Chapter 12: These Words Are Worthy of My Teacher
Longevity Lane, the Wang family.
Wang Douxiang had just recounted some happenings since his return to his wife. After dinner, he went to find his elder brother.
The Wang residence was quite spacious. In the darkness, several maids carried lanterns ahead, glancing back from time to time to see Wang Douxiang’s somber gaze, as if he were contemplating some weighty matter.
The lanterns swayed gently, casting shifting halos of light. Up ahead, someone called out, “Who goes there?”
One of the maids replied, “It is the second young master.”
More lanterns appeared ahead, illuminating the front of the house as if it were broad daylight. A youth of seventeen or eighteen stood there, hands clasped in greeting, smiling, “Xintian greets Uncle.”
This was the eldest son of the family head, Wang Douluo—Wang Yu, courtesy name Xintian.
Wang Douxiang nodded, “How is Xian’er?”
Wang Yu stepped aside to welcome him. “He was muttering about some country bumpkin earlier, but after seeing the gifts Father and I prepared for him, he immediately brightened.”
His gaze was calm, but Wang Douxiang understood his nephew’s thoughts well. “If that young man hadn’t been there this time, Xian’er would have been in real danger.”
“Uncle mentioned this in his letter,” Wang Yu replied, his expression unchanged. “But there are always frogs at the bottom of the well dreaming of unexpected fortune.”
Wang Douxiang frowned. “That boy is just a simple lad from the countryside—honest, not reckless in his actions, and knows his place. If he were one of those frogs, hoping for luck, he would have chosen to come to the Wang family, not to the Imperial Academy…”
“The Imperial Academy?” Wang Yu was unaware of this. Startled at first, he then laughed. “The Imperial Academy is the domain of metaphysics. Once inside, you’re expected not only to study but also to cultivate. Worse yet, one must hunt down secret agents from Southern Zhou; every year, some students lose their lives. A country boy going to the Imperial Academy—Uncle, those metaphysics disciples are unbearably arrogant. With a rustic among them, it will be an interesting sight.”
Wang Douxiang shook his head slightly, displeased with his nephew’s attitude. “And where is your father?”
“He’s reading.”
Wang Yu entered ahead, “Father, Second Uncle is here.”
A middle-aged man knelt behind a desk, his graying hair and beard contrasting starkly with Wang Douluo’s jet-black hair. He set aside his book and looked up, the deep furrow between his brows almost like a third, vertical eye.
This was Wang Douluo, head of the Wang family. Looking at Wang Douxiang, he smiled warmly, “You’ve had a hard journey. Anything important can wait until tomorrow.”
Wang Douxiang shook his head, kneeling opposite him, and sighed contentedly, “There’s no place like home.”
“Indeed,” Wang Douluo closed his book. Seeing Wang Yu about to withdraw, he said, “Stay and listen, Eldest.”
“Yes,” Wang Yu stepped forward to brew tea for them.
Wang Douluo watched his son’s composed movement with satisfaction, but his mind was preoccupied with recent developments at court, a trace of chill seeping into his tone. “Just recently, someone suddenly proposed cutting thirty percent of the hereditary privileges. The nobles and officials were in an uproar, but our Emperor merely remained noncommittal…”
Wang Douxiang picked up a bamboo tong and placed a pinecone into the small clay stove. Amid the crackling, he set down the tong and looked up, “What is he planning? Testing the waters, or preparing to act?”
“Agents from the Mirror Terrace came to explain at length, but their message boiled down to one thing,” Wang Douluo raised an index finger, a touch of disdain in his look, “This move is not directed at us.”
Wang Douxiang warmed his hands by the stove and said slowly, “He wouldn’t dare.”
Wang Yu glanced at his father, “If he did, the Great Tang would not survive.”
Wang Douluo ignored his son’s remark and changed the topic, “Xian’er was unruly this time, nearly causing trouble. What does that young man want?”
Wang Douxiang replied with a smile, “He wishes to study. Tomorrow I’ll have someone take him to the Imperial Academy.”
Wang Douluo nodded, “A trifling matter.”
Even the most powerful nobles would not call entering the Imperial Academy a trifling matter, but the Wang family had that kind of confidence.
Wang Douxiang noticed a piece of calligraphy on the desk and picked it up to admire.
When the water boiled, Wang Yu began to prepare the tea.
After some time, Wang Douxiang spoke in a low voice, “I sense the scent of blood in the air. This Emperor… it seems he is growing restless in his idleness.”
…
Yang Xuan awoke before dawn. Out of habit, he moved to light a fire, only to remember after getting out of bed that he was now settled in Chang’an.
He boiled water, and with a bowl of hot water, he ate three pieces of dry biscuit. Then he took out the two hundred coins he had left and felt a little worried. He had barely spent anything on his journey, but yesterday’s banquet had cost him a fair amount.
“Living off one’s savings won’t do!”
Yang Xuan immediately went out to gather information.
It was barely light, and a few old men were strolling nearby. Believing the elderly to have more experience, Yang Xuan found one with a kindly face, saluted, and asked, “Sir, may I ask, where in Chang’an can one hunt?”
The old man stared, then slapped his thigh and burst into laughter.
“Hahaha… cough, cough!”
Fearing the old man might cough himself into trouble, Yang Xuan patted his back.
“A kind-hearted lad!” the old man wheezed. “You’re from the countryside, aren’t you?”
“Yes!” Yang Xuan nodded. The old man sighed, “This is Chang’an. Aside from the forbidden parks, there are no animals. If you want to hunt, you must go to the wilderness—best to Zhongnan Mountain. But it’s a sacred place for Daoists; hunt there and you might get yourself in trouble. Are you trying to make money?”
Disappointed, Yang Xuan nodded, hoping for advice, but the old man let him down. “Living in Chang’an is no easy feat. You’re a bit thin; maybe you could find work as a laborer for merchants. If you’re lucky, find employment in a wealthy household. If you could work for a noble family—now that would be a stroke of ancestral luck.”
Yang Xuan’s expression turned odd. “Indeed.”
The old man looked him over and shook his head, “Young man, don’t dream of such things. Longing for them only leads to disappointment. The nobles only trust their own; outsiders rarely get in. At your age, it’s best to study, but that’s expensive! If you could get into the Imperial Academy, now that would be something. Not a penny required, but how could an ordinary person manage that?”
Just then, a man emerged from the morning mist, approached, and saluted, “Greetings, Young Master Yang. My master has instructed that you are to register at the Imperial Academy today.”
The old man’s rambling was abruptly cut short. He looked at the man, then at Yang Xuan, “The… Imperial Academy?”
Yang Xuan hadn’t expected the Wang family to act so quickly.
The Imperial Academy was located in the Wuben Quarter. Following the steward-like man, Yang Xuan arrived and stared in astonishment at the long stretch of broken wall.
This was the Imperial Academy!
The quarter wall had been torn down.
The steward glanced back at him, eyes calm, “Come.”
This man was not friendly toward him.
Yang Xuan sensed something amiss but was unconcerned. He had saved Wang Xian’er and had detected the assassins ahead of time—these two deeds justified accepting the Wang family’s assistance. As for the hospitality on the journey, the four assassins were payment enough.
I have a clear sense of gratitude and grievance!
Yang Xuan lifted his head slightly. On seeing the grand gates of the Imperial Academy, he couldn’t help but exclaim, “How magnificent.”
He caught the hint of “country bumpkin” in the steward’s eyes and simply smiled.
This was an exchange, not a favor. How others viewed him was of no consequence.
Two men in green robes stood outside the gates, fly-whisks in hand, their demeanor serene.
Why did they seem almost ethereal?
Yang Xuan’s impression of the Imperial Academy soared—he felt he had come to the right place.
The steward approached them without arrogance, speaking calmly, “My master has business.”
One of the green-robed men nodded, gently fanning his whisk. The hairs swayed, a breeze stirring, adding to his unhurried air. “Is there a letter?”
The steward nodded and produced a letter. “From the Wang family.”
The green-robed man glanced at Yang Xuan, “Follow me.”
The steward turned to Yang Xuan, “Go along. Study and cultivate well in the Imperial Academy. And one more thing—fortune is yours to grasp.”
A warning not to trouble the Wang family in the future—Yang Xuan had never intended to, so it suited him just fine. “Thank you.”
The steward sneered inwardly, thinking, A country lad arrives in Chang’an, completely at a loss. He must have been anxious all night, not knowing what to do. His only support is the Wang family, but the young master said their name cannot be used as a crutch. The steward had planned to gently but firmly refuse any future requests, but Yang Xuan cheerfully clasped his hands and thanked him.
This boy… is he pretending?
The steward studied Yang Xuan closely; his smile was extraordinarily sincere. Recalling the old foxes in the Wang clan, he thought, if this was an act, Yang Xuan’s cunning would rank among the top three in the family.
If it’s not an act, why is this boy so pleased?
Losing his one and only patron, and he’s happy about it?
By the time the steward collected himself, Yang Xuan had already gone inside.
He stamped his foot, “The Imperial Academy is a nest of dragons and tigers. Let’s see how long a country bumpkin can last without the Wang family’s backing.”
Inside the Academy, the sound of recitation echoed. Among the trees, pavilions and towers appeared and vanished in the greenery.
The green-robed guide said coolly, “Do you know how high the sky is?”
Yang Xuan paused, “The sky? I don’t know.”
The man shook his head, his contempt barely hidden, and led him to a building.
Why should one know how high the sky is?
Yang Xuan thought it an idle question, reminiscent of stories in the scrolls he’d read.
On the second floor, the green-robed man walked to a room and was about to knock.
Whoosh!
The door swung open without a breeze, and something shot out. The green-robed man took the brunt of it, let out a strangled sound, and fainted.
The object hit the floor—it was a fly-whisk.
Yang Xuan quickly stepped to the side of the door, ready to dodge any further strange attacks.
Inside, a man’s voice drifted out, and Yang Xuan thought it sounded quite self-absorbed.
“A weak army, and the nation is lost. The army is the foundation of the country.”
Another voice, airy and unhurried, responded, “Not so. The foundation of the nation is virtue. If the people are pure and honest, the world is at peace!”
“Nonsense! Enough! Your words are nonsense!”
“You are too clever by half…”
Their debate grew more heated.
Outside, a timid voice interjected, “Actually… there is another foundation.”
The two inside snorted and turned to the door, finding no one there.
“There is? Speak, then.”
The voice outside grew more confident, “Grain.”
The two inside burst out laughing. The self-absorbed one stroked his beard and smiled, “And why is that?”
Confidence swelling, the voice replied, “When the granaries are full, people know propriety; when food and clothing are sufficient, they know honor and shame.”
This was knowledge from the scrolls, and Yang Xuan found it deeply sensible.
Why were they silent?
Yang Xuan peeked into the room and saw the two men sitting in a daze. Seeing his face, they said in unison, “With such words, you could be our teacher!”
…
Thanks to Sir Dibalajue for the generous Alliance Master reward—the family continues to grow!