Chapter Seventeen: Years Amidst the Mountains

Next to the fence gate, a mongrel lay sprawled. At the sight of a stranger entering, it bared its teeth at first, but after a quick sniff, it ambled over and began to gently lick the man's boots.

The man crouched down and fondly patted the dog’s head.

Zhang Yue, curious, stepped forward and asked, “May I ask what brings you here?”

“Are you the new student our teacher has taken in?” The man glanced at Zhang Yue, then lowered his head and asked.

“Yes.” Zhang Yue sensed something unusual in his gaze—a hint of jealousy, perhaps.

After Zhang Yue replied, the man fell silent for a moment before asking, “What is your name?”

At that moment, Guo Lin came hurrying out from the main hall and called, “Senior Han, you’re here?”

Senior? Zhang Yue finally understood—this young man must be the one Guo Lin had mentioned before, who had given up his studies midway.

“Just passing by and thought I’d stop in. How have you been, junior?” the young man replied.

“I’ve been all right. My studies have kept me busy. How have you been? Still reading?” Guo Lin asked.

Zhang Yue noticed the young man biting his lip before he spoke. “Has the teacher taken on a new student?”

“Yes, a few days ago. He’s already memorized the Classic of Filial Piety,” Guo Lin replied.

The young man nodded, his gaze drifting into the distance. Zhang Yue turned to see that the schoolmaster, Guo, had come out onto the veranda, his voice trembling: “Is that you, Han Tao?”

The young man looked deeply at the schoolmaster, then suddenly turned and dashed away.

“Senior! Senior!” Guo Lin called, chasing after him with long strides.

Their figures vanished among the pines. Zhang Yue watched as the schoolmaster’s eyes grew red-rimmed.

Not long after, Guo Lin returned, shaking his head at both the schoolmaster and Zhang Yue. In a low voice, he said, “Father, Senior Han said that since he’d already made his decision, he won’t return here to study again.”

The schoolmaster sighed and silently turned to walk back inside.

Zhang Yue asked Guo Lin, “Why did Senior Han come back only to leave again?”

Guo Lin shook his head. “Perhaps he wished to come back. I heard that after failing the county exam, he wanted to find another teacher. But his family isn’t well-off; his mother died two years ago, and his stepmother treats him harshly. In truth, apart from my father, there was no teacher in town willing to take him on for such a meager fee!”

“So he came to ask to be readmitted, but why did he leave again?” Zhang Yue pressed.

“Maybe pride held him back. He might have intended to ask today, but when he saw me he lost his nerve and couldn’t bear to open his mouth.” Guo Lin sighed.

Zhang Yue understood now. He asked again, “Then why doesn’t the teacher move to the city to teach? Surely the tuition would be higher than in the village. You wouldn’t have to struggle just to eat.”

Guo Lin replied, “My father has lived here too long and is attached to the land. In the harder years, mother also urged him to move to the city, but he said if he left, there’d be no one to teach the village children!”

“I see,” Zhang Yue nodded, glancing into the thatched house, where most of the boys continued to play and joke, only a few taking their studies seriously. The schoolmaster recited aloud with measured cadence, his wooden clogs tapping the floor.

Guo Lin suddenly said, “If either of us could pass the county exam, father would gain a good reputation, and more would come here to study.”

“But even if we fail, it’s no matter. Father often tells me: It doesn’t matter if a man is poor, so long as he knows loyalty, filial piety, integrity, and righteousness. Be loyal to your country, filial to your parents, disciplined in yourself, and righteous to your friends. As long as we scholars remember these, even if we live in poverty all our lives, we can still stand tall in the world!”

Zhang Yue nodded. “Senior, I have learned much from your words.”

Summer had descended in full force on Pucheng, and the heat was oppressive.

With long days and short nights, many boys had to help their families in the fields before dawn, so they no longer arrived at the schoolhouse before sunrise, but came after the hour of chen. Even the grown-ups found the heat too much to bear, sending their sons to the village school for relief.

In the south, there was farmwork all year round, but in the north, children read only after the harvest, during the so-called “winter school.”

Lu You wrote of it in a poem: “Children in winter school make a racket next door. The simple scholar, content, treasures his own worth. Once lessons end, the village teacher shuts his door and naps, rarely showing his face all year.” In such winter schools, learning is more for amusement, and the teacher keeps aloof from the peasants. After morning lessons, he would shut himself away and sleep, rarely seen.

This was nothing like Zhang Yue’s earlier experience in the city, where most students studied diligently, and the teachers demanded strict discipline.

At the schoolmaster’s village school, the boys were always playful, few treating their studies with any seriousness.

But the parents in the village weren’t fools. The schoolmaster’s school was cheap, at least giving the boys a place to go when not in the fields; if they learned a few characters and basic manners, so much the better. At worst, they might at least learn to write their names properly.

It wasn’t that the parents didn’t understand the saying, “If you can’t endure the hardship of study, you’ll suffer the hardship of life.” But to achieve success in the exams was nearly impossible—something only the gentry could hope for.

In the Song dynasty, there were no lower degrees like xiucai or juren; only the jinshi brought true status. How could ordinary folk afford to support a scholar all the way through?

The schoolmaster himself had regarded Zhang Yue with such expectations. He’d heard of Zhang Yue’s reputation for being inattentive in his earlier schooling, and supposed he’d only come here to muddle through in the name of study and avoid farmwork.

It was normal enough—boys Zhang Yue’s age had to work the fields if they didn’t study. Zhang Yue, he guessed, just wanted to escape the drudgery. But when Zhang Yue recited the Classic of Filial Piety from memory, the schoolmaster’s opinion began to change.

A few days ago, Zhang Shi had brought bedding and his treasured mosquito net for Zhang Yue, pressing three hundred coins into his hand before leaving, urging him to buy what he needed and focus on his studies without worrying about home.

Having finished the Classic of Filial Piety, Zhang Yue now began the Analects. These days had been fruitful for him; no longer idle, each day his mind felt filled with new knowledge, and his studies advanced by leaps and bounds.

In his spare time, Zhang Yue liked to chew on a blade of grass, lying atop a boulder in the pine grove, watching the white clouds drift lazily over the ridge, breathing in the fresh, intoxicating air.

Nearby, the schoolmaster’s mongrel dozed in a patch of sunlight, lazily licking the bald patch on its back.

The lame servant had opened up a patch of land behind the school, watering and tending vegetables each day.

The boys, upon arriving, continued their mischief, preferring to squat beneath the trees watching ants fight rather than study. Life in the mountains was thus—peaceful, untouched by the world, the days slipping by quietly. Aside from the hardship, it brought a rare tranquility and freedom from care.

Awakened one day by the boys’ racket, Zhang Yue wandered around the thatched cottage for a while, then did his morning exercises in the pine grove. Thirsty, he returned to the house and drank water from a gourd.

The water in the jar was cool, so he sipped it little by little.

Such habits of preserving one’s health, which he’d known in his previous life but neglected, were now essential in this era with its lack of medicine. Even the mosquito net he took everywhere was indispensable in the south—so many in ancient times had died of malaria, but a net spared much worry. Early morning exercise, too, was vital; studying for the exams required not only intellect but strength as well—how could one study without good health?

“Junior, what do you do every day in the woods?” Guo Lin asked, curious.

Zhang Yue replied, “Just a few farming exercises. If my studies fail, I’ll have to return to the fields, so I try to keep up my skills by practicing each morning.”

Guo Lin nodded, understanding, but then scolded, “Junior, I’ve told you before—if you’d only give up your midday naps, with your talent and effort, you could surely—”

Zhang Yue gave a long yawn. “Senior, I’m starving. What’s for breakfast?”

“We’re having tea porridge this morning… Where was I? Junior! Junior! I haven’t finished. Where are you going?”

But Zhang Yue had already reached the kitchen, where the schoolmaster’s wife was preparing breakfast.

She greeted him at once. “Sanlang, come eat a bowl of tea porridge.”

“Gladly!” Zhang Yue took the bowl from her hands and began to eat.

She smiled. “I was worried you wouldn’t get used to mountain life after coming from town, but you seem to be thriving.”

Zhang Yue laughed it off, though he felt hardship in his heart.

“With your delicious tea porridge, how could I ever want to leave?”

She beamed. “Such a sweet tongue you have.”

Zhang Yue finished the thick tea porridge in a few gulps and made to wash his bowl, saying, “Thank you, madam.”

“Put that down—no need for you to wash up. Would you like some more?”

Rubbing his stomach, Zhang Yue said, “This tea porridge is not quite porridge, not quite tea, but made by your hand, it’s truly delicious. Only, I ate too fast and didn’t savor…”

“If it’s good, have another bowl.” She would brook no refusal.

She placed mung beans, scallions, and other ingredients in the bowl, added cold water to make a paste, then poured in boiling water.

Zhang Yue took it and, after a sip, exclaimed again, “Delicious! It warms me through and through!”

“Don’t stand on ceremony—treat this as your own home!” she said gravely.

Guo Lin, watching, couldn’t help but wonder. His mother was usually stern at home; both he and his father had to mind her moods. Yet Zhang Yue never seemed afraid of her, often making her smile. To an outsider, it would seem Zhang Yue was her own son.

After two warm bowls of tea porridge, Zhang Yue returned to his room to study.

Just then, the schoolmaster entered, followed by a girl of twelve or thirteen.

Zhang Yue and Guo Lin were both surprised, but the schoolmaster said, “From now on, these two will be your seniors. They’ll be staying here as well. If you have questions in your studies, you may consult them.”

Zhang Yue was taken aback—were there actually girl students in this era?