Chapter 58: The Matter of the Prefectural Academy

Early in the morning, Song Mu awoke leisurely to the clear, melodious calls of birds outside his window. Rising to wash, he exchanged greetings with the elderly caretaker bustling about the residence before taking his book and slipping out through the back gate.

In August, only the early morning offered the rare respite of coolness from the oppressive summer heat. Beyond the back gate, a narrow river flowed gently past Song Mu. At dawn, steam seemed to rise from the river’s surface, the mist drifting above the water. A ray of sunlight pierced through from the distance, casting a hazy veil over the entire street.

The tranquil elegance of the southern water towns was on full display.

Feeling at ease, Song Mu found a stone stool by the riverbank, unrolled his book, and began to read aloud in a soft voice.

“A belly full of poetry and books brings forth its own refinement”—this was an ancient, unchanging adage, and, now more than ever, the most cherished belief among scholars.

Only by reading extensively could one amass a wealth of literary aura within, and this aura was a scholar’s greatest asset—the crucial foundation for the path ahead.

Song Mu had long cultivated the habit of reading; now, the literary aura within him was nearly overflowing—when he read, he could feel it stirring with every gesture. It had reached the point where no more could be gathered within. His mental strength had also ceased to grow; its reach was less than twenty meters, as though it, too, had hit a bottleneck.

By now, Song Mu understood well that only by breaking through the boundaries of the “Child Scholar” rank and advancing to “Talented Scholar” could these limitations be shattered and true change occur.

Yet he felt no sense of frustration at this temporary perfection; instead, he savored the tranquil atmosphere of reading. As ancient wisdom echoed through his mind, it stirred endless reflections—on old friends, the present, and the future.

While reciting the classics from memory, Song Mu also practiced silently reconstructing them in his mind.

He spent half an hour reciting by the riverside. When the sun began to dispel the white mist from the water, he considered his daily task complete. Rising to stretch, he glanced around but chose to sit back down.

From his robes, he produced a blank notebook and a slender writing brush, which he dipped lightly into the river, letting its tip ripple in the current for a moment.

Then, holding the brush, he began to copy his thoughts into the notebook—capturing any lines or phrases that came to him. This was a habit Song Mu had practiced since childhood, even before his journey to this world—a daily exercise in gathering inspiration.

He studied by the river for a full hour. By then, the sunlight had illuminated the entire area, the river sparkled, and people were emerging on both banks to wash up. The place was gradually coming alive. Song Mu packed his things, exhaled gently, and turned to return to the residence.

Inside, he encountered Kong Zong.

Seeing Song Mu just returning with a book in hand, Kong Zong looked at him with a touch of admiration. “I was wondering where you’d gone. Out reading so early?”

“It’s a habit of mine. Kong, shall we go have breakfast together?” Song Mu put his things away and invited him. Kong Zong nodded in agreement.

“Let’s go, then. Today, we should first pay our respects to Master Xun, then see if we can make a few new friends at the Prefectural Academy. Perhaps we might even discuss the classics and essay topics with them,” Kong Zong suggested.

Song Mu was quite interested. Though he had already practiced many essay topics and read extensively, there was always a sense of working in isolation. To be able to exchange ideas with a group of equally talented peers was a rare opportunity for fresh perspectives and insights.

In the past, Song Mu had always kept a low profile. Though he bore the name of the Song family—a lineage of scholars—he had never stood out, often remaining solitary. Now, such a chance was indeed precious.

After a quick meal, the two set off for Master Xun’s lodgings. Master Xun was staying at the Prefectural Academy, and today the students would receive his final guidance before devoting themselves to preparations for the imminent county examination.

When Song Mu and Kong Zong arrived, a number of students from Shiyang County were already gathered at Master Xun’s door, exchanging greetings and seemingly waiting to consult him.

Among them, Shao Le eagerly made his way over, his face alight with excitement. “Song, have you read the latest issue of ‘The World of Letters’?”

His eyes sparkled as he spoke, and the others turned to look, their faces filled with envy and excitement—it was clear they had all seen the latest issue.

Song Mu smiled. “Of course I have, Shao. You seem quite excited.”

“Of course! Song, the great scholar Feng Qi—a renowned master celebrated for a hundred victories—actually commented on your poem! Doesn’t that thrill you?”

Shao Le looked beside himself with excitement, and Song Mu understood his feelings—after all, Shao had been the first to spread out his robe on the rooftop for Song Mu that day, witnessing the entire process of composing the poem.

That experience must have left a deep impression on Shao Le, explaining his excitement.

“Song, after this, your name will resound across the land. You and Kong Zong will surely become the leading scholars of Shiyang County, representing our county’s literati!” Shao Le exclaimed, and a few other students came over, their expressions full of joy and admiration.

They eagerly recounted the events of that night when Song Mu wrote his poem on the rooftop, describing the magical atmosphere.

Their excitement even drew the attention of students from other counties nearby. Hearing Shao Le and the others speak with Song Mu, these outsiders whispered among themselves, realizing at last that the tall young man before them was indeed Song Mu, the author of the extraordinary poem.

“Quiet, this is the Prefectural Academy—show some decorum!” a stern voice suddenly called out.

Immediately, Song Mu and the others turned to see a young man in elegant attire, holding a book behind his back, watching them with a composed air.

No one took offense at the rebuke. They hurriedly clasped their hands in respect—for this was a place where scholars were expected to be mindful of their conduct, and their earlier behavior had indeed been a bit unruly.

Song Mu bowed deeply. “Sir, I am Song Mu. I was careless just now—please forgive me.”

Hearing this, the young man’s displeasure softened, though he maintained a hint of arrogance. After looking Song Mu over, he returned the salute. “So you are Song Mu. I am Xue Kaiwen, a student at the Prefectural Academy. Your poetry is excellent—I admire it greatly.”

Xue Kaiwen spoke with calm courtesy. Song Mu bowed again in gratitude.

After this brief introduction, Xue Kaiwen said nothing more, but turned away and walked off toward the inner academy, leaving the others a little bewildered.

Song Mu found the young man’s aloofness somewhat amusing. Beside him, Kong Zong shook his head with a helpless smile. “He’s a student from Jizhou Prefecture. His family is well-off, and he’s talented at the classics and essays. I hear he was the top scorer in both the county and prefectural exams three years ago. He’s likely spent the last three years studying in earnest for this very examination.”

The others raised their eyebrows at this. Apparently, some had heard of Xue Kaiwen before, and whispers spread among the group—there was clear wariness toward him.

Song Mu, touching his nose, understood. Xue Kaiwen was likely a strong contender for top honors in the upcoming examination. The look he’d given Song Mu just now—a bit challenging—suggested he already saw Song Mu as a formidable rival in this scholarly contest.

Before long, Master Xun’s door opened again, and the current group of scholars emerged. Song Mu and the others quickly fell into line and entered the house.

…