Some time earlier, a blazing stove burned near the Su family’s library building, the atmosphere solemn. Now, everyone in the Su household who could be considered reasonably learned had gathered here. The most senior among them was, naturally, Song Mao — styled Song Yufan — the current prefect of Shenzhou. He had earned his position through the imperial examinations and was already regarded among the common people as a man of formidable talent. Since everyone knew he came every year, the Su clan’s students had long since been preparing under the supervision of their tutors.

Money might not be able to buy learning, but it could certainly buy books, and so the Su family’s library building was in fact quite grand and dignified. If old Patriarch Su had any wish, it was probably that one day the Su household would become a true family of scholars — that after generations of learned men had emerged, their descendants would look upon this library and remember the effort made by a man who had once been nothing more than a merchant. Thinking of it this way carried a certain solemn weight; the elderly, after all, tend to care most about such things.

By now the more mechanical first half of the examination in the library had already concluded — nothing more than assigning policy essays to the older students and passages from the sages to the younger children, asking them to explain and interpret the meaning. There were, of course, no “model answers” in this era; no one could say with certainty what any given line of the Analects truly meant. Everyone had their own interpretation, and judgment was itself a matter of personal conviction. Naturally, anyone with real discernment could see a great deal from the answers — whether it was the tutors’ mechanical instruction showing through, or whether the students had any capacity for original thought.

This year’s examination was somewhat different from years past.

After the preliminary testing, the one now called to the center of the library to answer Song Mao’s questions was a child no older than nine or ten. He was clearly nervous, his speech halting, and he seemed to have little confidence in his answers, but he pressed on regardless.

“The Analects… in the chapter on Yong Ye it says… the wise delight in water, the benevolent delight in mountains; the wise are active, the benevolent are still; the wise find joy, the benevolent find long life… it means… the wise seek the transformation of all things, while the benevolent… but the reason the wise seek so many transformations is fundamentally to find the constant truth that underlies all change, while the benevolent do not seek change — in fact, they can meet the changes of all things by remaining unchanging themselves. The benevolent and the wise are, at their root, one and the same… my teacher said… my teacher said, a benevolent person who does not understand wisdom is not truly benevolent, and a wise person who does not understand benevolence knows nothing but a crooked path. Um… one day, that will cost him…”

The boy was no more than nine, clearly an honest, simple child, and he struggled visibly to organize his words. After going on for some time, he still fell back on phrases like “my teacher said,” mixing in some rather colloquial language. Had this truly been submitted for a formal examination, it would hardly have passed muster — but of course, this occasion was different. Song Mao, nearing forty this year, had an upright face touched with a certain simple warmth, and as he listened he nodded along.

“Xunzi once said: through a thousand changes and ten thousand transformations, the Way remains one. Zhuangzi likewise said: not departing from one’s root is called being in harmony with Heaven. No matter how much things change, they never depart from their root — indeed, that is so. Little Blackie, was this line taught to you by your teacher?”

Hearing this question, the nervous little boy relaxed slightly, evidently because the answer was simple, and he nodded. “Yes… in reply to the prefect, my teacher once said: no matter how far one travels, one never leaves the bounds of the compass and the square; no matter how things change, they never depart from their root.”

“Never departing from the compass and square, never departing from the root, however far one travels… that line alone would suffice…” Song Mao nodded, then smiled. “As for the interpretation of ‘the wise delight in water’ you gave just now — was that entirely from your teacher as well?”

Little Blackie nodded. “My teacher mentioned some of it in passing. I… I don’t remember all of it very well…”

“Do you understand it?”

The boy thought for a moment, shook his head, then cautiously nodded instead. “I understand… a little…”

“Ha, I suspected as much.” Song Mao laughed. “Then was the explanation you gave during the earlier examination also entirely your teacher’s words?”

The boy nodded, then shook his head. “My teacher… my teacher touched on this before, but… but he never explained it in detail. Some of it… some of it I thought of myself…”

Watching him shake his head and nod, nod and shake his head, Song Mao himself smiled and nodded, exchanging a few words with Su Chonghua and the others nearby. Old Patriarch Su, who had been watching from the side, could now sense that something was different. “Prefect, this is…”

“My congratulations, Elder Su. This child, along with the one examined just before him, may well achieve something remarkable one day.”

“Ah…”

Such praise from Song Mao was no small thing, and though the old Patriarch’s heart swelled with joy, he did not let too much of it show on his face, merely watching as events unfolded. Song Mao glanced around at the tutors and instructors from the academy, then cupped his hands toward Su Chonghua. “Brother Su, might I ask which teacher instructed young Little Blackie in his studies?”

He had, in fact, had some dealings with the few tutors at Yushan Academy in the past, and none of them had struck him as particularly capable; his gaze now drifted toward one or two unfamiliar faces. Su Chonghua’s expression showed some hesitation, but after glancing at the old Patriarch, he spoke anyway. “It seems he is not present here. This Little Blackie, along with the boy Chongming examined earlier, are both students of Liheng.”

Old Patriarch Su was faintly startled, then a look of pleased surprise crossed his face. Song Mao’s own expression shifted slightly as well. He then leafed through some of the earlier answer sheets, had a tutor beside him select a few, sorted out five, looked them over once more, and passed them to the old Patriarch and Su Chonghua. “Brother Su, take a look — were all these students’ answers taught by the same person?”

Su Chonghua looked at the names and nodded. Only then did Song Mao explain to the old Patriarch: “The same question, taught by the same teacher, in the same classroom with the same lessons — and yet these five are each different, each showing their own understanding and insight…”

There was no need to say more. Though the old Patriarch himself had little learning, hearing this much was enough for him to grasp the implication. Song Mao then looked around at everyone standing nearby before asking Su Chonghua: “This Liheng you mention — could it be the very Ning Yi, Ning Liheng, who wrote that ‘Prelude to Water Melody’?”

“…Indeed, it is him.”

“A man of such great talent — whoever he may be, he ought to be invited up to sit with the two of us, rather than left standing among the onlookers.”

On the platform now stood only middle-aged and elderly men; Ning Yi ought to have been present, but since he was not on the platform, he must have been standing somewhere among the crowd of family members and relatives. Old Patriarch Su raised his eyes to search the crowd below — his eyesight was not good — and at the same time asked Su Boyong: “Where is Liheng?”

Su Boyong had in fact already been searching, and now shook his head. “It seems… he isn’t here.”

In the past, this second round of individual questioning had usually called out the older students, but this time two children had been called forward. Though standing on the platform had clearly made them nervous, to those watching from the crowd it was a mark of scholarly promise — a great honor indeed. As those above exchanged whispers, the onlookers below were murmuring among themselves as well. Juan’er, who had come running over to watch the excitement, caught hold of one of Ning Yi’s students to cheer him on. “Look how impressive Blackie and Chongming are. If they call you out to answer questions later, you’d better answer well too — don’t shame your teacher.”

These children often pestered Ning Yi to tell them stories and had grown quite close with Chan’er and Juan’er as well. Now the boy pulled a mournful face. “But Sister Juan’er, I’m scared. That’s the prefect up there!”

“He’s not the prefect of our state — he’s not going to cut off your head. Look how kind he seems. Blackie and the others are scared too… Anyway, if you disgrace yourself, sister won’t forgive you…”

Before she could finish, Su Boyong up above had already spotted Juan’er in the crowd and called her out with a laugh. “Where is your young master?” By the time she had been sent off to find Ning Yi, back in the hall Song Mao was already asking with interest about the stories Ning Yi told in class, and had Little Blackie tell one on the spot…

After catching his breath, the boy told the whole story with great animation before Su Tan’er and the others, leaving them rather astonished. Juan’er then turned and asked Chan’er: “Where on earth is the young master? The elders are still waiting over there. I already went and searched the courtyard, and he wasn’t there either.”

Chan’er looked troubled as well. “But… the young master went out this morning already… I — I’m not too sure either…”

…

Having taught at Yushan Academy for several months now, Ning Yi had heard from Xiao Chan about the annual year-end examination, but given his temperament, he had naturally never taken it to heart. While telling stories to a group of children in class, amid the suspicion, amusement, and criticism of those around him — Su Tan’er included, who found it both puzzling and displeasing — he had been well aware of everyone’s sentiments, seeing it all clearly in his heart, but he had never bothered to explain himself. If Xiao Chan had truly asked what he thought of the examination, he probably would have said something offhand like: “If I can’t even get past a thing like this, then I might as well give up on everything else.”

There was not much left that he truly wanted to do these days, but once he set out to do something, all that remained was to wait for the results. After all he had been through, he certainly still had some vanity left in him, but vanity was no longer something that could control his main course of action. With people who could at least partly understand or try to understand, and who had a decent outlook on life themselves — Old Qin and Old Kang, for instance — he could say all sorts of nonsense in idle chat and quietly enjoy their reactions. But if the other person lacked the capacity to understand, and would only respond to anything you said with self-righteous accusations of heresy, then that was simply asking for trouble.

Whether Ning Yi would have gone to watch the examination had he been home today was hard to say, but in any case, he had already gone out that morning and had no idea how the whole affair had unfolded. The Su household had been quite busy of late, and he had some matters of his own he wanted to attend to — after all, he had already had far too much idle time, and it was time to find something to occupy himself. Whether it would amount to anything in the end was uncertain, but at the very least it would prove one thing: that he, a modern-day boss of sorts, had at least struggled for a time toward a happy and prosperous future, even in this terrifying era that didn’t even have MSG.

Thinking about it, it rather resembled the desperate flailing of a pig…

Snow fell across the sky as he walked idly along the snow-covered street toward the intersection ahead, his mind wandering. Dressed in a blue robe with a paper umbrella in hand, had this scene been captured in a painting, the figure against the long snow-covered street would have carried a touch of scholarly, ancient charm. Along both sides of the road, many shops remained open for business, pedestrians hurried past, a carriage passed by close at hand, and at the intersection ahead stood a few small stalls. Behind one pushcart, a woman wrapped in an unflattering headscarf blinked and looked over in some confusion. Ning Yi waved, and a shy smile appeared on her face in response.

Nie Yunzhu’s pancake stall — utterly unsuited to her bearing — had already opened. Ning Yi had long known its location, though this was the first time he had wandered over on a whim.