Chapter Sixteen: Don't Pretend to Be Something You're Not

At lunch, the meal was enriched by some wild greens and a few pieces of braised eel with tofu. The tofu, in particular, had to be bought from the village, and the scholar’s wife was skilled in cooking, adding a touch of red yeast to the eel. This rustic meal once again brought a sense of comfort to their austere mountain life, filling everyone with a quiet happiness.

After lunch, Scholar Guo personally recited the Classic of Filial Piety to Zhang Yue. Zhang Yue recalled the words he had written for Zhang Qiu in the “Three Character Classic”: “For learning, one must begin at the beginning. After elementary studies, proceed to the Four Books.” And also: “Master the Classic of Filial Piety, become familiar with the Four Books; only then may you begin the Six Classics.” Such was the order of scholarship among the Song scholars, though in the Northern Song, the concept of the Four Books had not yet taken shape.

Confucians believed that the older a book, the more authoritative it was—a true “classic” must have withstood the test of time. The Analects, authored by Confucius, and the Classic of Filial Piety, attributed to him, were not yet considered true classics, but neither were they mere philosophical treatises like the works of Mencius; their status was already approaching that of the canonical texts.

Just as ancient scholars distinguished between elementary and advanced learning by their study of the classics, only after mastering the Classic of Filial Piety could one proceed to the Six Classics. If Zhang Yue himself did not know the Classic of Filial Piety, yet had written “Master the Classic of Filial Piety, become familiar with the Four Books; only then may you begin the Six Classics,” would he not be contradicting himself?

When Scholar Guo was teaching Zhang Yue the Classic of Filial Piety, Guo Lin sat nearby, explaining that he wished to keep abreast of the lesson’s progress. “Sir, I already heard Guo Lin recite the Classic of Filial Piety yesterday. Today, I wish to begin studying its commentary and interpretation first!” Zhang Yue’s request made Scholar Guo’s lips twitch in surprise.

Patiently, Scholar Guo replied, “The commentary can wait. Today, we will break the Classic of Filial Piety into sections—memorize three chapters at a time, and in six days you will have it fully committed to memory. Then we may discuss its interpretation.” Six days to memorize; with each day covering over three hundred characters, Scholar Guo was teaching at the “average talent” pace, as suggested by Ouyang Xiu.

Normally, a scholar would brook no argument from a student; students learned what the teacher taught and were not allowed to question, let alone object. Even asking too many questions could get one expelled from the school. But Zhang Yue insisted, “Sir, without understanding the meaning, I truly cannot memorize it.”

Beside him, Guo Lin shot him a warning look, but Scholar Guo remained patient. “Reading a hundred times will reveal the meaning. The commentary can wait.” Yet Zhang Yue replied, “Sir, after Guo Lin taught me yesterday, I have already read it a hundred times in my dreams!”

Scholar Guo forced a laugh. “Very well, I will teach you the commentary.” Then, with a more serious tone, he said, “Through the ages, wise kings have governed by filial piety, setting an example for generations to come. That is why all scholars begin their study of the classics with the Classic of Filial Piety, then proceed to the Analects. It is like the main beam of a house: if it is not straight, the whole house will be crooked. Thus, filial piety is the foundation.”

But Zhang Yue replied, “I believe this may be open to debate.”

Scholar Guo was taken aback—Zhang Yue was questioning the primacy of filial piety. Zhang Yue continued, “Confucians hold that one should cultivate oneself, bring order to one’s family, govern the state, and pacify the world. Filial piety pertains to managing the family, not to self-cultivation—how can it be called the root?”

“Then what is the root of self-cultivation? Shall we look for it in Buddhism and Daoism?” Scholar Guo countered.

Zhang Yue answered, “As you said, self-cultivation is the study of human nature and destiny. The sages rarely spoke of this, but Buddhist and Daoist teachings, as well as metaphysics, dwell on the study of nature and destiny.”

In ancient texts, “nature” was written with the “life” radical, not the “heart” radical; it meant one’s innate character. “What is the study of nature and destiny? That which is innate is called ‘nature’; to exhaust reason and fulfill one’s nature is called ‘destiny.’ ‘At the beginning, human nature is good’ refers to nature; to pursue reason throughout one’s life is called ‘destiny.’

“In the Great Learning, it is written: ‘To regulate the family, one must first cultivate oneself; to cultivate oneself, one must first rectify the heart; to rectify the heart, one must first make one’s intentions sincere.’ Therefore, a scholar’s root should be in rectifying the heart, making intentions sincere, investigating things, and extending knowledge.”

Scholar Guo and Guo Lin were dumbfounded. Though their mastery of the classics far surpassed Zhang Yue’s, in matters of debate, they were no match for the modern “keyboard warrior” that Zhang Yue was at heart, and so they could not refute him.

Zhang Yue went on, “For example, nowadays scholars are lauded for cutting flesh from their bodies to feed their parents, to the point that not doing so is seen as unfilial. But can such forced acts be the way of sincerity and rectitude?”

“Moreover, the Classic of Filial Piety says, ‘One’s body, hair and skin are received from one’s parents; one must not dare to harm them—this is the beginning of filial piety.’ The idea is that harming one’s body brings pain not only to oneself but also to one’s parents, reflecting their care and hardship. It does not mean refusing to cut hair or shave, which is filial conduct without filial heart, losing the essence of sincerity.”

Zhang Yue also understood that, under most teachers, words like these would earn a severe scolding at best, and expulsion at worst. But Scholar Guo hesitated, then said, “If you answer like this in the examination, you won’t be selected. It’s better to stick to what’s in the books.”

Now it was Zhang Yue’s turn to be surprised—he had tested the limits so blatantly, yet the teacher did not lose his temper. Zhang Yue could only say, “You are right, sir. Please explain the commentary in detail, so that I may understand the way of the sages.”

Scholar Guo had originally intended for Zhang Yue to memorize the text before explaining its meaning, but after hearing such unconventional views, he changed his mind. He decided to teach the commentary first, hoping that the wisdom of the ancients, expressed in simpler language, would subtly correct Zhang Yue’s wayward thoughts, and that study of the classics would follow naturally. In Scholar Guo’s eyes, a student’s character was far more important than success in the civil service examination.

The commentary on the Classic of Filial Piety had been personally annotated by Emperor Xuanzong of the Tang, and all scholars studied this edition. Scholar Guo went to great lengths to explain the text thoroughly, hoping that the sage’s words, combined with clear explanation, would guide Zhang Yue back to the right path.

After listening in silence, Zhang Yue thanked his teacher and requested a copy of the book, saying he wished to study it further and practice his calligraphy. Scholar Guo, seeing Zhang Yue disobey his instructions by seeking to read before memorizing, still replied kindly, “The work of learning is in accumulating thread by thread, inch by inch, until it becomes a whole piece. One must not be lazy, nor be greedy for more than one can digest.”

Guo Lin, unable to watch any longer, interjected, “Brother Zhang, you must not borrow the book before you’ve memorized the Classic of Filial Piety.”

Zhang Yue smiled. “Sir, after listening to your explanation just now, I have already memorized the text.”

“What?” Both Scholar Guo and Guo Lin were astonished.

An average student would need six days to memorize the over two thousand words of the Classic; a slower student would need twelve, and even a gifted student like Guo Lin had needed three days. Had Zhang Yue really learned it in a single day and night?

“Scholars must not speak falsely!” Scholar Guo’s expression darkened. “One’s ability to memorize is a matter of talent and cannot be forced, but sincerity is the foundation of character!”

Zhang Yue grinned. “Sir, I heard you once told Guo Lin: get one word wrong, miss a meal; get two words wrong, go a whole day without food. I’ll recite it now; if I make an error, I’ll accept the same punishment.”

“That is your own proposal… Begin from the first chapter, ‘Confucius dwelt, Zengzi attended.’” Even Scholar Guo, patient as he was, showed signs of annoyance.

Zhang Yue nodded confidently, and began: “Confucius dwelt, Zengzi attended. Confucius said: ‘The ancient kings had supreme virtue; their essential way was to bring harmony to all under heaven…’”

Before long, Zhang Yue had recited the entire Classic of Filial Piety—over two thousand words—almost without error, making only three mistakes.

Glancing at his left hand, then his right, Zhang Yue gave himself two sharp slaps. Serves you right for showing off!

Scholar Guo, upon returning to his study, lent Zhang Yue the book. The volume was carefully wrapped in silk, with not a single dog-eared page. As he left, Scholar Guo admonished him, “Ink, paper, and books must be cherished.”

“Yes, sir,” Zhang Yue answered earnestly.

Placing the book on the cedar table, Zhang Yue suddenly thought of something. He asked Guo Lin, “There are two beds and two desks in this room. Did the teacher have another student before me?”

Guo Lin nodded. “There was one, but he left two years ago.”

“Why did he leave?”

“He was a clever and diligent student, but after failing the county exam some years back, he lost heart, stopped studying, and became lazy. One day, my father couldn’t bear it any longer and scolded him, and in anger, he left and never returned—he even said some harsh words before he went.

“My father later regretted being too severe. With his talent, if he had worked hard for another two years, he could have mastered the classics and composition. Another attempt at the county exam would have been no trouble—he might even have become a local scholar.”

“I see.” Zhang Yue seemed to understand why Scholar Guo was now so gentle with his students.

“Brother Zhang, there’s something I’m not sure I should say…”

“As long as it’s not an insult, say it.”

“What did you say?”

“I mean, please speak freely.”

Guo Lin hesitated. “Could you stop napping during the day? My father always disapproves when he sees it…”

Fearing Zhang Yue would be offended, Guo Lin quickly added, “Brother, you memorized the Classic of Filial Piety in one day, whereas I needed three. You are far more talented than I. When you recited the classic today, my father didn’t say so, but he was very happy in his heart.

“With your gifts, passing the highest civil service exam may be difficult, but you are sure to succeed in other fields, provided you work hard. Don’t neglect your studies—no amount of talent can make up for laziness, as my senior learned to his cost.”

Moved, Zhang Yue looked at Guo Lin. If their places were reversed, he would probably have felt jealous, not pleased, to see such talent in a classmate.

“Thank you for your advice,” Zhang Yue replied, “but I really can’t break the habit of afternoon naps.”

“Forget I said anything.” Guo Lin hung his head. “Brother Zhang, don’t be too proud of your cleverness. I may be less talented, but with hard work, three of my days can match one of yours. In the end, you might not surpass me—do you believe it?”

Seeing his earnest face, Zhang Yue nodded. “I believe it.”

Guo Lin, unable to provoke a reaction, lowered his head and copied out a text, frustrated.

“Brother?” called Zhang Yue.

“Brother Guo?” Zhang Yue tried again, but Guo Lin ignored him completely.

So he’s sulking now. Zhang Yue shook his head and said no more, taking up the book to copy the Classic of Filial Piety. Copying scripture required calm focus; a single error could be disastrous in an examination later.

“Brother Guo…” Zhang Yue suddenly spoke again.

Guo Lin looked up.

“Could you lend me that hunger-soothing stone tonight?”

The next morning, Zhang Yue was awoken by the noisy shouts of the village boys. Going to the window, he saw a sturdy boy running into the morning wind, pulling a pair of trousers, while another child, naked, chased after him, crying, a thin noodle flapping in the wind.

Irritated at being woken, Zhang Yue went outside and shouted at the mischievous boy, “Quick, give me those trousers! Or he’ll catch you.”

The boy, grinning, ran up and was about to hand over the trousers, but Zhang Yue deftly twisted his arm, lifted him, and scolded, “Messing about at dawn? How’s anyone supposed to sleep?”

“You dare fool me!” the boy was about to curse, but Zhang Yue threatened, “Say it and I’ll pull your trousers down.”

“If you dare… When I grow up, I’ll poke your nose with my finger.”

“I bet you’ve never done that before. Why wait? I’ll flick your forehead right now.”

The boy quickly covered himself, grinning, “Big brother, I’m just playing… Please, I know I was wrong.”

“Do you know you were wrong?”

“Yes.”

“Louder.”

“I was wrong!”

Zhang Yue kept a stern face. “If you ever wake me again, you’ll get fifty flicks on each side.”

The boy shrank back. “Big brother, I won’t do it again.”

After the boy begged for mercy, Zhang Yue returned the trousers to the other child.

“Thank you, big brother,” the child said gratefully, sniffling.

Zhang Yue nodded. “Wait here.”

He went back to the cottage, returned with a few red dates he’d bought in the village, and handed them to the boy. “Eat, don’t cry.”

“Thank you, big brother.”

Seeing the other boy eyeing the dates, Zhang Yue produced a few more. “Here, take them.”

“Great!” The boy reached out eagerly, but Zhang Yue pulled them back. “Promise me you won’t bully others again.”

“Okay!”

“Good boy!” Zhang Yue smiled and divided the remaining dates between the two.

Watching this, Scholar Guo and Guo Lin both laughed. Guo Lin said, “These village boys are usually mischievous, but Brother Zhang certainly knows how to handle them.”

Scholar Guo nodded happily. “If only he’d study harder.”

“He’ll understand, father,” Guo Lin replied.

As Zhang Yue dusted off his hands, the gate in the fence opened. A young man, about twenty, entered. At the sight of him, the two boys exchanged a glance and quickly ran off toward the cottage.