Traveling Through Ancient Times to Be a Teacher - Chapter 51

“Well said!”

A deep, authoritative voice came from the doorway. A middle-aged man with stern features and deep nasolabial lines stepped inside.

He glanced at the students seated below and declared, “A fine statement indeed! To feel shame at being placed in the lowest class is no disgrace. The desire to learn comes not from outward rank but from within your own hearts. If you lose the will to advance because of your placement, the fault is not others’—it lies within yourselves!”

“Greetings to Master Zhu!” the students chorused, rising in unison. “We shall remember your teachings.”

“Sit,” he said, taking his seat. “Now open your Mencius. Today, we will study King Hui of Liang, Part One.”

(Translator’s Notes: “King Hui of Liang, Part One” (《梁惠王上》) – The first chapter of Mencius. It records Mencius’s discussions with King Hui of Liang about benevolent governance, arguing that a ruler who rules with virtue and compassion will gain the people’s loyalty and secure lasting peace.)

The students read aloud, then Master Zhu called several to recite from memory.

Such passages were standard in the county exams; by now, anyone unable to recite them would be a rarity. The purpose was simply to prevent them from growing complacent and forgetting what they’d learned.

He began his explanation—from word definitions to full translation. The students appeared attentive but were in truth bored. They had long since memorized this section along with Zhu Xi’s commentary. Much of what the teacher said was written plainly in the text; only his elaborations were new.

Chu Ci, however, listened intently. Not only that—he was writing furiously on his paper. His focused expression drew several curious glances from Master Zhu.

Beside him, Zhang Wenhai noticed and shot him a look. 

When Chu Ci gave a puzzled glance back, Zhang Wenhai whispered, “Brother Chu, what are you writing? The teacher’s watching you!”

Chu Ci didn’t quite hear, so Zhang Wenhai repeated the question.

Unfortunately, his timing couldn’t have been worse. The teacher had just paused, and now his voice echoed through the quiet hall.

“What are you two whispering about?” Master Zhu’s expression darkened as his sharp eyes fixed on Zhang Wenhai.

Both rose to their feet. Zhang Wenhai stammered, but Chu Ci spoke calmly, “Teacher, it was wrong of us to talk during class—please punish us. But I was acting differently from the rest, and Brother Zhang Wenhai feared you might misunderstand me. He spoke only to remind me to pay attention.”

“No, Teacher!” Zhang Wenhai protested. “Brother Chu ignored me completely. The disruption was mine alone—please punish me!”

“No need to argue over guilt. Bring me your book,” the teacher said. “Let me see what you’ve been writing.”

The class murmured. Some were curious; others—like Zhu Jie and his clique—watched with barely concealed delight. Perhaps Chu Ci had been doodling? They still remembered the incident two years ago when a boy from the Juvenile Class had been caught sketching an indecent picture during lecture. He’d been beaten out of the academy with brooms.

“Yes, Teacher.” Chu Ci offered the book respectfully with both hands.

Master Zhu flipped through it, his face easing slightly.

“Why do you write down my words?”

“In ancient times,” Chu Ci replied, “the disciples of the great sages recorded their master’s teachings so that later generations might study and reflect upon them. I merely wish to follow their example—recording what you say, reviewing it after class to gain new insight. Surely that would improve my studies.”

Master Zhu’s usually stern face nearly cracked into a smile. The flattery had landed perfectly. But he quickly composed himself and said sternly, “Nonsense! How could I compare to the great sages? Never say such things again.”

“Yes, Teacher. It was a slip of the tongue. But I’ve often heard the saying: ‘A good memory is not as reliable as a poor pen.’ Crude words, perhaps, but sound in meaning. I beg permission to continue taking notes.”

Master Zhu repeated the phrase softly—“A good memory is not as reliable as a poor pen”—then nodded. “Coarse in words, fine in reason. If it helps your learning, then all of you should do the same.” Turning to the class, he added, “This student, Chu Ci, shall lead by example—take notes as he does.”

For a heartbeat, the air froze. Then, countless invisible daggers shot at Chu Ci from all directions. Even Zhang Wenhai glared.

We could have had a relaxed class—why doom us all with you?

Chu Ci sat back serenely. If I must take notes, then everyone must take notes.

The teacher continued. 

Groans filled the air as everyone picked up their brushes. When Master Zhu spoke too quickly, someone even asked him to repeat himself. The once-dull class now buzzed with energy and frantic scribbling.

Dong, dong, dong!

The class bell rang. Master Zhu finally stopped, still reluctant. He assigned an essay titled “The gentleman understands righteousness, the petty man understands profit,” requiring two to three hundred characters.

The students shuffled out in pairs, limp with exhaustion. 

Passing the Class A and B rooms, they endured teasing—apparently, everyone assumed they’d been scolded again.

None of them bothered to respond. After all, their hands were aching from writing nonstop.

Someone grumbled, “If only Brother Chu’s method spread through the whole academy—let’s see them laugh when they’re cramping too.”

Meanwhile, Zhu Jie and his friends ran off to tell Qi Xu from Class A.

Qi Xu didn’t sneer as they’d expected. In his eyes, Chu Ci was the only true rival in the academy.

The old Chu Ci had been easy to overlook. But before last year’s annual exam, Chu Ci’s sharp words had humiliated him in public, and he’d never forgotten that shame. Since then, he’d sworn to drive Chu Ci out.

Still, he grudgingly admitted—this note-taking method might indeed be useful. Not that he’d ever say so aloud.

…

Master Zhu strode back to the teachers’ lounge, clutching his scrolls and practically glowing.

“Brother Guangsheng, what puts you in such good spirits today?” asked Teacher Zhuo. “Has your Class C finally shown progress?”

“How could I call it progress?” Zhu said modestly, though his smile gave him away. “But compared to before, today was indeed better.”

He then recounted Chu Ci’s actions and words in detail, even mimicking his tone, leaving the other teachers amused and envious.

Later, when Master Qin Lingqing came in after holding an extra-long session, the lounge was unusually lively.

“Brother Qin, just in time,” Teacher Zhuo said gleefully. “That student Chu Ci of yours—what a remarkable boy! You should hear what he said…” He repeated the entire story, embellishing every line.

Master Qin smiled faintly. “Yes, that’s my pupil. He’s always been diligent—he used to study that way under me as well.”

Utter nonsense. The brat had never done any such thing before! Nor had he ever compared him to a sage. Could that old fox Zhu really have won him over in one lesson?

“Brother Qin, you’re a fortunate man indeed,” said another teacher. “To have such a promising disciple—your legacy is assured.”

Master Zhu sighed wistfully. “I’d thought of taking him as my disciple myself, but it seems he already has a fine teacher.”

Only then did he recall—this was the very prodigy from Changxi Village, the one who’d become a Xiucai at fourteen and caused quite a stir.

…

After dinner, Chu Ci carried a thick bundle of essays and poems to submit to Master Qin.

On the way, he greeted several teachers strolling after supper; all responded warmly, smiling at him with newfound fondness.

But when he reached Master Qin’s courtyard and respectfully greeted him as he watered the flowers, the man ignored him completely.

“Teacher,” Chu Ci said carefully, “have I done something to anger you? Please don’t hold it in. Scold me, punish me—whatever you wish—but don’t harm your health by keeping it inside.”

Master Qin snorted and turned away to continue watering.

Madam Qin, watching nearby, covered her mouth to hide her laughter. She beckoned Chu Ci closer and whispered the truth.

Chu Ci was speechless, half amused, half exasperated. 

Teacher, honestly—aren’t you a bit old to be jealous?

His eyes roamed the courtyard, and a mischievous idea struck him. He said loudly, “Madam, I think you shouldn’t grow so many flowers here anymore.”

Master Qin froze, nearly dropping the watering pot. What now? Is he blaming me for watering plants?

“Oh? Why is that?” Madam Qin asked, humoring him.

“Because,” Chu Ci said with a smile, “with Teacher’s students flourishing across the world, why plant more flowers before his hall?”

Master Qin’s face bloomed like a chrysanthemum. For a teacher, no praise could be sweeter. He coughed lightly, forcing his expression back into solemnity.

“You and your glib tongue! If only you’d put that wit into your studies, what ambition could remain unfulfilled? Come, let me see your recent work. If you’ve regressed, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Setting down the watering pot, he strode into the study with a proud lift of his chin.

Chu Ci grinned at Madam Qin, bowed, and followed.

Though Master Qin still harbored a trace of pique, he went through Chu Ci’s essays with exaggerated criticism before begrudgingly conceding that they were “acceptable” and showed “no decline.”

He sipped his tea, then said with forced calm, “So, you won’t take notes anymore because my lectures are unworthy of the sages’ words?”

What—again? Chu Ci groaned inwardly.

“How could that be?” he said earnestly. “The sages had three thousand disciples, but none so fortunate as I—to receive my teacher’s instruction alone. Your every word and gesture, I’ve engraved upon my heart. With such remembrance, how could I forget? What need have I for notes?”

“Smooth talker,” Master Qin muttered, though the corners of his mouth softened.

Chu Ci sighed in relief. He suddenly understood the misery of a married man caught between wife and mother—torn on both sides, unable to please either.

He only hoped that when he married someday, he’d never fall into such a trap. 

If one cannot keep the household in harmony, how can one govern the realm?

He shuddered. Truly terrifying.