Chapter Twenty-One: Brothers in the Sect

The saying goes: when you take from others, your hands are tied; when you accept their food, your mouth is sealed. Nothing comes free—there’s always a price to pay. But if Mistress Miao offers osmanthus tea and plain boiled eggs daily, Zhang Yue would never refuse; he’d eat as much as was served… No, he’d answer as many questions as were asked.

Zhang Yue smiled, “There’s no need for formality between fellow students. The eggs and osmanthus tea are excellent today.”

Mistress Miao laughed, “If you like them, I’ll bring more tomorrow!”

Zhang Yue nodded, “No need to be so polite. If you have more questions tomorrow, feel free to ask again.”

Mistress Miao left for home with her servant.

The sun had not yet set; golden rays poured over the mountains, treetops, and the open space in the courtyard. From afar, the singing of a shepherd boy floated on the breeze, and smoke began to rise from the village nestled in the hollow.

By the fence, a mongrel lay lazily in the shade, panting.

Guo Lin watched Mistress Miao’s silhouette recede into the distance before returning indoors.

Zhang Yue was busy writing a hundred iterations of the character “eternal.” Guo Lin paced back and forth, unable to settle.

Zhang Yue noticed Guo Lin’s troubled expression and spoke, “If something’s on your mind, just say it.”

Guo Lin was startled, “How did you know I had something to discuss?”

Zhang Yue thought, Your worries are written all over your face.

“Are you sure you’re not troubled?”

Guo Lin hesitated, then said earnestly, “Brother, regarding how you handled Mistress Miao’s questions today—I think it wasn’t quite right.”

Zhang Yue looked at Guo Lin and thought, You want to play the sycophant and drag me along?

Guo Lin paused but continued seriously, “Brother, it’s our duty to help our fellow students… but that’s just my humble opinion. If you mind, don’t take it to heart.”

Zhang Yue suddenly recalled his first job after graduation. When he sought advice from senior colleagues, some helped, some ignored him. Later, he brought them tea, and they were much more willing to share their wisdom. Was it the tea that made the difference? Perhaps not.

What mattered was that these things were hard-earned through their own experience. Though it might only take a word to explain, why would they impart their knowledge to someone unrelated? The tea was inexpensive, but what they wanted was an attitude. One should never be a doormat with no boundaries.

But then Zhang Yue reconsidered—weren’t they all still classmates? Was he overcomplicating things? The precious bonds between students in youth lay exactly in such exchanges. When Guo Lin taught him, did he ever withhold anything? Yet when he helped Mistress Miao, Zhang Yue mocked him as a sycophant.

Realizing this, Zhang Yue knew he was in the wrong. If so, he should admit it!

He bowed to Guo Lin, “Your guidance is correct. I was mistaken!”

Guo Lin was delighted, for Zhang Yue rarely accepted his advice: “I merely spoke my mind. I’m glad you understand.”

“One more thing, brother… could you stop relieving yourself in the clay basin by my bedside every night? Could you walk a few extra steps?”

Zhang Yue smiled without answering. The answer, of course, was… no!

In two days, Scholar Guo would teach Zhang Yue the classics.

Zhang Yue couldn’t help but wonder—with anticipation—which classic Guo would instruct him in.

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At dawn, Scholar Guo arrived at Zhang Yue’s room. “Learning and conduct are alike; one must grasp the essentials in all things, and so it is with studying the classics. Poetry and prose are founded on tone; the classics on exegesis! To master exegesis, you must first memorize the ‘Erya.’ This keeps the roots and branches from confusion.”

“Erya?”

Zhang Yue expected Scholar Guo to teach him one of the Five Classics—Book of Documents, Book of Changes, and so on—but instead, he began with the “Erya.”

Is “Erya” a classic? Like the Analects and the Classic of Filial Piety, it both is and isn’t.

The Analects were composed by Confucius; the Classic of Filial Piety reflects the ideology of the ruling class. But the “Erya” was not written by Confucius nor included among the nine classics mandated by the imperial court. Why did Scholar Guo make Zhang Yue study it?

Scholar Guo explained, “Erya is not a classic, but it is the threshold to the Six Canons, an essential path for scholars. If you wish to study exegesis, ‘Erya’ and ‘Shuowen Jiezi’ are indispensable.”

“Erya” is essentially a dictionary—a lexicon. For example, “the highest elevation is called jing; that which is not human-made is qiu.” This phrase comes from “Erya” and is part of exegesis.

To explain the meaning of the classics, exegesis was a subject that Confucian scholars in the Han Dynasty could devote a lifetime to.

Ordinary teachers could guide you to memorize the meaning of the classics and their commentaries, which sufficed for examinations. But a good teacher started with exegesis.

Exegesis varied greatly in quality.

The mediocre merely repeated the ancient commentaries; the accomplished could teach how the ancients annotated the classics; the most exceptional set themselves as the standard.

That is, they claimed the ancient commentaries were incorrect and their own interpretations were the true ones.

For instance, in the Han Dynasty, the Book of Songs had three schools of commentary—Lu, Qi, and Jia. Later, the Mao school emerged. When the eminent scholar Zheng Xuan annotated Mao’s commentary in the Eastern Han, all scholars switched to Mao’s version, and the other three schools vanished.

Thus, the Book of Songs is only considered authentic in Mao’s annotation, unlike the Spring and Autumn Annals, which has three commentaries: Zuo, Gongyang, and Guliang. In this respect, Zheng Xuan performed a great deed for scholars like Zhang Yue.

Finally, Scholar Guo reminded Zhang Yue: when studying the classics, focus on exegesis, not sentence interpretation.

Reading the Han Dynasty biographical records, one finds that notable figures like Ban Gu were described as “not interpreting sentences, but mastering exegesis.”

On the surface, exegesis explains the meaning of words, while sentence interpretation explains the meaning of sentences.

But more deeply, this reflects the debate between Old Text and New Text scholarship in the two Han dynasties.

Old Text scholarship valued exegesis, seeking the original meaning of the classics. Confucius himself said he “transmitted, not created.”

New Text scholarship emphasized sentence interpretation, starting from Confucius’s commentary on the Spring and Autumn Annals, using subtle hints to express profound meaning and intimidate traitors. They believed every line of the classics contained hidden content, and they elaborated these meanings—essentially using the classics to express their own ideals.

For example, the eight-legged essay in the Ming and Qing civil service exams was a product of New Text scholarship.

Examiners would select any phrase from the Four Books or Five Classics, such as “Among three people walking, there must be one who can teach me.” Candidates had to write an essay in the style of the sages, breaking down the topic into eight sections. The essays were based on Zhu Xi’s “Collected Commentaries on the Four Books.”

It’s much like writing a modern thesis: candidates had to compose a paper on any line from the Analects.

Song Dynasty scholarship, however, was different.

It focused on Old Text scholarship—exegesis, not sentence interpretation. It sought the original meaning of the classics and the art of exegesis. Therefore, the Nine Classics exam tested only memorization and explanation, not interpretation.

Scholar Guo instructed, “Erya has fewer words than the Analects. Memorize a few entries each day; don’t rush, but proceed steadily.”

“If you master exegesis, you can understand the Nine Classics without a teacher. There is no shortcut in learning—success comes from gradual accumulation.”

Zhang Yue calculated: the Nine Classics, plus the Classic of Filial Piety, Analects, Erya, and the Mencius he had already memorized, made up the thirteen classics referred to in later times.

In the Five Dynasties period, the ruler Meng Chang engraved the ‘Eleven Classics,’ replacing the ‘Twelve Classics’ by omitting the Classic of Filial Piety and Erya and substituting the Mencius.

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This was the typical definition of ‘classics’ in New Text scholarship.

From the Five Classics in the Tang, to the Nine Classics in the Song, and finally the Thirteen Classics in the Southern Song.

Unwittingly, Zhang Yue had comprehended the history of the development of the classical canon.

Scholar Guo then explained to Zhang Yue the order of studying the classics: Book of Changes, Book of Documents, Book of Songs, Rites, and Spring and Autumn Annals. Old Text scholarship regarded Confucius as a historian, so the classics were studied chronologically from oldest to newest.

New Text scholarship, on the other hand, ordered them as Book of Songs, Book of Documents, Rites, Book of Changes, and Spring and Autumn Annals—a progression from simple to complex.

“Erya can be read slowly; don’t worry if you don’t understand it at first—eventually it will all make sense. But the Book of Changes must not be taken lightly.”

Scholar Guo handed Zhang Yue a copy of the Erya, and then another of the Book of Changes. Zhang Yue was startled—Scholar Guo had managed to borrow two books at once? That was impressive.

Scholar Guo said, “The Book of Changes is the foremost of the Five Classics. I borrowed this from the county academy; the principal only allowed it for three days. Copy it, and I’ll return it. The Erya is my own treasure; read it at your leisure if no one else borrows it.”

Zhang Yue understood. He recalled that Scholar Guo had disappeared for much of the previous afternoon—it turned out he’d traveled all the way to the county town. That round trip took most of the day. Such are the hardships of a scholar.

Zhang Yue bowed, “Yes, teacher. I will copy it within three days.”

Scholar Guo replied, “No need to rush. As you copy the classic, read it silently to yourself. This habit of reading while copying will give you a head start; when reciting later, your efforts will be multiplied. If the three days prove too short, your brother may help you copy it. But it’s best to do it yourself. One’s own matters must be handled personally; only academic pursuit is never to be delegated!”

Zhang Yue solemnly promised.

Scholar Guo nodded, then left the thatched cottage. At the doorway, he turned back for another glance inside.

He saw Guo Lin standing, holding the Book of Changes and Erya, explaining his insights to Zhang Yue, who listened attentively from his chair.

Scholar Guo’s wife approached.

He hurried to intercept her, “What are you doing?”

She replied, “Calling them to eat!”

Scholar Guo protested, “Wait a moment! Don’t you see the brothers are deep in scholarly discussion?”

“But they must eat!”

“Just a little longer!”

Both Scholar Guo and his wife looked back into the cottage. The afternoon air was stifling, but the two brothers—one teaching, one listening—were completely absorbed, oblivious to everything else.

“Come on, let’s go. Enough watching.”

Scholar Guo nodded happily and said to his wife as they walked, “Sanlang has made great progress lately, and Lin is becoming more of an elder brother. If both enter the county academy, my reputation will shine.”

He shook his head with satisfaction, clattering along in his wooden clogs: “Ah! Let the cripple fetch wine from the village—today I’ll have an extra cup!”

“But we have no money!”

“Put it on account!”

“Dream on, you penniless scholar!” His wife’s lion’s roar echoed in Scholar Guo’s ears.