Traveling Through Ancient Times to Be a Teacher - Chapter 48

What was wrong with Scholar Chu lately?

These days, if the villagers’ gossip didn’t include him, it meant they were out of touch. And truly, no one could blame them for their curiosity—his behavior had become baffling.

He had been sitting in the back mountain staring at bamboo for days! Every morning at dawn he went there, came home only for lunch, then returned again until dinner.

He even carried a large meditation mat, which he placed among the bamboo before sitting cross-legged, eyes fixed on the stalks as if nothing else existed.

It was too strange not to draw attention. 

The villagers took turns going up the mountain to watch him. Some curious souls even sat beside him for an hour, trying to see what he was looking at—only to end up distracted by the fresh green shoots sprouting nearby. They’d go home, fetch hoes, dig up a whole basket of bamboo shoots, and sometimes toss a few to Chu Ci on their way down.

Chu Ci silently pulled the shoots closer, intending to bring them home for dinner.

He had been imitating the Neo-Confucian philosopher Wang Yangming’s “investigation of things” by contemplating bamboo. Though he hadn’t invented a new school of thought, he had gained something from the experience.

(Translator’s Notes: Wang Yangming’s “investigation of things” (王阳明格物) – A Neo-Confucian concept teaching that true knowledge comes from self-reflection and moral intuition rather than external study. Wang reinterpreted “investigating things” to mean examining one’s own heart to achieve unity of knowledge and action)

In the past, Wang Yangming, taking to heart Zhu Xi’s teaching that one must “investigate things to attain knowledge,” had stared at bamboo in his courtyard for seven days and nights, hoping to discern its ultimate truth—until he fell ill. Upon recovering, he realized that there were far too many things in the world; to try to uncover the truth of each one would take a lifetime. Rather than seeking meaning externally, it was better to listen to one’s own heart and act according to its guidance.

(Translator’s Notes: Wang Yangming (王阳明, 1472–1529) – A Ming Dynasty philosopher, general, and statesman. Founder of the School of Mind in Neo-Confucianism, he taught that moral knowledge is innate and that understanding and action are one (zhi xing he yi). His ideas emphasized self-cultivation through introspection and moral intuition.)

(Translator’s Notes: Zhu Xi (朱熹, 1130–1200) – A leading Song Dynasty Neo-Confucian scholar. He systematized Confucian thought, emphasizing the study of principle (li) through learning and reflection. Zhu compiled and annotated the Four Books, making them the core of the imperial examination curriculum for centuries.)

At first, Chu Ci had been restless, sitting among the bamboo yet thinking, There are only five months left until the provincial exam—why am I wasting time here? Several times he’d been tempted to get up and read instead, but he forced himself to stay. If he went back in that state, he wouldn’t be able to focus anyway—and his anxiety would only worsen.

Gradually, he began truly observing the bamboo: each stalk, each leaf, the new shoots piercing the earth, and the yellowed ones lying in decay. A breeze swept through, carrying the mountain’s fresh, clean scent. It seemed to wash through his heart, sweeping away every emotion, leaving behind only stillness.

He began to reflect on his life. The frenetic pace and constant noise of modern society had long deprived people of the ability to simply live. Even here in the quiet of ancient times, part of his heart still clung to that modern mindset. 

In his studies, he’d never been able to read with complete calm—always thinking about how to make the most of every resource around him.

Maybe it was time to slow down. To learn how to study without a goal in mind. To truly understand what he read, instead of scheming how to exploit it.

After coming to that realization, Chu Ci descended the mountain feeling content. The tranquility he’d found over the past few days made him feel almost transcendent—like he might soon “ascend to immortality.”

Well, if one ignored the meditation mat under his left arm and the two bamboo shoots in his right hand.

So that was it—the scholar had just been craving bamboo shoots! That’s what the villagers decided, laughing kindly. 

After that, many began sending fresh shoots to his home.

Looking at the once-peaceful bamboo grove now dug up beyond recognition, Chu Ci felt guilty. Wang Yangming’s contemplation had made him ill; his had instead ruined a whole patch of bamboo. A sin indeed.

If the villagers had heard that thought, they would have laughed uproariously. Did he really think we’d ignore nature’s gifts—especially tender bamboo shoots?

…

In the Provincial Exam, candidates no longer had to cover every topic. Like choosing between the arts and sciences, each had to select one of the Five Classics as their main subject and master it thoroughly.

The top five scorers, each representing one of the Five Classics, were called the Five Scholars of the Classics, and from among them, the chief examiner would select the overall Top Scholar (Jieyuan).

The Five Classics were: the Book of Songs (Shijing), the Book of Documents (Shangshu), the Book of Rites (Liji), the Book of Changes (Yijing), and the Spring and Autumn Annals (Chunqiu). Because Chunqiu itself was terse and difficult, most students studied a combined version of the Zuo, Gongyang, and Guliang commentaries.

(Translator’s Notes: Book of Rites (礼记, Lǐjì) – One of the Five Classics of Confucianism. It records ancient rituals, social norms, and moral principles that governed proper behavior in family and state affairs. The text emphasizes harmony, hierarchy, and decorum as foundations of a well-ordered society.)

(Translator’s Notes: Book of Changes (易经, Yìjīng) – One of the Five Classics of Confucianism and China’s oldest divination text. It uses sixty-four hexagrams to represent patterns of change in the universe, offering moral and philosophical guidance on adapting to life’s transformations.)

(Translator’s Notes: Book of Songs (诗经, Shījīng) – The earliest collection of Chinese poetry, containing 305 poems from the Zhou Dynasty. It includes folk songs, court hymns, and ritual odes, reflecting daily life, love, politics, and morality. One of the Five Classics, it served as both literary and moral instruction in Confucian education.)

(Translator’s Notes: Spring and Autumn Annals (春秋, Chūnqiū) – One of the Five Classics of Confucianism, traditionally attributed to Confucius. It’s a chronicle of the State of Lu covering 722–481 BCE, recording events concisely but with moral judgment implied through wording — a model of history as ethical commentary..)

(Translator’s Notes: Zuo, Gongyang, and Guliang Commentaries (左氏、公羊、穀梁传) – Three classical explanations of the Spring and Autumn Annals: Zuo adds historical detail, Gongyang emphasizes moral interpretation, and Guliang focuses on ritual meaning.)

The original Chu Ci’s main subject had been the Book of Songs. Confucius had once said, “Its influence makes men gentle and sincere; the teaching of poetry refines one’s virtue.” He also said, “In the Book of Songs, there are no evil thoughts.” 

To him, poetry was the reflection of a pure and upright mind.

The former Chu Ci, like the rest of his family, had been honest and kind—thus the choice suited him perfectly.

But the present Chu Ci… though he considered himself principled, he couldn’t claim to be all that gentle and sincere.

So studying the Book of Songs didn’t quite fit. 

With such a mismatch in temperament, the more he read, the less it would flow—and he’d only end up embarrassing himself.

However, his teacher, Master Qin, specialized in the Book of Songs. He had once ranked first in that very subject during his own provincial exam and was famous for it. He’d only accepted one personal disciple at the county academy—Chu Ci himself—leaving many students of poetry envious.

If Chu Ci suddenly declared he wanted to switch to another Classic, his teacher might just kill him.

And even if he agreed, Chu Ci would still have to choose another subject.

“Those who are gentle and sincere study Poetry.
Those who understand the ancient and the modern study the Documents.
Those who perceive subtlety study the Changes.
Those who are proper and respectful study the Rites.
Those skilled in discourse study the Annals.”

By family tradition, Shangshu (the Book of Documents) would suit him. His family’s old library was filled with historical texts, and he’d often browsed them idly, absorbing more than he realized.

But in his heart, he was drawn to Chunqiu (the Spring and Autumn Annals). 

Confucius had compiled it to reveal “great truths in subtle words,” and it was said, “The treacherous fear the Annals.” 

Chu Ci admired that courage—the integrity and fearlessness of a man who recorded truth despite danger.

A soldier reading Chunqiu saw righteousness.
A scholar reading Chunqiu found wisdom.
A strategist reading Chunqiu learned statecraft.

That era—the Spring and Autumn period—had laid the foundation of Chinese civilization. The authors of both the and the Tao Te Ching had lived in that age. Culture had never shone brighter; the age of “a hundred schools of thought” would never return.

(Translator’s Notes: Spring and Autumn Period (春秋时期) – A historical era from roughly 770 to 476 BCE during the Eastern Zhou Dynasty. Named after the Spring and Autumn Annals, it was marked by the decline of Zhou royal power and the rise of regional states, setting the stage for the Warring States period.)

(Translator’s Notes: Analects (论语, Lúnyǔ) – A collection of sayings and dialogues of Confucius and his disciples, compiled by later followers. It records his teachings on virtue, proper conduct, governance, and the cultivation of moral character.)

(Translator’s Notes: Tao Te Ching (道德经) – A foundational Daoist text attributed to Laozi. It teaches harmony with the Dao (the Way), valuing simplicity, humility, and non-action (wu wei). Its 81 short chapters explore the nature of existence, virtue, and the ideal of effortless balance in life and governance.)

The Documents offered an easier path. The Annals were his true love.

Chu Ci wanted to cry. His head ached; his hair might as well fall out. 

Which Classic should he choose?

Inside the house, he was tugging at his hair in despair. Outside, visitors arrived.

When Zhongli Yu was lifted down from the carriage, he stared curiously at the small courtyard. The low bamboo fence offered no privacy; one could see straight inside.

“Brother Xiaoyuan!” His eyes lit up as he spotted a familiar figure crouched by a haystack—his Brother Xiaoyuan.

Hearing his name, Chu Xiaoyuan turned his head suspiciously. That clinging voice again? 

But from where he stood, he couldn’t see the gate. After a brief glance, he returned to his task—digging for eggs.

He was very attached to the family’s chickens, which he had raised from downy chicks. Now that they’d started laying eggs, he couldn’t be prouder.

“Brother Xiaoyuan, what are you doing?”

The gate wasn’t properly latched, and while Steward Xu wasn’t watching, Zhongli Yu slipped away and ran straight into the yard.

He crouched beside Chu Xiaoyuan, peering curiously, unaware of how stiff the boy’s shoulders had gone—or how red his ears were outside the chicken coop.

“Why are you here?!” Xiaoyuan shouted, furious. 

Coming uninvited was bad enough—but seeing him with his backside in the air, digging through a chicken nest?! Unforgivable!

“My uncle’s letter arrived—with one for Uncle Chu too—so Grandpa Xu brought me along!” Zhongli Yu said cheerfully, smiling with his small white teeth.

Just then, Madam Chu came out from the kitchen. “Xiaoyuan, who’s this fair little one? I don’t recall any child this pretty in the village.”

“Good day, Grandma Chu. I’m Zhongli Yu, Brother Xiaoyuan’s classmate.” The boy bowed politely with his chubby hands, and his round, earnest manner instantly won her over.

“Oh my, so polite! Have you eaten yet? I made some thin pancakes—would you like one?” The old woman’s instinctive way of showing affection was to feed.

“Madam, forgive us for coming uninvited,” Steward Xu called from the gate. As an adult, he couldn’t just barge in like the child.

“You must be this boy’s grandfather? Guests are always welcome—please, come in and sit. I’ll call my son to greet you,” said Madam Chu. Being a woman, she kept a respectful distance when speaking to a strange man her age.

Elder Brother Chu was still at work—delighted these days by his new fields. The village head had even lent him a cow, and he’d been in the fields before sunrise.

That left only Chu Ci at home.

When he stepped outside, he saw Steward Xu standing in the yard, while the two boys were already inside eating.

“I didn’t know you were coming, Steward Xu. My apologies for not welcoming you properly.”

“No need for such courtesy,” Steward Xu said with a smile. “I’m but a servant of the Kou household—how could I be called a guest? It’s we who come uninvited; I only hope you won’t take offense.”

Chu Ci knew that Steward Xu had long since been freed from servitude. If not for his origins barring him from the exams, he’d likely be a scholar himself. Now he managed extensive businesses, and yet still called himself a household steward—proof of deep loyalty, and by extension, of Master Kou’s character.

They sat in the courtyard for a while, chatting. 

Steward Xu then explained his purpose: first, young Zhongli Yu had missed his little friend; second, a letter from Kou Jing had arrived, along with some local specialties from Anchang.

Their correspondence had become frequent—twice in barely a month—carried not by the postal relay but by Xu’s merchant caravans.

For Chu Ci, having a pen pal in ancient times was strangely refreshing. He’d been born in the 1990s; by the time he grew up, phones had replaced letters. He’d never known the anticipation of sending and waiting for mail.

As a child, rummaging through an old chest at home, he’d once found a stack of love letters—his father’s, full of restrained yet fervent affection. That was when he realized that his scholarly parents, always buried in research, had once been passionate young lovers too.

Now, through letters with Kou Jing, he could glimpse the wider world of this distant age—an outlet of connection in an otherwise closed era.

After Steward Xu took the boys out to play, Chu Ci returned to his room and opened the new letter.

“To my brother Ci, may this letter find you well.

News of the national mourning weighs upon me like the collapse of heaven itself. My heart is uneasy, and thus my reply is late—please forgive me. I have heard you are devoted to your studies and already well-versed in the Four Books and Five Classics, which greatly comforts me. Yet with the exam approaching, I wonder if you can now set aside worldly distractions and devote yourself wholly to learning.
May you ascend the Golden List and achieve high honors; I shall come in person to congratulate you.

 —Your brother in letters, Jing.”

Kou Jing’s words subtly hinted that the grace examination would indeed be held this year, urging Chu Ci to prepare early. He also expressed sincere concern for his studies and invited questions, being himself once a Juren (provincial graduate). And the last line—about visiting in person—suggested he might soon be transferred back to Ganzhou.

After pondering for a while, Chu Ci unfolded fresh paper, ground the ink, and began to reply.

“To my esteemed Brother Mo, may this letter find you well…”

He wrote of his current dilemma—choosing which Classic to specialize in. It was no small matter, yet he couldn’t ask his teacher directly. Perhaps Kou Jing could offer guidance. Judging by the man’s character, Chu Ci guessed his own Brother Mo had probably studied either Poetry or Rites.