Chapter 1029: Writing Leisurely

Chapter 1029: Writing Leisurely

After drinking the wine, Lu Chen casually tossed the empty jug into the stream outside the window, letting it drift away with the current. As expected, it would likely be retrieved downstream by some discerning new River God who would recognize its value and pocket it.

"You and the young Hidden Official are drinking buddies, and Chen Ping'an and I are Dao companions. So that makes us friends who have never met. This small gift, which can refine water fortune, is a token of my respect."

Turning to Ning Ji, he said with a smile, "Our Mr. Chen is about to begin teaching now. Come with me outside the schoolhouse first, and let's take a look at a few interesting things."

A string of bells hung under the eaves outside, with a long rope dangling down, its end roughly at the height of Chen Ping'an's outstretched arm. Patriarch Lu, indeed having restless hands, reached out to pull the bells, but Ning Ji stopped him with a word. Lu Chen laughed and said, "Aside from you and me, they can't hear them." Seeing the boy's insistence, Lu Chen had to give up. He took the boy to look at another object and asked if he knew what it was. Ning Ji said he wasn't sure, and Lu Chen began to explain. It turned out that Chen Ping'an had built a simple sundial outside the schoolhouse, carved with the twelve Earthly Branches, using the sun's shadow to tell time. A day had twelve two-hour periods, each period divided into eight quarters.

But on overcast or rainy days, it couldn't be used to confirm the time. So Chen Ping'an had asked Zhao Shuxia to remind him at certain important times.

Lu Chen stretched out a finger and pressed it onto the sundial's shadow, then began to move it. The shadow shifted rapidly with the movement of Patriarch Lu's finger.

Ning Ji subconsciously turned his head to look toward the schoolhouse. The scene inside was like a book flipping rapidly. When Lu Chen withdrew his finger, the image froze, and everything returned to normal.

Then Lu Chen walked into Chen Ping'an's room. Ning Ji, though curious, only stood at the doorway. Even if he couldn't stop this Patriarch Lu, the boy could always suppress his own curiosity.

Lu Chen looked at the stacks of books on the table. At least half were Chen Ping'an's own handwritten first drafts. He smiled knowingly. It seemed that in this village school, the beginner books Chen Ping'an used for enlightenment were not just the common mountain texts like the Three Character Classic, Hundred Family Surnames, Thousand Character Classic, Dragon Whipping Shadows, and Young Learning Qionglin—the usual enlightenment books for mountain schools.

Walking in the river of time, the boy waded through without any awareness, not even feeling dizzy.

This showed that the soul within Ning Ji's mortal shell was incredibly resilient, truly outstanding.

Lu Chen walked out of the room, shook his wrist, and a miniature sundial appeared in his palm. He handed it to Ning Ji. "From now on, you will control the speed of time's passage."

Ning Ji shook his head.

Lu Chen smiled. "Ning Ji, remember this principle: whether you have something and whether you use it are two entirely different matters—as different as heaven and earth."

Ning Ji hesitated, then thanked Patriarch Lu. He carefully took the miniature sundial; it was lighter than he had imagined.

Then Ning Ji asked, "Patriarch Lu, can you make time go slower, or even go backward?"

Lu Chen silently praised the boy for being able to reason by analogy. He nodded calmly and said, "Of course. It's a trivial trick that any mountain immortal can do, not worth mentioning. You don't need to admire my skill at all."

The boy was astonished. Were all mountain immortals this powerful?

Lu Chen was inwardly gleeful, thinking that the boy probably wouldn't be his own direct disciple anyway, so he might as well have some fun. Someday, when the boy realized that Chen Ping'an couldn't even control a river of time, and they'd just stare at each other—Lu Chen found the thought amusing, exciting, and very interesting!

Inside the schoolhouse, some children had dirt under their fingernails.

Others came from poor families, their hands already calloused from hard work at a young age, some without shoes, or slightly better off, wearing a new pair of shoes when they started school.

There were those who were naturally restless, unable to sit still, either twisting around in class or bothering their desk mates.

Standing at the door, Ning Ji felt a bit hesitant to enter the schoolhouse.

Lu Chen stood nearby, propping one leg on the windowsill, bending over to stretch.

Ning Ji asked in a low voice, "Why doesn't Daoist Wu use his real name?"

He still didn't dare speak at a normal volume, feeling it would disturb Daoist Wu's lecture.

Lu Chen laughed. "This habit isn't good—not being upright and open. In the martial world, they say one should never change their name when traveling or sit still without changing their surname. As a friend, I should really advise Chen Ping'an about this."

"Wu Di—homophone for 'invincible.' The origin of this alias goes back to when he once visited the Suoyun Sect with a close friend. It's a sect in North Jambudvipa, quite prestigious. At the mountain gate, on a whim, he called himself Chen Haoren (Chen the Good Man), with the Daoist title 'Invincible,' claiming he liked to walk straight and wanted the Suoyun Sect to move its ancestral mountain out of his way. Think about it—if you were the gatekeeper of the Suoyun Sect and heard such nonsense, wouldn't you want to hit someone?"

Ning Ji said, "Daoist Wu must have his reasons for what he does."

Lu Chen smiled knowingly. "Coincidentally, his friend was called Liu Jinglong. At the time, he introduced him as his disciple, also renamed, with no Daoist title yet, just calling him Liu Daoli (Liu the Reasonable). A Chen Haoren who believed good people would be rewarded, and a Liu Daoli who was extremely patient and believed in reasoning with others—if you sum it up, isn't that a good man who can reason well? So indeed, a beautiful aspiration."

Ning Ji asked, "When Daoist Lu travels abroad, doesn't he use an alias?"

Lu Chen interlaced his fingers, raised his hands above his head, and stretched sideways repeatedly. He laughed, "When I'm out, I prefer to use my real name. But most people just hear it and forget it. Even if they know there's a figure like 'Lu Chen' in the world, they probably don't take it seriously. Some people, if I don't want them to think more, they can't connect me to the Jade Capital or the Patriarch. The remaining small group of peak cultivators are mostly old friends, so I don't bother hiding my identity."

"As for the origin of 'Chen Ji' (Traces of Chen)..."

Lu Chen pointed to the distant willows. "Look, every year winter turns to spring, new willow branches emerge—scenery once known. 'Chen Ji' means traces of the past, with a hint of sorrow and remembrance. Life turns like a millstone, stepping on old traces again and again. Go on, don't speak more—bitterness is too bitter."

Saying this, Lu Chen looked smug, squinting with a smile. "When you read more books in the future, you'll find something interesting: if you really want to trace it, the term 'Chen Ji' actually first appeared in my own 'Heaven’s Fortune Chapter.' Ning Ji, to be honest, in the past six thousand years, across several worlds—no matter who, what Dao origin—anyone with a bit of learning who wrote books and established theories, if someone were to compile the most frequently mentioned figures, I wouldn't say I'm definitely at the top, but I'm certainly in the top three. Even in Buddhist koans, my sayings are often quoted for witty repartee."

Saying this, Lu Chen patted his stomach. "Heaven and earth are big, but eating is the biggest. Are you hungry?"

Ning Ji was about to shake his head, but his stomach growled uncooperatively, as if Lu had reminded him, and the boy suddenly felt hungry.

Lu Chen put down his leg, scurried to the mud-brick kitchen that also served as a storage room and where the martial artist Zhao Shuxia slept on the floor, and started rummaging around. Soon he made two large bowls of wontons. Handing one to Ning Ji, Lu Chen sat on the kitchen threshold, a celadon wine jug beside him containing last year's plum wine. He ate wontons and took small sips of wine, his cheeks puffed out. Tapping the bowl with his chopsticks, he asked with a smile, "Ning Ji, do you think reading can fill your stomach?"

The boy crouched nearby, holding the bowl in one hand and chopsticks in the other. Hearing Daoist Lu's question, he quickly swallowed the wonton in his mouth and said, "These days are good. With a skill, I believe one can always eat and dress warmly."

Lu Chen ate ravenously, picking up the last wonton from his bowl. He laughed. "In your Precious Bottle Continent, there was once a very powerful cultivator, a sword cultivator with a clear Dao heart, named Li Tuanjing. He had an interesting saying: the reason why the current world has Qi refiners as masters in the mountains is that Heaven gave them the rice bowl. Qi refiners are just the biggest bowl. The food in the bowl is just wontons transformed into heaven and earth's spiritual energy. If Heaven had chosen a different method—say, whoever could weave the best straw sandals would be the master—then things would be different."

Ning Ji asked doubtfully, "Daoist Lu, why are you telling me these great principles?"

Lu Chen finished the remaining soup in his bowl, burped, put the empty bowl by his feet, placed his chopsticks on the bowl, and took a big gulp of the strong plum wine. The Daoist shivered and laughed. "We always do too much and think too little. Eat too much and have nothing to do. That's why in my master's eyes, the Way is simply 'to have surplus to offer the world.'"

Ning Ji tentatively asked, "Is it like when I'm hungry but have nothing, and Daoist Lu kindly made me a bowl of wontons?"

Lu Chen exclaimed in surprise, "Young man, you're so quick to understand?"

Ning Ji hesitated. "But the ingredients and kitchen are all Daoist Wu's."

Lu Chen suddenly burst into laughter. It took him a while to suppress his mirth. He tilted his head back and finished the plum wine in one gulp, then turned to the boy and winked. "Then what do you think I actually did between your hunger and your full meal?"

Ning Ji glanced at the empty bowl by Daoist Lu's feet, with the chopsticks placed on top, then at the bowl and chopsticks in his own hands. The boy shook his head, feeling that the answer in his heart was ultimately wrong.

"Lending is like giving, collecting is like begging."

Lu Chen smiled. "So it has been since ancient times."

Ning Ji didn't think much more, since he couldn't figure it out anyway. He just gathered Lu's bowl and chopsticks, went into the kitchen, washed them clean, and put the bowl and chopsticks back in the cupboard and bamboo tube where they belonged.

Lu Chen tucked his hands into his sleeves, turned to look at the blue-robed figure in the schoolhouse.

The school started promptly at the hour of the Dragon (7-9 AM). Morning lessons involved recitation for two quarters of an hour, considered reviewing the old and learning the new.

Late children were punished by standing against the wall in the classroom. Multiple offenses led to a bamboo ruler—three strikes on the palm. Those who were playful, forgetful, or hadn't completed their homework, besides being punished to stand or receiving the ruler, had a separate desk and stool at the back to finish their work before returning to their seat.

The seats in the schoolhouse were arranged in three rows by age: children aged six to eight, eight to ten, and ten and above.

There were about a dozen children, each with their own desk and stool. Since there weren't many students, it didn't feel crowded.

Chen Ping'an sat on a chair, facing the children. He appeared to be resting with his eyes closed, but was actually listening carefully to the different recitation sounds from the three rows.

Lu Chen asked with a smile, "Ning Ji, do you know what 'the sound of reading is clear and resonant' means?"

The boy shook his head.

"A scholar reads—reading is naturally reading word by word."

Lu Chen leaned against the windowsill, hands in sleeves, and smiled in explanation. "Originally, it meant the sound of metal and stone striking each other, as clear as a jade chime, as solitary as a plane tree. Later generations thought this reduplicated word had such a beautiful meaning that they used it to describe pleasant reading sounds. That's what we have now."

Chen Ping'an imparted different levels of homework to the three age groups.

For instance, yesterday's lesson and this morning's recitation—when a child felt they had memorized it, they could raise their hand. Chen Ping'an would have them come to his side to check. If the recitation was accurate, the child then had to explain the rough meaning of the memorized passage. At that moment, it was as if the roles of teacher and student were reversed.

If the explanation was smooth and largely correct, Chen Ping'an would nod and let the child return to their seat. If the child only recited accurately but explained poorly or omitted content, Chen Ping'an would correct and supplement, then let the child go back to continue memorizing.

These past few days, Lu Chen, who usually didn't intrude much on Ning Ji's viewing of the time scenes, finally spoke up to remind him. "Ning Ji, don't underestimate the step where the child explains back. This is the essence of teaching and learning. In the future, when students leave the schoolhouse, whether they can pass the imperial exams, or even blaze new trails and speak for the sages, depends on this step."

The teacher teaches, the child memorizes, then the roles reverse for explanation—the student speaks, the teacher listens.

There's an order in this. This is knowing the what and the why. Knowing the order brings one closer to the Way.

Ning Ji asked, "Does Patriarch Lu also give lectures at the Jade Capital?"

Lu Chen smiled. "Too lazy, only occasionally. There are too many smart people in the Five Cities and Twelve Towers of the Jade Capital—almost no dullards. That's also why I don't like to preach."

In terms of breadth and depth of knowledge, in the past ten thousand years, except for a handful of people, everyone else's gap with Lu Chen is the difference of one Lu Chen.

Ning Ji didn't think much of it, just assuming that Patriarch Lu thought those "immortals" of the Jade Capital were too smart to need lectures.

In fact, it was the opposite. As Lu Chen once joked with Chen Ping'an, Cui Dongshan's sleeve was named "Beat the Stupid Place," while his own sleeve belonged to "Beat the Smart Places in the World."

After the morning recitation session, the formal lessons began.

Chen Ping'an first led the children in reading "new books" for about three-quarters of an hour. The three rows had different reading content, from youngest to oldest, in order. The other two rows could flip through books on their own or read new books by themselves, but couldn't be too loud. Reading a hundred times—"read a book a hundred times, its meaning will naturally become clear."

Of course, they could also listen to the teacher's lecture. For example, six or seven-year-olds, if interested, could listen to the lessons for the ten and above age group.

Generally, in rural villages, parents didn't have high expectations for their children's schooling. They just wanted them to learn some characters, be able to do accounts, and write a few couplets for the New Year. So most village teachers just followed the routine, having children read and memorize, learn to write, and explaining characters and sentences word by word. In better schools, teachers would first teach children how to hold the brush and position their wrists, help them practice writing, use tracing books and copybooks. Over time, children could write on their own, and the teacher would teach brush techniques. Besides the Confucian classics recognized by the literary temple and the court, they also read classical prose, and then start learning composition. In the countryside, conditions were simple. For writing practice, they had to make do with charcoal sticks or stone blocks of clay-like texture, writing on thin blue stone slabs that could be easily erased and reused, or wooden trays filled with fine sand from streams, using twigs or bamboo as pens.

Here, each desk had a green bamboo brush pot filled with fine bamboo pens, and in the desk drawer was a square wooden sand tray.

There was also a thick booklet the size of a palm, with a strange title: "The Unique Character Book." It was Chen Ping'an's selection and compilation from enlightenment texts like the Three Character Classic, containing over three thousand characters. Each character had several entries: a bold regular script character, pronunciation in fine small regular script, meaning, and a few common compound words.

Ning Ji was a bit envious of that "Unique Character Book." Patriarch Lu was understanding, so the boy ended up with a book in hand in addition to the miniature sundial.

The boy asked, "Do I need to recognize all these characters before leaving the schoolhouse?"

Lu Chen laughed. "Of course. Once you recognize three to four thousand characters, what book can't you read?"

The boy asked, "Can it be done?"

Lu Chen said, "You definitely can. As for this schoolhouse, a child who studies diligently, starting at six and studying for five or six years, can also recognize them. But those who don't want to study, or those who are genuinely not suited for book learning—it's hard to say."

The boy seemed to want to say something but held back.

"One day" after school, Mr. Chen and the young man named Zhao Shuxia ate together. Zhao Shuxia helped ask Ning Ji's question.

What about the children who just couldn't grasp book learning?

Mr. Chen smiled and gave an answer: Studying is bitter, learning is hard, but among all difficulties, none is more bitter or hard than "effort."

In the early years of learning, if one just learns the word "effort," that's a true skill and a true ability. No matter what trade one takes up later, it's like having a special skill. But if, during the formative years when all peers are enduring hardship, one abandons "effort" early on, then after leaving the schoolhouse, what isn't hard? Not everyone, but most people, when faced with difficulties, easily fall into self-suggestion, slack off, and give up early. That's truly the beginning of all troubles.

At the dinner table, Chen Ping'an suddenly asked, "Zhao Shuxia, do you think whether a person makes an effort or not is also a kind of talent?"

Zhao Shuxia thought seriously for a moment, still unable to give an answer. He just said, "Human nature is similar, but habits differ?"

Chen Ping'an nodded with a smile. "If teaching is not strict, it's the teacher's laziness. Starting tomorrow, the ruler will hit harder."

Zhao Shuxia held back for a long time, then said, "When the girls in the schoolhouse occasionally forget their homework, why doesn't the master punish them as much? It seems you haven't even used the ruler on them yet."

They were just made to stand at the back as routine, crying pitifully. When the master saw them, he would immediately soften, quickly find a compromise, have them recite a few lines from some passage—usually very easy tasks—and after checking, let them return to their seats to read.

Chen Ping'an glared. "They are girls after all. Besides, you said it yourself—they only occasionally forget homework. Can they be compared to those boys who are wild to the heavens?"

Zhao Shuxia remained silent, just making a casual remark. Why was the master getting so worked up?

After the daily "new book" reading, the next step was reviewing "old books."

Since teaching was done separately for three age groups, it took about an hour.

As the starting point for children's learning, besides the Four Books and Five Classics, which were taught somewhat rigidly, following the order strictly, Chen Ping'an also had a few carefully selected classic books and passages that he considered pure in nature and principle. The teaching principle was naturally to take the most orthodox books from ancient sages, read widely and choose selectively. So these passages didn't need to be followed strictly in order; they were relatively simple and easy to understand.

There was also a "Classic of Filial Piety."

During the intervals of reviewing old books, Chen Ping'an would occasionally make brief extensions on certain passages, emphasizing basic etiquette for children as offspring and in dealing with others.

"The word 'principle' can easily become hollow, but the word 'ritual' is substantial."

Lu Chen sat on a desk at the back, holding his head with both hands, smiling. "Of the hundred virtues, filial piety comes first. Ning Ji, have you noticed? Some ruffians, thugs, and wastrels—no matter how they fight and kill outside, when they come home, either they face their fathers like mice meeting a cat, or no matter how notorious they are, they dare not have the reputation of being unfilial? Also, some extremely mischievous students, when they grow up and meet their old teacher on the road, still treat him with utmost respect. They might even be willing to hold their nose, harden their resolve, and obediently take a scolding."

Ning Ji usually sat on a bench, sitting upright, like a freeloading student, listening attentively to Mr. Chen's lectures.

Ning Ji asked doubtfully, "Patriarch Lu, is the current arrangement very different from Mr. Chen's earliest planned curriculum?"

Earlier, Patriarch Lu had shown him a detailed paper with the course schedule. Many parts differed from the actual teaching plan.

Lu Chen laughed. "He overturned it himself. To be precise, Chen Ping'an decided to slow down first. He felt that teaching this way from the start would be too difficult, and the children wouldn't be able to keep up. If they lost interest in studying, that would be a problem. Although studying is inherently a bitter thing, if a teacher can make it less boring at the beginning, that's certainly better."

Lu Chen flipped his wrist and brought out a book from the desk drawer in Chen Ping'an's room, handing it to Ning Ji. "See what's different."

Ning Ji opened the school reader and found that in the margins, next to many characters, there were annotations in tiny regular script. The commentary was several times longer than the book itself.

Lu Chen smiled. "This is Chen Ping'an's teaching copy. The children won't know about the teacher's thoughts and efforts."

Ning Ji asked curiously, "Are all teachers in the world like this?"

Lu Chen said, "Their thoughts and intentions are probably similar, but the time spent and effort put in vary."

Lu Chen shook his sleeve, producing a stack of papers, and handed them to the boy. "These are the 'Explaining Simple and Analyzing Compound Characters' from Master Xu, the Sage of Characters of Zhaoling—who is more than a sage of the literary temple. These loose pages haven't been compiled into a book yet; they are true manuscripts, not even later printed drafts. Keep them, no need to return. How you handle them in the future is up to you—whether to keep or give away, I don't need your opinion. Don't be formal, thinking it's a gift without merit. Our meeting was by chance, and I'm sure we'll meet again."

Other than reading new books and reviewing old ones, the difference was small—just swapping out a few book titles. But the subsequent "explaining books" item on the paper had been directly deleted by Mr. Chen, with "postponed" written in red ink beside it.

Then the "reading" item—for example, the earliest curriculum Mr. Chen set was reading certain books like "Zizhi Tongjian Kaoyi," "Guansheng Lu," and "Wenci Yangzheng Juyu," three pages each per week. "Zhu Zi's Elementary Learning," one page per day, etc. And this column had been revised with red ink several times, repeatedly crossed out and rewritten, but ultimately Mr. Chen replaced it with simpler and shallower books, adding an illustrated book, also from Mr. Chen's draft, with drawings of mountains, rivers, various arts, etc., supplemented with text.

Speaking of this book, the earlier pages related to rural villages and worldly life, such as spring plowing, farming seasons, grains, and various trees and fish.

Also, the last item of the morning—writing practice—had changed significantly. For example, the earliest plan for different ages: "Write ten ancient stele characters daily," "Three to five characters from 'Explaining Simple and Analyzing Compound Characters,' can briefly explain phonetics and exegesis during teaching," "One or two pages of 'Classic of Filial Piety' or 'Yellow Court Classic,' large characters in regular script."

There was also an idea that Mr. Chen ultimately abandoned: teaching children to write not starting from standard regular script, but following the historical evolution of scripts—starting from small seal script, then clerical script, and finally regular script. And for running script, cursive script, and the more ancient bird-insect script, Mr. Chen first annotated "not appropriate," then thought of several workarounds, like teaching just a few characters so the children would know these scripts existed... but in the end, it was crossed out, and Mr. Chen annotated again, "Still seems inappropriate."

There was also a separate stack of papers on the desk with many notes.

For example, regarding "filial piety" and "filial obedience," Mr. Chen had written several reminders to himself, clearly from different times and with different insights.

"Should it be taught?" "Need to carefully explain the difference between the two, with utmost caution." "If not absolutely certain and the right opportunity, don't mention."

Also, a saying: "In matters of the world, aspiration comes first." Immediately following, Mr. Chen had a question: In children's aspirations, are there distinctions of high and low, large and small, first and last?

Confucius said, "While one's parents are alive, one should not travel far. If one must travel, there should be a fixed destination." And "One cannot not know the age of one's parents. On the one hand, it is a joy; on the other, a worry." These two sayings could be explained together.

There were also some questions and ideas, with tiny regular script or running script filling an entire page, still not enough, with dense text on the reverse.

There was also a draft booklet not yet used in the schoolhouse, also in Chen Ping'an's handwriting.

It collected aphorisms and maxims from famous figures ancient and modern, simple sayings from the ancients, virtuous words and deeds, excerpts of popular poems, etc.

Another thin abridged book, because it rhymed like a jingle, was easy to read aloud.

When Chen Ping'an traveled alone in his early years, and later on the Indus Leaf Continent, walking at night with Little Charcoal, he had used it.

All were based on the "Night Boat" entries by that Li Shilang, picking and choosing to compile rhyming couplets.

He selected thirty-six excellent essays by great literary masters from various dynasties describing landscapes and scenery, divided into three volumes, each with its own simple or elegant style.

For writing practice in the schoolhouse, Chen Ping'an first taught children to write their own names. Those who had already attended school for a few years could write sentences like "To learn and to practice what is learned" or the content of the village ancestral hall's plaque and couplets.

Then came some popular yet simple poems, like "Raising my head, I see the bright moon," "Spring in the city, grass and trees deep," "The white sun sets behind the mountains," "Spring days are long, plants are lush..." While the children were busy writing, the teacher in his Confucian gown and cloth shoes walked with hands behind his back between the three rows of desks. Occasionally, he would reach out with two fingers to lift a child's "brush tube." If he could lift it easily, he would remind them to concentrate when writing. Or he would stop to point out a wrong stroke.

After the writing lesson, at the hour of the Horse (11 AM-1 PM), class ended on time. Children could go home for lunch and had half an hour of free time.

If they only had two meals a day, morning and evening, they could play as they wished—climb trees to catch birds or fish in the river.

Lu Chen and Ning Ji were like complete "outsiders," watching the lively scene on the threshing ground outside the schoolhouse.

At this time, the tall and sturdy Zhao Shuxia came in handy, because the master would ask him to perform a set of boxing techniques.

Zhao Shuxia was thin-skinned, so he was quite embarrassed at first. What's more, the master told him to make some noise, raise dust, and make his sleeves snap and crackle.

For those active boys, watching Zhao Shuxia practice boxing was almost as good as going to the county market with their elders, watching temple fairs, or shopping for New Year goods.

Chen Ping'an himself went to the kitchen to eat, leaning against the door with his bowl, watching Zhao Shuxia's antics.

Among the children, three girls liked to play shuttlecock, so Chen Ping'an made several copper coin shuttlecocks with feathers, and also made a feather duster.

Occasionally, Chen Ping'an would call a gaunt-looking child to eat lunch with him. This child sat in the middle row but looked shorter and weaker than the five or six-year-olds just starting school. After being called twice, the child blushed and didn't agree. Chen Ping'an thought for a moment and didn't insist.

Because tuition was low and the number of children small, Chen Ping'an opened a vegetable garden near the schoolhouse, surrounded by a bamboo fence. He also raised some chickens and ducks. At a low price, he rented a small bamboo grove and tea garden from the locals. With Zhao Shuxia, he reclaimed some mountain land to plant corn and other crops, as well as peach and loquat trees. Initially, he considered building a pigsty and buying piglets, and also thought about planting mulberry trees, but raising pigs or silkworms had strong odors, so he decided against it.

To improve the diet, they could set traps in the mountains, or have Zhao Shuxia catch a muntjac or wild boar.

Lu Chen leaned against the sundial, stretched out a finger, and wrote the character "kao" in the air. The stroke appeared like thick ink, lingering in the air.

He explained to the boy with a smile, "This character later evolved into 'yu.' Its ancient meaning is the appearance of Qi wanting to stretch. In a couple of days, an old Daoist immortal will achieve a great feat of merging with the stars. This old immortal has that surname, and he is respectfully called Fu Lu Yu Xuan, somewhat like the Yin-Yang school's 'Tan Tian Zou, Shuo Di Lu,' and of course, the sword technique Pei Min, one of the Three Uniques of Haoran."

Saying this, Lu Chen raised his hand, and two green bamboo walking sticks appeared. He tossed them to the boy and laughed. "Come on, let's explore the nearby mountains and waters."

Ning Ji caught the green bamboo stick. "Daoist Lu, my legs are still good."

Lu Chen walked first, leaving the schoolhouse's threshing ground, following a stream path toward the next village. He said casually, "Whether scholars enjoy mountains and waters or people travel for a living, there's always a time when physical strength fails. Even if one has good legs, what about the heart? Just take it."

The young Daoist with the lotus crown, carrying a black bag at his waist, walked leisurely, tapping the ground with his bamboo stick. "In youth, besides studying and gaining knowledge, one also needs to cultivate vitality and spirit, strengthen the body."

"Let the conscious spirit step back often, and let the original spirit return—this is what we Daoists call 'always preserving the infant.' As for what the conscious spirit is and what the original spirit is, if you have the chance to cultivate in the future, you'll understand. Remember to ask your teaching master more about the origin of original spirit and primordial spirit."

"In your future studies and cultivation, you'll definitely encounter a kind of troubled person—not related to good or bad, but just having an unsettled heart."

"If you know you've done wrong, be willing to apologize. If others make excessive demands, dare to say 'no.' This way, you'll live lightly and refreshingly, not feeling awkward. So the original spirit is at ease, I am still I—things follow the mind, and I am I."

Arriving at the stream, Lu Chen cupped water to wash his face. On the bank, there was a lush old camphor tree. Lu Chen sat on a stone to rest, pulled out a commentary book from his sleeve—the one filled with small annotations in the margins by Chen Ping'an—and smiled. "Don't blindly exalt the ancients, blindly value ancient books, digging into old papers without coming out."

"Like Chen Ping'an—when reading, one must first thicken the book, then thin it. In the end, achieve one thing: a few words or one or two principles that resonate with the book. For any book—whether a classic reputed to be immutable for a hundred generations or an unorthodox even frivolous book—if you can get one or two truly your own principles, that's already a rare achievement, not a waste of reading."

Saying this, Lu Chen extended his left hand, two fingers together, twisted and made circles. The boy was astonished to see that the green shade of the tree seemed to condense at the Daoist's gesture. Lu Chen then looked into the stream, curled a finger, and a wet blue stone leaped out of the water. He held it in his right hand, rubbed it, and dust fell away, until it became two oblong greenish seal blanks. The Daoist held them with two fingers, used his left hand's fingers as a carving knife, and began to carve seal inscriptions. They read "Opening a book is always beneficial" and "Ning Ji has read this." He handed them to the boy with a smile. "When you encounter a favorite book in the future, you can stamp these two seals on the pages."

The boy was truly delighted and didn't stand on ceremony. He quickly thanked Patriarch Lu. Lu Chen waved his hand with a smile. "Why be so formal with me? If you really feel bad, on your cultivation path, when you announce your name, you can add 'Lu Chen is my little teacher.' Although we can't be master and disciple in the proper sense, one should cherish old ties. The bond of incense friendship from the past should still be remembered."

Then the boy followed the Daoist along mountain paths. Dark clouds gathered overhead, and thunder rumbled, signaling rain.

When they reached a mountaintop that locals called Farewell Ridge,

suddenly, a torrential rain poured down, darkening heaven and earth.

Lu Chen handed Ning Ji an oil-paper umbrella.

Rain fell in buckets, as if the sky had a hole.

The two stood in place, holding their umbrellas. Lu Chen smiled. "What is a perfect person? One whose nature is fully expressed without omission."

"The best scholars in the world study the word 'ritual,' either opening or solidifying paths, making the world's roads neither cracked in drought nor muddy in rain—like the road we came on."

"The second best scholars spend their lives delving into the word 'principle,' striving for purity and carrying on the tradition—like the houses over there and the umbrellas in our hands."

"The third best study in their studios, heads white over the classics, circling around 'words,' but still benefiting the literary veins—like the roadside pavilions every few miles."

"The next level are those who have read many sage books but still are half-baked, seeking advantages and avoiding disadvantages, but with no intention to harm, willing to do good within their power—most scholars in the world, eight or nine out of ten. The next lower level are the unbearably vulgar pedantic Confucians, sanctimonious, rigid and pedantic, posing as righteous gentlemen upholders of ritual teachings, harsh in conduct, ignorant of human feelings. The lowest level are hypocrites and petty villains—the more knowledge they have, the greater the harm to the world—like those described in a Buddhist sutra: 'Enter my Dharma, dwell in my temple, but destroy my true Dharma.'"

Raindrops the size of soybeans hit the oil-paper umbrella, making it tremble.

Ning Ji vaguely saw someone running swiftly along the muddy mountain path toward them.

The boy had a good memory and keen observation, noticing that Zhao Shuxia coming up the mountain was not "today's" Zhao Shuxia.

Lu Chen said, "Zhao Shuxia comes here to practice boxing. At the schoolhouse, he's constrained—can't fully execute his moves, and the punches are too loud."

Cui Chan had a boxing style called "Cloud Steam Over Great Marsh."

Sure enough, Zhao Shuxia arrived at the mountaintop, planted his feet, sank his Qi to his dantian, opened his boxing stance, and began punching upward.

Lu Chen explained to the boy, "This boxing has a great origin. There was an old man with the surname Cui, a Confucian scholar of the Second Sage lineage. He read many books. One day, he came across an unofficial historical anecdote. It said that in ancient times, the earth suffered droughts for years, and the people had no means to live. A female rain deity took pity on the common people, violated heavenly laws, and brought rain to the human world. This incurred the wrath of the Heavenly Court. They arrested her golden body at the God-Beating Platform, tortured her day and night until her golden body was shattered, then banished her to the mortal world. According to legend, the Heavenly Emperor's edict of reprimand contained the phrase 'self-inflicted suffering.' When the old man named Cui read this, he was filled with indignation, uncontrollable anger. It happened to be the rainy season, with heavy downpour outside. He walked out, and that's how this punch came about."

Ning Ji instinctively looked up at the sky and asked, "Patriarch Lu, is this really true?"

Lu Chen laughed. "I'm lazy and my techniques are not sufficient. I dare not easily wade into the river of time from ten thousand years ago, so I can't say whether it's true or false."

The boy from the Clay Bottle Alley in the Lizhu Cave Heaven, the effeminate kiln worker, and later Cui Cheng who entered the Bamboo Tower of the Fallen Mountain—none of them would have thought they would be connected in this strange way.

The downpour, like a deity splashing ink on the world, came and went quickly.

After delivering a dozen punches, Zhao Shuxia was exhausted. He rested briefly, steadied his breath, then walked down the mountain in a stance back to the schoolhouse.

Later, Lu Chen took Ning Ji to another mountain called Black Mud Pool. The fish in this pool were different from elsewhere—both the crucian carp and the loach had a golden line on them.

This was also a place for praying for rain during droughts. Elderly local worthies would fast for three days in the ancestral hall, then ascend the mountain to pray. Often, before the prayer party even descended back to the village, signs of rain would appear—very efficacious.

Ning Ji asked, "Did that rain deity banished from heaven settle here back then?"

Lu Chen laughed. "Hard to say. Who knows? Local legends and county gazetteers only mention something about a passing flood dragon, not the rain deity."

In the afternoon, school started at the hour of the Sheep (1-3 PM) and ended at the hour of the Monkey (3-5 PM). That was the end of the school day.

In total, it was about three and a half hours. Besides daily lessons, the school also held three monthly lessons. On a certain day when class ended half an hour early, starting at the hour of the Monkey, Chen Ping'an would usually teach additional new books and writing practice. These new books were outside the regular enlightenment texts, with no required homework. Chen Ping'an would bring out a dozen different types of books, covering phonetics, epigraphy, astronomy, water management, land, institutions, and so on. The children could flip through them and ask about unfamiliar characters or the meaning of sentences.

Chen Ping'an would also bring real objects—like rubbed copies of steles commonly sold in bookshops, a few seals he had carved, porcelain, etc.—to give the children a direct impression and help them understand what was what.

During busy farming seasons, the rural school would only hold half-day classes.

The teacher would also help in the fields. Some elders would gather in private and joke that Mr. Chen was better at farm work than teaching.

For water rights, villages upstream and downstream often fought, even large-scale armed conflicts. But as long as no one died or was crippled, the county government generally didn't intervene.

The village below the school, almost all surnamed Chen, and the largest village, Wuxi Village, at the entrance of the mountain hollow, had the fiercest fights over water. Not long ago, they had a big brawl. Almost all the young men from both villages participated. One child's father was among them. This seemingly dull and taciturn man was actually quite ruthless in the fight. The Wuxi Village side seemed to know him well, and several people ganged up on him. Chen Ping'an, who had been crouching in the distance watching with his hands in his sleeves, saw the man get knocked down by a bamboo pole strike. He had to trot over, dodging a rain of clubs and hoes, to find an opportunity to help the fallen man up and run.

Several women from Wuxi Village—whether they found this teacher irritatingly smug or just different from the rugged farmers they were used to—giggled and blocked his way. Luckily, the teacher had quick feet and made a getaway. The man, catching his breath, just nodded at the teacher. Rural folk aren't good at polite words; he just grinned, his eyes full of gratitude, then cursed at the neighboring village women in the local dialect and strode back to the "battlefield."

The next day, when the two old scholars from Wuxi Village heard about this, they cursed over their wine: "Shameful! What kind of behavior! For a bit of tuition, this guy has no face at all!"

During that "battle," the Daoist had taken the boy to crouch by the roadside, eating sunflower seeds and watching the show.

Lu Chen laughed. "Mountains and plains are the same—only two important things: win the fight, or be able to run away."

Ning Ji was puzzled and couldn't help asking, "Daoist Lu, isn't Mr. Chen a cultivator?"

Lu Chen said, "He's learning from someone."

Ning Ji, now less formal with Patriarch Lu, asked curiously, "Who is that someone?"

Lu Chen smiled. "He is to Chen Ping'an as Chen Ping'an is to you. As for who exactly, you don't need to know for now."

In this Yanzhou Prefecture area, there were several customs. Some villages would use clan funds to hire troupes to perform bamboo horse dances. They wove bamboo strips into horse frames, pasted colored paper, and tied multicolored string bells around the horses' necks. Beating gongs and drums, it was lively and considered a good omen. Children followed the bamboo horse procession, making noise like it was a festival. Also, villages that intermarried frequently were called "generation relatives." Every first lunar month, even if far apart, they would visit each other's ancestral halls to burn incense and set off firecrackers, and have a meal together. For example, the middle village had a generation relative village dozens of miles away. Every time they lost a water fight with the larger Wuxi Village or had disputes, and were at a disadvantage and bullied, that very night, villagers would light a bonfire on the mountaintop. The next day, the generation relative village would send a large group, having prepared their own rations before dawn, and march over in droves, heading straight for the Wuxi Village ancestral hall without a word.

Lu Chen once took the boy on a "long trip," where they saw the erection and movement of boundary markers in some prefectures and counties. The boy also found himself in a certain dynasty, where on the first and fifteenth of each month, old blind men would walk the roads, ringing wooden bells and chanting admonitory posters. Most were brief, just a few sentences, not exceeding thirty characters. Daoist Lu would explain the pros and cons of a country's laws, imperial edicts, local covenants, and clan rules.

In the schoolhouse, there was a child who was often punished with the ruler. His family was relatively well-off in the village.

The child didn't say anything at home, didn't complain. But presumably, his parents or elders saw his reddened palm and were displeased. They found the teacher, who was too heavy-handed, and complained, threatening to take their child out of the school if he kept hitting him like that. The teacher didn't say much, just nodded in agreement. But as soon as the couple left, the child sneaked back to the schoolhouse, his face flushed. Mr. Chen patted his head and said with a smile, "In the future, if you make mistakes, the teacher will still have to hit you, but I'll go easier." The child grinned, scratched his head, and said nothing.

Every day after school, Chen Ping'an often went fishing by the stream, and Zhao Shuxia would cook dinner—a special treat.

A few children who were slow to learn and didn't seem to work hard plucked up courage to fish with the teacher. One tall boy who never wore shoes was a good angler. Soon he had a long string of stream fish on a dog-tail grass stalk. Before leaving, he wanted to secretly put them in the teacher's creel. But probably shy, he just tossed them near the creel and ran off.

Chen Ping'an didn't stand on ceremony and put the fish into his creel. The next morning, the boy hadn't done his homework, so he still got a ruler. It hurt, but he grinned.

So the boy got an extra rap on the head, making him hold his head in pain. The teacher put on a stern face and said in a low voice, "You're a fine fisherman. Have you memorized the fish on those illustrated pages?" The boy blushed and shook his head, truthfully saying he recognized the fish but not the characters beside them. The teacher laughed and scolded, "You can eat them but not remember? How is it that fishing comes so naturally, but memorizing a few characters that don't move is harder than catching all those swimming fish?"

The next day in class, the boy stared at those pages of pictures and text, ignoring everything else. Chen Ping'an saw him distracted but didn't interfere.

There was also a young boy who was too scared to ask to go to the bathroom during class and peed his pants right there in the classroom.

When discovered, everyone burst out laughing. The teacher told everyone to be quiet and personally took the boy to the stream to clean his pants. He told him to be braver next time, to raise his hand, and just hint with his eyes—no need to say anything. The teacher would find an excuse to let him leave the classroom.

One child came to school in low spirits, head drooping. The teacher asked what was wrong. The child said he had argued with his parents the day before and got a slap on the face.

Chen Ping'an asked what the child said. The boy, who had just learned a lesson from a book, was embarrassed. Chen Ping'an suppressed a smile and comforted him.

That day during class, all the children noticed the teacher smiling much more often than before.

A quiet child lived alone in a mountain village—really just a few households. So every day, he had to walk several miles of mountain paths to and from school. But no matter the bad weather or heavy rain, he was never late. Chen Ping'an knew that a certain streamside path was very narrow, and during rainstorms, flash floods were common. If someone accidentally fell into the flood, it would be disastrous. So he asked Zhao Shuxia to secretly escort the child on rainy days when he went to or from school.

Once, after a monthly lesson ended, Chen Ping'an said he would walk up the mountain with the child. The child, who usually ran back and forth like the wind, walked slowly beside the teacher holding a green bamboo staff—probably the slowest he had ever walked. At his door in the dark, the child seemed to want to say something, maybe to invite the teacher in for a meal, but his family was too poor, so he couldn't bring himself to do it. Chen Ping'an said with a smile, "I'll have to be shameless and beg for a meal." Inside the dim house, he ate with the family and drank some homemade wine. The teacher left tipsy, and the child secretly walked a long night path with him.

Recently, Chen Ping'an began collecting prefaces and postscripts from various poems and essays.

He also prepared some paper and ink, including red paper for Spring Festival couplets and the character "blessing." Over the course of a year, he planned to select those with excellent calligraphy or hard work among the children and give them as gifts before the year-end closure.

In addition, every evening, Chen Ping'an would carve wooden and bamboo plaques—three to four hundred in total—each inscribed with a poem or a special name for something, like "tea" being called "the sleepless marquis."

For the bamboo and wooden plaques, the teacher wrote each stroke with leisurely ease.