Traveling Through Ancient Times to Be a Teacher - Chapter 45

“Dear Brother Kou, may this letter find you well.

It has been some days since we last met—how have you been? The lands around Anchang are vast and open; living amidst such scenery must surely broaden one’s mind. I have long yearned for such a place… I hear you have been busy with military affairs, and I fear I have troubled you too often. If you have no leisure, you need not reply.

Yours sincerely,
Chu Ci.”

Chu Ci wrote the letter with warmth and familiarity, the tone easy and natural—like a casual conversation between friends about faraway places. Anyone reading it would feel a quiet sense of comfort.

Kou Jing had never expected Chu Ci to write to him first. Overjoyed, he picked up his brush and replied in kind, imitating Chu Ci’s tone. He reminisced about his hometown’s beauty, then vividly described the customs and landscape of Anchang, his prose elegant and refined, like a finely crafted travelogue. 

When Chu Ci received it, he read it at least three times.

The letter made him even more regretful about Kou Jing’s injury. Such literary talent—had fate been kinder, this man would surely have risen through the ranks of officialdom. Unfortunately, he had entered the army and could no longer step into the imperial bureaucracy.

A few days later, joyous sounds filled the streets.

“Congratulations to Master Zhang of your esteemed household! By order of the Ganzhou Prefectural Board of Education, you have placed twenty-third in the academy examination! The new scholar is to be celebrated!”

The heralds, beating gongs and blowing trumpets, paraded up to the Zhang Wenhai residence. Neighbors along Qingshui Alley crowded the gates to watch the spectacle.

Master Zhang and Madam Zhang were all smiles, ordering their servants to bring out the pre-prepared copper coins and scatter them to share the good fortune.

The heralds left satisfied with their red envelopes, and soon the second and third announcements arrived. The revelry lasted the whole morning, and the Zhang Wenhai family spent over seven or eight thousand coins in celebration.

At the Fang Jinyang household, things were even more splendid. Fang Jinyang had once again excelled, taking first place in the academy examination. People couldn’t help but lament that his county exam hadn’t also been first—had it been so, the fame of achieving the Minor Threefold Honor would have spread far and wide, with academies from every prefecture begging him to enroll.

But Fang Jinyang was already deeply content. Above all, he was grateful to one person—without Chu Ci, how could he have achieved such success?

Traditionally, newly ranked scholars hosted banquets in order of standing; the top scorer hosted first. Fang’s family didn’t make others wait long—they sent out invitations for the twenty-fifth.

Chu Ci arranged for Chu Xiaoyuan and Zhongli Yu to stay in the dormitory, then brought a gift to the Fang Jinyang residence—a fine Shexian inkstone, not extravagant but meaningful.

Upon arrival, he was seated at the main table, directly beside Master Fang, under the honored place of the Old Master Fang. According to traditional etiquette—heaven, earth, kinship, and teacher—the Fang family had seated him as the teacher.

Chu Ci felt uneasy, standing up several times to protest, but everyone urged him to remain seated. He had no choice but to comply—after all, appearances mattered.

The old master of the Fang family had once served as a legal adviser (shiyé) to a prefectural magistrate, traveling widely and holding influence. In his later years, his second son succeeded him. 

The prefect he had once assisted had since risen to higher office in the capital and repaid the old favor, appointing the son as a County Assistant Magistrate (jiupin xiancheng). Though the rank was minor, the post was in one of the wealthiest counties in the realm, and over the years, their fortune had quietly grown substantial.

Now that the grandson had earned his scholar’s title, even the assistant magistrate—unable to attend—sent several cartloads of gifts home in celebration. Other uncles and in-laws in government also sent congratulatory presents. 

By the end of the day, Fang Jinyang’s gifts had piled high.

During the banquet, wine and laughter flowed freely. Jinyang, usually reserved, accepted every toast, drinking readily after honoring his elders. After the first few rounds, he turned and toasted Chu Ci three times in succession. Though the wine wasn’t particularly strong, it was enough to leave him light-headed.

Zhang Wenhai, also seated nearby, chuckled. “When it’s my turn to host, I’m not drinking half as much as Jinyang tonight.”

Chu Ci shot him a sideways glance. You’re one of those who get drunk before anyone even toasts you, he thought. The more time he spent with Zhang Wenhai, the more he realized how much the man resembled a certain fool—completely incorrigible.

When the feast ended, Jinyang was helped to his room, dizzy and smiling. 

Chu Ci was about to take his leave when a servant came to say that the Old Master Fang wished to see him in the study.

Entering the room, Chu Ci froze—the old master and his son both stood and bowed to him. Startled, Chu Ci nearly fell to his knees.

He hurriedly supported them both. “Gentlemen, please—such courtesy is far too much!”

“Scholar Chu,” said the old master earnestly, “you have given my grandson a new life. Accepting this small gesture is the least we can do. For years, Jinyang lived in melancholy, and we were helpless. We let two women’s deceit nearly destroy the future of our eldest line. You not only taught him, but exposed the truth and defended his honor before the public. We are deeply, deeply grateful.”

“Old Master flatters me. Jinyang and I are as brothers—this is what I should do. In the future, when we both enter official life, we’ll surely help one another. Perhaps one day, I’ll be the one needing his aid.”

Though no member of the Fang family held high office, they were entrenched throughout local administration—a network decades in the making. And in bureaucracy, as they said, “The King of Hell is easy to face, but his little ghosts are hard to handle.” Many great men had fallen to the “little ghosts.”

“Still,” the old master said, “we are not ingrates. If we accepted your kindness and offered nothing in return, we’d be mocked as shameless. Scholar Chu, you are a man of letters—money is too crude a gift. So, after Jinyang returned home, his father went searching near Changxi Village and purchased a dozen acres of good farmland in your name. Please do not refuse us again, or we shall never hold our heads high.”

A dozen acres—likely contiguous—worth at least two hundred taels or more. A truly generous gift.

Chu Ci feigned hesitation, his hand hovering. But Fang’s father held the deed firmly, refusing to withdraw it.

With a sigh, Chu Ci accepted it. “Since Old Master and Master Fang are so sincere, it would be rude of me to decline.”

“Excellent! From now on, we hope you’ll continue to guide our Jinyang. No need to draw such lines between us,” said the old man with a laugh.

After a few more words, Fang’s father personally arranged for a carriage to take Chu Ci back to the county academy.

Along the way, Chu Ci thought wryly: The Fang family is generous indeed. I suppose the Zhang Wenhais will have something prepared when their banquet comes. That merchant patriarch—when I talked him down from fifty taels before, he surely had another plan in mind.

Sure enough, two days later, after the Zhang Wenhai family’s banquet, Master Zhang invited him privately to the study and handed over a box containing a deed to a two-courtyard residence in Yuanshan County town—easily worth two or three hundred taels.

When Chu Ci tried to refuse, the old merchant sighed. “I’m just a humble trader. I’ve no idea what makes a fitting gift. If you dislike the house, I’ll exchange it for farmland instead.”

Chu Ci realized then that the two old foxes had clearly conspired—one gifting land, the other a house. Between them, they’d forced him straight into middle-class comfort. And that was from teaching only two well-off students! If a few more like them appeared, he might well become Changxi Village’s richest man. In fact, he might already be.

This year, Yuanshan County produced sixteen new scholars, much to the magistrate’s delight.

These were solid achievements to boast of. His predecessor had only managed one notable success in ten years—the prodigy Chu Ci, who passed at fourteen. Now the county had produced nearly one-third of all successful candidates in the prefecture, thanks largely to Chu Ci’s Cihai – Question Collection, which had trained countless examinees, especially in the Nine-Chapter problems.

The prefectural governor who wrote the exam questions had once nearly become the Mathematics Doctor of the Imperial Academy, and so the test heavily featured mathematical reasoning. Most who failed had done so on those same problems.

After the scholars finished hosting their family banquets, the magistrate invited them all to the yamen for an official feast. Midway through, an urgent dispatch arrived. The magistrate straightened his robes and hurried to receive it—only to be struck by a thunderbolt of news.

Emperor Jiayou, in the forty-second year of his reign, had passed away.

Within minutes, the joyful banquet was dismantled. White mourning drapes replaced all festive decorations.

The county yamen struck the announcement drum, proclaiming the imperial death throughout the city. Every household was ordered to hang white cloth and wear mourning garb within a day. The entire city was to don hempen attire and observe fifteen days of mourning for the late emperor.

During this time, no meat, ginger, or garlic were to be eaten. No drinking, no laughter, no music. Married couples were forbidden from intimacy, and all weddings or celebrations had to be postponed.

When Zhang Wenhai and Fang Jinyang returned home, they immediately ordered their households to buy up white and hemp cloth while supplies lasted. Being late or careless could lead to reports of disrespect—fatal to a budding career.

Yet amid the rush, both men thought of one person—Chu Ci.

Later that afternoon, the gatekeeper called for him. When he came to the entrance, he found two enormous bundles of white and hemp cloth on the ground.

“Scholar Chu,” said Shitou, bowing, “my master sends his regards—and this message: ‘The sky has fallen.’” He pointed solemnly upward.

Not to be outdone, Xiao Cheng puffed his chest. “My young master also has something to say.” He leaned close to Chu Ci’s ear and whispered, “The Emperor is dead.”

Chu Ci’s face darkened. Thank goodness Zhang Wenhai had at least told the boy not to shout it aloud—otherwise, they’d all be guilty of treasonous disrespect. Still, he couldn’t help comparing: Fang’s phrasing—concise and dignified. Zhang Wenhai’s—blunt as a brick.

Yet despite himself, his heart warmed.

His family and teachers’ care might have stemmed from the original host’s ties—but Wenhai and Jinyang’s friendship was entirely his own making. 

To have friends like these—what more could one ask for?

Before he could move the bundles inside, Steward Xu arrived in haste. “Ah, Scholar Chu! Just the man I was looking for. I’ve brought some mourning robes and white cloth—remember to wear them tomorrow and hang the strips in your room.”

Chu Ci gestured helplessly toward the ground. Xu followed his gaze—and blinked at the mountain of fabric already there.

“No matter,” said the steward cheerfully. “Those are uncut bolts; you can give them away. These here I’ve had tailored to fit, and the cloth is pre-cut for hanging. I must hurry back to finish our household’s arrangements. Farewell.”

And just like that, he rushed off again.

Chu Ci stared at the pile of fabric, then slowly turned his gaze toward the gatekeeper, whose thin frame seemed to stiffen under the weight of it. The man, feeling the heat of that stare, turned his back wordlessly—his posture practically spelling out two bold words: No help.

Before Chu Ci could bribe him, a hesitant voice came from the gate.

“Excuse me… might you be Brother Chu?”

Chu Ci turned. At first, the face seemed unfamiliar—but then recognition struck. It was Chen Zifang, the scholar he’d once met while listening to storytellers and drinking wine. The man had mentioned transferring to the county academy to study.

“It’s me,” Chu Ci said warmly. “Since that day we parted, it’s been some time! Brother Zhongxing, you’ve grown even more handsome—it truly puts me to shame.”

Such unexpected enthusiasm startled Chen Zifang; he nearly bowed twice in return. Later, he would learn that this touching friendliness had been nothing but a ploy—Chu Ci simply wanted help carrying the mountain of cloth.

But at that moment, seeing Chu Ci frown and explain his predicament, Chen Zifang felt a surge of gallantry. With a bold spirit, he hoisted both great bundles himself and staggered off ahead, leaving Chu Ci cheerfully following behind with only the neatly packed mourning garments from Steward Xu.

Chu Ci thought to himself, This Chen Zifang is far too eager. I only meant for him to carry the lighter bundle—but such loyalty? Excellent. Very excellent.