TSLSILMH Ch 39

Chapter 39

Yu Chuxi’s long lashes trembled faintly. He stole a sideways glance, and after a moment’s hesitation, lightly offered his hand.

Xie Shu took hold of the slender fingers firmly, then guided his fingertip along the lines of the palm, tracing slowly, stroke by stroke.

His fingertips bore the faint calluses of ink and brushwork—slightly rough, dry with warmth.

Yu Chuxi’s senses heightened at once. The touch was like the tickle of a feather—strange, unbearable.

As the sensation layered, the warmth pressed deeper; from the connection of their skins arose a soft, tingling surge that seemed to flow back into his chest with every beat of blood.

The unfamiliarity of it left him unsettled, anxious.

He tried to withdraw, curling his fingers slightly.

But Xie Shu’s grasp was steady as a stone, the only movement being his fingertip pausing against the soft pale flesh in the Young Lord’s palm.

The first character was complete.

At that moment, Xie Shu lifted his eyes.

His gaze was deeper than ever before, though his face remained calm.

Looking directly at Yu Chuxi, his voice was low and soft, carrying a husky undertone: “Young Lord, did you see clearly?”

Cornered by that question, Yu Chuxi could only stammer, nodding quickly. “I know… I saw it.”

In truth, his mind caught up moments later, realizing only then what character Xie Shu had written.

Seeing his flustered affirmative, Xie Shu’s eyes curved faintly in amusement. Then he resumed. “Then let me write the second.”

When at last both characters were neatly inscribed, Xie Shu released his hand.

Almost immediately, Yu Chuxi jerked his fingers back, then grew worried—had that seemed strange?

But Xie Shu gave no sign of faulting him. Still smiling, his voice soft: “Young Lord, those are the two characters.”

The Young Lord steadied himself, then asked quietly: “And what meaning did Master Jiang place in these?”

Xie Shu recounted his teacher’s words exactly.

Hearing them, Yu Chuxi repeated the two characters silently in his heart. A soft gleam lit his eyes, and voice barely above a whisper he said, “So that is the meaning… Master Jiang must place great expectation on you…”

Recalling Jiang Hong’s hopes, Xie Shu could not help but be moved himself.

And gazing into the Young Lord’s eyes, he felt his heart strangely softened. He saw it—that under Yu Chuxi’s joy for him lingered a secret yearning.

Xie Shu remembered he was nineteen this year, soon at the age of capping. And unintentionally, he said aloud: “Next year, Young Lord will also be given a courtesy name.”

Then he halted, startled at his own words.

Indeed—Yu Chuxi’s expression grew complex. After a pause, he lowered his gaze, shaking his head slightly. “What need have I for a courtesy name?”

Males and shuang-er were not the same. They held no official prospects, nor needed titles for polite address in court or office. Thus, few bore courtesy names.

Had Xie Shu forgotten even this? Yu Chuxi thought curiously. He had often claimed memory lost, but not to know such common things?

Before he could dwell further, Xie Shu’s voice murmured close, gentle as water: “Then when you reach twenty, let me gift you a courtesy name. If you would not despise me.”

Thinking of Yu Chuxi’s youth, a tide of unspeakable emotion rippled quietly through Xie Shu’s heart.

He himself was twenty-four. To realize this beloved one who bore so much was still only nineteen—that he was years the junior—brought a weight of tenderness upon him.

Though older, he could not yet guard him from every storm, could not yet shield him entirely—but at least he could strive to bring joy.

Yu Chuxi trembled slightly, bowing his head, whispering a soft “Mm.”

After dining, Xie Shu retired to study the essay Teacher had given him—“The Rhapsody on Origins.”

An fu (rhapsody) was a distinctive literary form, emphasizing rhetorical flourish and rhythm, more constrained than essays yet broader than mere verse. Unlike exam policy essays that dealt bluntly in arguments, the fu sought artistry of language with orderly structure.

There were categories: short fu, sao fu, ci fu, pian fu, regulated fu, and prose fu.

This Rhapsody on Origins belonged to prose fu.

Thus its limits were strict, its texture ornate, most such pieces confined to praising landscapes or elegant expression. But this was different—this one aspired to comment on the peace of the realm.

Xie Shu read carefully. First in full, to grasp its flow. Then step by step, paragraph by paragraph.

It split in three parts: its source, explaining the rise and fall of history through neglect of people’s welfare; its middle, drawing parallels to current troubles that began small but multiplied; its end, drawing lessons to heed.

Though shallow under the constraints of exam essays, it carried artistic force—the rhythms strong, the language striking, leaving impression deep. No wonder its author won entry into the Hanlin Academy, that august secretariat of imperial edict.

By lamplight that night, Xie Shu recited it until he could repeat line for line, every phrase understood. Only then did he rest.

With day, after breakfast he again arrived early at Master Jiang’s.

And Jiang found him already in the study, bent over the same essay, still working through.

For in truth, Jiang had not tested his learning before—it was only character and circumstance that had swayed him.

Now he asked: “What think you of the essay I gave you to examine yesterday?”

Xie Shu replied, tone composed: “This essay, though not profound in reasoning, rises for its vast scope and inspiration, unlike ordinary works reliant only on ornament.”

Jiang’s expression was unreadable as he pressed: “So you count it of the highest quality?”

After pause, Xie Shu answered: “If I am not wrong, this was composed in the exam hall. To accomplish such under those constraints—to reach this quality already is remarkable. Thus, I judge it high grade.”

The elder’s gaze sharpened in surprise.

For this essay indeed was an exam hall fu, a piece written by Zhang Sheng under the theme of “Origins” during a real imperial examination session, kept in record but never released to the public. Only the Imperial Academy and Jiang himself held copies.

How had this boy guessed so?

Calmly, he probed: “And how did you know?”

Xie Shu smiled faintly. “Because some points here are overly pointed, as though forced to a theme rather than natural. And Zhang Sheng’s talent, I think, exceeds this when writing freely. Thus, I guessed it exam work. If wrong, I beg correction.”

Jiang inclined his head. “You see true. This was indeed a hall fu, from the twelfth year of Yanping, when I oversaw the examinations. At the time, the examiners ranked it low.”

At this, Xie Shu was stunned.

Low?

He frowned deeply. His readings of fu were not few. Surely his eye was not so mistaken? Unless there were standards under exam different from what he knew.

And Jiang, noting his confusion, began to instruct.

“You recall that the provincial exam was three rounds? First—poetry and fu; second—interpretations of the Classics; third—policy essays. The metropolitan exam likewise. And know you, why each type is used?”

Xie Shu thought, then recalled words from the Siku Quanshu: “Poetry and fu test broad learning, commentary tests grasp of the Classics, essays test discernment, policy tests governing talent.”

Jiang’s eyes widened slightly in admiration.

He continued: “Thus, the fu are meant not for insight, but to test learning wide and rhetoric ingenious. And judged by form and diction most of all.”

Now Xie Shu understood. It was not theme or scope they looked to, but florid skill, exact structure.

But did that not risk replacing meaning with empty ornament?

He held his doubt still, and Jiang smiled faintly.

“Good—you still think for yourself, not bent to rote. Yes, I too despise mere show of ornament. And so when I read this piece, though others condemned it, I lifted it to top grade.”

Footnotes

1. 及冠 (Ji Guan) – The coming-of-age ceremony for males at age 20, marked with the donning of the “capping” headdress. At this age, men also received a courtesy name (zi). 
2. 賦 (Fu/Rhapsody) – A major literary genre in Chinese tradition, blending prose and poetry with rhythmic embellishment, once a required form in imperial examinations. 
3. 闱場賦 (Hall Fu / Exam Hall Fu) – A rhapsody written under strict exam conditions. Such works emphasize eloquence and artistry rather than innovation or deep analysis, often judged by surface splendor. 
4. 翰林院 (Hanlin Academy) – A prestigious scholarly body serving directly under the Emperor, drafting imperial edicts, histories, and conducting the highest scholarship of the realm.