Chapter Twenty-Two: The Hired Scribe

That day, Mr. Guo informed Zhang Yue and Guo Lin that Miao Sanniang would be absent from the private school for some time.

Zhang Yue and Guo Lin were both taken aback.

Mr. Guo then explained the reason: Miao Sanniang’s father was a wealthy man in the county, with considerable land holdings. Yet he had a glaring flaw—he was miserly. He economized on everything, from family members to servants, and even himself. He subsisted on plain food, wore old clothes for years, and kept only one wife, never taking concubines.

He cared nothing for comforts or any material pleasure, except for his two sons by his wife, whom he spoiled without restraint. To his own daughter, Miao Sanniang, he was as stingy as to a stranger.

He could have invited a female tutor for his daughter at home, but refused, sending her out to study at Mr. Guo’s rural school instead. If not for Miao Sanniang’s persistent desire to learn, he would have stopped her schooling altogether.

Now, after two months of study, her father considered it a waste of money and called her home. She cried all night to no avail, and didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to Zhang Yue and Guo Lin.

Zhang Yue felt deeply saddened by the news, for he would have no place to enjoy meals anymore, but when he glanced at Guo Lin, he saw genuine sorrow clouding his expression.

Such things were common in ancient times—relations between men and women were limited, but feelings could easily blossom after spending time together.

Zhang Yue mourned for a while, realizing he would no longer have a free meal, and thus turned his focus solely to his studies.

The Book of Changes was the foremost of the Five Classics.

Mr. Guo could not explain it thoroughly, but told Zhang Yue to memorize it first. Zhang Yue did not blame him; the Book of Changes was notoriously challenging, and no scholar through the ages dared claim complete understanding.

There was no special trick to reading the classics—one must memorize every word and phrase, commit them to heart, and one day, comprehension would dawn. The more one recited, the more naturally the knowledge flowed.

No wonder Confucian learning was seen as elite education in this era—it was like trying to digest raw rice; without a strong stomach, most would falter halfway, memorizing countless passages but failing to persevere in diligent study, never achieving true understanding.

In the days that followed, Zhang Yue continued to consult with his senior, asking Guo Lin for guidance whenever he was puzzled.

Zhang Yue worried about disturbing his senior’s studies, but Guo Lin replied, “Though I’ve studied the Book of Changes before, I fear forgetting it. When you ask me, I can review and learn anew.”

Relieved, Zhang Yue let go of his concerns.

“But, junior,” Guo Lin said, “how is it you memorize the Book of Changes so quickly? Yesterday I saw you reading the Hexagram of Initiation, today you’re already onto the Hexagrams of Danger and Separation. Do you sleep by day and secretly light a lamp to study at night?”

Zhang Yue laughed, “How can you suspect me so? Am I really the type to sneak oil for the lamp and read by stealth?”

Guo Lin pressed further, “Then how do you memorize so fast? I need three to five days, yet you remember it in one.”

Zhang Yue thought for a moment, “I don’t know any particular method. I read it once and it sticks. Perhaps it’s what people call a photographic memory.”

Guo Lin was skeptical, “Are you truly such a prodigy? But I’ve seen your memory isn’t so great—yesterday you forgot where you put the candlestick and searched half the day. If you really had a photographic memory, you wouldn’t be so forgetful.”

Zhang Yue smiled, “It’s only when it comes to reading.”

“Then let me give you a book and you recite a passage for me right now!” Guo Lin insisted.

Zhang Yue laughed heartily…

Fortunately, Guo Lin was not a stickler. “With your talent, if you apply yourself, you’ll surely be admitted to the county school, and then you can return to the city. I recall last year’s county school admissions—there were fifty questions each on the classics and their explanations; as long as you answer six out of ten correctly, you’re in.”

“Once admitted, things change—not like the Zhang clan’s school here, but a gathering place for the outstanding. In the county school, you can seek advice from learned peers, and sometimes the magistrate himself lectures. After two or three years, you’ll have a fair chance at the provincial exam.”

Zhang Yue nodded, likening it to the need to get into a good high school to enter a good university. He was all too familiar with such things, having endured endless exams in his previous life.

For a student relying on rote memorization of the nine classics, the teacher was secondary; the main thing was access to the county school’s library of the nine classics. These were official editions granted after the promotion of education, carved by the Imperial Academy.

These editions were not only exquisite, but thoroughly proofread with no errors.

Civilian printings, on the other hand, were riddled with mistakes. If the nine classics contained an error, and it appeared in the exam, there would be no way to protest.

There was a joke among Song scholars: a teacher set a Book of Changes question, writing “Earth as a cauldron” but used the wrong character for cauldron. Students questioned him, and the teacher explained confidently, making his logic fit. Next day, a student revealed the truth: “Sir, you must have read the Jian edition, but the official edition uses the cauldron character.”

The Jian edition was from Jianyang.

So Mr. Guo went to great lengths to borrow the Book of Changes from the county school for Zhang Yue, rather than recite it himself or lend the copy Guo Lin had written.

The purpose was to maintain textual accuracy. Ultimately, one must take responsibility for their own learning.

Many ministers of humble origin left tales of borrowing books while studying at county schools. For example, the renowned Liu Zhi at the state school “borrowed the Spring and Autumn Commentary of the Guliang School and the Book of Han from Fan Weizong, copying them by hand for study.”

At this, Guo Lin paused. “Our teacher has instructed twelve disciples, including us, but none have ever passed the county school exam. Senior Han could have tried, but he gave up halfway.”

“What if one never enters the county school?” Zhang Yue asked.

Guo Lin replied, “Since the founding of the county school, no one outside the Zhang clan’s school or the county school itself has ever been admitted in the provincial exam. You may have heard of Zhang Xu, who entered at twelve and is renowned for his poetry and essays, but even he isn’t assured of passing.”

“With your talent, if you work hard, you’ll surely enter; as for me, I must persevere, and perhaps I’ll have a chance. If you pass and I fail, I’ll have no face left.”

“And even if one enters but fails the provincial exam?”

“It’s different. Admission waives tuition, and lately there’s a grain subsidy as well. People in town will respect you, addressing you as ‘talented scholar.’”

Guo Lin’s lengthy speech was meant to inspire Zhang Yue to commit to the county school, and to awaken his potential.

“I’ll give it a try,” Zhang Yue replied.

Guo Lin’s words ended up motivating himself the most.

Guo Lin had always studied by lamplight late into the night, but now became even more diligent. When he grew weary at night, he jabbed his knees with bamboo sticks.

This was nearly self-flagellation.

Zhang Yue, seeing his senior so committed, dared not slack off, reducing his daytime nap from two hours to one.

After nightfall, he studied another hour, then slept until dawn.

Yet for Zhang Yue, reading ten hours by day and another ten after sleep was no easy matter—he often woke with the words of the nine classics crawling before his eyes.

These months of study were austere, but reminded him of his junior and senior high years. For reasons unknown, he was especially fond of those days now.

It wasn’t about working hard to enter a good school, but cherishing the earnest version of himself from those years—the one who chased the moon and was illuminated by it, a self he never encountered again.

Later in life, he only mastered the art of idling.

One night, Zhang Yue got up and found Guo Lin alone, crying among the pine trees.

Guo Lin sobbed as he punched the tree, “I’ve studied so hard, yet still can’t master the nine classics. I’m so stupid, lazier even than my junior, and have failed my father’s hopes.”

“Sanniang! Sanniang! I miss you so much—do you know?”

Zhang Yue thought to himself…so that’s how it is, my senior is more sentimental than he lets on.

With such intense study, Zhang Yue began to worry Guo Lin’s health might fail. If he fell ill, he’d lose not just his studies but his life. Unexpectedly, it was Mr. Guo who fell sick first.

Summer passed, autumn arrived, time flew.

With the coming of autumn, Zhang Yue had memorized the Book of Changes and the Erya, and was about to move on when Mr. Guo fell ill.

He began with a cough, then a high fever, and the village doctor diagnosed him with typhoid. Such a disease was severe in ancient times.

Unable to teach, Mr. Guo’s pupils stopped coming; his wife boiled mountain herbs for him daily.

Guo Lin, ever filial, was distressed that Mr. Guo could not afford medicine.

Pressed by necessity, Guo Lin decided to seek employment to pay for Mr. Guo’s treatment—he chose to copy books as a scribe.

Copying books was a job reserved for scholars.

Many famous figures had such pasts.

Ban Gu, for example—according to the Book of Han, his family was poor, and he often copied books for officials to support himself. Exhausted, he once set aside his pen and sighed, “A man should aspire to achievements like those of Fu Jiezi and Zhang Qian, gaining honors in distant lands. How can I spend my life among ink and brushes?”

There was also Kan Ze, a renowned minister of Eastern Wu in the Three Kingdoms. The Records of the Three Kingdoms say “his family were farmers, but Ze was studious and poor. He often copied books for others to afford paper and ink, and always read what he wrote.”

In the Song dynasty, Cai Ding’s family was poor, his father worked as a clerk copying books to support him, allowing him to study at the village school and gradually earn recognition.

Clearly, many impoverished scholars began their careers as scribes.

As for Guo Lin’s place of employment, it was the Zhang clan’s school a few miles away.