Traveling Through Ancient Times to Be a Teacher - Chapter 41

Master Fang clearly knew of Zhang Wenhai, and though Wenhai’s remark was a little abrupt, he showed no displeasure—only sighed.

“Our family has wondered the same—whether it was bad feng shui that clashed with us. Since Jinyang’s health began to decline two years ago, we’ve moved three times already… yet, alas, nothing changed.”

A thought flashed through Chu Ci’s mind: If it’s not feng shui… could it be human cause?

For a moment, scenes of scheming relatives, inner-family jealousy, and plots for inheritance swirled through his head like a drama.

He quietly asked a few questions about the Fang household, but soon discarded his suspicion.

It turned out The Fang elders had four sons and two daughters. Jinyang’s father was the eldest son—but Jinyang himself was the youngest of all the siblings, born seven or eight years after his mother married in.

It was fortunate that the old couple were open-minded and that Fang’s father loved his wife deeply—otherwise, by ordinary standards, he would have long since divorced or taken a concubine.

The Fang elders treated their children with remarkable fairness, always keeping “one bowl of water level.” The family had long been considered upright and harmonious.Years earlier, the grandfather had divided the estate evenly among the sons, keeping the old couple with the eldest branch.

From every angle, there was no motive for anyone to harm Jinyang.

“Jinyang’s awake—you should go see him,” said Madam Fang tearfully. Her son had been lying there since morning, staring blankly at the ceiling without saying a word.

He was her only child. If something happened to him, how could they live on? Luckily, the grandparents were at the temple praying for his safety, or they too would be frantic.

Chu Ci had entered the room earlier and immediately felt the stifling air—the windows were sealed tight, not a breath of wind inside. It looked like they were rarely opened at all.

“Jinyang, you must pull yourself together,” said Zhang Wenhai, sitting beside the bed. “You were just ill this time. Next year you’ll surely pass.”

Tears slid from the corners of Fang Jinyang’s eyes. “No… I won’t pass next year either. For three, four years now—it’s been the same every time. This year, my body finally felt stronger, and I thought I had a chance. But during the exam, my head grew dizzy… when I checked my paper, I realized—I’d missed an entire math question…I’ve let down my elders’ hopes, wasted Brother Chu’s patient teaching, and failed the trust of my friends.”

He stared at the ceiling, eyes empty, voice faint and lost—his despair was palpable.

His state of mind had collapsed completely. In past years, he’d had no expectations, so the disappointment never cut deep. But this time he had hope—too much of it. When expectation and reality diverge too sharply, the mind often falls into darkness. If not corrected, it would become depression.

Chu Ci sat down beside him. “Brother Fang, did you do anything unusual these past few days? I know your health well. After two months of Five-Animal Exercises, your constitution had recovered—you should’ve been able to endure the exam. For you to fall ill again this suddenly… seems suspicious.”

His last words were whispered, meant to divert Jinyang’s attention.

It worked—Jinyang turned his head, momentarily distracted. He’d been trapped in self-blame, but now, hearing there might be an outside cause, his focus shifted.

Wenhai’s eyes widened too. The atmosphere in the room felt suddenly chilling, and his imagination began to run wild.

Chu Ci ignored him. “Brother Fang, clues often hide in the smallest details. Think carefully—anything, however minor, that differed from usual, tell me.”

Jinyang frowned and tried to recall. “Was the weather colder than before? My maid, Xiaocui, said it was a spring chill and gave me another quilt. That night, I woke once and saw the trees outside shaking fiercely—must’ve been the wind.”

“That’s odd,” said Wenhai. “These nights didn’t feel any colder to me. I was out walking late last night and didn’t notice much change.”

“Also,” Jinyang continued, “I usually burn calming incense at night. But that afternoon, I suddenly found the smell unpleasant and told Xiaocui to extinguish it. She tried to persuade me not to, but I insisted. I didn’t burn it again afterward… maybe that’s why?” He looked regretful.

“Who is Xiaocui?” asked Chu Ci.

“She’s my nurse’s daughter. We grew up together—she’s always cared for me like an elder sister. She’s boiling my medicine now.”

Chu Ci nodded, then stood. “Brother Fang, the trees you saw swaying—on which side?”

“Outside the right window.”

Chu Ci walked over, opened it—and at that moment Jinyang froze, realization dawning.

Chu Ci bent down and pinched out a small crushed leaf from the crack. The green pulp beneath still gave off a faint, sweet fragrance—clearly fresh.

“And that incense—may I see it?”

Hands trembling, Jinyang pointed to the cabinet.

Chu Ci retrieved a pouch, opened it, and waved it under Wenhai’s nose.

“Ugh!” Wenhai sneezed violently. “What is that? Smells sickly sweet!”

“That’s the calming incense my mother got from Shangqing Monastery two years ago, when I couldn’t sleep. The physician examined it—said it was made of herbs and spices. It did help me sleep better.”

Chu Ci scraped a little onto a sheet of paper, wrapped it, and slipped it into his sleeve. “I’ll step out for a moment. Brother Zhang Wenhai, watch over him—and don’t let him drink that medicine yet.”

Before Wenhai could ask, Chu Ci was already gone.

“This Brother Chu, honestly… what’s he up to now? Jinyang, do you kn—wait, what’s wrong with you?” Wenhai turned back and saw Jinyang’s face twisted with a mix of sorrow and fury.

Meanwhile, Chu Ci was hurrying through several apothecaries.

Most doctors confirmed the powder’s ingredients and agreed it was indeed a tranquilizing incense.

Only the last old physician hesitated. “This is calming powder, yes… but the proportions of orange jasmine and phellodendron bark are too high. That’s why it smells overly sweet.”

“What happens if there’s too much? Just smells bad?”

“Not only that. Those herbs soothe restlessness and sleeplessness in small doses—but in excess, they dull the spirit. The user becomes sluggish, drowsy, unable to focus. Not fatal, but constant exposure leads to mental fog. Stop using it and exercise for a few days—it’ll clear up.”

“Many thanks, doctor.”

Chu Ci rushed back to the Fang Jinyang home. 

The door to Jinyang’s room was open. Inside, Wenhai was arguing with a maid.

“…Xiaocui, he can’t take medicine yet. Leave it for now.”

“Master Zhang , please don’t interfere! He must drink it while it’s hot!” cried Xiaocui anxiously.

Ignoring them, Chu Ci went straight to the bedside and whispered a few words to Jinyang.

The young man’s eyes widened in shock, then dimmed as he slumped against the headboard, silent.

“What’s going on here?” Madam Fang’s voice came from the doorway. “Xiaocui, why hasn’t he taken the medicine yet?”

“Madam!” Xiaocui ran to her. “This Young Master Zhang keeps stopping me from giving it to him!”

The kind-faced woman patted her hand. “Don’t worry.” She turned to the guests. “Gentlemen, you’ve helped my son so much today. It’s getting late—please, come dine with us in the hall. You must be tired.”

Before Chu Ci could answer, a quiet voice interrupted:

“Xiaocui… why did you harm me?”

Everyone turned. Jinyang was sitting upright, eyes cold, staring at the maid.

“Y-Young Master, what are you saying?” cried Madam Fang. “Xiaocui’s looked after you since you were a baby. How could she harm you?”

“Mother, please don’t speak. Xiaocui—look at me. Why did you hurt me?” His tone rose, trembling with anger.

She stepped forward, wanting to comfort him, but he recoiled.

Her eyes filled with tears. “You’ve misunderstood me. I never wanted to hurt you—never!” Her soft, trembling voice carried such sorrow it might have moved anyone else.

“Jinyang,” Madam Fang said hurriedly, “you’re just upset and blaming her unfairly. Your health’s always been fragile—how could she be at fault?”

“What if I told you,” Jinyang said bitterly, “my illness was because of her?”

At those words, Xiaocui flinched violently. Seeing all eyes turn toward her, she fell to her knees with a thud.

“I never wanted to harm Young Master! I don’t know who’s slandering me—but I’ve grown up by your side! Why would I ever wish you harm?”

“Until this morning,” Jinyang said grimly, “I hadn’t suspected you at all. I thought I was simply unlucky. But after hearing Brother Chu’s words, I began connecting the past few years… and realized a viper has been at my side all along.”

His normally gentle demeanor now turned chilling, and everyone instinctively stepped back.

“Three years ago, before my first county exam, I suddenly fell ill with severe diarrhea. The doctor said I’d eaten something bad. You were the one who cooked mung bean soup for me, saying it would brighten the eyes. Later I learned that mung beans are cold in nature—bad for weak stomachs—and cause diarrhea.”

“Young Master, I—”

“After that illness, I couldn’t sleep, and it was your mother who told mine about a calming incense from Shangqing Monastery, convincing her to fetch it. From then on, I burned it nightly—and day by day, I grew ever more listless. Each exam season, I grew faint before the test even ended. The doctors could find no cause and only said I was weak.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Whenever I traveled away from home, I felt better within days. But once I returned, I’d fall sick again. You told me it was because I hadn’t burned the incense, didn’t you? You even gave it to Shitou to light every night.”

“Young Master, I—”

“This time, staying with Wenhai, I stopped burning it because he disliked the smell. After two months of exercise, I didn’t fall ill once! My spirit was brighter than ever. The night before the exam, you came to my room to light it again. When I refused, you panicked—begging, even bringing up my mother. When I stood firm, you claimed it was cold and gave me another quilt, but secretly opened my window and put out the brazier. I woke briefly that night and saw the window open. By morning, it was tightly shut again. Still, I never suspected you—not once. I never imagined that after ten years of companionship, you’d betray me.”

Silence filled the room. Wenhai and Madam Fang were speechless; only Chu Ci remained calm—he had already guessed as much.

Xiaocui burst into tears. “Please believe me! I never meant to hurt you… I just—I just didn’t want you to take the imperial exam!”

Slap!

Madam Fang’s palm cracked across her face. Her hand trembled with fury. “What have we ever done to you mother and daughter? Why such hatred—to the point of plotting my son’s death?”

“Madam, no! I didn’t— I only wanted to stay by his side! I never meant—”

Xiaocui was a month older than Jinyang. When she was born, her father was conscripted for war—a campaign from which few ever returned. Her village later suffered famine, and her mother, desperate, sold herself and her infant at the market.

At that time, Madam Fang had just given birth at an advanced age and couldn’t produce milk. She purchased Xiaocui’s mother as a wet nurse.

The Fangs were kind employers—they treated the two generously. As children, Jinyang shared everything with Xiaocui, truly seeing her as a sister. At eleven, he even persuaded his parents to release their indenture contracts, allowing them to buy land and live freely.

But the mother and daughter refused to leave, vowing to serve the Fang family for life. 

From that day on, Xiaocui began serving Jinyang personally.

Girls mature early; her affection grew into obsession. In her mind, she was already his future wife.

Of course, the other maids noticed. Some mocked her cruelly—saying the young master was destined to become an official and would marry a noble lady, never a servant girl.

The words struck like thunder. Humiliated and desperate, Xiaocui’s hidden love turned to madness—especially as Jinyang, sensing her feelings, began to distance himself.

In her warped reasoning, the imperial exam was the root of all her pain. If he never took it, things would return to how they were—she could stay by his side forever, even become his wife someday. All she had to do was make sure he never passed.

Listening to her incoherent confession and seeing her half-crazed eyes, everyone in the room shivered.

From love comes sorrow; from love comes fear.

Her deranged affection had nearly destroyed Fang Jinyang’s entire life.

Since it became family business, Chu Ci and Wenhai quietly excused themselves.

On the way back, Wenhai sighed heavily. “I used to envy Jinyang—having such a beautiful maid to keep him company, pouring tea and lighting lamps. Now I see my mother was wise to only let male servants near me! To think that devotion could turn to poison… it’s terrifying.”

Chu Ci shook his head. “Let’s hope this ordeal helps Brother Fang Jinyang regain his spirit. And he only missed one question—perhaps there’s still a chance.”

Indeed, Jinyang’s learning far surpassed Wenhai’s. Missing one problem might not ruin him entirely—it all depended on how the county magistrate graded the papers.

Late that night, the county yamen was ablaze with light. Over a dozen officials sat together reviewing the exam papers. By noon the next day, the results would be posted—they had no time to rest.

“Hmm, this essay is well written,” one examiner remarked. “The argument and structure are ingenious, and the prose carries the refined rhythm of the ancients—truly delightful to read.”

The others leaned over to look and nodded in agreement.

“A pity this candidate missed a Nine Chapters problem,” said the elder examiner, setting it aside into the “rejected” pile. “Such a waste.”

“These students are hopeless!” the county magistrate snapped after reading a few more. “Their essays are nonsense!”

“Calm yourself, my lord,” another official said quickly. “Perhaps you’ll find this next one worth reading…”