“What a wonderful poem! Ning Yan truly has extraordinary poetic talent,” Li Mubai exclaimed, clapping his hands forcefully.
His expression was unusually excited, showing both the delight of a scholar encountering a fine poem and the anticipation of how the academy students would react to it.
Zhang Shen didn’t comment, but his gaze at Xu Qi An grew increasingly appreciative and self-satisfied as if the other was truly a student he had personally trained.
“The words are simple, yet profound in meaning. ‘The third watch’s lamp and fifth watch’s rooster, mark the time for a man to study’… Brother Jingyan, do you remember our days studying at the academy when we were young?” Chen Tai savored the poem, feeling it deeply resonant and lingering.
Zhang Shen was taken aback, recalling the scenes of studying from half a year ago. He said wistfully:
“Isn’t that exactly how it was for us then? When I was young, my family was poor, and I could only eat two steamed buns a day. Often in the middle of the night, I’d be starving but force myself to study by lamplight.”
Li Mubai said softly: “Is that why you stole my chicken eggs every few days?”
Zhang Shen replied unhappily: “How can you call it stealing when it’s between scholars? It was borrowing, and I paid you back later, didn’t I?”
Li Mubai glared, his mustache quivering: “A single egg when one is poor is worth more than thousands of gold now.”
Chen Tai coughed, interrupting his two friends’ argument, and turned to Xu Xinnian: “Cixiu, after the spring imperial examinations, regardless of your ranking, you’ll be eligible for an official position. Have you thought about your future?”
The sudden shift to the main topic made everyone a bit uncomfortable. Zhang Shen and Li Mubai fell silent, instinctively planning for Xu Cixiu.
Chen Tai looked at the two great scholars who seemed about to speak and didn’t give them a chance: “Generally speaking, staying in the capital first and then being posted elsewhere is the proper path for career advancement in officialdom. Although I’m not an official myself, I do have some influence in Great Qi’s official circles and could arrange for you to stay in the capital.”
Zhang Shen, as the teacher, immediately beamed: “That would be excellent. Cixiu, quickly thank Brother Chen.”
“No need, no need. If you want to repay me, I do have an idea…” Chen Tai smiled.
Hearing their old friend’s words, Zhang Shen and Li Mubai felt something was amiss.
No one said anything about repaying you.
Chen Tai continued with a smile: “Ning Yan, you’re an uncut jade that needs polishing to become a true gem. These two old fools are too rough. Why don’t you become my disciple instead?”
“Get lost, you shameless old thief,” Li Mubai and Zhang Shen exploded in anger.
Xu Qi An seized the opportunity and immediately said: “Sirs, Ning Yan indeed has a question to ask.”
He had come to Cloud Deer Academy today to learn for free.
“This junior has been stuck in the Qi Refinement realm for a long time. Because I have no merits and my family is poor, I’ve never had the resources or opportunity to enter the Qi Condensation realm.” Xu Qi An bowed at a 90-degree angle:
“Please, sirs, help me open my Celestial Gate.”
This was his second purpose for coming to the academy. Although he could sell the magical tool Song Qing gave him in exchange for silver to open the Celestial Gate,
that wouldn’t be enjoyable at all, and Xu Qi An was a person who pursued happiness.
Zhang Shen shook his head with a smile: “You’re like a desperate man grasping at straws. We cultivate the Confucian way, how could we help you open your Celestial Gate? How the qi circulates in a warrior’s body and flows through the meridians is something only you warriors know.”
The differences between systems are even greater than I imagined… Xu Qi An felt a bit disappointed but asked persistently: “This junior doesn’t understand. If opening the Celestial Gate requires help from someone at the Spirit Refining realm or above, how did the first person open their Celestial Gate?”
“You think the path of martial arts was created by a single person? That it was achieved overnight?” Li Mubai held his teacup and asked a question before drinking.
Xu Qi An shook his head, indicating he didn’t know.
“It was pioneered by generation after generation,” Li Mubai explained slowly: “Perhaps at the very beginning, the Qi Refinement realm was already at its peak. Then someone, by chance, opened their Celestial Gate, and so the Qi Condensation realm became the pinnacle of martial arts. Over years and months, a complete martial arts system was formed.”
“By chance?” Xu Qi An caught the key phrase.
“Having a Spirit Refining realm expert help open the Celestial Gate is the safest and most convenient method, but it’s not the only one.” This time Chen Tai took over the topic, smiling:
“When a baby is born, it contains a primordial qi. As years pass, the Celestial Gate closes, and the primordial qi is hidden within the body. To regain control of this qi, one must reopen the closed Celestial Gate.”
Xu Qi An nodded. People eat grains and produce impurities, which block the Celestial Gate and obstruct the flow of qi.
His Second Uncle had taught him this theoretical knowledge before.
“There are many methods. Apart from the well-known opening of the Celestial Gate, there are two other methods: First, the breathing method.
“The breathing method needs to be practiced from a young age, taking medicinal baths daily to cleanse the meridians and open the Celestial Gate. After more than a decade, it consumes countless amounts of money. This method has been phased out.
“The second method is to use external force to open the Celestial Gate, which is also the clumsy method used by the earliest predecessors. For example, swallowing demon cores.
“Demon cores are the condensed essence of a demon’s cultivation, containing enormous energy. Swallowing a demon core will forcibly open the eight extraordinary meridians, but because it can’t be controlled, it’s a method with only a one in ten chance of survival.”
I see… Although he didn’t get to learn for free, he did gain some knowledge, so it wasn’t a loss… Xu Qi An said gratefully: “Thank you, sirs, for the lesson.”
Look at that, humble and polite, and speaking so pleasantly. The three great scholars stroked their beards, extremely satisfied with Xu Qi An.
…
In the center of the academy was the Sage’s Hall, also called the Sage’s Temple, where the first person who founded Confucianism, revered through the ages, was enshrined.
Outside the Sage’s Hall was a large square paved with blue flagstones, large enough to accommodate all the students of Cloud Deer Academy.
Every year during the spring and autumn imperial examinations, the academy’s principal would gather the students here to passionately motivate them to study hard, pass the exams, and serve the country with utmost dedication until death.
On the square was a low wall with faded red paint, its surface covered with a layer of paper that couldn’t be peeled off.
This wall was Cloud Deer Academy’s bulletin board, used to post articles, poems, calligraphy, and paintings by the academy’s teachers, as well as occasional excellent works by students.
It was also used for various academy notices.
Two young servants came to the notice board, one holding a rolled-up paper, the other spreading rice paste on the wall. Together, they unfolded a huge sheet of paper as tall as a person and pasted it on the notice board.
This action immediately attracted the attention of nearby students, especially as the person-high sheet of paper was particularly eye-catching.
“What’s been posted? Let’s go take a look.”
“Huh, it’s not an article, it seems to be a poem… What’s so interesting about that?”
“Since the Purple Sun Scholar left the academy, whether we read the poems written by our academy’s teachers and great scholars or not makes no difference.”
As they spoke, students gathered in twos and threes under the low wall, staring at the newly posted huge sheet of paper.
The handwriting on the paper was bold and powerful, with the force penetrating through the paper. Between the turning of the brush and the downward strokes, there was a sense of sharpness.
“This is Teacher Zhang’s handwriting,” a student recognized it.
More students focused on reading the poem on the paper.
“‘The third watch’s lamp and fifth watch’s rooster, mark the time for a man to study’… How shameful, how shameful indeed. After the autumn imperial exams, I haven’t been studying by lamplight at all.”
“This poem seems simple at first glance, but it reveals profound truths, really making one think deeply.”
“How is it simple? ‘Black hair knows not the early toil of study, white hair regrets the late start of learning!’ The greatest truths are often the simplest, and all the wisdom is contained within.”
“‘White hair regrets the late start of learning’… I’ve been too lax before, indulging in games and outings, and putting less and less effort into studying. Seeing this poem, I realize I’ll regret it in the future.”
“Which great scholar wrote this poem?”
More and more people crowded under the low wall, looking up at the poem on the wall. As their emotions became immersed in it, they felt a great resonance with this poem encouraging study.
The scene described in the first couplet made the students feel ashamed. Although they had been studying diligently, who could study from the third watch to the fifth watch?
But this wasn’t an exaggeration, because such examples did exist. The academy’s great scholars and teachers often used their own experiences to admonish students.
And among the students, a few who were particularly hardworking did indeed stay up late studying like this.
What made the young students’ hearts tremble was the second couplet: “Black hair knows not the early toil of study, white hair regrets the late start of learning.”
It seemed to foretell their future fate. Some young people who had recently been neglecting their studies, after some soul-searching, felt a surge of trepidation, fearing that when their hair turned white, it would be too late for regrets.
From the bottom of their hearts arose a sentiment not to waste their youth and to study hard.
Not far away, at the edge of the square, three great scholars were observing this scene. Chen Tai stroked his beard and laughed heartily: “They say poetry is useless, but little do they know, poetry moves people’s hearts the most. Xu Ning Yan truly has extraordinary poetic talent.”
Seeing how the poem’s encouraging study positively motivated the students’ emotions, Zhang Shen’s face also spread into a smile: “That’s true. He only took the time to drink a cup of tea. This level of skill, not just now, but even throughout history, could rank among the top.”
Li Mubai suddenly asked: “He said he had long abandoned his studies. Do you believe him?”
Both great scholars nodded simultaneously. Li Mubai couldn’t help but smile: “How can you tell?”
“When writing the poem, he had Cixiu write it for him,” Zhang Shen said.
“As a scholar, how could one let others write a poem on their behalf?” Chen Tai added. “Unless he’s not skilled in calligraphy.”
For any scholar, being proficient in calligraphy is a basic skill.
Li Mubai sighed: “What a pity. He’s already of age, it’s too late for him to switch to Confucian studies.”
Chen Tai lamented: “With such talent, to have learned martial arts instead, it’s truly a waste of heaven’s gifts.”
A rough warrior is unworthy of Xu Ning Yan’s brilliant talent.
Zhang Shen seemed to remember something and said indignantly: “I heard from Cixiu that when they were young, their father decided that Cixiu would study and Ning Yan would practice martial arts.”
“That Xu Pingzhi is unfilial, wasting a seed of scholarship, truly hateful and despicable,” Li Mubai said resentfully.
The two great scholars deeply agreed.