Chapter 90: Tiger Cub

At the same time, in the capital city, within the Imperial Academy.

Inside a certain study, Grand Ritualist Xie Youyu, though a few years younger than the Imperial Dean Zhang Jiying, shared a close friendship with him. Xie was immersed in verifying ancient texts, but when fatigue prompted him to lift his gaze, he caught sight of his old friend across the table, whose face was creased with laughter. He asked, “What has made Jiying smile so radiantly? Hahaha…”

Zhang Jiying replied, “I just found a spare moment and read a letter from a student. Hah, it’s quite amusing—the entire letter, sigh, is just circles!” He feigned annoyance, picking up the first four pages he had read and handed them over.

Xie Youyu, ready for a bit of relaxation, accepted the papers and, playing along, exclaimed several times, “Apart from circles, there are only worms; every character is twisted and awkward. Jiying, this student of yours is truly mediocre.”

Zhang Jiying frowned over the fifth page. The first four had contained Wang Xing’s accounts of his reading, learning, and daily life. He knew the next section should be written by Wang Ge, but the content…

“Youyu, come look at this.”

Rarely seeing his friend this serious, Xie rose and came over. After reading a few lines, he hissed through his teeth, exchanging a glance with Zhang. “Jiying, if you really dislike this student, why not switch with my nephew Huzi? You teach him, and I’ll teach this one. Hahaha, what do you say?”

In Duyi County.

At Feiliu Peak, South Mountain.

Wang Ge composed herself and bowed respectfully to the child before her, who could be no more than five years old, refraining from idle conversation. Though he too wore homespun winter clothes, his feet were clad in leather boots—even if one boot was punctured at the toe, it was still leather! Common folk couldn’t afford such luxury.

Jingnu and Gufeng both bowed silently to the child, neither explaining his origins to Wang Ge nor revealing her identity to him.

The child returned the bow with seriousness, then smiled and asked, “My name is Huzi. What is your name, lady?”

“Wang Ge. Ge, as in the climbing vine.”

“You must be new here, Wang lady. Come, I’ll show you around the study hall. There are eleven official students here at the South Mountain Villa, counting you and me. The rest are auditors. Stay close to me.” He tucked his hands into his sleeves and walked briskly.

Seeing that Jingnu and Gufeng offered no objection, Wang Ge followed Huzi.

The child continued, “There’s a big difference between official and auditing students. We are registered in the academy’s roster, so in future dealings or friendships, we can declare our affiliation. Auditing students aren’t recorded, and must never boast of having studied philology at the Xie Family Academy, nor pretend to be disciples of Master Guo or Master Zuo.”

“I see. Thank you for letting me know, Senior Brother Xie.”

“Hehe, you’re quite sensible.” With a gesture, he beckoned Wang Ge closer, then produced two pieces of dried meat from his other hand and whispered, “Want some?”

“Ah!” Jingnu saw and cried out, hurriedly covering her mouth, unable to hide her fear.

Gufeng shook her head imperceptibly.

How could a piece of dried meat elicit such a reaction from two child servants? Wang Ge looked at the meat and her thoughts wandered.

Huzi’s sadness flashed briefly; he took one piece and chewed it, about to pocket the other when Wang Ge smiled and reached out, “Thank you, Senior Brother.”

The child’s face brightened as he handed her the dried meat. Imitating him, she tore off a strand and chewed, pondering, Could this be… beef?

But it had been so many years since she’d eaten any meat, Wang Ge wasn’t sure.

In the Jin Dynasty, slaughtering cattle was a grave crime. Even wealthy families could only eat beef from accidental deaths, and had to report and register before butchering.

Thus, this wasn’t the reason for Jingnu and Gufeng’s fear. If a child dared eat beef without a traceable source, he’d have been denounced long ago. As for other types of meat, Wang Ge wasn’t foolish enough to speculate wildly.

Chewing the dried meat, they left the covered corridor, following a stone path to the courtyard wall and into a bamboo forest. This path, likely the main trail through the woods, was about two steps wide, with stone drainage channels on each side. The path itself seemed older than the drains, its surface packed firm by countless feet, the soil marked by innumerable footprints.

The path of learning!

Those words sprang to Wang Ge’s mind.

On the left, the bamboo forest and a distant stream gradually drew closer; the sound of water was clear and musical, like dancing notes. Wild sparrows flew overhead, landing by the creek to preen their feathers.

The Pavilion of the Zither Spring slowly came into view, growing larger and more real, more poetic and elegant than Wang Ge had imagined!

They turned left off the earthen path. The forest stream widened, and at its broadest point, a short wooden bridge with mortise-and-tenon joints spanned the water. Atop the bridge stood a pavilion, open on all sides to the scenery. Its roof was the traditional suspended gable, thickly thatched with straw, the edges uneven.

Wang Ge craned her neck to look. A stalk of straw dropped straight into the stream, carried away by the current. A green sparrow floated across the water, landed on the straw, then soared into the sky.

“How beautiful,” she murmured inwardly.

Huzi sniffled and said, “Isn’t the view lovely? When classes start in two days, you won’t think so anymore.”

Indeed, wind swept through the pavilion from all sides; sitting there for long, who would bother to enjoy the scenery? Wang Ge nodded in agreement.

“Come, let me show you Feiliu Peak. The cliff has a natural pool, whose waters cascade down to form a flying waterfall. It’s even more beautiful…” And colder. He sniffed again, his sleeves trembling.

The bamboo path continued north, and the sound of the waterfall grew louder.

They reached the northern wall of the study hall—the outermost boundary, with a gate. Beyond the gate, two paths diverged: an earthen road to the west, a gravel path to the east. Huzi led the way on the gravel path; Wang Ge followed by his side, Jingnu and Gufeng silently behind.

The roar of the waterfall grew deafening; after less than fifteen minutes, they had to raise their voices to speak. In the distance, a white ribbon hung from the blue-and-yellow mountains. The waterfall, divided by several jutting rocks, formed five streams—strangely beautiful—which then merged into a single torrent in the deep pool below. From afar, it truly resembled the strings of a zither!

Huzi beckoned to Wang Ge, glancing back. Jingnu and Gufeng bowed their heads and withdrew.

Wang Ge approached, and Huzi asked, “Doesn’t it look like zither strings?”

“It does.”

“It’s a trick. Originally, only two rocks divided the waterfall into three streams, resembling a rake from afar. The Xie family’s craftsmen had an idea: they blocked the upper flow with huge stones, rerouted the waterfall, and wedged countless iron rods into the exposed cliff, covering them with stone to mimic natural rocks. Thus, the three-pronged rake became five zither strings.”

Wang Ge pretended to examine the rocks with care, but she was uneasy—not because Huzi knew the secret of the waterfall, for the Xie family likely didn’t care about such things. What unsettled her was that every time this child looked into her eyes, he seemed to discern her thoughts.

To study alongside such a precocious child—ah, the pressure was tremendous.

Just then, more than ten people in coarse clothing passed by, men and women alike, all less well-dressed than Jingnu and Gufeng, but none bowed to Huzi or Wang Ge.

Huzi, now sniffing more frequently, explained to Wang Ge, “They are craftsmen, tenants of the Xie family, not slaves. They must be heading to the soaking ponds. Bamboo soaked for a hundred days and then pounded can be made into pulp for papermaking. Near Feiliu Peak, there are workshops for carpenters, papermakers, and leather workers. It’s too cold now—another day, I’ll show you.”

As he led the way back, he said, “I heard a top craftsman is soon to arrive at the study hall for philology…”

Wang Ge was about to reveal it was herself, but Huzi turned and smiled, “Didn’t expect to meet you today.”

Well then. Wang Ge understood—she must never compete in wit with precocious children.

Disciples and students: those who receive direct instruction are disciples; those who pass on learning are students. Wang Xing, taught by Huan Zhen, was considered a student of Zhang Jiying.

Academic registration: unlike modern school records, ancient registration was a roster used to distinguish official disciples, informal students, auditors, and so forth.

Pounding tools: Devices for crushing materials.

(End of chapter)