TSLSILMH Ch 38

Chapter 38

When Xie Shu saw Master Jiang’s expression suddenly turn solemn, so different from before, his heart stirred.

Had he not himself wondered at this very question?

Until now, he had offered himself insufficient reasons—half-justifications that had not even fully satisfied his own doubts. But when Jiang Hong himself pressed the question, it revealed the matter was not as simple as Xie Shu had hoped.

And it was true—Jiang Hong was no ordinary man.

He was once the Chancellor of the Imperial Academy, principal of the realm’s highest institution. Under him had studied countless scholars in the capital, men of all skills and brilliance. Could it be possible that in twenty years, not a single one of them had been suited as disciple, until now, when Jiang chose only him upon returning to Jinling?

Good fortunes do not simply fall from the heavens. Yet even so, Xie Shu did not retreat. He met the older man’s eyes squarely, replying composedly: “This student does not dare presume greatness. But since Teacher has taken me under his wing, it must be because you saw some quality different from others—something of worth.”

Hearing this, Jiang Hong’s severity eased, a faint smile twitching at his lips. What clarity of mind—still calm and unpretentious even under questioning. This alone revealed why he had chosen him.

But soon Jiang Hong’s face turned grave again, and he gave the truth without delay.

“Xie Shu—you were born humbly, not of a great family. This means your only path to office is through the imperial examination. Your spouse is heir to a wealthy merchant clan. If you serve as official, wealth will never tempt you—you need not bow for grain. You are the son-in-law of merchants. That status ensures you will not rise too swiftly, yet also that you will not be too visible. Thus gradually, step by step, you may build strength in shadow.”

As he spoke, Jiang’s eyes never wavered, scanning for Xie Shu’s reaction. But though startled at first, the youth quickly recovered into calm.

“Do you understand,” Jiang pressed, “that in this I mean to use you, even your very circumstances?”

Xie Shu simply smiled faintly. “Teacher, that you speak with such precision of my background shows you place upon me great expectation. It must be in service of something difficult to achieve—so difficult even you hesitated many times before deciding.”

He had heard enough already to see the unspoken meanings. Others might remain oblivious, but Xie Shu knew the truth of the imperial examination’s purpose: in this feudal world, exams were designed to draw men of talent into the center, to weaken local powers, and strengthen imperial rule.

Now was still the early period of these examinations. The dynasty needed change, and so sons of humble homes were valued by the state. This was the most legitimate road to take. But advancement remained fraught with peril. To be an official was hard enough; to be a good official nearly impossible. One needed some wealth to begin with, must build power carefully, and avoid drawing excessive attention before the time was ripe.

And these three things—Xie Shu already embodied.

Jiang Hong listened, and at last allowed himself a smile of true admiration.

But again his countenance steeled, eyes gleaming like lightning. “Xie Shu—I took you as pupil not to see you muddle through the officialdom in mediocrity, nor to spend your life buried in books like me. I wish you one day to hold the realm upon your shoulders, to open peace for the people.”

Saying this, Jiang’s heart twisted.

Once, this had been his dream too. But he had faltered, and now the world festered:

Aristocratic clans arrogant, factional struggles fierce, governance corrupt, borders weak, treasuries empty. The Emperor aged, the heir uncertain. Step by step, Great Qing edged toward decline.

Jiang sighed. Already he had known the pain of betrayal from a former student who had turned away from virtue; powerlessness had followed him. For a time, despair had engulfed him, with thoughts of living out his life in seclusion.

But with time he rose again. He still held talents, and they must not be wasted. He must find a student to carry what he had failed to fulfill. One who embodied all he dreamed—like this man before him. Perhaps, even, better.

Xie Shu froze at the weight of his expectation.

How could he answer such a vow?

Months in this world had not erased a lifetime in another. He had no great aspirations for state or for world. He had undertaken study of the examinations only to repay the one who had sustained him—his Young Lord.

To swear for this world and these people? He could not, not yet.

Jiang Hong, seeing his silence, almost thought he had mistaken his pupil. But no—this pause was not avoidance. His face bore solemn care. He truly weighed the words in his heart. Very well.

Not like Lü Shuo, blinded by ambition.

So Jiang schooled his features into neutrality, voice measuring. “You do not agree?”

Xie Shu drew a long breath. “Teacher, I dare not lie. I am but a commoner. I have never harbored such lofty aims. I only wish for a place of peace, that I might guard the one I love. Your words weigh heavy—I cannot promise them lightly. But I can promise: should I follow the path of office, I will never betray my first heart. Will Teacher still accept me as disciple?”

Jiang’s eyes widened. He heard it—the unvarnished heart. So simple, so honest.

Unchanging the original heart. That was more difficult than heaven and earth.

How many had walked officialdom firm and unsullied? Nearly none.

Yet here this boy swore it.

At length, Jiang broke into a slow smile. “I have taken your disciple’s gift. Can I now give it back? No—only keep today’s promise in your heart. Follow me henceforth. I also recall, you have yet no courtesy name. Your ordainment as man is recent—let me give it you.”

Thoughtful, he chose: “Shu, Zhan. From the Book of Rites: ‘A gentleman’s bearing is tranquil and measured.’ You shall be called Rongzhan—that you grow in dignity and virtue, spreading your wings across the realm. From this day—every morning’s third hour to evening, you shall study here with me. Can you uphold it?”

Eyes clear, Xie Shu bowed his head. “With gratitude, Teacher. I shall remember.”

Jiang chuckled. “Very well. Remember—these tides of empire flow vast as seas. None can simply drift. If you wish truly to keep your first heart—then strive to be one who commands the tide.”

The words echoed long after Xie Shu left the study, thoughts moving in circles.

He understood well enough. Yet confusion remained. Perhaps first he must let it rest.

That day Jiang taught no further, only gave him an essay to study: Origin Rhapsody, once written by an Academy student Zhang Sheng, who later rose into the Hanlin Academy. Its content was simple, a survey of the realm and its fate—an apt first lesson.

Xie Shu accepted and left, only for his carriage to halt suddenly.

Xi Mo lifted the curtain to peek out and cried nervously, “Master! Many scholars have surrounded us! I see familiar faces—even Young Master Wan!”

Indeed, the tea hall’s assembly had not forgotten. That very morning, they had watched Xie Shu admitted into the Jiang estate with ease. How could he have passed, when they themselves were rejected? They would not accept it.

Some had even tried his exact method, bringing carriages to the gates, only to be shoved away.

So they had waited all day, desperate for answers.

When at last the Yu carriage emerged, they swarmed it.

And as the curtain drew aside, Xie Shu appeared in his azure silk long robes, bearing that pure calm air. His profile was clean-cut as carved stone, his eyes bright and distant as stars.

All eyes drew, silent, restless.

Voices tumbled forward at once.

“Do you truly know Master Jiang?”

“Has he taken you as pupil?”

“How did you win him?!”

Xie Shu answered steadily: “Master Jiang has indeed taken me as disciple. For the rest—by his command, I cannot speak. I beg your understanding.”

It was too proper an answer. For a time, they faltered.

Then a few let jealousy cut deep, scoffing: “What’s there to hide? Or are you afraid if we all seek Jiang as master, we’ll rob you of favor?”

Faces turned hungry.

And calmly, Xie Shu dropped his reply: “Jiang Hong has already accepted me as final disciple. He will never take another. Young Master Wan himself knows it—isn’t that so?”

Caught unready, Wan Tianyun, who had been lurking to watch, could not refute. He forced a nod.

The spark of riot died. One by one, they realized it was true. None of them had any chance anymore.

And soon, their envy shifted to calculation. Now that Xie Shu was Jiang Hong’s favored student, wouldn’t it be wise to befriend him quickly?

Eager invitations spilled forth, but he declined each politely. He had no time to waste.

Then suddenly Wang Jing stepped forward.

Unlike the others, Wang Jing himself was already a disciple to a renowned scholar. He had even topped last year’s provincial exam, with rights to contest the capital examinations. He was already climbing fast.

So when he halted, smiles circling, they listened keenly.

“Brother Xie,” Wang said warmly, “my own master has an engagement with Master Jiang in two days—at that time, I too will attend. Will Brother Xie be there?”

Though unfamiliar with him, Xie Shu nodded agreement without fuss.

And with that, the crowd dispersed. He rode home in sunset’s glow.

There, he quickened into Tingyu Court. And sighting the Young Lord waiting—it lit his face with joy. He longed to share this day’s events.

And Yu Chuxi, watching his expression light and carefree, remained silent, his own eyes shimmering. He knew already what had transpired. And yet Xie Shu’s success filled him with greater joy than if it had been his own.

Shoulder to shoulder, they walked to dine.

Over the table, Xie Shu announced regretfully that he must spend the evening studying and could not play chess.

But wanting to make glad instead, he added with a teasing smile: “Today, my Teacher gave me a courtesy name. Do you know what it is?”

Curiosity kindled, Yu Chuxi leaned closer across the table.

Quietly, Xie Shu spoke: “It is Rongzhan.”

“Rong… Zhan? How is it written?” Yu Chuxi leaned nearer, unsure he had heard right.

Close indeed—shoulders near, breaths entwined.

Xie Shu lowered his eyes. “Young Lord, give me your hand.”

Footnotes

1. 國子監祭酒 (Guozijian Jijiu) – The Chancellor of the Imperial Academy, the highest educational officer in imperial China, equivalent to a university president but with official fourth-rank authority. 
2. 寒門 (Hanmen) – Literally “cold gate,” referring to humble or non-noble origin, a key classification in contrast with aristocratic families. Sons of such background were crucial to the legitimacy of the civil service examination system. 
3. 不忘初心 (Buwang Chuxin) – “Do not abandon your original heart.” A Confucian ideal meaning to remain true to one’s first intentions and moral clarity despite corruption and temptation. 
4. 字 (Courtesy Name / Zi) – A traditional name assigned to a man at adulthood, often by a teacher or elder, usually reflecting virtue. It served as a respectful form of address beyond the given name. 
5. 時策論賦 (Policy Essay) – A genre of writing in the imperial examinations where candidates expounded upon the state of the realm, diagnosing problems and offering solutions of governance. 
6. 關門弟子 (Final Disciple) – The last or most trusted disciple taken by a master, often with strong implication of passing on the entirety of one’s teachings.