Traveling Through Ancient Times to Be a Teacher - Chapter 37

In Great Wei, people built relationships over food and wine. 

After three rounds of drinks, conversation flowed freely, and the atmosphere reached its peak. The officials chatted about affairs at the yamen, while Shopkeeper Lu leaned toward Manager Huang, asking about next month’s upcoming publications.

At that moment, Master Xu took the chance to sidle up to Chu Ci, smiling like a blooming chrysanthemum, and began asking questions—where he was from, where he studied, and so on.

Chu Ci answered casually, keeping his replies polite but brief. Though Master Xu was tactful enough not to cross any boundaries, his constant smiling still made Chu Ci uneasy.

He knew Master Xu was the man who had previously purchased his painting. The man had also helped secure the book license for his anthology’s publication.
Still, the excessive warmth felt strange.

Did he like the painting that much… or did he start liking the painter too? Chu Ci wondered, a faint chill running down his spine. Surely he’s not… that kind of person?

Discreetly, Chu Ci shifted his seat a little farther away—better safe than misunderstood.

The banquet lasted about an hour. The dishes had been changed several times, and the wine—Pear Blossom White, personally chosen by Clerk Zhang Wenhai—was deceptively smooth and fragrant, sweet at first but potent after a few cups.

Being the youngest at the table, Chu Ci couldn’t refuse anyone’s toasts. By the end, he had drunk most of the wine himself.

When the banquet finally ended, Huzi helped escort the tipsy scholar back to the Zhang Wenhai residence. 

Though his head was spinning, Chu Ci still insisted on stopping by the study.

Under the bewildered gazes of Zhang Wenhai and Fang Jinyang, he grabbed a brush, scribbled a few lines, nodded in satisfaction—and then walked straight out, collapsing onto his bed moments later.

The two young men looked at each other, torn between curiosity and restraint. After all, a man’s handwriting often revealed his heart—what secrets might a usually composed gentleman like Chu Ci spill when drunk?

Zhang Wenhai tried to resist, but curiosity gnawed at him. Pretending to fetch water, he stole glances at the paper again and again. In the end, he gave up all pretense, walked over, and muttered to himself, Whatever I see stays with me. I’ll take it to my grave—even Jinyang won’t know!

“Huh?”

Fang Jinyang, who had been eavesdropping, pricked up his ears. 

Normally, Wenhai would start muttering aloud when reading something interesting—but this time, only a single “huh” escaped him. Unable to stand it, Fang Jinyang got up and went over too.

On the white rice paper sprawled a mess of bold strokes—wild, tangled, and fierce, more like a painting than words. No wonder Wenhai hadn’t read it aloud—he couldn’t!

“Jinyang, I understand now!” Wenhai suddenly clapped his hands. “You’ve been to the Shangqing Monastery before, haven’t you?”

Fang Jinyang shook his head, puzzled.

The Shangqing Monastery, perched atop a mountain outside the county, was famous for its “miracles.” They said you could pray there for a wife or a son—and during the imperial exam season, countless scholars secretly went to buy blessing talismans, hoping divine favor would grant them success.

“I suspect… this is one of those talismans!” Wenhai declared solemnly. He’d once seen something similar poking out of another scholar’s pouch—crooked, tangled strokes just like these. “No wonder Brother Chu’s so talented,” Wenhai sighed in admiration. “He draws his own talismans!”

“Really?” Fang Jinyang still looked skeptical, but he couldn’t decipher the writing either. They’d just have to ask when Chu Ci woke up.

When Chu Ci awoke that evening, the room was already dim with sunset light. He changed out of his wine-soaked robe, washed up, and returned to his usual refined self.

Entering the study, he was pleased to find both students already at work—but their expressions were oddly strained.

When they steered him toward his desk, he finally saw it— on the paper were several huge characters, scrawled in drunken cursive:

“You old pervert, stay the hell away from me!”

Realizing what he’d done, Chu Ci almost choked. Before he could speak, Wenhai asked earnestly, “Brother Chu, is this… a kind of Daoist talisman?”

Ah—so they couldn’t read it. Perfect!

Keeping his composure, Chu Ci calmly rolled up the sheet. “Indeed. It’s a kind of talisman I once heard could cure drunkenness. I must have drawn it while intoxicated to test the effect. Unfortunately, as you can see, it didn’t work.”

Wenhai nodded seriously, immediately abandoning all thoughts of visiting Shangqing Monastery. 

Fang Jinyang still felt something was off, but Chu Ci’s tone was so natural that he couldn’t find fault.

Returning to his room, Chu Ci tossed the paper into the brazier and watched it burn to ash. Good thing I wrote in simplified horizontal script and wild cursive, he thought, otherwise they might’ve recognized it and my reputation would’ve gone up in smoke.

Meanwhile, Steward Xu had no idea his attempt at friendliness had terrified Chu Ci. To him, the coincidence was simply too perfect.

His young master—Lord Kou Jing—had recently visited the county school to handle his nephew’s enrollment. When he returned, there had been a rare hint of warmth in his usually cold expression, enough to make the timid Zhongli Yu relax around him.

Lord Kou had mentioned meeting a scholar named Chu Ci—righteous, eloquent, and principled. He’d asked that Chu Ci look after his nephew at the academy, and that Xu and the servants treat him with respect.

Who could have guessed that this same Chu Ci turned out to be the mysterious “Heavenly Guest” who had painted the young lady’s portrait?

It was fortunate, Xu thought, that he’d helped secure the publication license forChu Ci’s book. Surely that would ensure even better treatment for the young master’s kin.

Brimming with enthusiasm, the steward had only wanted to learn more about Chu Ci—to avoid any social missteps later. But somehow, the scholar seemed wary of him, and that made Xu rather crestfallen. 

Do I really look that untrustworthy? he sighed.

That night, back at Kou Manor, the study glowed with candlelight. Zhongli Yu was at his desk, writing diligently and mumbling to himself. Ever since he’d received his mother’s portrait, the boy had grown much more cheerful, especially with everyone in the manor doting on him.

“Grandpa Xu, you’re back!” the child called brightly. “I finished my assignments! Now I’m writing a letter to Uncle!” He waved the page for Xu to see.

“Good, good. Did Yuan Yuan and the others prepare your dinner?”

“Yes! I ate a big drumstick, two pieces of meat, a piece of fish, and… just a little bit of vegetables.” Zhongli Yu sneaked a glance at Xu, waiting for his reaction to the “little bit of vegetables.”

Xu chuckled. Indeed, the boy took after the Kou family—none of them were fond of greens.

Patting his head, he let the boy continue writing while he sat down to compose a letter to his master, detailing the day’s events.

When Kou Jing received the letter days later, he read his nephew’s note first. The childish scrawl warmed his heart, and he unconsciously smiled. His hand brushed the warm jade pendant at his neck—thankfully, he hadn’t sent that back.

Then he opened Steward Xu’s letter—and laughed quietly in disbelief.

So that scholar was the same man who painted the portrait? He’d expected someone fiery and sharp-tongued, yet here was proof of his patience and finesse.

Sitting in his tent, Kou Jing wrote back to both his nephew and Steward Xu—and after some thought, penned an additional letter addressed to Chu Ci himself.

After all, when you ask a favor, a handwritten letter shows the most sincerity.

On the twenty-fourth day of the first month, Hanmo Bookstore received a fresh shipment. Shopkeeper Lu immediately had a wooden sign placed prominently outside:

New Arrival: 200 Copies of “Cihai – Question Compendium”
Personally compiled and reviewed under the supervision of the County Magistrate! Specially prepared for the County Examination!
Don’t miss it! Miss it and regret for life!
This is your one and only chance—come get yours now!

To modern ears, the slogan was cliché—but in ancient times, it was groundbreaking.

Villagers gathered to read it aloud and spread the word, urging every scholar they knew to hurry and buy one.

A few arrogant students scoffed, claiming it was just marketing under the magistrate’s name. “The county lord’s far too busy to write a book,” they said. 

Ironically, they were right.

Still, skepticism didn’t stop them from sending servants to quietly buy a copy.

Moments later, one of those same scholars burst from his study shouting, “Go! Buy more! As many as you can!”

The first page indeed listed the County Magistrate as chief editor, with Chu Ci right beneath him—followed by the county’s other top officials.

Could the magistrate have personally written an exam guide? the scholar thought, panic setting in. If so, anyone who failed to get a copy would be left behind!

“Go now!” he barked. “Buy every last one! Take the steward’s grandson too—each person can only buy one!”

The servant’s face twisted. “But, young master… the baby’s only one year old. He can’t even read…”

“Doesn’t matter! Just go!”

By the time his men rushed toward the shop, another rival party was racing there too—the household of his longtime academic rival.

They collided in front of Hanmo Bookstore, where Shopkeeper Lu stood fending off the mob.

“Sold out! Completely sold out! Search me if you don’t believe it!” he shouted. “Truly gone! Come back tomorrow—another two hundred copies will arrive!”

“Hey, hey! That one’s reserved for my nephew!” he yelled as someone tossed down a tael of silver, snatched a book, and bolted.

In less than two hours, all 200 copies were gone.

Looking around at the wrecked shop, Shopkeeper Lu instructed his staff, “Clear the other stock off the shelves. Until the fifth of next month, we sell only Cihai.”

Zhang Wenhai and Fang Jinyang had also managed to grab copies. When they turned to the second page and saw Chu Ci’s name, their jaws nearly hit the floor.

They’d known he was working on something, but never imagined he’d actually collaborated with the magistrate himself.

Most of the anthology’s questions were ones they had practiced under him. 

Thinking of the countless scholars now clutching this “treasured” guide, the two couldn’t help feeling a secret thrill—after all, the editor himself was their teacher.

“Hey, you’ve already bought copies?” Chu Ci entered, arms full of books. “I was going to give you each one.”

The two turned toward him, eyes gleaming like wolves spotting fresh meat.

“Brother Chu, how many do you have? We’ll buy them all!”

Chu Ci chuckled. As the author, he wasn’t bound by the one-per-person rule. The ten-odd copies he carried were complimentary author’s editions sent by Shopkeeper Lu.

The pricing had been kept modest—288 wen per copy—so even poorer students could afford it. For those who truly couldn’t, copying five handwritten versions earned them one with answers attached.

Chu Ci had no objection to the price. “Small profit, big sales” was sound business, after all. Compared to modern exercise books, this was luxury pricing—but given the hardship of ancient scholars, it was still fair.

When he received his own copy and saw his name listed second, right after the magistrate’s, he almost couldn’t believe it. He’d expected to be buried in the footnotes. 

Clearly, they’d shown proper respect—good news for future collaboration.

Across other towns, the reaction lagged slightly—no one could match the marketing genius of Hanmo Bookstore’s “Miss it and regret for life!” slogan—but by afternoon, every copy of Cihai was sold out countywide.

The less shrewd booksellers, who’d only ordered small batches of thirty to a hundred copies, rushed to the county publishing house—only to find Shopkeeper Lu there ahead of them, grinning beside three wagons loaded with books.

“Don’t bother,” he told them smugly. “I bought out the lot. Next shipment’s in three days—better line up early!”

“Shameless fiend!” “Despicable vulture!” the others shouted.

Some even tried pleading, saying their local scholars desperately needed the books.

Lu stroked his mustache, pretending to consider. “Alright then—before the next batch arrives, I’ll set up a traveling stall in your towns. Wouldn’t want to delay the students’ studies. But don’t bully me just because your shops are bigger, eh?”

He left amidst a storm of curses and spittle—but inside, he was radiant.

Let them sneer now. Who’s laughing all the way to the bank?