Chapter Twenty-Four: The Zhang Family Academy

The Zhang Clan Academy lay several miles away through mountain paths.

Zhang Yue and Guo Lin rose early; the scholar’s wife prepared two bowls of vegetable porridge for them. Facing the bowl of porridge, which lacked even a hint of oil, both drank it down to the last drop. In his former life, Zhang Yue had never been satisfied without meat at every meal, yet now even this thin, watery porridge tasted sweet and left him wanting more.

After nearly an hour’s walk, they finally arrived at the Zhang Clan Academy.

The Academy was built atop South Peak, where once a temple had stood. Before Zhang Dexiang earned his degree, he had studied in this temple; when he became a minister, he converted it into the family ancestral hall. According to Song dynasty law, officials could petition the emperor for ancestral shrines, but only those holding government office could establish shrines within temples.

Thus, the Zhang ancestral hall also served as a clan school, making it convenient for family members to study.

The origins of the Zhang family traced back to their ancestor Zhang Zijun. During the chaos of the Five Dynasties, feudal lords battled each other. Zhang Zijun, a general of Min, stationed troops at Pucheng, guarding the gateway to Fujian for thirty years, repeatedly repelling attacks from Southern Tang.

After his death, Min fell into disorder, and Southern Tang launched a joint assault on Jian’an. When the city fell, the Southern Tang army intended to slaughter its inhabitants. Zhang Zijun’s wife, Lady Lian, sacrificed herself to save the city’s people, earning the title Lady Lian.

A family that accumulates virtue will surely have lasting blessings. Zhang Zijun had fifteen sons and sixty-eight grandsons. The Zhang family flourished in Pucheng, its population vast.

Zhang Zijun was the great-grandfather of Zhang Dexiang. Zhang Dexiang passed the imperial examination in the fifth year of Xianping, appointed as Judge in the Court of Justice.

By then, the Song dynasty had been established for fifty years. Since its founding, all ministers and generals were northerners. Emperor Taizu once carved an inscription in the imperial palace: "Future generations must not appoint southerners as ministers, nor allow eunuchs to command the army."

Yet Zhang Dexiang was exceptionally promoted by Emperor Renzong, becoming the first Fujian native to be made minister, uplifting the reputation of the south and shaking the empire.

It was said that in Fuzhou, there was a river called South Platform. Locals had a saying: “The South Platform shall produce a minister.” When Zhang Dexiang was appointed, the river receded and sandbanks emerged, so travelers could cross on foot—a phenomenon later called “Sandbanks Crossable.”

During the reign of Qingli, Zhang Dexiang served alongside Fu Bi and Han Qi. Fu and Han were young ministers, eager for reform. Zhang Dexiang, as prime minister, remained silent all day, never offering advice.

Others asked, “Fu and Han are bold in action, what will you do?”

Zhang Dexiang replied, “Whenever I see children running wildly, I never stop them. When their faces hit the wall, they know pain. If you try to restrain them at their most energetic, you won’t succeed.”

His words were full of ministerial wisdom.

Though Zhang Yue lacked the qualifications to enter the clan academy, he was proud of Zhang Dexiang. If ever given the chance, he too wished to act with such dignity.

Ah, the emperor—the emperor—what should I do with you?

Now, Fu Bi and Han Qi had served as ministers twice, while Zhang Dexiang had passed away, leaving the Daytime Brocade Hall as a legacy to his kin.

Also worthy of mention was Fan Zhongyan, who served alongside Zhang Dexiang. Fan, though born into poverty, remained frugal all his life, buying a thousand acres to establish a charitable estate and support his impoverished relatives.

The Zhang Clan Academy, known as the Daytime Brocade Hall, stood atop South Peak. The term "Daytime Brocade" was the opposite of "Brocade Robes by Night." Coincidentally, Han Qi also had a Daytime Brocade Hall, and Ouyang Xiu wrote a record for it.

From the foot of the mountain to its summit, Zhang Yue and Guo Lin walked along paths bordered by osmanthus trees, now in full bloom. The fragrance filled the mountain, refreshing their spirits.

Pucheng was famous for osmanthus; during the Six Dynasties, Jiang Yan wrote, “Fragrant branches and tender leaves, jade clusters and emerald layers.” Osmanthus also symbolized nobility, and since provincial exams were held in August and September, the phrase “Laurel List” carried a double meaning.

Arriving before the Daytime Brocade Hall, they announced themselves to the gatekeeper.

While waiting, Zhang Yue admired the blue-tiled, carved beams and vermilion-painted, sturdy walls—clearly far superior to his own thatched cottage.

Before the hall stood a stone stele engraved with the names of the clan’s successful scholars, fifteen in all, including Zhang Dexiang himself.

The gatekeeper led them to the left of the hall. Along the way, shaded by trees and corridors, they saw men reading scrolls, playing pitch-pot, and even archery.

Some had only recently tied their hair, others were nearly thirty.

Zhang Yue had never seen ancient archery and slowed his pace. He watched a young man, close to thirty, draw his bow and shoot. Though he couldn’t see the target, the cheers confirmed every arrow hit its mark.

The man laughed heartily, full of confidence.

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Zhang Yue wanted to watch longer, but Guo Lin urged him on.

Guo Lin lowered his voice, “This place is not like the old school. What did I tell you? Remember to mind your manners. Don’t speak unless spoken to.”

“Yes, senior.”

They entered a side hall.

The gatekeeper seated them each at a desk.

Soon, an elder in wide robes appeared. He was over fifty, tall for a southerner, and his hair and beard were white.

Zhang Yue whispered in admiration, “Now, that’s what a teacher should look like.”

He glanced at Guo Lin, relieved he hadn’t heard.

Two students followed the teacher; Zhang Yue recognized one as the archer from earlier.

“Sir, these two youths have come to copy books,” the gatekeeper explained, then stepped aside.

The elder nodded, stroked his beard, and sat on the couch. The student said to the gatekeeper, “Let them write a few characters as a test.”

“Yes, Prefect.”

There were pens and paper ready; the gatekeeper brought ink from the school.

Zhang Yue and Guo Lin dipped their brushes and looked at the student.

He asked, “Do you know Fan Zhongyan’s ‘Record of the Nanjing Academy’?”

Zhang Yue and Guo Lin exchanged glances, then shook their heads.

The student shook his head and recited, “...The classics illuminate the Way, like the sun ruling the six directions; literature clarifies reason, like the wonders of the four seasons bringing forth all things. Sincerity grows daily, righteousness deepens day by day. Study gathers like a sea—nine rivers I swallow, a hundred valleys I honor. Sharpened words become a blade—floating clouds I part, fine jade I cut…”

“…To grasp the divine spirit of the Book of Changes, to inherit the transformation of the Book of Songs, to understand the praise and criticism of the Spring and Autumn Annals, to master the rites and music, to speak well of the writings of the Two Emperors and Three Kings, to be versed in the teachings of the hundred schools—such men can be found among us.”

Guo Lin and Zhang Yue quickly wrote.

As he wrote, Zhang Yue thought: during the Qingli reforms, Fan Zhongyan, Han Qi, and Fu Bi were reformers; Zhang Dexiang, though not opposed, never supported them. As a Zhang, is it right to copy Fan Zhongyan’s writing?

Yet the line, “Study gathers like a sea—nine rivers I swallow, a hundred valleys I honor; sharpened words become a blade—floating clouds I part, fine jade I cut,” truly had a grand, sweeping spirit. Considering Fan Zhongyan’s character and his official career, both were worthy of admiration through the ages.

By then, Zhang Yue had finished.

The gatekeeper presented their writings to the student, who then handed them to the elder.

The elder looked at Guo Lin’s characters first, nodded, and said, “Acceptable.”

Then he looked at Zhang Yue’s, frowned, and said, “Inferior.”

He turned to leave; the result was clear. Zhang Yue rose and said, “Sir, I know my writing is poor. Might I receive only half the pay?”

The elder shook his head, “Even if you ask for no pay, if your copy is unreadable, it wastes ink and paper.”

Zhang Yue said, “I am also skilled in arithmetic. If there are accounts to calculate or copy, I can help. My family is poor, and I rely on copying for a living. Please, sir, consider.”

“Ban Gu once said, ‘How can a true man long serve the brush and ink?’ Yet if one does not copy for a living in youth, how can he fulfill his ambitions later?”

“You are poor, but others are poor too. How can…”

The student, annoyed, prepared to rebuke him.

The elder raised a hand to stop him, “How much do you earn per page?”

“Three and a half coins.”

“Let him work for two coins. Give him whatever manuscripts you like,” the elder instructed.

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“But…” another student said, “Ziping, the school fields on South Slope need surveying. Someone must measure the boundaries. Since this boy claims skill in arithmetic, let’s test him.”

The student looked at Zhang Yue, reluctant, and said, “Very well.”

Zhang Yue bowed, “Thank you, sir. Thank you, Prefect.”

The teacher and the other student left.

The student paid no heed to Zhang Yue’s thanks, only glancing at him, “I am Prefect Zhang Heng of this hall. Every day, you two must arrive at the third hour and copy for five hours. Any page with errors or omissions will be docked pay.”

Guo Lin bowed, “Yes.”

“Pay is settled. Guo earns three and a half coins per page, paid by the page. Write more, earn more, but don’t cut corners. Lunch is provided daily.”

“Thank you.”

“As for you…” Zhang Heng pointed at Zhang Yue, “I don’t care to know your name. The teacher allows you two coins a day. I don’t promise you lunch. Either reduce it to one coin and I provide food, or bring your own and keep two coins.”

Zhang Yue replied, “One coin it is. Thank you, Prefect, for your consideration!”

“If not for the teacher, who would care for you? Tomorrow, bring your family record. You are not students here, so enter only by the back door.” With that, Zhang Heng swept away.

Zhang Yue watched him go, snorted, and said, “So much for a noble scion; such narrow-mindedness limits his future achievements!”

“Junior! They gave us a livelihood, yet you speak thus. How can you be so heartless?” Guo Lin scolded. “I should not have brought you today!”

“Senior, why are you angry with me too?”

Guo Lin replied sternly, “You think I don’t know your desire to enter the Zhang Clan Academy?”

Zhang Yue was stunned.

Guo Lin ignored him for the rest of the day.

Zhang Yue went to bed early.

In his dream, he found himself in a place of clear mountains and waters, the very spot the elder had described. It was empty save for birdsong, shaded by green trees and bathed in the morning sun.

Zhang Yue’s thoughts stirred; suddenly, a stone table and stools, along with brush, ink, paper, and inkstone, appeared on the grassy ground. Delighted, he sat and decided to practice calligraphy.

He had been disparaged for his poor handwriting today, which had thoroughly bruised his pride.

First, he practiced regular script, then semi-cursive, then cursive. Su Shi once said: “Regular script is like standing, semi-cursive like walking, cursive like running. Without learning to stand well, one cannot walk or run properly.”

Regular script was divided into Jin and Tang styles. In Ming and Qing, one started with Tang style, copying Yan and Liu, considered the pinnacle. In the Song, Jin style was favored, though some praised Tang style, but the gentry often said, “Writing that does not enter Jin remains rustic.”

Thus, Zhang Yue decided to practice…

His mastery of the Eight Principles of Yong was already solid; the "Xuan Shi Tie" he had copied in his previous life, so he felt confident as he wrote in his dream.

Zhang Yue resolved to hone his calligraphy until he could earn three coins per page, to win back his pride.

So he wrote tirelessly through the night.

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