple attire, they eyed with no respect at all.

“Indeed, our Academy is bound by many rules,” Gao Rong replied coolly. “If you wish to leave, none will hinder you.”

“Enough,” Tan Ping silenced them. “It was our misstep—coming without formal letters of introduction.”

Since they had come so far, to leave now would mean swallowing humiliation for nothing. Bitterly, the students restrained themselves, muttering only inwardly against this pettiness.

As they entered, a towering ancient tree greeted them within the courtyard, shading a wide expanse beneath.

Beyond, the view suddenly opened—broad and spacious.

But they had scant time to take in the scene before a troop of young men and women dashed past in unison—their sleeves and hems cut short, arms and legs bare to the sun. The leader, broad-shouldered and wearing a red armband, saluted Gao Rong before continuing his run.

Every one of them wore the same attire, the same insignia stitched at their chests.

“This—this attire! How indecent! What loss of propriety!”

“This is our Academy’s uniform. The summer variation,” Gao Rong replied, sparing them hardly a glance.

At first, these uniforms had met with resistance. Boldly designed, they were unlike anything in traditional academies. But with physical training newly added to student assessments—and countless fainting from heatstroke during summer drills—the Academy decreed it mandatory.

For those long used to sharing one pair of trousers among siblings, free, durable, and well-made uniforms were an undeniable boon.

But for the Baizhang delegation, the sight was nothing short of shocking.

Overhead, the midday sun blazed. On the ground below, runners’ arms bronzed with healthy wheat hues. Simple peasants, clearly—yet unlike the bent, earthbound poor they were accustomed to. These young faces brimmed with vitality, bristling with an energy born only of honest soil.

By the nine-rank hierarchy of man⁶, family prestige was paramount, followed by appearance and talent. By such standards, these Qingbei students fell utterly below the scale.

And to teach the low-born? A waste of effort universally acknowledged, not needing to be said aloud.

Baizhang teachers were all wise patriarchs, scholars of Heaven’s decrees. How could they compare to this shoddy makeshift band, with no ancestral shrine, no honored teachers’ tablets?

The truest phrase was a “grass-stage troupe”⁷.

Gao Rong read the contempt in their eyes and inwardly sneered. From the mountain heights once thought unattainable, the Four Academies now revealed themselves plainly enough.

Nothing more.

Tan Ping cleared his throat. In truth, he had not forgotten the shame at the gate. Were word to spread among their peers, he would be the butt of laughter! Here was his chance—to uphold Baizhang’s name, and make this rabble remember.

“You wish a debate of philosophy?” Gao Rong asked, truly surprised, raising his brows.

“I may teach landscapes,” Tan Ping said humbly, “but I have studied in Baizhang for over a decade. I would sincerely match skills with your Academy.”

Among scholars, lun dao⁸ had long been the noblest custom—vying through debate to determine depth of understanding. To lose was no trivial matter: it meant acknowledging one’s fault, misleading students, destroying reputations. To be defeated publicly was to accept ridicule for years to follow.

But with great masters overseeing true academies, chances of loss were slim. Tan Ping dared challenge here only because he presumed this tiny Academy had no such strength—soft persimmons were easiest pinched.

“Very well,” Gao Rong now smiled outright, sharp with confidence. “I shall bring you to someone appropriate.”

Tan Ping nodded gravely. A proper lun dao required solemnity. He wondered only—who could this Academy possibly bring forth?

As they passed deeper within, the runners did not falter. Wooden sheds appeared, sheltering all manner of scholars—from children to elders—writing intently, papers heaped like snow. Not one gaze lifted toward the outsiders.

Suddenly, the resonant toll of a bronze bell filled the air. At once, as though by silent accord, the chattering ceased, each person returning swiftly to his seat. When the reverberation faded, only the rustle of pages remained.

Tan Ping froze.

Paper—!

The scarcity of paper was no new matter. His own students, born to wealth, scarcely noticed—for their Academy stockpiled the finest Zuo Bo paper. But here? In remote, impoverished Cangzhou? That every humble person could wield white paper as freely as ink? It was staggering.

Accumulated genealogies of the great Five Surnames, Seven Clans⁹, survived through centuries only because of inexhaustible rolls of private manuscripts.

What if paper were no longer rare…? Tan Ping dared not pursue the thought.

Still turning his heavy reflections, he found himself led within yet another compound. Here, at least, the students resembled those of his own world—orderly, proper, faces earnest. Relief washed his pupils as well: this was what “students” ought to look like.

One of the Baizhang boys suddenly blinked at a familiar face. “Brother Yuan?” he asked, astonished.

The Qingbei student in light-blue sleeveless robe peered carefully back—then stepped forward. He was indeed an old friend: Yuan Ru.

Unlike them, Yuan Ru had taken the other path—he had passed the Imperial Examinations. The expectation had been that his next steps were official appointments in the capital or posting to some province. To find him here was incredible.

Indeed, Yuan Ru had been assigned here against his initial protests. He had thought such talent wasted in barren lands. But as fellow brilliant colleagues arrived, and as the place itself unfolded its depth, his complaints had faded. Days whirled like a spinning top, leaving no time for past regrets.

“Did you not finish your studies at Jinshan Academy? How come you… here?”

“I’m in advanced study here,” Yuan Ru said plainly, concealing the rest.

He looked at the boy’s face—still brimming with youthful arrogance untouched by life’s blows. By contrast, Yuan Ru recalled plucking out a white hair only the night before. For the first time, his unshaken scholarly heart wavered—now with a quiet, heavy complexity.

“They’ve come to debate,” Gao Rong explained lightly. “Our teacher isn’t present today, so I’m bringing them to speak with another.”

This dismissive phrasing roused indignation at once among the Baizhang entourage.

But Yuan Ru blanched in shock: “Who could be so blind?!”

At this, Baizhang’s students smirked—yes, even Jinshan scholars know our power. Let this little Qingbei learn it, too.

But then Yuan Ru turned the corner and saw who Gao Rong meant. His expression shifted strangely—more complicated, then curved into the same eerie smile Gao Rong wore earlier.

“Good! A debate it is, splendid! Quickly—take them there.”

Already, he could not conceal the thrill: wanting to see the exact moment when a scholar’s proud heart shattered.

Footnotes:

1. Baizhang Academy (百丈書院) – One of the fictional Four Great Academies within the novel’s setting, representing elite institutions of Great Yong.
2. Qiúquán (丘泉郡) – A fictitious prefecture/region.
3. Frog in a well (井蛙之見) – Classical proverb implying narrow vision, inability to perceive the vast ocean beyond one’s confined world.
4. Five-County Joint Examinations (五縣聯考) – Regional examination combining several counties’ students, highly competitive and stressful.
5. Four Academies of Great Yong (大雍四書院) – Likely modeled after historically preeminent academies, fictionalized here as the highest scholarly authorities.
6. Nine-Rank Hierarchy of Man (人分九品) – Social hierarchy ranking men by status: family background, then talents, appearance, etc.
7. Grass-stage troupe (草臺班子) – Derogatory phrase for a crude, makeshift organization, origin from hastily erected open-air performance stages.
8. Lun Dao (論道) – Literally “to debate the Way/Dao,” refined scholarly contests where winning/losing reflects one’s philosophical and literary superiority.
9. Five Surnames, Seven Clans (五姓七望) – Historical reference to ancient great aristocratic lineages whose wealth and knowledge propagated through private records and libraries.