Chapter 13

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Protagonist:

Song Miao

Cheng Zijian wept uncontrollably, tears and snot streaming down his face; by the end he had forgotten himself entirely.

Perhaps he was not crying over those few steamed buns and flatbreads, but rather seizing this chance to weep for himself.

Had a physician been present, they would most likely have diagnosed a long-suppressed grief that, given an outlet, had finally found release.

The person opposite, however, merely watched him cry without offering a word of comfort, simply letting him weep there on the spot.

Cheng Zijian cried for a good while; when the emotion passed, he grew self-conscious and awkward, hurriedly wiped his tears and snot with his sleeve, cupped his hands, and said, "Forgive me, I have been rude..."

The other party did not acknowledge it, but suddenly asked, "Cheng Zijian?"

Cheng Zijian nodded.

"You are an outer dormitory student? Which year did you enter?"

Cheng Zijian answered honestly.

That person looked him over, then asked his native place and family background.

By now Cheng Zijian's mind had gone blank; he answered whatever was asked, and even things not asked — for some reason he poured everything out like a tray: how his family was poor, how he rose at cockcrow in the countryside and studied day and night, how he barely made it into the Taixue, yet no matter how hard he studied he could not make great progress, his heart heavy with frustration, his prospects a vast obscurity, and retreat offered no alternative path.

After listening, the other said, "You managed to enter the Taixue, which already puts you ahead of many; why then this display of self-pity and self-belittlement? All those books — where did you read them to?"

Finished speaking, he took a stack of things from the nearby table and tossed it onto the table before Cheng Zijian, saying, "Public examination essays — take them and read. But merely reading others' essays without writing, or merely writing without studying, what good does it do?"

A stack of essays suddenly thrown before him; Cheng Zijian froze, unsure how to react, yet instinctively reached out to take them.

Having taken them, he was about to lower his head to read when the other asked again, "You have been in school for over two years, yet you still need to borrow the 'Wei Xing Tong'? Why can you not memorize it?"

Cheng Zijian felt a chill run down his spine at the question; it was more tense and painful than when a teacher's inspection happened to catch him not knowing a single thing.

But his mind had not completely turned to paste; he suddenly thought back — when did the school ever say we must memorize the 'Wei Xing Tong'? The teachers never said so! The exams don't test it either!

Whether the other saw his inner doubt, he continued, "If Taixue students do not memorize the penal statutes, how will they impeach corrupt officials in court? How will they discuss policy? How will they deliberate affairs? Once you obtain office, how will you administer criminal law? You would go serve as a 'parent official' just like that?"

"You don't memorize the statutes, yet you have the leisure here to ponder these may-or-may-not matters."

By now Cheng Zijian's eyes held no more tears; those tears seemed to have turned into sweat on his forehead.

He suddenly felt that his earlier self-pity and self-commiseration were indeed rather superfluous, even laughable.

"I do have a 'Wei Xing Tong', but my own marginal notes contain too many reckless words; I cannot give it to you. Since you have the heart to advance in learning, I will point you a way — on the fourth tier of the 'Yu Zi Jia' in the 'Ding Zi Fang' on the second floor of the Shu Ge, there is the 'Jianlong Chongding Xing Tong'; this edition is the newest. Find time to go copy it for two days; would that not be more useful than borrowing it to read?"

He asked again, "Remembered it?"

Cheng Zijian nodded repeatedly without pause.

The man said again, "Then repeat it back — in which reign was the Xing Tong re-established? On which floor and which shelf?"

Cheng Zijian's hair stood on end all over.

He never expected to be tested on the spot.

But he had, after all, fought his way from the Fuzhou Zhou Xue through five passes and six generals to the Capital; he could not possibly be a fool. He strained his mind and immediately replied, "Re-established in the Jianlong era, stored in the Ding Zi Fang on the second floor of the Shu Ge, the Cloud... no, the Yu Zi Jia, yes, the Yu Zi Jia, fourth tier..."

Hearing his answer, the man finally nodded.

Receiving that nod, Cheng Zijian inexplicably felt a sense of being affirmed by a teacher; he let out a long breath, and inexplicably felt a surge of joy.

"I am not skilled in literary composition, but if you are willing, I can let you observe my brushwork." The man turned to glance at the water clock, saying, "There is still half a double-hour before the bell strikes."

He pointed to an empty table ahead, saying, "There are paper and brushes there; go write a short policy essay. As for the topic..."

Paper was right before him; the man lowered his head, dipped his brush in ink, casually wrote a topic, handed it to Cheng Zijian, then added, "This topic — no need to write long. Just draft the opening and conclusion, set up the framework; timed by the hour, wait for me..."

He paused, as if suddenly remembering something, opened a lidded bowl on the table, and said, "Wait until I finish my breakfast, then I will examine it."

This person's conduct, tone, and assignments were utterly overbearing, leaving Cheng Zijian not a shred of choice.

Yet more wondrous still, Cheng Zijian, so sensitive and shy, felt not the slightest discomfort — only a heart full of hesitant gratitude, a single-minded desire to perform well, never to disappoint him.

The public examination was imminent; everyone was either busy plugging their own gaps or, like Cai Xiu, striving to find opportunities at various literary gatherings.

No one's time falls from the sky; guiding someone's essays has never been an easy or effortless matter.

Searching his heart, to have Cheng Zijian guided by someone now — were it not for extreme closeness, he himself would be wavering, quite unwilling.

Cheng Zijian took the topic, without the slightest hesitation, thanked him, and was about to step forward; but as he passed by, he truly could not suppress his curiosity and stole a glance at that bowl.

He saw that the opened bowl lid contained no other delicacy — merely a bowl of porridge resembling rice grains.

In early spring, mornings and evenings were cold; the porridge was already very thick, and left uneaten for long, it had now congealed into a solid mass.

Cheng Zijian instantly recalled the story of 'cutting dried pickles and drawing porridge'.

He could not help but observe the other once more, then froze.

What handsome features!

Only those brows like swords, eyes like lacquer — brows and eyes so excessively sharp that one simply dared not meet his gaze.

He wore an ordinary linen robe; with Cheng Zijian's eye he could not discern the fabric's quality, but felt the garment was starched and washed exceedingly clean, worn on him it was fresh and crisp, perfectly flat and well-fitted, simply far better-looking than what common folk wear.

Plain cloth naturally cannot compare to brocade robes.

Yet for some reason, Cheng Zijian always felt this man possessed more bearing than Cai Xiu just now, clad in brocade with a powdered face.

— Such a figure, yet like Master Xi Wen, reduced to drinking cold porridge out of poverty?

I, a mere outer dormitory student, relying on the Taixue's monthly stipend, can still afford rice; he shares a dormitory with Cai Xiu and studies alongside him, with such talent he must be an inner dormitory student — he should not be like this!

Though he knew not the cause, Cheng Zijian could bear to look no longer; he moved the food box on the table over and said, "Brother, do you dislike mutton? Here there is also mung bean paste glutinous rice, and Huang Bobo..."

The other needed no side dishes, picked up his chopsticks and was about to eat the porridge; he looked up at Cheng Zijian, saw him staring at his bowl and chattering on, and replied, "I have never indulged my appetite; food and drink are merely to stave off hunger — I seek only convenience, and care nothing for the rest."