Chapter 13: Shu Yu Villa

The next day, daylight flooded the sky.

As morning light streamed through the window lattice into the room, Lu Beigu had already packed his book satchel.

Pei Yan rose early and steamed a basket of locust flower cakes, mixing freshly picked blossoms with coarse flour; though humble grain, they were soft and fluffy, each bite bursting with the sweetness of spring.

She wrapped the cakes in oil paper and tucked them into Lu Beigu’s satchel.

“If you grow hungry on the road, eat these to fill your stomach.”

Pei Yan smoothed his collar, frowning at the patches: “This robe—”

“It’s fine,” Lu Beigu smiled. “Everyone at the literary gathering is a scholar; no one judges by clothing.”

Pei Yan hesitated, then turned and pulled a small blue cloth bundle from the bottom of the chest, unwrapping layer after layer to reveal nearly a hundred copper coins.

“Take them.”

Lu Beigu pushed her hand back: “Sister-in-law, keep them for household expenses. We won’t need money today—I heard the gathering provides meals, and we might even bring back some good food.”

Lu Beigu had already told his sister-in-law exactly where he was going and who he was with.

The Zhou family were local magnates from town, so there was no safety concern—no one would trick or kidnap them.

Soon, Lu Guangyu’s voice called from outside the courtyard gate.

Since Lu Beigu didn’t know the way, he had no choice but to rely on this classmate to find him.

Lu Guangyu wore a fresh lake-blue lan shirt, a square cap on his head, and a silk pouch embroidered with orchids hanging at his waist—he’d clearly dressed in his finest.

“Meow!”

Until the white tabby cat “Tofu” suddenly darted out and punched him.

“?”

“I’m saying hello.”

Lu Beigu couldn’t help but laugh: “Let’s go.”

“Alright, the Zhou family’s villa is some distance from town—we must hurry.”

The two left Gulin Town and followed a tributary of Anle Creek southwestward.

Two and a half li beyond town, the stone path faded into wilderness, leaving only dirt trails.

At the sound of footsteps, several white herons startled from the reeds beside the stream, flapping across the water in silver arcs beneath the morning sun.

After walking several more li, Lu Guangyu suddenly pointed ahead.

“Lu brother, look!”

There, where the stream curved, a stone arch bridge lay like a crescent moon resting on the water.

Beyond the bridge, willows lined the path, and faintly visible on a stone tablet were four gilded characters: “Shu Yu Bieye,” shimmering in the morning light.

Yes, in the Song dynasty, stone memorial arches only then began to grow popular.

Beneath the arch, a young servant in blue robes stood holding a register, bowing as they approached: “Are you gentlemen here for the literary gathering?”

“Gentleman” was, of course, a courteous title; neither had official rank, so they could not truthfully accept it, only nodding vaguely.

Consulting Lu Guangyu’s registration, Lu Beigu wrote: “Lu Beigu of Gulin Town, student of Hejiang County Academy.”

During Emperor Renzong’s Qingli era, imperial examination papers were required to be written in “elegant, vigorous regular script”; his former self had practiced regular script well enough, and muscle memory ensured his writing never faltered.

Such gatherings welcomed anyone from nearby villages who held even minor scholarly merit—or merely claimed to be a scholar.

Naturally, there were also those who came only to freeload.

Thus, the muscles beneath the blue robes of these servants by the arch looked notably sturdy.

If a visitor’s identity was nothing, and his calligraphy failed even basic standards, they would politely turn him away.

Roughly: “If you can’t understand reason, I understand fists well enough.”

Lu Beigu and Lu Guangyu, however, appeared scholarly—locals and academy students, though without formal degrees, were unquestionably proper scholars, so they passed without hindrance.

Beyond the stone arch, the scenery opened abruptly.

Along both sides of the stone-paved path, crabapple trees lined the way, their blossoms in full bloom, heavy branches bowing under layers of petals, forming a silken canopy over the road.

Servants carrying book chests moved among them, their sleeves brushing petals that fluttered down onto the stone slabs, leaving golden trails of moisture.

“These crabapples—”

He bent to pick up a fallen blossom and saw golden thread-like veins in the petals.

“They say these are ‘Golden Thread Crabapples,’ specially transplanted from Chengdu,” Lu Guangyu whispered. “Each tree costs ten strings of cash. Master Zhou hired a fleet of boats to transport them by water.”

Lu Beigu stared silently at the crabapple trees before him.

One tree cost what his sister-in-law would earn working day and night for four months without eating or resting.

And what he saw here—was it even one hundred trees? Likely more!

A poor family’s lifetime of toil could not buy the crabapples here, mere ornaments in this wealthy villa.

Feeling a pang in his chest, Lu Beigu followed Lu Guangyu onward, when suddenly the sound of flowing water reached them.

A waterfall cascaded between piled rocks, droplets splashing onto Taihu stones, staining their surfaces with dark green mottling.

Beside the spring stood a spirit stone over a zhang tall, its natural ridges and hollows resembling an ink-wash landscape; engraved in shadow on its face were four characters: “Shi Shi Zhen Liu.”

Lu Guangyu reached out curiously, fingers nearly touching the stone, when a servant boy suddenly stepped from behind the rocks.

The boy said nothing harsh, only warned:

“Gentleman, be careful—this spirit stone must be wiped daily with orchid water; sweat from your hands will leave white spots.”

He sheepishly withdrew his hand, and the two continued on.

Through a moon gate, a three-tiered pavilion with upturned eaves appeared before them—the library.

Before it, a stone inkwell carved from a single block of Yixing black stone held several crimson carp swimming lazily.

Along the bank stood dozens of pearwood desks, each topped with a Bo Shan incense burner, its smoke curling thick and slow.

Many had already taken seats; the two found places facing the inkwell.

Lu Beigu scanned the crowd—mostly unfamiliar faces, likely scholars from neighboring prefectures.

The Luo tribal region bordered many administrative districts; Gulin Town, to the north, was surrounded by Luzhou, Chunzhou, and Zizhou—so it was natural he didn’t know most here.

“This is the library called ‘Shu Yu Lou,’” Lu Guangyu said, glancing at the building across from them. “They say it holds five thousand scrolls, some rare editions from previous dynasties.”

As he spoke, the murmuring crowd suddenly fell silent.

A young man in his early twenties and a middle-aged man arrived, surrounded by servants.

“Today, all distinguished scholars are present—I am overjoyed,” Master Zhou boomed. “Feel free to read any book in Shu Yu Lou. At noon, a literary banquet awaits in the flower pavilion—may you all write with joy.”

Beside him, the young man wore a pale moon-blue lan shirt, a luminous jade belt at his waist, chin raised in proud arrogance.

“That’s Master Zhou’s only son, Zhou Mingyuan,” Lu Guangyu whispered. “He’s had many tutors since childhood and studies diligently—especially skilled in classical texts and essay composition, though his poetry and verse are weaker.”

“And he passed the prefectural exam two years ago; rumor says this year’s provincial quota is his for the taking—he might even compete in the Ministry of Rites examination. If the Zhou family produces a jinshi, they won’t be mere merchants anymore.”

Lu Beigu nodded.

Under the Song imperial examination system, anyone who passed the provincial exam at this age clearly possessed real learning and talent—his pride was natural.

But what did that have to do with him?

He was here only to read books and eat for free.

(End of chapter)