Traveling Through Ancient Times to Be a Teacher - Chapter 27

After presenting his teacher with a fine piece of ink, Chu Ci sat obediently in the main hall, receiving a lecture.

“Ah Ci, you were too impulsive. How could you fight with that Zhu Jie in front of everyone? Such behavior invites gossip and damages your reputation. Still… being able to think of the Ziku Tower on the spot shows you have a bit of cleverness.”

Chu Ci’s instructor at the county academy was Master Qin, the very one who had personally recruited him from Qishan Academy. The man was in his early forties, slightly lean, and his scholar’s robe lent him an air of elegant restraint, almost otherworldly.

“Sir, you praise me too highly. I didn’t come up with it on my own—if not for that Brother Kou giving me a hint, I wouldn’t have escaped the situation so neatly.” Chu Ci spoke with a self-effacing smile.

“That man helping you is no surprise,” Master Qin sighed softly, a note of pity in his voice.

Chu Ci immediately knew what he was sighing about—Kou Jing’s scar. 

Since ancient times, an aspiring official had to be proper in appearance and free from defects. Though Chu Ci thought little of such a small scar, for a man like Kou Jing, it had completely barred the road to office.

“You didn’t come just to visit me, did you?” Master Qin changed the subject, unwilling to gossip about others behind their backs.

“Heh, sir truly sees through everything. There’s a matter I don’t quite understand—I was hoping you could enlighten me.” Chu Ci’s grin turned ingratiating. This Master Qin’s warmth reminded him of an old professor from his previous life, and the resemblance stirred a sense of genuine fondness.

Master Qin studied him and said with a faint smile, “I thought after what happened last time, you would fall into despair and give up. I’ve always worried that you think too much—that early fame burdened you. It does me good to see you smile again. I’m truly relieved.”

Chu Ci’s chest tightened slightly. The original Chu Ci had indeed collapsed after that scandal, crushed under the weight of poverty, expectations, and failure, until he chose death as escape.

This teacher, he realized, had understood the original better than anyone. No wonder the ancients placed Heaven, Earth, Sovereign, Parents, and Teacher in the same reverence—a teacher in those days truly was like both mentor and father.

“Sir, I can never repay your kindness,” Chu Ci said earnestly, bowing deeply—for both his predecessor and himself. “Had you not interceded and sought help on my behalf, I’d have been exiled long ago, with no chance to redeem my name. At home I have my mother and family’s love; outside, your care as my teacher. How could I not open my heart again?”

“It’s good that you can think this way. For now, set aside thoughts of fame and rank. Before the last examination, I told you that your time had come, but truthfully, I only said so to keep you confident. Even had you passed, your ranking would have been modest. Still, if you study diligently for the next three years, you’ll have no trouble achieving top honors.” Master Qin laughed heartily.

“I’ll remember your words, sir. I came today precisely to ask about my studies.”

Chu Ci presented his pages and explained his plan to compile a book of exam questions. Master Qin frowned slightly in disapproval.

“If you spend your energy on such a thing, how will you have the focus to study? Scholars who chase profit rarely maintain true integrity. I’d hate to see my proudest student fall into the same trap.”

“Sir,” Chu Ci replied, “the sages said, ‘Reviewing the old allows one to learn the new.’ By writing questions, I can review everything I’ve learned and deepen my understanding. Isn’t that both productive and educational? Besides, sir, you know my family’s poverty. My relatives have sacrificed everything to support my education. After my recent misfortune, even our land has been sold. I cannot bear to see my family suffer hunger on my account. If I can use my knowledge to help them survive, I’ll do so—but once they’re secure, I’ll devote myself entirely to my studies again.”

“A pure and filial heart—commendable indeed,” Master Qin said, nodding slowly. He, too, had come from poverty before achieving recognition, and he understood the struggle. “Very well, I’ll lend you my support—but remember, never let this path consume you.”

“I understand, sir.”

Chu Ci showed him the sections he had already written—on Text Recitation, Moral Interpretation, and The Nine Chapters. 

Master Qin kept a calm face, but inwardly, he was impressed.

The questions were well-designed—especially the arithmetic ones. Each type had clear examples followed by variations, simpler and more systematic than the usual messy problems scholars faced.

When he turned to the poetry section, however, Master Qin couldn’t help but laugh. “Your rhymes are accurate,” he said, “but the verses themselves are plain. The imagery forced, the sentiment shallow—a clear case of ‘writing new verses just to feign sorrow.’”

Chu Ci smiled awkwardly. Of course his teacher could see right through him—he’d never been good at poetry.

Then came the real lesson.

Master Qin began explaining tone patterns and rhyme groups—Er Xiao, Shi San Yuan, Yi Xian—how to balance tonal contrasts and structure regulated verse. 

Chu Ci dared not blink as he listened, afraid to miss a single word.

The teacher didn’t drone mechanically; for every principle, he composed an example poem on the spot, making it easy to grasp.

“…That’s enough for today,” Master Qin finally said. “If you can memorize what I’ve taught and what you already know, your materials should suffice for the county exam. Of course, effort matters most—it won’t help those who lack diligence, but for those near success, it will be a great boon.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you for your generous instruction!” Chu Ci was genuinely happy. He’d once learned these concepts before but never deeply understood them. Now, everything had clicked into place.

“Good. Since you seem inspired, let’s test you,” Master Qin said, glancing around the courtyard. “Write a seven-character poem—topic: Plum Blossom. Use the Shi San Yuan rhyme.”

Chu Ci looked out the window. A plum tree grew in the courtyard, its branches twisting gracefully, white blossoms scattered across its limbs. A few petals had fallen to the ground—no doubt brushed off by the northern wind overnight.

After some thought, he recited:

“The cold wind leaves the marks of yore,
Fading petals hide their fragrant core.
In one night’s fall, no trace remains,
Withering dreams at twilight’s door.”

He looked expectantly at Master Qin, awaiting his critique.

The Shi San Yuan rhyme group contained “-en” and “-un” sounds, and it had taken him some effort to piece together “痕 (hen), 魂 (hun), 昏 (hun)” to fit.

“…The imagery is too sorrowful,” Master Qin sighed. “It reeks of forced melancholy—writing grief for the sake of rhyme.”

He clearly disliked poems that lacked genuine emotion. Ancient poets expressed their hearts through verse, not technical maneuvering.

Chu Ci scratched his head in embarrassment. He really wasn’t good at this.

“Never mind,” said Master Qin. “Poetry requires feeling. I’ll assign you a task—when you return home, you must compose one poem every day. Any rhyme, any form, but it must be heartfelt. No perfunctory work. Bring them all when you return next time. Understood?”

“Yes, sir…” Chu Ci’s face twisted. After years of being the teacher himself, getting homework again was surreal. He now truly understood what his own students must’ve felt.

“You look reluctant,” Master Qin teased. “Perhaps I haven’t assigned enough. Let’s add another—”

“Dear, Ah Ci, it’s time to eat.”

Madam Qin appeared from the kitchen carrying a tray of dishes.

“We’re coming, Madam!” Chu Ci replied cheerfully, earning a stern glare from Master Qin. Grinning, he hurried forward to help set the table, silently thanking the teacher’s wife for saving him from another assignment.

There were four dishes and one soup—simple fare, with two extra plates added for the guest. Normally, the couple only ate two dishes and one soup. Their modest table spoke volumes about Master Qin’s frugal, humble life.

The Qins had two children—the daughter married off, and the son studying with his maternal family in Ganzhou.

Their home was usually quiet. With Chu Ci’s cheerful chatter at the table, the couple ended up eating more than usual, each adding an extra bowl of rice. 

After the meal, Master Qin gave Chu Ci a miscellaneous essay topic to work on back home.

By the time Chu Ci left, most students had gone to the dining hall. Only a few lingered, greeting him respectfully as he passed. He returned each salute with a nod.

At the academy gate, he spotted Kou Jing again—walking ahead with long strides, his bearing sharp and commanding, an air of restrained power around him.

Chu Ci quickened his pace. “Brother Kou, wait.”

Kou Jing turned. Chu Ci’s smile was bright as the summer sun.

“You’re heading back too? I just had dinner at my teacher’s house. Have you eaten?” Chu Ci asked, thinking if Kou Jing hadn’t, he’d treat him to a meal to repay his kindness.

Kou Jing nodded. If not for the headmaster insisting he stay for a meal, he wouldn’t still be here.

“I was about to say—if you hadn’t eaten, I’d take you out. You’ve helped me twice today already; I don’t even know how to thank you.”

“No need. It was just a small favor,” Kou Jing said, repeating his usual phrase.

“Even a drop of kindness deserves a spring in return,” Chu Ci insisted. “I can’t be someone who forgets gratitude. When you have time, let me treat you to a proper meal.”

“I return to camp tomorrow—no chance for that,” Kou Jing said regretfully. Seeing Chu Ci’s disappointment, he added, “But I have a close relative who’ll be entering the academy next year. If convenient, please look after him.”

Chu Ci nodded. A younger brother, perhaps?

Kou Jing saw his confusion and clarified, “He’s my nephew, named Zhongli Yu.”

“Ah, Young Master Zhongli,” Chu Ci said in realization.

Kou Jing chuckled, intending to explain that his nephew was only seven, but a voice interrupted them.

“Master Chu, this way—my young master sent me to fetch you.”

At the entrance of Qingshi Alley stood Xiao Chengzi, who had clearly been waiting some time. The moment he saw Chu Ci, he called out excitedly.

Chu Ci gave Kou Jing an apologetic smile, excused himself, and hurried off with Xiao Chengzi.

Kou Jing watched his retreating figure and thought to himself, Never mind. He’ll find out soon enough when they meet.