Chapter 231: Everything You Hold Dear Has Not Been Abandoned by the World!

Li Shixiong murmured to himself: "I passed? I passed!"

He never imagined that an essay he wrote in plain vernacular speech would not only pass but take first place; he was momentarily overcome with excitement he could hardly contain.

Zhang Moye stood stunned for a long while, then clasped his hands and said: "Congratulations."

His friend had failed the examination, so Li Shixiong did not dare show too much joy; he reined in his emotions and clasped his hands in consolation.

Zhang Moye forced a smile and said: "I must go home and study, to prepare for next year's examination. Yuanzhong, I take my leave."

Li Shixiong wanted to urge him to stay, but did not know what to say.

Just then, staff from the university came forward to summon the admitted students to register, and Li Shixiong was jostled along by the crowd to the front of the staff. His friend, meanwhile, vanished into the throng.

He vaguely felt that the fates of the two of them had diverged from this moment onward.

Though he had been admitted with the top score, Li Shixiong's treatment was no different from that of the ordinary students.

The university had arranged ox-carts; several students rode together and were hauled off to the campus.

At the main gate, Li Shixiong saw at a glance the plaque bearing the four characters "Civilization University," written by Xu Guangqi himself.

Below the plaque hung a pair of couplets.

A student read them aloud: "This place holds practical learning for governing the age, having naught to do with rank or riches. Its gates admit the pillars of state and family, asking only after the common folk." "Good! A fine 'asking only after the common folk'!" another student clapped and praised.

Someone else sneered: "All under heaven bustle about for profit; if it has naught to do with rank and riches, why bother coming at all?"

Li Shixiong only admired inwardly: "What bold vision. I wonder whether this so-called 'university' can live up to such aspirations."

While the students were appreciating the couplets, several more ox-carts arrived, and the crowd outside the gate grew ever larger.

After a while, a man emerged from within the school gate, dressed as a refined Confucian scholar. He clasped his hands and said: "You have all surely read the couplet outside the gate. As it says, this is not the Imperial Academy. Those who enter to study here will gain no rank, wealth, or office. If any wish to leave, you may do so freely now—the school will cover your travel expenses." The Civilization University's educational philosophy had already been advertised in the newspapers for many issues, and with that "scholarship-insulting" entrance examination on top of it, those of weak resolve had for the most part already been weeded out.

Of those who remained, some harbored hopes of luck, while others truly burned with passion.

Having come this far to stand outside the school gate, no one would leave over a couplet and a few words.

The scholar waited a moment, then smiled: "Gentlemen, please follow me."

Stepping through the gate, row upon row of school buildings rushed into view.

The scholar leading the way walked and introduced as he went: "This area is the dormitory—four to a room... Over there is the drill field, where you can ride horses, and there are also some apparatuses like horizontal bars...

That three-story building ahead is the repository of books, also called the library, also called the 'Heart-Keeping Pavilion.' It holds over thirty thousand volumes; you students may borrow and read at will..."

The crowd stirred with excitement—although Lingnan's economy was prosperous, studying was still a costly affair.

Impoverished scholars to this very day still studied by "borrowing from families that own books, copying them out by hand, and returning them by the appointed date."

Now that there was a repository of books, reading would be far more convenient from here on.

Li Shixiong's heart itched at the words. He was born into a scholarly family, but his father had died early, the family fortunes had declined, and though he bore the glory of his ancestors, he had not a scrap of surplus wealth. Yet he loved reading all the same—not only the classics and histories, but all manner of miscellaneous books, with a particular passion for studying the works of Han Fei, Qu Yuan, Han Yu, and the like. He suffered from an empty purse and had no means to obtain books to read.

Hearing the scholar's words, he felt that even if it were only for the repository of books, coming to this university had been worth it.

The scholar went on to introduce some school rules and regulations, the academic system, and such, but Li Shixiong could no longer take much of it in.

At noon, the scholar leading them assigned the students their dormitories, handed out class schedules, and departed.

Li Shixiong's roommates were all descendants of maritime merchants—not scholars, hardly even lettered men, barely able to read and write.

Hearing that Li Shixiong held the xiucai degree and had placed first in the entrance examination, they all regarded him with great admiration.

The first day of enrollment was given to the students to familiarize themselves with the surroundings; no classes were arranged.

After the four chatted for a while, they went, as the leading scholar had directed, to collect their daily supplies, and then to the cafeteria for lunch.

Li Shixiong was astonished to find that the washbasin issued by the university was of thick pine, bound on the outside with two iron hoops—extremely sturdy.

The bedding was all cotton, soft and fluffy to the touch; lying on it felt like lying on a cloud.

The towel was also made of Songjiang cotton, with extremely fine, dense stitching at the edges.

The cafeteria meals paired meat and vegetables, and there was even a bowl of egg-drop soup.

These living conditions truly left Li Shixiong marveling in awe.

As the saying goes: "Ten years of bitter study by the cold window, and one day your name appears on the golden list."

If every school under heaven were like Civilization University, then wouldn't studying be neither cold nor bitter—something everyone should flock to?

After lunch, his three roommates prepared to go sightseeing in Guangzhou city.

Li Shixiong bade them farewell and hurried eagerly toward the repository of books.

The repository stood in the northwest corner of the university, occupying considerable ground, encircled by a wall. The main gate of the wall faced south, and above the lintel hung a plaque reading "The Torch of Civilization Passed On."

Behind the main gate sat an old man at a desk—hair and beard streaked with white, face lean and gaunt, eyes gleaming with sharp light—holding a scroll of a book and reading, bearing quite the air of a transcendent hermit.

Standing in such a solemn place, Li Shixiong could not help but feel reverence; he stepped forward gravely to bow and state his purpose.

The old man was very easygoing; after checking Li Shixiong's student plaque, he let him in.

As he passed, Li Shixiong glanced at the book the old man was reading and saw the title was "Pan Erniang Mistakenly Drinks Spring Wine." He could not help but shake his head with a wry smile.

Once inside,

he saw that the repository of books was built upon a tall white stone foundation, with broad steps in front and green stone cloud-pattern handrails on either side—elegant, refined, and dignified.

Before the building lay a large pond, kept for fire prevention.

Crossing past the pond water, he saw that the repository adopted a flush-gable double-eaved architectural style, seven bays wide, built of fine fir timber, with white walls and dark tiles, flying eaves and interlocking brackets—extraordinary in bearing.

Above the pavilion door hung a plaque reading "Heart-Keeping Pavilion," and within, attendants walked about on watch.

The books inside were arranged by category, encompassing nearly everything under heaven.

The standard classics and histories were all there: the "Thirteen Classics with Commentaries and Sub-commentaries," the "Collected Commentaries on the Four Books," the "Records of the Grand Historian," the "Book of Han," and so on.

Agriculture and water conservancy, military arts and armaments, geography and border defense, science and mathematics, medicine and law, opera, the Hundred Schools of Thought—common titles and uncommon ones alike, nearly all were collected.

There was even a dedicated section for Western books, and what was even more extraordinary, some of the Western books came with translations.

All the books were fine contemporary block-print editions, with extremely crisp printing—some even printed in two colors or three colors...

The most elaborate one used five-color printing: a multi-commentary edition of the "Literary Mind and the Carving of Dragons," in which famous aphorisms, neat parallel couplets, citations, and annotations were all marked in different colors.

This was what is called teaching without words—by the color cues, a reader could grasp at a glance the sinews and spirit of a piece of writing.

Additionally, Li Shixiong was shocked to discover that many unique copies, manuscripts, and lost editions were actually housed in the Shouxin Pavilion's collection—and all of them were printed editions.

This meant that the Shouxin Pavilion had not only preserved the books but had also carved printing blocks for them, allowing rare treasures to be mass-printed and brought back into the world.

What he saw before him truly left Li Shixiong stunned on the spot.

Beyond "preservation," the pavilion also excelled at "guardianship"—the bookshelves were uniformly made of camphor wood, with cloud-grass and camphor placed on every shelf, forming a veritable fortress against bookworms.

The pavilion made extensive use of glass and wooden louvered windows to ensure ventilation and natural light.

Even the lighting used glass storm lanterns—items imported from the West that were luxuries elsewhere.

But within the Shouxin Pavilion, these were merely tools for safeguarding cultural treasures.

Although school had only been in session for half a day, over a dozen students had already come to the library, just like Li Shixiong.

Like Li Shixiong, the students who came later first felt bewildered shock, then wild joy at beholding such treasures.

Li Shixiong wandered freely among the shelves, browsing. In the past, books had chosen him—he had no choice and could only read whatever was available. Now he was choosing the books, and yet he didn't know where to begin.

After a moment, he stopped at the geography and border defense section, his gaze falling on a volume titled *Records of Foreign Nations During the Imperial Ming*.

He clearly remembered that this book had been lost in the second year of Zhengde, and its author could no longer be determined. Judging from its accounts of overseas nations, it was very likely written by a scholar accompanying the fleet during Zheng He's voyages to the Western Seas.

He never expected to see it see the light of day again here.

And not just one copy—six of them, because the book had been carved into printing blocks and published, with copies lined up on the shelf.

To the left of this book was the *Commentary on the Water Classic*, and to the right was the *Season-Granting Calendar*.

The *Records of Foreign Nations During the Imperial Ming* sat sandwiched between them, showing no sign whatsoever of its rarity.

Among the literati and gentry of the Great Ming, there was no shortage of families with vast book collections, yet their "collecting" was "secret hoarding"—treating books as elegant playthings or private property, amassing them for personal gain.

Books, like antiques, followed the principle that "the rarer the unique copy, the more precious."

Just as a pair of Ru-ware brush washers might not be worth as much as a single one.

For traditional book-collecting families, merely refraining from artificially creating unique copies was already commendable.

To re-carve unique copies, publish them throughout the realm, and charge not a single coin—what could be the motive?

He recalled the plaque reading "Shouxin Pavilion" he had seen upon entering.

Li Shixiong's understanding grew ever clearer. In this end-times of anxious hearts and fallen civility, the two characters "shouxin"—guarding the heart—seemed to carry the weight of a thousand jin.

What was guarded was the heart of heritage and civilization—the lofty original intention to carry on lost learning and usher in peace!

Li Shixiong was brilliant and possessed a prodigious memory. With his learning, passing the jinshi examination should have been as easy as reaching into a bag.

But he was not adept at currying favor, never socializing with examiners before examinations; and his writing was too lofty for common tastes, not conforming to the style of the eight-legged essay, so he failed time and again.

But was he a fool?

He could write profound, incisive, erudite, and extraordinary masterpieces, could produce the moral fiber of Han Yu and the loyal indignation of Qu Yuan—could he really not write a safe, balanced eight-legged essay? He could perceive the rise and fall of dynasties throughout history, yet couldn't see that before an examination one should network with fellow townsmen, cultivate connections with the powerful, and scheme for unorthodox shortcuts?

It was not that he could not—it was that he would not.

He was unwilling to go along with a corrupt world, unwilling to waste his talent and ambition on fawning servile flattery of the eunuch faction and bullying the good and honest!

For a long time, he had felt himself to be a fool.

Like the newly appointed County Magistrate in the examination question—when faced with powerful tyrants, his options were either to compromise his integrity or to be mediocre. There was no other way.

Now, the existence of the Shouxin Pavilion seemed like a grand response to his foolish steadfastness.

Telling him: everything you hold dear has not been abandoned by the world!

The next day, Civilization University officially began classes, and the students' schedules were packed full.

And just as the couplet had said, the classics and histories revered as the gold standard in the imperial examinations occupied only a small portion of class time at the university.

Instead, the miscellaneous studies that scholars looked down upon were taught extensively and in great depth.

Among them, mathematics was even taught personally by Xu Guangqi.

At that time, Xu Guangqi's reputation in the Great Ming was already extremely high, combining political standing, academic achievement, and popular esteem.

Having such a great scholar teach in person made the students tremble with excitement.

And Xu Guangqi's very first words in class were: "Mathematics can dispel one's frivolity, temper one's precision of mind, enable reasoning by analogy, and through measurement illuminate ten matters—it is the foundation of all practical use."

Upon hearing such rousing words, Li Shixiong immediately listened with rapt attention.

Yet after barely half a month, mathematics grew increasingly difficult. Those "points, lines, planes, and angles" were like a heavenly script to Li Shixiong. Only through daily diligent study and relentless calculation could he barely hold onto his top-ranked position.

As for the other subjects—logic, philosophy, classics, and history—they were no challenge for Li Shixiong at all.

In the classroom, most instructors' teaching methods were also quite interesting—not the traditional approach of the teacher reciting a line on stage and students echoing it below. Instead, they constantly posed questions and encouraged discussion, blending together, more like jointly researching a particular topic.

Li Shixiong had always been deeply interested in miscellaneous studies, and after entering the university, he felt like a fish in water. Upon learning that specialization would begin in the third academic year, he even went in person to the "Academic Affairs Office" to inquire whether he could pursue multiple specializations simultaneously.

When Xu Guangqi learned that it was his own prized student making the request, he gladly granted special approval.

Ever since the day the results were posted—when Li Shixiong topped the list and Zhang Moye's name fell short—

the two men's fates had taken dramatically different turns.

That day, after Zhang Moye emerged from the results site at the Civilization Gate, he trudged dejectedly back toward the inn.

Although the university hadn't expelled him, since he hadn't passed, he had no face to remain. Better to hurry home—he could still make it in time for the late rice harvest and lend his family a hand.

Zhang Moye's family had been farmers for generations. It was only because their local clan was large and looked after one another that they had managed to support this one scholar.

He had originally hoped to earn official rank and bring glory to his family, but for a poor student to pass the examinations, the effort required was ten times—even a hundred times—that of a wealthy family's son. Zhang Moye had little talent for scholarship and no interest in moral essays. Instead, he loved reading military texts and could recite the stories of the Three Kingdoms, the Sui and Tang dynasties, and the Water Margin from memory.

This ability was not only useless in the Great Ming, which governed letters over arms—it was actually a liability.

Take the entrance examination, for instance. If he had spent less effort analyzing the Three-Day Battle of Guangzhou and put more into the other questions, he might well have passed by now.

Zhang Moye wiped his tears as he walked, feeling that by not working the fields and burdening his family with his support while achieving nothing, he had truly failed them. He secretly resolved that from now on he would give up studying, work the land, and lighten his family's load.

Now the Helmsman ruled over Fujian and Guangdong. The Liaodong levy was gone, the customary fees had been abolished, and even the two mu of land that wealthy households had fraudulently registered under his family's name during the former Ming had been surveyed and cleared, with the taxes waived.

Good heavens—calculating it all, this year's autumn tax was directly sixty percent less than before!

His family's circumstances suddenly became comfortable, and they even dared to eat meat twice in one month!

Zhang Moye now felt wholehearted gratitude toward the Helmsman, only hoping that the former Ming would never return!

As long as the Helmsman could govern well and bring lasting peace, Zhang Moye felt that even if he never earned a single official title his whole life and just became an honest farmer, that would be fine too. So he walked along, now crying, now laughing, his heart filled with grief one moment and hope the next.

Zhang Moye walked all the way to the inn, and as he passed through the corridor, he recalled that half a month ago he had still been chatting with Yuan Zhong about the examinations. Now one had topped the list while the other had failed—he could not help but sigh at how cruelly fate played with people.

When he walked back toward his room, he saw from afar the innkeeper standing outside the door, anxiously gazing into the distance.

Zhang Moye was just wondering at this when the innkeeper's eyes lit up at the sight of him, and he pointed and shouted: "Officer, he's here! Grab him quickly!"

Before the words even faded, two soldiers sprang out from a corner.

The two wore pitch-black bamboo hats, crow-blue close-fitting robes over horse-riding trousers, with military belts at their waists bearing waist tokens and wild-goose-feather sabers. As they walked, the hems of their garments fluttered lightly—quite imposing. They looked similar to Ming soldiers, yet different in every way.

Zhang Moye felt both fear and curiosity at the sight, and for a moment even forgot to flee.

One of the two frowned and said: "I told you not to call us 'Officer.' You should call us 'Soldier.'"

"Yes, Officer," the innkeeper said, then realizing his mistake, corrected himself: "Sir, if we don't grab him now, he'll run off."

The other soldier took out a sheet of paper and approached Zhang Moye, asking: "Are you Zhang Moye, of Ninghua, Tingzhou Prefecture, Fujian?"

"That's me."

Only now did Zhang Moye remember to be afraid. Though the New Army had excellent discipline, the saber handle was still in their hands after all. He was but a commoner—if he ran into someone unreasonable, he could only be at their mercy.

The soldier took out another sheet of paper and held it up before Zhang Moye. It was precisely his examination paper from half a month ago, in which his policy essay on the Three Days of Guangzhou had been heavily circled and annotated. Surely this essay must have offended some taboo.

"Did you write this?"

"Yes, this humble student's poor work."

At this point, Zhang Moye could only steel himself and admit it.

He had filled in his ancestral hometown on the examination, so even if he ran now, they could trace him through the address.

The soldier's expression was calm and noncommittal as he asked: "The New Army's number of ships, troop dispositions, and attack routes—how did you know them?" "I asked around among the commoners outside the inner city after entering. To be honest with you, Soldier... I'm fond of matters concerning blades, guns, and cannons."

The soldier's expression did not change, and he continued: "Your paper said the New Army carried less than half a month's provisions. How did you know that?"

"Since ancient times, surprise attacks have always traveled light. Carrying large amounts of baggage slows down the march—that is a great taboo in the art of war.

Though the Helmsman's fleet was as numerous as a forest of masts, surely he would load more cannonballs and gunpowder rather than too much food."

The soldier then asked several more questions on details in the essay, and Zhang Moye answered them all fluently.

Finally, the soldier revealed a trace of a smile and said to his companion: "Battalion Commander, this lad is a fine seedling indeed—worth the trip we made." Only upon hearing the soldier's words did Zhang Moye realize with a start that the man who had been amiably debating titles with the innkeeper was actually a Battalion Commander!

The Battalion Commander walked over and said: "I am Sun Yu, Battalion Commander of the First Company, First Battalion, Nan'ao Army. In your view, during the Battle of Guangzhou, which unit fought better—the Nan'ao Army or the Nan'ao Navy?"

"The Nan'ao Navy only bombarded the city walls. Persuading the defenders to surrender and capturing the Governor-General of the Two Guangs were both done by the Army. Naturally, the Army fought better." Zhang Moye flattered with keen perception.

Sun Yu smiled and said: "Good. In that case, I'll give you a chance to join the Nan'ao Army. Do you want it?"

"Huh?" Zhang Moye did not react for a moment.

Sun Yu explained: "Don't worry, we're not making you a private. Forty li east of Civilization University, there is also a military academy, dedicated to training officers.

The course of study is one year, and during that time you'll receive treatment as an officer candidate.

The academy does not recruit externally—all cadets are selected from the best of the Army.

You are the sole exception. The Helmsman saw that your paper was well answered and wanted to give you a chance."

Zhang Moye was startled: "The Helmsman... has read my essay?"

"Mm. It was originally a failed paper, but the Helmsman cherishes talent, so he made an exception for you at the academy."

Sun Yu's tone was gentle, but his gaze was sharp—clearly telling Zhang Moye not to be ungrateful.

The Ming Dynasty valued letters over arms, and there was a saying: "A good man doesn't become a soldier; good iron isn't made into nails."

Yet in these troubled times, being an officer was still better than being a commoner.

Moreover, Zhang Moye himself was fond of blades, staves, and firearms.

And entering the academy—that was by the Helmsman's personal decree!

Wasn't that worth more than topping the university entrance examination?

Consider that the university had admitted over three hundred people, but the Helmsman had personally selected only him to enter the military academy!

At this point, Zhang Moye had nothing left to hesitate about, and he accepted the matter.

Sun Yu said: "Good lad! Come back to camp with me... ahem, back to the academy."

"So soon?" Zhang Moye was quite surprised.

Sun Yu was already walking out, but upon hearing this he turned back and frowned: "A soldier must obey orders without question. When a Battalion Commander gives an order, what right do you have to question it?"

Zhang Moye was stunned, not understanding how in the space of a few words, Battalion Commander Sun had become a different person.

"When the Battalion Commander gives an order, you should shout 'Yes, sir!'" the other soldier reminded him in a low voice.

"Yes, sir." Zhang Moye replied.

Sun Yu shouted: "With a voice that small, you still want to be an officer?"

"Good lad, that's more like it. I'll give you the time it takes to burn one stick of incense to pack your things. We'll wait for you outside the inn!"

"Yes, sir!" After shouting, Zhang Moye quickly walked back to his room.

Without waiting for a dismissal order, he acted on his own—this made Sun Yu frown slightly again. But after all, the lad was a new recruit, so he let it go. Once they reached the camp... academy in the afternoon, there would be plenty of ways to drill him.

The innkeeper stared blankly at this scene, not understanding what play was being performed. One moment this man was a scholarly gentleman, and the next he was an officer? Zhang Moye understood that soldiers must act with swift decisiveness. In the time it took to burn half a stick of incense, he had packed everything and came out of the inn with his bundle on his back.

Sun Yu and his subordinate were already waiting outside the door with their horses.

"Do you know how to ride?" Sun Yu asked.

Zhang Moye shook his head.

"This is a Jeju horse—gentle in temperament and easy to learn. Mount like this, hold the reins like this, move forward like this—that's all there is to it. Give it a try." Zhang Moye followed the instructions to mount, and walking slowly within the city was manageable enough.

But the moment they passed through the city gate, the Jeju horse began to trot, and Zhang Moye's backside bounced up and down on the saddle, pounding painfully.

After barely a dozen paces, he cried out in panic: "Battalion Commander, I think I'm about to be bounced off!"

"Bear it! Squeeze your legs tight!" Sun Yu said, then gave the reins another shake.

By the time they dismounted at the military academy gate, Zhang Moye's thighs had gone completely numb from the bouncing, and he could barely stand steady.

He forced himself to stand upright and saw the words "Guangzhou Military Officer Academy" written above the school gate, with no couplets flanking it, giving it a somewhat crude appearance.

Sun Yu led him to a barracks and said to the people inside: "Squad Leader, I've brought you a new recruit. Teach him the basic rules — the Helmsman is coming to inspect tomorrow, so don't hold me back!"

"Yes, sir!" The man addressed as Squad Leader snapped to attention and replied.

After Sun Yu left, Zhang Moye stared wide-eyed at a roomful of veterans, and finally he broke the silence: "Tomorrow... we'll get to see the Helmsman?"

Yahei

Pink Round

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