An aged Confucian scholar, his temples frosted with silver, led a young man in azure robes away from the village school, stopping beneath an ornate archway. This most learned man of the small town appeared weary, and as he raised his hand to gesture at the plaque overhead, he asked,"'Shouldering benevolence without yielding'—how would you interpret these four characters?"
The youth, Zhao Yao, both student and personal attendant to the teacher, followed his gaze and answered without hesitation,"We Confucians uphold the virtue of ren—benevolence—as the foundation of our teachings. The phrase comes from 'In matters of benevolence, one should not yield even to one's teacher.' It implies that while we must respect our mentors, we must not compromise when it comes to righteousness."
Mr. Qi queried again,"Not yield? What if we changed that to 'must not yield'?"
The young man, bearing a graceful and refined appearance, had a temperament far gentler and more restrained than the aggressive and sharp-edged Song Jixin. He was like a lotus newly in bloom—natural, fresh, and sincere. Understanding that this question concealed deeper meaning, Zhao Yao grew cautious. He sensed it was a test of his understanding and dared not respond lightly.
The middle-aged scholar smiled knowingly at his pupil's anxious expression and gently patted his shoulder."Merely a casual question—no need to be so tense. Perhaps I have stifled your nature with too much refinement. I've polished you so thoroughly that you now resemble a statue placed in the Wenchang Pavilion: stern-faced, obsessed with decorum, always reasoning, never resting... And yet, perhaps that is a blessing in disguise."
The boy looked puzzled, but the teacher had already led him around to the other side of the archway, again gazing up at the inscribed characters. His expression softened, and, in an uncharacteristic turn, the normally solemn scholar began sharing anecdotes in a leisurely tone.
"The plaque bearing 'Shouldering benevolence without yielding' was penned by a calligrapher once hailed as the greatest of his era. It stirred much debate—about structure versus spirit, form versus essence, the merits of 'ancient simplicity' versus 'modern elegance.' No consensus has ever been reached. In the four principles of calligraphy—rhyme, method, meaning, and posture—he achieved unmatched mastery, seizing dual laurels in competitions and leaving his peers with no path to follow.
"And then there's this other inscription, 'Few words, naturally so'—quite amusing, actually. Take a closer look. Though the brushstrokes and composition seem unified, in truth, the characters were written by four different Daoist Grandmasters. Two of them even quarreled in letters, each insisting on writing the profound character 'few' rather than the mundane 'words'…"
The scholar and his student continued their stroll until they stood beneath yet another plaque, which read Seek Not Beyond Oneself. The scholar glanced around, his eyes deep and distant.
"That old village school where you studied will soon be shut down, abandoned for lack of a teacher. The great clans will likely raze it, raise a small temple in its place, or erect a Buddha statue to attract incense offerings. A Daoist or Buddhist cleric will preside there, and over sixty years or so, the role may change hands two or three times to prevent suspicion among the townsfolk. But it's all just a crude illusion. Even so, completing a minor arcane technique here could, in the outside world, create a clamor like thunder from the heavens…"
As they walked, the teacher's voice faded to a whisper, so soft it was barely audible even with Zhao Yao straining to listen. Mr. Qi sighed, his tone tinged with fatigue and helplessness."There are truths not meant to be revealed. But at this point, what does it matter? And still, we scholars must maintain appearances. Were I, Qi Jingchun, to be the first to break the rules, it would be no different than stealing from my own house. It would be shameful beyond words."
Summoning his courage, Zhao Yao spoke,"Sir, I know you are no ordinary man, and this town is not an ordinary place."
The scholar raised an intrigued brow."Oh? Do tell."
Zhao Yao pointed toward the majestic twelve-pillared archway."This place, the iron-locked well in Apricot Blossom Alley, the bridge said to have two iron swords hanging beneath it, the old locust tree, the peach trees in Peach Leaf Lane, and the fortune posters hung every year on Fulu Street where my family lives—all of it feels... uncanny."
The scholar interrupted,"Uncanny? And what would you know of uncanny? You've never once set foot outside this town. Without contrast, what basis do you have for such a claim?"
Zhao Yao replied solemnly,"I've memorized your books, Sir. And yet, the peach blossoms in Peach Leaf Lane are very different from those described in the poems. Also, you only ever taught us the rudiments of the Three Elementary Texts—basic literacy. What comes next? What should we read after that? And what is the purpose of our reading? What is this 'imperial examination' they speak of? What does it mean to be a peasant by morning, yet walk into the imperial court by dusk? Why did both of the last two porcelain supervisors never speak of the capital, the court, or the world beyond...?"
The scholar smiled, gratified."That will do. There's no need to say more."
Zhao Yao immediately fell silent.
The man who called himself Qi Jingchun said softly,"Zhao Yao, from now on, you must watch your words. Calamity often begins with the tongue. Thus, most Confucian sages remain tight-lipped. A junzi—a gentleman—goes further: he guards his conduct even in solitude, polishing his character like jade, ever wary of blemishes.
"As for the sages—the masters of the seventy-two academies—they are like Daoist Immortals or golden Arhats of the Buddhist sects. Their words carry prophetic weight, and what they speak becomes law. Such figures, and those from the various schools of thought who've reached similar heights, are often referred to as 'Earthly Immortals.' They've stepped one foot into the realm beyond. Among them, some sit lofty and untouchable like temple idols; others are elusive, glimpsed only in passing."
Zhao Yao listened, lost in a mist of confusion.
At last, he couldn't help but ask,"Sir, why are you telling me all this today?"
The scholar's face was unburdened, and he smiled."Because just as you have a teacher, so too do I. And my teacher... well, never mind. I had thought to endure a few more decades in quiet seclusion. But it seems those in the shadows are no longer willing to wait. So I cannot take you from this town—you'll have to leave it yourself. These little truths, though harmless, may one day guide you. Take them as nothing more than stories. But remember: there are always higher heavens and greater men. No matter how 'favored by the heavens' or 'blessed by fortune' you may be, never grow complacent."
The well water recedes. The locust leaf falls. Omens.
The man named Qi Jingchun reminded him,"Zhao Yao, do you still have the locust leaf I gave you?"
The youth nodded earnestly,"I keep it with the seal you gifted me, Sir."
"In all the world, where else can a leaf fall from its branch so lush, so vibrant? Of the thousands in this town, only a handful receive such 'blessed shade.' Treasure it. It may prove fortuitous in the days ahead."
The scholar's gaze deepened."Also, all these years, I've had you perform small good deeds throughout the town, cultivating kindness and respect toward others. One day, you'll see the wisdom behind it. These seemingly trivial acts, repeated, wear away stone like drops of water. The blessings they bring may surpass those earned from clutching a county gazetteer."
As the boy glanced around, he noticed a yellow bird perched atop the stone beam. It hopped and chirped brightly.
The scholar clasped his hands behind his back and stared at the bird, his expression growing somber.
Zhao Yao sensed nothing unusual.
But then Qi Jingchun turned suddenly, eyes narrowing as he gazed toward Mud Bottle Alley.
He sighed."The dormant insects are beginning to stir with the spring, clawing their way from the earth. But to act so brazenly under the host's very gaze—creeping about like phantoms—isn't that overreaching? Do they truly believe that with just a half-bowl of stolen water, they can do as they please here?"
Zhao Yao, anxious, asked,"Sir?"
The scholar waved his hand,"This has nothing to do with you…"