Chapter Thirty-Five: The Legacy

Within the study hall, the clepsydra dripped away the passing moments.

The teacher and Zhang Heng sat in silence.

Only when Zhang Yue, satisfied, set down his brush and admired his work did he recall that this was not a dream but reality, and that two people were still waiting for him.

Turning back, Zhang Yue saw the teacher lost in thought and Zhang Heng frowning deeply.

“Um...”

“Did you develop this method from drawing chessboards and targets?” the teacher asked.

“I did.”

“Incredible,” the teacher murmured.

Zhang Heng nodded in agreement. “Teacher, do you also think this method is not feasible...?”

“Indeed,” the teacher replied, “I thought such a method could only be applied to seal script, not realizing it could work such wonders with regular script as well.”

“It’s truly astonishing,” Zhang Heng muttered, shaking his head.

Zhang Yue glanced at Zhang Heng and wondered at his peculiar habit of always leaving sentences half-finished.

Zhang Youzhi spoke slowly, “You all believe seal script is now useless, but without Qin seal, there would be no Han clerical or Tang regular script. In ancient times, there was even greater seal script, though it has been lost to us; now only Qin seal remains as a representative of all seal scripts.”

“Seal script takes the central tip as its core. Writing it well makes the brushwork round and strong; this follows the ancient method.”

Zhang Heng interjected, “Teacher, writing without using the side of the brush is without refinement.”

Zhang Youzhi regarded him seriously. “If you cannot even master the central tip, how can you speak of the side tip? Beginners should first pursue strength and solidity, then seek beauty.”

Zhang Heng quickly apologized, “Yes, I have learned my lesson.”

The central tip refers to using the very point and heart of the brush to create each stroke. The side tip uses the edge, known among calligraphers as the brush belly.

For instance, the reason one twists the brush stem is to adjust the tip, ensuring the brush moves with the central tip.

Seal script only emphasizes the central tip, while regular script begins to employ the side tip. With running and cursive scripts, this is even more pronounced. Regular script, besides being faster, can, in works like the “Orchid Pavilion Preface,” flow so smoothly that even those with a meager understanding of calligraphy can appreciate its beauty.

Thus, the side tip is what brings refinement.

This is akin to how most people, when writing, prefer to make horizontal and slanted strokes long and pronounced.

Zhang Yue had practiced the “Eight Principles of Yong,” taking the Yong character from the “Orchid Pavilion Preface” as a model, which serves as the introduction to calligraphy for most.

Yet the Yong character is regular script, involving both central and side tips. Seal script is different—at first glance, difficult and seemingly impractical, but it focuses solely on the central tip. Drawing chessboards and targets deviates even further from the “Eight Principles of Yong,” beginning from a more fundamental level and practicing the central tip from start to finish—a training in utmost focus.

Yet such basic exercises are rarely practiced; most people spend a month or two at most. Many, after a short time, can already write beautiful regular script and see no need for such effort.

There were, in fact, some clan youths in the hall who had practiced in this way, but none had made real progress. And yet, this child had achieved so much in just a month—Zhang Heng could not comprehend it.

Zhang Heng felt a growing frustration. He could not keep up with the technical discussion between Zhang Heng and the teacher; whatever calligraphic methods they discussed, he understood nothing. All he could do was keep at it, relentlessly.

Just keep at it!

The teacher looked at Zhang Yue with a sense of wonder. To reach such a level in just a month was truly rare—even in his youth, he had not written so well.

With this in mind, the teacher said to Zhang Yue, “Continue drawing chessboards and targets for three more months. If you make further progress, I will teach you the methods of seal script myself!”

Those four words—“inheritor of the tradition”—immediately surfaced in Zhang Heng’s mind. His gaze toward Zhang Yue changed; who was this youth, to win such favor from the teacher?

Zhang Yue, however, was preoccupied with another concern: did learning this require money?

“Yes, sir. I will remember your instruction. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Zhang Yue took his leave.

He thought, I’ll set aside worries about money for now. First, I’ll learn. But then, a thought struck him—why worry about money at all? Hadn’t his wages just increased? Such a happy event, how could he forget?

He felt a swell of pride, but as several people passed by, he composed himself and stepped aside.

Once they had gone, he remembered: I’m now someone who earns three and a half qian per page. Yet I remain so humble and low-key—truly, I haven’t forgotten my roots.

Thinking thus, Zhang Yue walked back to the library. At the door, he saw the little girl still crouching by the entrance, hugging the chessboard, her eyes filled with longing.

When she spotted him, her eyes brightened and she clutched the chessboard, looking at him expectantly.

Zhang Yue pretended not to notice and walked straight inside.

Bang! He heard the sound of the chessboard hitting the ground behind him.

I am a scoundrel! I am a scoundrel!

He repeated this silently to calm his heart, then walked into the library without looking back.

Inside, Guo Lin was copying texts, his face haggard with fatigue.

Seeing Guo Lin in this state, Zhang Yue hesitated to speak. But Guo Lin, looking up and seeing him, quickly set aside his brush and asked with concern, “Junior brother, what did the teacher want with you just now?”

Guess, senior brother!

Normally Zhang Yue would say just that, but seeing Guo Lin so exhausted today, he went straight to the point.

“Senior brother, I have some good news to tell you...”

“Good news? Don’t be hasty—let me guess first,” Guo Lin mused.

Zhang Yue...

“Senior brother, please don’t guess anymore. Let me just tell you... The teacher has raised me to three and a half qian per page.”

“So it’s now three and a half qian!” Guo Lin exclaimed in delight. “Indeed, your writing has improved lately, but I didn’t expect the teacher to agree—this is truly wonderful.”

He paused, rubbing his sore eyes, and then said earnestly, “But copying books, though it brings more income, isn’t a lasting path. It’s a temporary solution, not for those with greater ambition.”

“Three and a half qian per page is a good sum, but ultimately our studies are what matter most. In the end, we must return to our books!”

Though these wise words were meant for Zhang Yue, they were also a reminder to himself. But Scholar Guo’s illness left senior brother no choice but to copy books for money, fulfilling his filial duty.

Zhang Yue recalled a popular saying: what determines your station in life isn’t the eight hours you spend at work, but the eight hours after.

He knew this was true—Guo Lin, too, used to go home and study after copying in the library.

But after five hours at Nan Feng, and a two-hour round trip, what time was left? Yes, one could sacrifice sleep to study, but was that really possible? No one is made of iron.

Senior brother could not keep it up; he hadn’t studied for nearly two months. But learning is like rowing upstream—if you do not advance, you fall back. The “Nine Classics” curriculum relied entirely on memorization; after two months away, much of what he’d learned was already lost.

Zhang Yue replied solemnly, “You are right, senior brother. I will remember your words. Senior brother... don’t overwork yourself. Take care of your health.”

Guo Lin nodded with a bitter smile. “I will try.”

Though he said this, Zhang Yue could hear the doubt in his voice. With so much missed, how could he catch up again?

That day, they copied texts until late.

The two brothers, torches in hand, descended the mountain together, the bitter wind making the flames flicker.

Guo Lin squinted at the sparse stars and waning moon in the night sky. “Junior brother, if the teacher truly intends to recommend you for the Zhang clan academy, would you go?”

Zhang Yue hesitated. “I don’t know.”

Guo Lin smiled. “At first, I didn’t want you to go—I’ll admit there was some selfishness. But after these months, I’ve come to terms with it. Look at those few stars on the horizon.”

Zhang Yue gazed into the darkness, barely making out the outlines of distant mountains, and above them, the faint stars hanging in the sky.

Guo Lin said, “Perhaps I’ll never be admitted to the county school. Those students are like these wan stars: dim and faint, but at least they hang in the heavens. The moon, unique and solitary, is like those who become scholars or officials. If you join the clan academy and become the teacher’s disciple, you’ll have a real chance to become a scholar or official—the stars and the moon will no longer be beyond reach.”

“Senior brother wishes... If I have no hope, then perhaps you can go in my stead and see how high the sky truly is. If you can become a star or the moon, then do so!”

Zhang Yue replied, “Senior brother, you’re thinking too far ahead. I doubt the teacher has any such intention.”

Guo Lin just smiled.

The wind picked up, and the two brothers gripped their torches and descended, step by step.

At that moment in the Hall of Daytime Glory, Zhang Heng took Zhang Yue’s family record from Zhang Cai’s hands and examined it closely.

“I hadn’t realized this child is Zhang Xu’s younger brother—Zhang Sanlang. He does bear some resemblance to his brother. I did not notice before.”

Just then, Lin Xi arrived. “Ziping, in a few days we’ll be heading to the capital for the examination. Why are you not studying hard at this moment? Are you so confident of success?”

Zhang Heng, smoothly tucking Zhang Yue’s family record into his sleeve, turned and smiled. “Zizhong, surely you jest. No one can be so certain of the examination’s outcome. But I’ve never been one to cram at the last minute.”

He kept his composure, appearing calm and unhurried.

“Ziping, you are too modest. I’ve heard from the academy students that you are the most diligent of all—if you’re not studying by day, you’re reading until midnight.”

Zhang Heng was secretly annoyed—who had revealed his secrets to this man?

One was top of the transport examination, the other first in the qualifying exam; neither would concede to the other, and their rivalry would continue all the way to the capital and the Ministry of Rites examination.

At the side, Zhang Cai could not understand why the two always spoke with veiled barbs, yet sometimes seemed the best of friends. Perhaps only those at the top of their class could understand; those at the bottom never would.

Zhang Heng laughed, “Zizhong, where did you hear such rumors? You seem less interested in learning and more in prying into my affairs.”

Lin Xi smiled, “Ziping, I was only joking. You’re so guarded, one would think you truly feared being spied upon.”

Zhang Heng gave an awkward laugh and changed the subject. “Now, let me show you something, Zizhong.”

He produced two sheets of paper for Lin Xi.

At first, Lin Xi glanced at them carelessly, but upon seeing their contents, his expression changed. “Drawing chessboards and targets? Someone actually practices this way?”

Zhang Heng could barely contain his amusement but feigned annoyance, “Zizhong, what do you mean by that? You asked for my advice—would I keep it from you? If you don’t believe me, so be it, but do you think the teacher would deceive you as well? Hmph, judging others by yourself.”

Lin Xi’s face flushed. “Ziping, I misspoke. Please don’t take it to heart. I admit, I did doubt that anyone would go to such lengths to practice this technique.”

He examined the sheets again. While the work was not as refined as Zhang Youzhi’s, it clearly showed great effort—far beyond what Lin Xi himself could achieve.

He thought, Ziping taught me sincerely, yet I dismissed it. Now I see how limited my own vision truly was.