Chapter Fifty-Two: The Shepherd’s Flute

Guo the Scholar had once again gone into town to seek the county school’s supervisor, the only connection he could rely upon. Word had it the supervisor shared a fondness for wine, which allowed the two to converse at length. Thus, he left the village school in the hands of Guo Lin and Zhang Yue.

The school in Wuxi remained chaotic as ever. Some boys wished only to play, paying no heed to their lessons, while those eager to learn were easily led astray. Guo Lin’s gentle nature meant that his teaching of the Hundred Family Names was often interrupted by the unruly children. Unable to bear it, Zhang Yue advised him, “Among these children, some want to learn, others do not. If you let those unwilling disrupt the eager ones, none will learn anything.”

“And what should be done?” asked Guo Lin.

Zhang Yue replied, “There’s no other way—simply rearrange their seats. Let those keen to learn sit in the front, and those indifferent sit at the back.”

Guo Lin hesitated, “Isn’t that unfair?”

“What choice do we have?” Zhang Yue answered. “If you let them run wild, they won’t even respect the teacher, let alone you. Is it any use disciplining those who truly don’t wish to learn?”

Guo Lin nodded, “Very well, I will follow your advice.”

Within a few days, the school’s order improved greatly. Guo Lin grew quietly impressed by Zhang Yue. After several days, he saw Zhang Yue borrowing an old hunting bow from a hunter and practicing archery at a straw target in the backyard.

Guo Lin had grown used to Zhang Yue’s whims and was no longer surprised by them. The weather was still chilly, yet Zhang Yue wore only a short jacket as he practiced. Guo Lin hurried over, “Brother, what are you doing? It’s still cold—be careful not to catch a chill before the exam!”

Zhang Yue responded, “Archery is one of the six arts of a gentleman. I suspect the county school’s admission test won’t be limited to written exams. If they test archery, it will come in handy.”

“Besides, who says only martial candidates learn archery? The top scholar Chen Kangsu was famous for his skill, and Master Ouyang even wrote an essay about him—‘The Oil Seller’.”

He mimed drawing a horsebow, grinning with pride, “There is no secret—only practice makes perfect.”

The two brothers laughed heartily.

But then Zhang Yue grew serious, “Since the dynasty began favoring literature over martial pursuits, scholars have gradually lost their martial spirit. Unlike the Han and Tang, whose renowned ministers and generals were adept in both. Now that spring has come, it’s the perfect time to practice.”

He resumed shooting.

Guo Lin thought to himself, nearly forgetting that his brother’s ancestors were military governors, and martial arts were a family tradition. He recalled Zhang Heng’s skill with rapid-fire arrows at Nanfeng Academy.

Watching this scene, Guo Lin’s admiration for Zhang Yue deepened.

“Brother, training is good, but on an empty stomach, you won’t have the energy to study tonight.”

Zhang Yue realized he had overlooked this. To build strength, one must eat well—preferably meat. Yet he lived on thin soup and plain fare; truly, martial arts require wealth, while scholars endure poverty. Achieving both was no easy task.

That evening, the village chief personally brought Guo Lin a certificate of good conduct.

The county school’s admission required local children of upright character, proven through eight virtues—filial piety, brotherly love, harmony, honesty, responsibility, compassion, loyalty, and peace. If a candidate later became a scholar and was found lacking, the court would hold the village accountable.

The chief vouched that Guo Lin had committed no crime, while Zhang Yue had to return home to ask the local constable for his own certificate.

“Thank you, chief,” Guo Lin said with a smile.

The chief laughed, turning to Guo Lin and Zhang Yue, “You’re both good lads. May fortune favor you, and may you both be admitted. That would bring honor to your teacher!”

Though the chief spoke kindly, Guo Lin and Zhang Yue knew that even one candidate being accepted was a rare feat.

Yet in that moment, both forgot their worries, “Thank you, chief!”

The chief insisted, “Let me know when you go to take the exam—I’ll hire a cart to take you to the county town.”

“How can we accept such kindness?” Guo Lin protested.

But the chief was resolute, “If you two succeed, our village of a hundred households will share in your glory. Hiring a cart is nothing—consider it settled.”

After the chief departed, Guo Lin sighed to Zhang Yue, “Brother, I hope we can continue our friendship as classmates.”

Zhang Yue nodded, “That’s easy—just make sure neither of us passes the exam… I jest, brother, don’t be angry. Put down that basin, let’s talk properly!”

Guo Lin set down the basin by his bed, his face stern, “We’re heading to the county school’s admission exam—if one of us succeeds, so be it. I’ll give it my all, but if you fail, don’t weep before me or the teacher! Do you understand?”

“Brother, you take things too seriously—can’t you take a joke?”

Guo Lin replied, “A joke? Do you know how many have studied for decades only to achieve nothing? People call them poor scholars, even children look down on them.”

“From the first day I began reading, I knew how hard it would be to achieve success. My father told me: if you can’t endure ten years at your desk, you’re not worthy to be called a scholar. I’m well aware, and so I remain cautious, never daring to slacken. Even if I fail this year, I’ll try again next year. What about you? Have you thought about your future?”

“A few days ago, you told me: ‘The stream can still flow west, so why can’t life return to youth?’ I was deeply moved. But today, you ask what purpose there is in studying—how is that different from the unruly village boys who refuse to learn? If you treat learning as a game, it will treat you likewise!”

Guo Lin’s eloquent lecture left Zhang Yue inwardly grumbling—why not deliver such speeches to Lady Miao, instead of me?

Outwardly, Zhang Yue replied, “Brother, you are absolutely right.”

Guo Lin continued, “Lately you can answer nine out of ten questions, but in the county exam, nine out of ten means failure. In the county exam, out of a hundred questions, you can miss at most one or two. I hear the provincial school is even stricter—every question must be correct, not a single mistake allowed.”

Zhang Yue asked, “Brother, can you manage only one or two errors out of a hundred?”

Guo Lin said, “If I hadn’t been distracted by part-time work, I’d have a fair chance. But after neglecting my studies for two or three months, much has been forgotten. Now, I don’t know how much remains. Brother, you’re not familiar enough with the classics—most of your mistakes are due to this. If you want to succeed, you must thoroughly read and memorize the texts, not missing a single word. Are you listening?”

“Here we go again!”

Zhang Yue listened to Guo Lin’s persistent nagging, feeling his brother was truly fussy. He sat on the bed, lifted the curtain, and gazed out the window. The bright moon leaped over the pines, a gentle breeze stirred the woods, the sound echoing long and deep.

How leisurely this moment was!

The urgency his brother spoke of remained far, far in the future. All those worries about uncertain prospects paled beside the tranquility of these days. Life flowed calmly, and Zhang Yue believed the days ahead would surely improve.

He placed his hands behind his head, pulled a broken straw from the mat and held it between his lips, watching the starlight outside the curtain, and slowly closed his eyes.

When March arrived, several days of heavy rain fell, causing the river to swell.

At first, the rain was light—bridges submerged, the creek overflowed its ancient bank, and children no longer dared to catch fish in the shallows. Then came a mountain flood; the usual streams became torrents, water rushing down the mountains, destroying old dams, sweeping stones and debris downstream, wrecking fishing boats.

Spring had returned to the earth, but the harshness of March rivaled the depths of winter.

Zhang Yue and Guo Lin were to set out for the county exam, but the storm delayed them several days.

When the skies finally cleared, the two set off for the exam.

Many villagers came to see them off, deepening Zhang Yue’s sense of belonging to the little mountain village.

The teacher’s wife fussed over them, “There’s enough dry food in the cart for three days—don’t eat anything questionable in town, or you’ll get sick. You’re grown now, Guo Lin, but it’s your first time traveling far.”

Guo Lin wiped his tears, “I know, Mother, don’t worry—I’ll take care of myself.”

Zhang Yue said, “Don’t worry, Aunt. When we reach town, I’ll treat it as my own home. I’ll look after my brother and guarantee he won’t suffer.”

She smiled, “With you there, I’m at ease. You’re more like an elder brother than Guo Lin.”

The chief harnessed the cart, “This donkey is borrowed from Han Tao’s family. He couldn’t come to see you off, but was quick to lend the donkey. Though absent, his heart is with you. See how well-fed it is.”

Hearing this, Zhang Yue recalled Han Tao was the eldest brother who failed to enter the county school.

Guo Lin sighed, “If only Brother Han could come see us off—I haven’t heard him play the flute in ages.”

The chief instructed the driver, “Don’t push the donkey too hard. It’s still young—strong, but stubborn. If you force it, it won’t move. Go along with its temperament; if it wanders, just give it a gentle pat—it’ll understand. It’s clever.”

Guo Lin realized, “No wonder it feels familiar—its temperament is much like my brother’s!”

Zhang Yue was speechless—his brother had grown sharp-tongued after spending so much time together.

But when he looked at Guo Lin, he saw no hint of sarcasm, only genuine feeling, which annoyed him further.

“Mother, chief, we’re off!” Guo Lin and Zhang Yue waved.

Seated in the swaying cart, the two watched their teacher’s wife, the chief, and the villagers recede into the distance. Guo Lin could not help but turn and wipe away tears.

Zhang Yue teased, “Is it really so dramatic? It’s only a trip to the county town, not a journey to a distant land.”

“You say that, but you cried your first day in Wuxi.”

“That’s true,” Zhang Yue nodded, “But brother, don’t wipe your nose on my clothes.”

“Sorry, I forgot.”

The cart’s wheels rattled over the gravel road as the donkey cart left Wuxi. Zhang Yue looked back at the green hills and clear stream, remembering the months he had spent studying here. In that moment, it felt as if a lifetime had passed. Suddenly, a clear flute melody rang out behind the cart.

Zhang Yue glanced at Guo Lin, who nodded, “Brother Han came to see us off.”

“Brother Han plays the flute?”

“He used to herd cattle.”

“No wonder,” Zhang Yue nodded. Though the tune lacked refinement, the atmosphere was fitting.

Zhang Yue leaned out from the cart’s canopy and shouted toward the flute’s direction, “Farewell, Brother Han!”

“Chief, Aunt, farewell!”

“Farewell!”