Chapter Thirty: Entering the Academy

(Apologies for waking up late today…)

As the ice and snow melted away, spring waters began to flow, and swallows darted past the willow trees of the second month. The earth thawed, bursting anew with vitality. In the fields, farmers hurried back and forth, laboring for the year’s harvest.

At the towering east gate of Jiangzhou City, people streamed in and out without end—some carrying loads on their shoulders, others pushing carts, and some astride horses. A single sweeping glance revealed all manner of people, their social standing and wealth made evident at once.

Chen Jianchen and Wang Fu arrived by carriage. As licentiates, both held scholarly titles, and so under normal circumstances, they could pass in and out of the city gates without inspection.

Since the incident with Peony Blossom, Wang Fu had suffered a grave illness, taking nearly half a month to recover his strength. Yet, what lay below seemed to have lost its vigor, leaving him on the verge of tears, all the while unable to confess his troubles. He could only hide in his study, pretending to pore over the classics. Whenever he caught sight of his wives’ longing glances, he felt as if a mouse had met a cat—frightened and uneasy.

That nearly frenzied night had left too deep a shadow in Wang Fu’s heart. Each time he recalled it, his hairs stood on end, and even his three legs would tremble.

On the third day of the New Year, Wang Fu arrived at the Chen household laden with gifts, and in the study, he poured out his woes to Chen Jianchen for nearly an hour—so much so that Chen Jianchen grew rather impatient.

At long last, when Wang Fu finished recounting his misfortunes, he abruptly changed the topic, beginning to extol the virtues of his younger sister, Miss Wang. Chen Jianchen responded swiftly and resolutely, “Brother Futai, at present I am devoted solely to my studies, undistracted by other matters; in fact, I have long since sworn not to wed until I pass the imperial examination.”

Seeing his firm resolve, Wang Fu could only give up—for of late, Chen Jianchen struck him as inscrutable, as if he were a changed man. Seeing through the true face of Peony Blossom was one matter, and resolving the wolf incident with a single stroke of the brush was another.

As for Wang Fu’s questions, Chen Jianchen had already prepared an answer, claiming that Daoist Master Qingyun had once taught him a mystical technique, which had come in handy at just the right time.

Naturally, Wang Fu clamored to know the whereabouts of Daoist Master Qingyun, so that he might offer his thanks in person—clearly hoping to learn a trick or two himself.

Chen Jianchen replied, “The Daoist master is a sage of the Laoshan sect. He wanders the world, his whereabouts ever uncertain. How could one hope to find him?”

Wang Fu expressed his regret, but silently committed the name “Laoshan” to memory, determined that if ever he had the chance, he would seek out a master there—who knew, perhaps he would encounter his destiny and ascend to immortality in broad daylight…

With such thoughts, Wang Fu broke into a broad smile, nearly drooling with anticipation.

After the New Year, as the academy’s opening day approached, Wang Fu suggested that he and Chen Jianchen travel together to Jiangzhou. With a free ride, Chen Jianchen saw no reason to refuse. He packed his belongings, bid farewell to his mother and A’bao, and set out on the road to scholarship.

During the parting, Lady Mo was naturally reluctant to let him go, giving him all manner of advice. A’bao’s eyes grew red with tears; when Chen Jianchen boarded the carriage and it rumbled off into the distance, she ran after it for a long while before stopping, waving frantically in farewell, her tears falling like strings of pearls.

Watching this, Chen Jianchen felt a pang of sorrow.

Are we not all flesh and blood, with hearts that care? There are always ties that, before we realize it, have taken root deep within us…

He silently vowed to himself to carve out a foundation in Jiangzhou as soon as possible, and then bring his mother and A’bao to settle in the city. After all, his family owned neither field nor land in Jingyang Village.

Upon entering Jiangzhou, Chen Jianchen’s gaze roamed about, taking everything in. In his previous life, he’d visited Jiangzhou once or twice, but only superficially, never gaining any real understanding of this city—one of the eighteen provinces of the Tiantong Dynasty. Now that he was to study here, ignorance was no longer an option.

The Tiantong Dynasty comprised eighteen provinces, of which Jiangzhou was one. It governed nine counties and a total of one hundred thirty-six townships. As for Jingyang Village’s Zhengming Township, it was near the city’s prefectural seat, but not under any county’s jurisdiction—rather, it answered directly to Jiangzhou’s administration.

Jiangzhou’s city walls were imposing, the grounds vast, and its streets crisscrossed in bustling prosperity. Yet its two principal academies, Minghua Academy and Qingxue Academy, ranked only at the lower end among the official schools of the Tiantong Dynasty, their reputations unremarkable. Compared to the renowned academies of the south, they paled in comparison—let alone the Imperial Academy of the capital.

The greatest difference between Minghua Academy and Qingxue Academy was this: Minghua admitted only male students, while Qingxue was for women.

In the Tiantong Dynasty, women could also study and attend school, though they were barred from sitting for the imperial examinations or holding official posts. Thus, their studies focused mostly on calligraphy, etiquette and virtue, poetry and song, and seldom included the eight-part essay or examination arts.

Though women could attend school, most poor families would never send their daughters to private tutors. By the age of six or seven, they were already needed to herd pigs or cattle and help with household chores.

Even for boys, families of modest means could hardly afford schooling, let alone girls. This made clear the many hardships Lady Mo had endured over the years to keep Chen Jianchen in school.

Families with means and connections could send their children directly to the county’s official schools, while ordinary folk had to rely on village tutors—the environments and standards of education were worlds apart.

Thus, the chances of earning a licentiate degree in an official academy were far greater than in a rural private school.

Minghua Academy was the largest official school in all Jiangzhou. It was divided into upper and lower academies; the lower was for children, while only those who had attained the licentiate degree could enter the upper academy.

Chen Jianchen had placed first in all three rounds of the children’s examination, becoming a licentiate, and was thus admitted as a stipend student to the upper academy of Minghua. He received free food, lodging, and a monthly allowance of ten coins. In other words, he was a publicly funded student. Outstanding students could even earn scholarships.

In this sense, pursuing education was not a bad thing.

The trouble lay in the fact that, stipend student or not, one still had to obey all the academy’s rules and regulations. Reportedly, Minghua Academy had three hundred and eighty-six rules, neatly inscribed on a great stone stele at the main gate. Look up, and all you see are “No…” and “No…”; look down, and it’s all “Must…” and “Must…”

This stele was called the Sacred Law Stele, a symbol of unassailable authority.

Every official school had such a Sacred Law Stele at its entrance, a constant reminder to students as they passed in and out to be vigilant in their conduct, to follow the precepts set forth in the Book of Rites, and never cross the sacred bounds.

Chen Jianchen had read the Book of Rites, knowing that it prescribed thousands of ceremonial forms, specifying precisely what rituals each station in life must observe, what customs to follow at what times, down to the minutiae of using the privy.

The mere sight of it was enough to make one’s head spin.

At this moment, Chen Jianchen’s head did indeed feel dizzy.

Before his eyes stood that straight, solemn, towering Sacred Law Stele…