Chapter 18: Sir, I Was Wrong
“I naturally intend to—” Chen Ren’s words trailed off as a sudden familiarity struck him.
Seeing the amused expressions on the faces before him, his heart sank, and he quickly turned around.
There stood an elderly man, about sixty years old, with graying hair and dressed in simple hemp clothing, who had appeared behind Chen Ren without his noticing.
“Ahaha, sir, when did you arrive?”
Chen Ren gave a nervous chuckle, his tone filled with guilt.
“Hehe, just now.”
The old man stroked his beard gently, his voice warm and mild.
Observing the elder’s demeanor, Chen Ren inwardly cursed his luck, his face falling as he abandoned any pretense and admitted fault directly.
“Sir, I was wrong.”
The old man’s smile faded, his gaze sharpening as he scolded the gathered students.
“Do any of you even realize what time it is? The autumn imperial exams are just around the corner! Instead of earnestly studying, you waste your time gathering here and making a racket. Since you’re so idle, off you go—copy the five volumes of the Book of Rites for me!”
“No! Sir, please don’t!”
The students groaned at the demand. The Book of Rites was thicker than a brick, and copying it by hand would surely tire their hands to exhaustion.
“Enough whining! Say another word and I’ll make you copy it ten times.”
The old man showed no mercy, glaring fiercely as he spoke.
Though displeased, the students dared not defy him, knowing his resolve was unyielding.
Taiping Academy, the undisputed premier institution of the Great Qian Empire, attracted the most learned scholars from across the realm.
The caliber of its students was terrifyingly high. Aside from a few genuine prodigies from humble origins, most were scions of noble and influential families.
To keep such unruly young lords in line, the old man’s stature was clearly formidable.
Lu Wenyong, vice principal of Taiping Academy, was among the most esteemed Confucian scholars in the Great Qian Empire, with disciples spread far and wide.
Many high officials in the imperial court had once been his students, and the current emperor personally invited him to join the cabinet—a proposal Lu Wenyong politely declined.
At the time, the venerable scholar explained:
“I care little for fame, fortune, or power. Having joined Taiping Academy, my sole wish is to cultivate true heroes who can bring lasting peace to the world.”
“I am old and lack the ability to realize this dream myself; I hope my disciples will fulfill it.”
These words stirred admiration among literati everywhere, who deeply respected Lu Wenyong’s noble aspirations.
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“To master both literature and martial arts, thereby serving the emperor!”
Though many yearned for personal fulfillment, how many could resist the lure of both fame and fortune?
But Lu Wenyong was different—he truly regarded wealth as dung and power as fleeting clouds, dedicating his life solely to teaching and nurturing talent.
And the old gentleman kept his promise, having guided countless brilliant students over more than a decade. Yet, only two disciples had ever truly earned his recognition.
Chen Ren hung his head, feeling the weight of the angry gazes from those around him, sighing deeply.
“Wait, what are you holding there, boy?”
Just as Chen Ren was about to return to his seat, Lu Wenyong called him back.
“This? It’s three couplets composed yesterday at the Flower Pavilion by others.”
Chen Ren quickly replied.
“The Flower Pavilion?”
At the mention of those words, Lu’s brow furrowed deeply. He had frequented such places in his youth, and the thought that this boy had leisure to visit a brothel sparked his anger.
“Sir! It’s not what you think. Please hear me out—the truth is...”
Seeing the old man’s expression sour, Chen Ren hurriedly explained everything he had witnessed at the Flower Pavilion the day before.
“Quatrains? From a place like the Flower Pavilion? Let me see.”
Lu Wenyong said suspiciously, reaching out to take the paper from Chen Ren.
“Here you go.”
Chen Ren smiled and respectfully handed over the sheets.
“‘Peach blossoms blaze along Jinjiang embankment’—interesting! Quite talented!”
Lu Wenyong glanced briefly at the first two lines, his face calm, but upon reading the third line, his eyes brightened involuntarily.
“Sir, do you truly favor this couplet?”
Chen Ren was startled. He had not expected such high praise from the master.
Lu’s discerning eye was renowned; no matter how brilliant a poem seemed, he always found flaws. To hear him utter “interesting” was exceedingly rare.
“What? Even the master praises this couplet?”
“Hmm! This author must be a great talent!”
Those present overheard Lu’s commendation and murmured excitedly among themselves.
This was the recognition of a leading scholar of the age.
---
“Whether he’s a great talent remains to be seen, but just for matching that third line so swiftly—such skill is rare in my lifetime!”
Lu Wenyong did not halt their discussion; instead, he held the couplet and began to explain.
“By the way, young Chen, who composed this lower couplet?”
The old man looked up at Chen Ren.
“It was written by Shen Xuan, the adopted son of Prime Minister Qin’s household.”
Chen Ren didn’t dare withhold information before the venerable scholar, answering promptly.
“Shen Xuan? The grandson whom Old Qin dotes on?”
Lu Wenyong pondered uncertainly.
“Yes, sir.”
“Ah, that’s convenient. I heard Old Qin’s health has improved recently. I plan to visit him soon.”
“I’ll take the opportunity to assess Shen Xuan’s talents. If he truly shows promise, we might invite him to join Taiping Academy.”
With that, Lu Wenyong took the paper and left the classroom.
“Did I hear correctly? The master intends to personally invite Shen Xuan to the academy!”
Chen Ren stood dumbfounded for a long moment before recovering from his shock, murmuring as if in a dream.
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“What now? If Father’s body isn’t buried soon, could it be that it must be cremated?”
Under the western sun, Lin Gui lowered his head, walking toward home, sighing softly.
In this era, burial was the proper way to ensure peace for the departed; cremation was seen as unfilial by the common folk.
Even a simple wooden coffin required several hundred copper coins, but Lin Gui had no idea where to find such a sum.
Lost in worry, he unwittingly arrived at his doorstep.
The courtyard was exceedingly modest—besides a dry well, there were some firewood and a small stove made of earth, all conveying a stark poverty.
But as Lin Gui saw the open gate, his heart tightened. If he remembered correctly, the door had been locked when he left.
Swallowing hard, Lin Gui steeled himself and stepped inside.
“Heh, isn’t this young brother Lin? We were just waiting for you here, almost thought you’d run off like your good-for-nothing old man.”
Upon entering the courtyard, Lin Gui heard a teasing voice.