Chapter 42: Zhang Fangping

Lu Beigu knew full well that not only could he not say “I want it all,” he couldn’t choose any of it at all.

Li Pan spoke up in time: “Mr. Zhang, Lu Beigu excels in policy essays, but is weaker in textual exegesis and poetry composition. On his way here, he said he’d heard you specialize in classical studies and greatly wished to hear your teachings.”

Whether Lu Beigu had actually said those words didn’t matter.

Zhang Fangping showed no obvious emotion upon hearing this, yet deep inside he was quite pleased—he had been renowned since youth for his vast knowledge and deep understanding of classical texts.

But even so, for Zhang Fangping to spend several days explaining classics to Lu Beigu was simply impractical.

On one hand, as Prefect of Chengdu, he was among the busiest officials in all of Sichuan; on the other, teaching classics carried a far heavier karmic bond than writing a recommendation letter—it entailed the relationship of teacher and student.

Zhang Fangping recognized Lu Beigu’s talent and was willing to nurture the young, but with the court’s political situation shifting so abruptly, he genuinely preferred Lu Beigu not be directly tied to him, lest it hinder his future.

At this moment, Zhao Bian noticed Zhang Fangping’s hesitation and suddenly volunteered: “This young man has sincere intent. If Mr. Zhang truly has no time, I, for my part, have been idle lately and would be glad to teach him poetry and composition for a few days.”

The Transport Commissioner’s Office was typically busiest in autumn during tax collection and audit periods.

Zhao Bian had already carried out sweeping reforms in the Yizhou Road Transport Commissioner’s Office—simplifying tax procedures, severely punishing corrupt clerks, reorganizing the tea administration—all now governed by established systems.

So during ordinary times, though subordinates remained busy, Zhao Bian himself, as Transport Commissioner, was quite idle in early summer.

Moreover, Zhao Bian had none of Zhang Fangping’s reservations.

“In that case, stay in Chengdu for a few days. Do you have a place to stay?”

Li Pan quickly replied: “I’ve arranged with the Taoists at Qingyang Palace to stay there for a few days.”

Zhang Fangping nodded—Li Pan’s arrangement suited him perfectly; he disliked those who sought to draw attention.

Looking at Lu Beigu, Zhang Fangping now felt slightly guilty, rose, rummaged behind him, and pulled out a camphorwood book chest.

“This set of ‘Chunqiu Zunwang Fawei’ was given to me by Master Taishan when I was in Kaifeng; it also contains Master Taishan’s personal notes. They should greatly aid your imperial examination—take it.”

Master Taishan referred to Sun Fu, one of the “Three Masters of Early Song,” who taught on Mount Tai for over twenty years and, together with his disciple Shi Jie, founded the Taishan School.

The Taishan School was one of the most important Confucian schools in Song, where Sun Fu and Shi Jie systematized classical scholarship and promoted the doctrines of “respecting the king” and “the succession of the Dao,” becoming the strongest scholarly supporters of the Qingli Reforms.

Sun Fu advocated studying classics through “doubting commentaries and returning to the original texts,” directly inspiring the Li Xue school’s focus on “principle and meaning”; Shi Jie’s interpretations of key concepts like “li,” “qi,” and “the succession of the Dao” profoundly influenced Cheng Yi, Cheng Hao, and Zhu Xi, effectively laying the groundwork for Li Xue.

The Taishan School’s ideas spread rapidly through the Song Confucian world via Sun Fu and Shi Jie’s teaching at the Imperial Academy and had become a key reference for imperial examination answers.

Now that Shi Jie had died young and Sun Fu was old and no longer served as Director of the National Academy, this unique set of ‘Chunqiu Zunwang Fawei’—not only containing Sun Fu’s personal notes but also possessing immense collectible value—became all the more precious.

Lu Beigu had never been able to afford this set of textual exegesis reference material, yet now he had received the version with Sun Fu’s personal annotations.

“Thank you, Mr. Zhang!”

Lu Beigu bowed and quickly took the camphorwood chest—it was heavy in his hands.

Camphorwood naturally resists insects and moisture, effectively protecting books from environmental damage; among book chest materials, it ranked second only to nanmu, meaning the chest itself was already quite valuable.

“Open it,” said Zhang Fangping.

Lu Beigu opened the camphorwood chest before them—it was a five-sided box with a removable lid, designed for easy access and good sealing, containing twelve full volumes of ‘Chunqiu Zunwang Fawei,’ each edge reinforced with thin bamboo strips and bound tightly with cords and clasps.

He flipped through it—the pages were already yellowed, clearly aged, and the handwritten notes were profoundly obscure; many passages were beyond his current understanding of classical studies.

“It’s normal not to understand everything. Just remember one thing.”

Seeing his confusion, Zhang Fangping recited offhand: “No one understands the Chunqiu better than Mencius, who merely said, ‘When the Chunqiu was completed, rebellious ministers and traitorous sons feared.’ But if in those 242 years no one had been a rebellious minister or traitorous son, why would even the Son of Heaven, the feudal lords, and the ministers have been condemned for every single act? The true distortion of the Chunqiu’s original intent began with Fu.”

Lu Beigu pondered carefully, then suddenly understood.

—There was no real Chunqiu history; it was merely a reflection of the Five Dynasties’ chaos.

Precisely because the Song feared another world teeming with rebellious ministers and traitorous sons, it emphasized the Taishan School’s doctrine of “respecting the king and repelling the barbarians”—which is why the Taishan School’s interpretation of the Chunqiu became the standard answer for imperial examinations.

“Your guidance is profound, Master. I am deeply instructed.”

Seeing that Lu Beigu understood, Zhang Fangping waved his hand: “Take it home and study it well. I still have matters to discuss with County Magistrate Li.”

Zhao Bian glanced at Lu Beigu; since Lu Beigu held no official rank, he could not use formal documents like “die” or reports like “zhaizi.”

So Zhao Bian wrote him a gongping—a document with longer validity than a temporary personal note.

On it, Zhao Bian wrote Lu Beigu’s name, listed “seeking learning” as the purpose, and stamped it with his personal seal.

“Here,” Zhao Bian said. “Carry this for the next few days. You may come to the Transport Commissioner’s Office in Chengnan whenever you have time—but not today. I haven’t taught poetry and composition in a long while; I need to find two books to prepare.”

Lu Beigu paused, then smiled: “Yes.”

Carrying the camphorwood chest holding twelve volumes of ‘Chunqiu Zunwang Fawei,’ Lu Beigu walked out of the courtyard on Huxindao.

A boatman was already waiting at the small dock.

The lake surface was like a mirror, reflecting sky and clouds; willows swayed gently along the shore, and birds occasionally flew past.

As the boatman rowed, ripples spread across the water, faint and elusive.

Utterly serene, yet full of quiet vitality.

On this boat, half-sinking, half-floating, Lu Beigu’s heart gradually grew still.

Lu Beigu knew clearly: with a highly weighty recommendation letter and a set of Master Taishan’s annotated ‘Chunqiu Zunwang Fawei,’ Zhang Fangping had settled all debts between them.

Zhao Bian, the “Iron-Faced Censor,” was an upright gentleman who would only teach him poetry and composition, never seek any personal gain for him.

Moreover, whether this relationship even counted as teacher-student was debatable.

So Lu Beigu did not grow proud or inflated because, by accompanying Li Pan to Chengdu, he had met two high officials.

Though he had long lived in an ivory tower, he understood the world’s rules clearly.

In this world, what mattered was not who he knew, but who he himself was.

——————

① Gongping was a common Song-era document for travel or identity verification, issued by officials, stating the holder’s identity, purpose, and permitted scope. Non-officials entering government offices required this document; otherwise, they were charged with “unauthorized entry.”

(End of Chapter)