Chapter Three: A Way Out

(New book launch, aiming for the charts—every click and every recommendation is invaluable. After midnight, Nan Dynasty awaits the aid of all heroes, with deepest gratitude!)

At dusk, Old Zhang the hunter returned from the mountain, but among his catch there was no sign of the great black wolf. When asked, he explained that he had lost its trail. The foothills behind Maple Mountain sprawled in complex terrain, the mountains tall and the forests dense—places rarely touched by human feet, treacherous to traverse. With night falling, the old hunter, having tracked for a while without success, dared not venture deeper and could only retreat, disgruntled.

…

Time has feet but no weight; it slips silently past each person, unchanged by the arrival of even a single soul from another world.

In a blink, autumn faded into winter, and the days grew colder with each passing dawn.

But compared to this biting cold, what troubled Chen Jianchen even more was his utter inability to absorb those archaic texts, the endless parade of classical phrases and rigid structures.

The political system of this world, and its mainstream cultural ideology, bore a striking resemblance to the Ming Dynasty of Earth. The content of the imperial examinations was nearly identical—there was even a "Confucianism" here, and the exam centered on the rigid Eight-Legged Essay.

It was truly a bizarre thing!

This left Chen Jianchen in a daze, as though he wandered in a dream, unsure if he had crossed into an alternate dimension or simply awoken in the ancient history of Earth.

—The Celestial Order Dynasty had stood unbroken for nearly a thousand years, unifying the land with deep, unshakable roots. At its founding, Emperor Wu ascended the throne and immediately adopted the counsel of Grand Scholar Dong Zhongxu, implementing the policy of "suppressing all schools, honoring only Confucian thought." Centered on the ideals of benevolence, righteousness, and the ethics of ruler and subject, this doctrine maintained social order and deified royal authority.

It could be said, this system proved exceptionally effective.

With each successive emperor upholding it, the ideology had sunk deep into the hearts of the people, to the marrow of every person, achieving a spiritual unification that forged the entire dynasty into an ironclad vessel.

Within this vessel, millions of common folk lived obedient lives, no different from dazed ants scurrying about.

Unfortunately, Chen Jianchen was not a man content with obedience—his extraordinary origins guaranteed a restless soul. With his breadth of experience, he could easily discern deeper truths; he was not so easily deceived. He soon discovered that the Confucian system of the Celestial Order Dynasty differed in many ways from the one he knew.

For instance, the founding sage of Confucianism here was the centenarian hero Dong Zhongxu, Grand Scholar of the Imperial Cabinet, revered by later generations as “Saint Dong.” The path to officialdom—the Eight-Legged Essay—drew almost all its topics from the collected works of Saint Dong: The Book of Virtue, The Book of Rites, The Book of Loyalty, and The Book of Law. Free interpretation was forbidden; to stray beyond these bounds was to invite disaster.

These four books, collectively known as the “Four Classics,” were written in dense, archaic prose, bristling with elaborate and stilted phraseology—far drier and more dogmatic than the teachings of Confucius and Mencius, rigid and lifeless, their content hollow to the point of tedium.

Thus, from the depths of his heart, Chen Jianchen felt only aversion and disgust. Whenever he picked up those thick tomes, he was seized by the urge to tear them apart, or to put the pages to less dignified uses.

Each classic consisted of three hefty volumes—twelve in all—enough to last him a lifetime, if such urges were to be indulged.

Alas, such thoughts could only whirl in his mind, never to be acted upon. To show disrespect for the Four Classics was to insult Saint Dong himself—a capital crime under the dynasty’s code.

Chen Jianchen had no wish to die.

More than that, he wished to live well, to live prosperously.

Yet to attain even a modest standard of living, he had to participate in the imperial examinations, compose Eight-Legged Essays, and hope to pass as a licentiate, become a scholar, and enter officialdom.

There was scarcely another way.

Given his circumstances, he was ill-suited to any other pursuit. Business? Farming? A trade?

Hardly. He lacked the capital, resources, and experience for commerce. Farmer or craftsman were considered “lower people,” a status barred from advancement. Below them were the “base people”—criminals and slaves.

“Of all professions, only study holds honor.”

The rigid hierarchy of society made this saying painfully clear.

In theory, the exams included both civil and military paths; those with martial prowess could also enter government service.

But with Chen Jianchen’s frail body, the military examination was a laughable prospect.

Thus, before him lay only the civil examination.

There was, at least, no age limit—as long as one’s scholar status had not been revoked, one could attempt the exam endlessly, even into old age. Many an elderly scholar spent his twilight years in the examination halls. Throughout this endless struggle, those of poor birth could survive by teaching in private academies or selling their calligraphy and paintings—barely making ends meet.

But Chen Jianchen had not crossed worlds and been reborn merely to scrape by.

So what was he to do?

The path ahead, unappealing as it was, might not even remain open to him. “When poverty strikes, seek change,” as the saying goes—but where was the path of change to be found?

Chen Jianchen did not know; at present, he felt lost and adrift.

Sigh…

He let out a long sigh, forcing himself once more to open the Book of Virtue before him, hoping to glean something new from old studies. But as he listlessly turned a few pages, nothing felt new—and even the old knowledge seemed to fade away.

It was maddening.

To succeed in the imperial exam, memory was paramount—one had to memorize all twelve volumes of the Four Classics, more than a hundred thousand words, without a single omission, and be able to recite them backward and forward.

The old Chen Jianchen could certainly do this.

But that was before.

Though he had inherited the memories of the studious scholar whose body he now inhabited, memories are not infallible—especially rote memorization. Without constant review, they fade with time.

Since his crossing, Chen Jianchen had not reviewed his studies for over three months…

“Damn it!”

He slammed the Book of Virtue shut with a snap, flinging it into a corner of the room before stepping out of the narrow, cage-like study.

He truly could not force himself to read further. When the time comes, the road will appear—he would worry about it when classes resumed in the spring. For now, with a little time left, he needed to think carefully.

Madam Mo was weaving cloth, the ancient loom creaking softly.

Her hands were deft and skilled, producing fabric of excellent quality that always found a ready market. The household survived only through her endless labor at the loom.

There was little Chen Jianchen could do to help with this work.

“Liuxian, are you heading out?”

“I am,” he replied. “I’ve been feeling restless lately—thought I’d take a walk.”

“Go ahead, but remember to wear an extra layer.”

All his clothes had been sewn by Madam Mo—old-fashioned in style, but warm and durable.

“A wanderer’s coat, stitched by a loving mother’s hand.”

Something like that.

The weather was frigid, so Chen Jianchen did not venture far. Instead, he made his way to a secluded grove a few hundred meters south of Jingyang Village.

Within the woods, all was silent. He stepped inside, came to a halt, and began to practice his fists—the art of Jeet Kune Do.