Chapter Eleven: A Promising Student

Zhang Shi and Zhang Yue had initially come today to express their gratitude to Assistant County Magistrate Xue, but unexpectedly, Xue had left halfway through. What was meant to be a simple meeting suddenly became something like an examination.

Zhang Yue remained silent, reluctant to speak.

With sincere expression, Zhang Shi said, “My younger brother is most diligent in his studies, but he lacks proper guidance and has suffered from the absence of a renowned teacher.”

Zhang Yue realized that his elder brother was seeking a path forward for him.

Wu Anshi smiled, “Oh? Is that so? May I ask, which of the classics does the Third Young Master study?”

Zhang Yue wanted to explain that he knew little of anything, but seeing his brother’s hopeful gaze, he felt compelled to keep up appearances. He decided to rely on what he had recited these past days and replied, “I study Mencius.”

As soon as he said this, both Wu Anshi and the elderly gentleman beside him were momentarily taken aback, then shook their heads and smiled.

Even Zhang Shi, who was hardly a scholar, looked embarrassed and quietly reminded Zhang Yue, “Third Brother, Mencius is not one of the Classics.”

Zhang Yue realized he had made a blunder, misled by knowledge from later eras. Mencius was not included in the curriculum until Zhu Xi listed it among the Four Books during the Southern Song, making it a required text for the imperial examinations in the Ming. During the Northern Song, the civil service examinations only recognized the Twelve Classics; only later was Mencius added, making the well-known Thirteen Classics. Mencius was venerated as second only to Confucius, and in later times, scholars would refer to Confucianism as the teachings of “Kong and Meng,” but in the Song dynasty, it was “Duke of Zhou and Confucius.”

He had spent so much time memorizing Mencius, only to realize it was considered “extracurricular.” Had he known, he would have chosen differently…

Wu Anshi, a bit embarrassed himself, forced a laugh and said, “Though I have never heard of anyone beginning their study of the Classics with Mencius, the Third Young Master has certainly taken a unique path. His second brother, indeed, has some insights into Mencius. Unfortunately, Lord Chen came from Jianyang this time but did not get to meet him.”

The old gentleman said indifferently, “I have retired to my hometown and naturally wish to see the talents among the younger generation in our county. However, great reputation is often hard to live up to. In the past, your kinsman, Jie Fu, spoke to me of a fellow villager, Zhong Yong, who was precocious as a child but grew up to be unremarkable, as so often happens.”

Jie Fu? Jeff?

Zhang Yue was startled. He recalled seeing jokes online, such as the Ming Emperor Zhu Di being called “Judy,” the poet Lu You as “WiFi,” and Wang Anshi, whose courtesy name was Jie Fu, being nicknamed “Jeff.” So this old gentleman knew Wang Anshi and seemed to outrank him.

It seemed the old man had come especially to see his second brother, and since he was not present, he agreed to meet Zhang Yue instead. Assistant County Magistrate Xue had not left for official duties, but rather, had tactfully withdrawn.

Putting on a look of childlike innocence, Zhang Yue said, “Surely, sir, you must have been a prodigy in your youth.”

At these words, Wu Anshi’s expression changed, and he glanced surreptitiously at the old man.

The old gentleman was startled, then slapped his knee and laughed. “What a sharp-tongued child!”

Seeing that the old man was not angered but amused, Wu Anshi breathed a silent sigh of relief and joined in the laughter. “A sharp one, this Third Young Master Zhang.”

After a moment, Zhang Shi understood the joke and hurriedly said, “Third Brother, that was rude. Quickly apologize to the gentleman!”

Zhang Yue was already guessing the old man’s identity. He was from Jianyang, surnamed Chen, and treated with utmost respect by Wu Anshi. His identity was becoming clear. It was not Zhang Yue’s knowledge of history per se, but the famous story known as “Four Ministers and the Flower Adornment.”

In the fifth year of Qingli, Han Qi was governor of Yangzhou, and in his residence’s rear garden a branch bore four blossoms. The flowers were red above and below, with a golden stamen at the center, resembling the crimson robes and gold sashes of ministers. It was rumored that such a flower foretold the rise of a grand minister, a rank-one official.

At that time, Wang Gui and Wang Anshi, both assistant judges at the Court of Judicial Review, were in Yangzhou. Han Qi invited them to view the flower. He also invited the local governor, who was unwell. Just then, the judge Chen Shengzhi was passing through and was invited as a substitute.

That day, four men wore the blossoms in their hair, and indeed, over the next thirty years, all four successively became prime ministers. The substitute, Chen Shengzhi, was from Jianyang—the same hometown as Zhang Yue and a close acquaintance of Wang Anshi.

To think a future prime minister could be so lightly teased! Zhang Yue realized he had been treading on thin ice.

“No harm done,” the old man replied, smiling.

The atmosphere was congenial, and it seemed the old man was not offended.

Still, Zhang Shi stood and apologized, “My brother meant no harm. It is my fault for not guiding him better. Please, blame me instead.”

The old gentleman smiled at Zhang Yue, asking kindly, “Oh? Then tell me, why do you study Mencius? If you answer well, I’ll spare your brother any blame.”

Zhang Yue replied, “Thank you for your indulgence. Han Yu once said, after Confucius passed, all his disciples wrote books, but only Mencius preserved the lineage. Only by reading Mencius can one understand the profoundness of Confucius’ teachings.”

Han Yu, also known as Han Changli, greatly esteemed Mencius. In his theory of the transmission of the Way, he listed the succession as Yao, Shun, Tang, Yu, Duke of Zhou, Confucius, and Mencius, claiming that the tradition was lost after Mencius until Han Yu himself inherited it.

The old man nodded and said to Wu Anshi, “There is some truth to that.”

Wu Anshi inquired, “Lord Chen, I have heard of great scholars of the Classics, but who among our contemporaries excels in the study of Mencius?”

The old man counted on his fingers, “After Master Sun of Taishan and Master Shi of Culai, though Lü, Yin, and Zou have left commentaries, none are true masters. Today, Sun Xinlao counts as one, and so does your second brother’s kinsman, Jie Fu!”

Wang Anshi once wrote a poem to Wu Chong: “We were colleagues, of the same age and year; friends and even kin through marriage. Separated by distant dust and sand, for two years we shared the wind and moon.” The two had served as officials together, were born the same year, and passed the civil service exam together. Wu Yu was the examiner who passed both Wang Anshi and his brother Wu Chong that year. “For two years we shared the wind and moon” refers to both serving as officials together. “Friends and even kin through marriage” means their families were allied: Wang Anshi’s eldest daughter, at seventeen, married Wu Chong’s second son, Wu Anshi, and lived in the capital, now with a granddaughter.

Wang Anshi also greatly admired Mencius, though later generations joked that Mencius never spoke of profit, while Wang Anshi spoke of little else—their ideas, however, were much aligned.

The old gentleman said, “This young man is quite right. Han Changli venerated Mencius, hence in our dynasty, there are constant calls to elevate Mencius from a philosophical text to a Classic, even to rank him with Confucius.”

Wu Anshi added, “But the doctrines of Mencius are not without flaws. Sima Junshi has already pointed out their shortcomings, even writing essays to refute his views on kingship and hegemony.”

The old man continued, “Though Mencius advocated ‘the people as the foundation,’ not officials or the ruler, for this he was criticized.”

“‘The people are most precious, the ruler least so.’” At this, Wu Anshi could only agree, lacking any original insight.

The old man went on, “Confucius did not speak of destiny or human nature, but Mencius upheld the innate goodness of man and the fulfillment of one’s heart—hardly orthodox in Confucian thought; this is the partiality of his teaching…”

The two continued their discussion, and even Zhang Shi and Zhang Yue lost track, realizing that most could not have interjected even if they wished.

Yet Zhang Yue nodded in agreement, understanding the exchange—thanks to years spent absorbing discussions on internet forums.

Zhang Shi glanced at Zhang Yue, thinking, “I hardly understand, how does he?”

Wu Anshi, noticing this, shook his head slightly. How could a child truly grasp such matters? The old man had gone beyond the bounds of scholarship and was now discussing the cultivation of self and governance. Not just children, even Wu Anshi himself could only assent.

The old man saw Zhang Yue nodding and smiled, “Oh? How much of what I said have you understood?”

Zhang Yue replied, “I would not presume to say I fully understand, but I have gleaned some insights from reading Mencius.”

“Insights?” The old man burst out laughing. “You’ve made me laugh more today than usual.”

Zhang Shi could only join in with an awkward laugh, clearly ill at ease. Wu Anshi also laughed along, though his expression was strained—his second son had nearly offended the gentleman with his earlier remarks.

“A child’s words, Lord Chen, you needn’t take them seriously.”

The old man waved his hand and looked at Zhang Yue. “And what insights have you gleaned from reading Mencius?”

After a moment’s thought, Zhang Yue said, “Sir, you seem to believe Mencius is unworthy of such reverence.”

“But when I read the words of the Sages, they are like the gentle spring rain, nourishing all things in silence, like a divine dragon glimpsed but never fully seen. Yet when I read Mencius, it is as if one is struck repeatedly—a voice stern and forceful, dispelling heresies and instilling in me a spirit of righteous integrity.”

Zhang Shi hurried to intervene, “What does a child know? My brother speaks nonsense, I beg you not to take offense.”

Wu Anshi, however, found sense in the words and looked to see the old man’s reaction.

The elder smiled and asked, “Third Young Master Zhang, were these words taught to you by your second brother?”

Zhang Yue replied, “They were not.”

The old gentleman stroked his beard and mused, “If Confucius was a kindly elder, Mencius was a stern teacher. Though Mencius may have been a bit overzealous, lacking some composure, perhaps only such severity could correct entrenched wrongs and make the wicked tremble. Maybe this is why Mencius is increasingly revered.”

He turned to Zhang Yue and said, “You read with discernment and integrity—a rare quality. You are a teachable lad!”

Confucius was gentle and composed, a true gentleman, rarely showing anger even in private. Mencius, on the other hand, was unyielding. In his encounters, he rebuked many a king, calling King Xiang of Liang unworthy, saying he saw nothing in him to fear, and referring to King Zhou of Shang as a mere tyrant.

Seeing that Zhang Yue had won the old man’s favor, Zhang Shi was overjoyed; Wu Anshi, too, regarded him with new respect.

Zhang Shi felt his pride swell—his decision to have his brother study had been vindicated.

Wu Anshi said with a smile, “Since Lord Chen holds this child in such esteem, and since Ziyou is just in need of a study attendant, perhaps…”

A study attendant?

At these words, Zhang Yue’s heart sank.

The old man smiled, “That would be fine… though perhaps it’s beneath him.”

Beneath him? How could that be?

Wu Anshi explained to Zhang Shi, “This old gentleman is a great official of the court. His nephew happens to need a companion in his studies. Your second brother’s talents would have been more than sufficient, but since he is absent, a fine opportunity is lost.”

“But as it happens, we have chanced upon the Third Young Master. He is clever and, as you say, lacks a good teacher. This is most fortunate. Would you be willing to have him study alongside the old gentleman’s nephew?”

Zhang Shi hesitated.

Wu Anshi added, “Though he will be a study attendant in name, he will in fact be half a companion, receiving the same instruction, reading the same books.”

A study companion?

Zhang Yue recalled the saying, “Accompanying the crown prince in his studies.” Of course, the Chen family’s child was not a prince, but the treatment was similar. The children of the elite were rarely disciplined by their teachers; when mistakes were made, the study companion would be scolded in their stead and came to serve as a trusted dependent, loyal to the household.

Yet the benefits were significant—tuition was entirely covered, the education was the same, and it was easier to qualify for the “canal examination.”

The canal examination, administered by the local transport commission, was so named because the office was called the Canal Office, or “Bietou Examination.” It was equivalent to the qualifying exam for the civil service, but specifically for the children of current officials and relatives within five degrees, and in recent years, even household retainers. By becoming a study companion, Zhang Yue could take the exam as a Chen family retainer.

For Zhang Yue, being a study companion was not a humiliation, but in fact an excellent opportunity. If Chen Shengzhi announced such an opening, many poor scholars would compete fiercely for it.

No one would think being a study attendant was shameful. Both the old man and Wu Anshi were sincere, not looking down on him in the slightest—though the disparity in status was evident.

It was only Zhang Yue’s overactive imagination that made him think otherwise—he had imagined that with the old man’s status, he would be generous enough to support a talented compatriot. Only now did he realize how naive that assumption was. What dream had he been chasing?