Chapter 15: One String

Li Guanyi stopped his steps and stepped aside for the carriage.

When the carriage came to a halt, a maid with twin buns and a duck-green jacket jumped down first, then turned and extended her hand to help a woman alight. The woman was tall, dressed in a green skirt, white silk socks with Ou -colored shoes, her hair like a cloud—only her back was visible as she was escorted inside.

The carriage driver cracked his whip, and the carriage settled neatly against the wall on either side.

Li Guanyi paid no mind to this minor incident.

He merely handed the letter to someone at the private school, was led inside, and found the school grounds vast. The gatekeeper told Li Guanyi to wait outside while he delivered the letter to the Liu family’s tutor. Li Guanyi nodded and waited, his gaze sweeping over the place.

The Liu family’s private school.

Though he had long known it was large, the feeling from outside was utterly unlike that within—everywhere stood bamboo and orchids, buildings hidden among them; youths aged seven or eight, elders barely past twenty, all dressed in silk, adorned with jade pendants, swords, and incense pouches, their attire splendid, each holding a book as they walked.

Li Guanyi wore a gray-brown robe, washed until faded, standing there with calm eyes.

Yet he was thinking.

Indeed, the Liu family’s private school was already vast; if he could stay here, it would greatly aid his future efforts to obtain official documents. Moreover, it was hard enough for independent households to find work—how much harder to find one that could elevate them to registered status? With the old shopkeeper’s letter, why not try?

As he pondered, he slowly walked through the school grounds.

Just as he grew bored, he noticed a group of boys arguing over something.

Listening closely, he realized they were disputing the solution to a math problem.

Li Guanyi thought: if he wanted to stay here, he should reveal at least some of his ability.

He stepped forward, observed for a while, then spoke:

“You’ve solved it wrong.”

The students, who had been struggling for a full month with this difficult problem, were startled. They turned and saw a poor, plainly dressed boy. Their minds had been twisted like a washed, wrung-out garment by this problem for a month; now they snapped back irritably: “You say we’re wrong? Then show us how!”

“If you know the answer, solve it yourself!”

An older student asked more politely: “Young sir, you say we’re wrong—how exactly?”

“This was a secret problem given to us by our master a month ago. We’ve racked our brains and found no solution. The problem is: [Arrange the numbers one through nine into three rows so that the sum of any row, column, or diagonal is fifteen. How?]”

“Do you have a solution?”

Li Guanyi looked at the nine-square grid on the table.

Unlike his past life, in this world, mathematics was one of the Six Arts of the gentleman—hard to master.

The nine-square grid had been trivial in his past life, but here, without secret teachings, figuring it out alone was agonizingly time-consuming. Nine numbers, each with nine possible placements—combinatorial complexity enough to make one’s scalp tingle.

He picked up a brush. The elegantly dressed boys gathered around him. As he wrote, he murmured softly: “The principle of the nine-square grid follows the spirit turtle: two and four as shoulders, six and eight as feet, three on the left, seven on the right, nine on top, one beneath, five at the center.”

In an instant, the puzzle that had stumped these students for a month was solved.

The surrounding students’ expressions shifted in stunned silence.

On the upper floor, the young lady who had been gazing at her younger brother now saw this scene. Seeing the stunned faces of the haughty students, she paused thoughtfully, then spoke to her maid: “Go down.” The maid smiled and descended.

Just then, the gatekeeper who had earlier reported to him emerged. Li Guanyi put down his brush and followed the gatekeeper to a tea room. A screen separated the inner and outer spaces. A man in his early forties sat inside, holding the letter. He gestured for Li Guanyi to sit, poured him tea himself, and said:

“I know your purpose.”

“Since Old Zhao recommended you, I ought to take you in.”

“But my school is full. The position Old Zhao recommended is gone. Only minor laborers remain. You may start as a helper for two months—sweeping and cleaning. Your pay will be low at first. Don’t complain.”

Probation? Li Guanyi asked: “How much?”

The scholar stroked his beard and held up five fingers. Li Guanyi said: “One and a half strings?”

Roughly the same as before.

The scholar chuckled: “No—five strings.”

A string was officially one hundred coins, but in practice, people used “short strings” to cheat—only seventy-five coins, for instance. The court tolerated this, only punishing theft of five thousand full strings in law. The scholar clearly meant short strings.

“Full string,” “full gold”—that’s what they meant.

At seventy-five coins per string, monthly pay was three hundred seventy-five coins—less than twenty coins a day, even the bare minimum for survival. Li Guanyi understood: they wanted him to quit. They didn’t want to offend the old shopkeeper, yet refused to take him. The scholar smiled warmly as he offered tea:

“Still, I advise you to stay.”

“While working, you may listen to the students’ scholarly debates. You’ll learn to read and write. It’s a rare opportunity.”

Li Guanyi sipped his tea.

Hmm. First the psychological manipulation, then the empty promises.

Five strings a month wouldn’t cover expenses. Even the state’s disaster relief stipend was higher. Most would be driven away—so the scholar could claim he’d begged Li Guanyi to stay, while the blame fell entirely on Li Guanyi for refusing.

What a fine scholar! Truly read his books well.

Li Guanyi rose. “No thanks.”

A true man has hands and feet, medical skills, and martial prowess. He need not endure humiliation.

The scholar’s face showed regret—but beneath it, a faint smile. He rose to escort Li Guanyi out, even opened the door for him, his manner warm and sorrowful—when suddenly, a clear laugh rang out: “Master Liu, you have no idea what rice and salt cost.”

“Five strings a month? Even short strings? Our daily laborers earn more in a few days.”

Outside stood the maid—fifteen or sixteen, slightly chubby, eyes bright and black, smiling cutely yet teasingly. Master Liu accepted the jab without offense, smiling gently: “Scholars are poor by nature. A gentleman keeps away from the kitchen. Miss Qing speaks truly.”

“I truly know nothing of rice and salt.”

“I didn’t know Miss Xue came today—was she here to play the qin? Hmm, might I be so lucky as to hear her?” The maid, Qing’er, rolled her eyes and ignored the suddenly changed scholar.

Instead, she looked at the poor boy—his face handsome, and she smiled faintly: “My lady saw what you just did. She guesses you’re skilled in math. If you don’t want to work here, my lady has a better job for you. Interested?”

Li Guanyi paused briefly, then agreed. Qing’er smiled, took his arm, and led him forward, ignoring Master Liu entirely. They entered a pavilion. Behind a screen, the sound of a qin drifted faintly; a shadow could be seen. Li Guanyi sat. Qing’er explained:

They were seeking a study companion for her young master.

First, they’d test his ability.

Qing’er returned from behind the screen with a sheet of white paper covered in simple math problems.

Li Guanyi glanced at them—all easy. He answered swiftly.

Martial arts and culture? No comparison.

Take Li Guanyi—he’d spent ten years being beaten by his aunt for failing at qin, chess, calligraphy, and painting.

But math was different.

In his past life, every child studied math: three years of preschool learning numbers, nine years of compulsory education, three years of high school—fifteen years of systematic training. Compared to math students here, he was a monster unleashed.

Qing’er snatched the paper back. The young lady exclaimed: “Already done?” Qing’er replied: “Yes, he finished fast.”

The girl glanced at the answers: “All correct.”

“I saw those arrogant math students’ faces earlier—I knew you were good. Indeed.”

Qing’er smiled: “So, will you hire him?”

“Hmm. Not yet. I want to see how far his ability goes.”

Qing’er, knowing her lady’s passion for math, watched as she wrote a harder problem: “Fang Tian”—calculate the area of a square field. Li Guanyi glanced at it—a plane geometry problem—and wrote calmly.

He finished quickly. Qing’er took it back.

The girl glanced at it, surprised, then wrote another: “Su Mi.”

Li Guanyi saw it: grain conversion ratios.

He answered without hesitation.

“Shuai Fen”—proportional distribution.

“Shao Guang”—given area, find one side length.

“Shang Gong”—volume calculation.

Qing’er’s green skirt fluttered back and forth across the screen like a blooming lotus. The screen bore a ink painting of “Seven Children Questioning the Wise.” One side: the lady, her robes flowing. The other: the boy, seated calmly at the desk, his brow clear, his clothes plain.

Qing’er was slightly breathless.

Sixth problem. The lady’s writing slowed. The initial joy of discovering talent had turned solemn, edged with disbelief—as if facing a monster. Yet his answers came as steadily, as terrifyingly, as before.

Finally, she bit her lip and wrote a problem she herself had struggled over for months without solving.

Li Guanyi glanced at it.

Probably a linear system from his past life.

Was math here really this absurd? A child’s tutor needed this level? But he’d seen dragons—so maybe it was normal.

Li Guanyi thought, picked up his brush, and answered.

Behind the screen, silence. The girl closed her eyes, counting silently.

One, two…

The sound of his brush was unnervingly steady.

Finally, even the most difficult problem in the Nine Chapters—ninth level—was solved in the same time as the first.

He put down his brush.

Qing’er sensed the weight in the air and slowed her breathing.

The young lady finished reading, closed her eyes, and sighed.

Li Guanyi asked: “How?”

The girl whispered to someone beside her. A servant pulled the screen open. Li Guanyi saw a hand—pale as jade—holding up one finger. It hesitated, then said: “If you don’t find it too little… how about this?”

Li Guanyi thought: “One string? Fine.”

The screen opened.

The girl in the green skirt, her brow clear and lovely, face as white as jade, a floral dot on her forehead, smiled softly: “Yes. One string.”

“One string per day.”

Li Guanyi’s thoughts stilled.

He looked at the girl before him, her finger raised.

One string per day? In that instant.

He thought she was beautiful.

(End of chapter)