Chapter 24: Learning Comes from Diligence

“Going back, we’ll have our ten-day test—I still don’t fully understand some of the written interpretations; could you help me clarify?”

Lu Beigu showed him the notes he’d written down with his questions.

Looking into Lu Beigu’s sincere and earnest eyes, Lu Guangyu hesitated a moment before saying, “I’m merely shallow in learning—I fear I won’t understand either.”

“No matter; let’s explore together.”

Lu Beigu pointed to one passage and asked, “Here it says, ‘Duke Zheng defeated Duan at Yan.’ The annotation reads, ‘When it becomes difficult, even creeping grass cannot be eradicated—how much less your favored younger brother!’ Yet the notes also cite the Guliang Commentary: ‘Why is Duke Zheng so extreme? His intent was fully formed to kill!’ I don’t have the Chunqiu Zunwang Fawei—how should I know which stance to follow for the exam?”

Lu Guangyu thought a moment, then explained, “Lu brother, you’ve asked an excellent question. This annotation takes the Confucian ritual-law perspective, while the Guliang Commentary takes the moral-intent perspective.”

He took a sheet of paper and began writing: “Look here.”

Outside the window, the sun’s shadow slowly shifted; birdcalls came and went, near and far.

Lu Beigu sometimes frowned in thought, sometimes suddenly understood; question followed question, none truly obscure—merely imagined from possible exam topics, yet always hitting the core.

Lu Guangyu at first answered calmly, but gradually beads of sweat broke on his brow; he had to dig out more books and notes for verification.

“Lu brother, take a break.”

Seeing his weary expression, Lu Beigu suggested, “It’s noon.”

Only then did Lu Guangyu realize his mouth was dry, his back soaked in sweat.

He smiled bitterly and shook his head: “In past discussions with classmates, I’ve never been so drained. Lu brother, these questions—only someone truly diligent could even think to ask them.”

Lu Guangyu’s family had all gone visiting relatives, so there was no food at home; besides, the Cold Food Festival forbade lighting fires, so the two ladled out two bowls of cold food porridge and some pickled vegetables, just barely filling their stomachs.

After eating the simple porridge and pickles, Lu Beigu took the initiative to clear the bowls and chopsticks.

Back in the study, he saw Lu Guangyu sorting through scattered papers, movements slow—clearly exhausted.

As the sun sank westward, the study grew dim from the lack of light.

Lu Guangyu lit an oil lamp; under its dim yellow glow, the shadows of the two young men fell on the wall.

Hours passed. Lu Guangyu rubbed his gritty eyes and noticed Lu Beigu still studying intently—only the honeyed apricot slices, meant to replenish his brain’s sugar, had been eaten in several pieces.

From the moment he entered, Lu Beigu had been writing continuously for four hours.

Lu Guangyu could no longer sit still—he crept over and saw the paper covered densely with notes on the Chunqiu Zuozhuan Zhengyi and the Chunqiu Jichuan Zuanli, characters neat as if carved, not a single correction.

As he watched, Lu Guangyu froze.

He clearly remembered that this morning, Lu Beigu’s understanding of the Chunqiu was still sluggish, even struggling with basic questions—but now he could already discern subtle differences between competing commentaries.

—Such progress was simply inconceivable.

“Lu brother.”

His voice was hoarse: “How much have you written today?”

Lu Beigu startled—he saw a thick stack of filled paper around him; his own paper was gone, and he’d used much of Lu Guangyu’s.

Lu Beigu felt embarrassed: “I got lost in thought—I used a lot of your paper, Lu brother.”

Lu Guangyu suddenly rose and bowed deeply to Lu Beigu: “The ancients said, ‘Those who know are not as good as those who love; those who love are not as good as those who delight.’ Your diligence and focus—I am humbled.”

Lu Beigu quickly returned the bow: “You flatter me—had you not shared everything, how could I have gained anything?”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the two finally gathered their papers.

Lu Guangyu insisted on escorting Lu Beigu to the ferry; along the way, he couldn’t help asking, “Will you come again tomorrow?”

“If you don’t mind the disturbance—”

“I’d be delighted!”

Lu Guangyu blurted it out, then smiled shyly: “Studying with you brings me great benefit. Besides, if I’m alone, I’m sure to grow restless and slip off to play.”

A breeze stirred, carrying the scent of wine.

“I didn’t notice before, but now it’s almost sharp.”

“Yes, villagers store wine in natural caves in the hills; when the wind blows, you smell it.”

Lu Beigu looked around: Er Lang Tan, with its high mountains on both banks, stayed cool year-round, the air damp—perfect for storing wine.

There weren’t many empty boats here; after haggling, Lu Beigu agreed to pay five copper coins for a private trip to Gulin Town—though shared passage would cost only two or three.

The small boat drifted slowly from shore, its lantern swaying in the dark.

Lu Beigu stepped onto the plank and turned back—Lu Guangyu still stood on the bank, his figure thin in the moonlight.

“Lu brother, see you tomorrow!” he called out, waving.

“See you tomorrow!” Lu Guangyu’s voice carried on the river wind.

He placed his book satchel before him and sat down, gazing at the notes inside—his heart felt far steadier than when he’d arrived.

Learning comes from diligence; the classics never betray those who toil!

Talent is certainly vital, but talent alone without effort leads only to the fate of Fang Zhongyong—wasting one’s gift.

Besides, don’t others have talent too?

This era gathered a constellation of geniuses unmatched even in China’s millennia-long history!

Who, in their own story, isn’t the “chosen one”?

He was already far behind—if he didn’t strive, how could he ever stand on the same stage as these geniuses?

Of course, the Dragon-Tiger List was still too distant; the immediate priority was passing the county examination.

Fail the county exam, and you lose eligibility for the prefectural exam entirely!

Even in the modest Hejiang County School, Lu Beigu’s scores—aside from policy essays—were at the bottom.

Lu Beigu closed his eyes and thought silently.

Of poetry, classical texts, and written interpretations, the hardest was written interpretation—and of that, the Chunqiu was the most complex and profound.

“Today I reviewed part of the Chunqiu Zuozhuan Zhengyi notes. If I persist daily like this, by the end of the Cold Food holiday, I’ll have a basic grasp of the Chunqiu portion of the written interpretation—perhaps not enough for the hardest questions, but I’ll never again miss the basic ones.”

If he could master the general outline of the Chunqiu during the Cold Food break, then push harder for a few more days back at the county school,

his written interpretation score would leap from Bing-Xia to Yi-Xia by the ten-day test!

He knew this because Lu Guangyu often scored Yi-Xia—so Lu Beigu understood what Yi-Xia meant, and how far he still was from it.

And Yi-Xia was already considered upper-tier in Hejiang County School.

But of course, Yi-Xia alone in county school was far from enough!

To guarantee passing the county exam, he must reach Yi-Zhong—or even Yi-Shang.

As for whether he could reach that level, Lu Beigu had full confidence—with his talent, he could achieve it quickly, provided he remained diligent and disciplined.

(End of chapter)