Chapter Thirty-Nine: Grace

After Zhang Yue and Guo Lin descended the mountain, Zhang Yue began to pack his belongings, preparing to return home for the festival. That night, Mrs. Scholar prepared a table full of dishes: there were assorted beans, wild mushrooms, winter bamboo shoots, and a plate of rabbit meat, sliced thin and marinated with wine, soy sauce, and pepper, then quickly blanched in boiling water before eating—a taste both fresh and exquisite. The main course was a hefty jar full of steaming rice.

Zhang Yue was nearly moved to tears at the sight. Since coming to this world, he hadn’t improved in much, but his appetite had certainly grown. In the Hall of Glory, even after a large bowl of rice, he would only feel half full and always had to fill his stomach with clear broth afterward to feel sated. It made him wonder—was he really the same person who used to leave half a bowl untouched in the old cafeteria, thinking waste was shameful?

Under the dim lamplight, Scholar Guo sipped from a bamboo flask of wine. His wife said to Zhang Yue and Guo Lin, “Sanlang is going home tomorrow. These past six months, he’s been like family to us. I’ll find it hard to let him go. Let’s treat tonight as New Year’s Eve—let’s all sit together and enjoy a good meal. Zhang Yue, eat more.”

“Thank you, Madam.”

Scholar Guo said, “Yue’er… I’ve been ill these past months, and I owe you an apology. You even earned money by copying books to pay for my medicine…”

Zhang Yue replied at once, “Sir, there’s no need to say that. If not for Senior Brother recommending me, I wouldn’t even have a livelihood. Besides, the money was for my tuition.”

Scholar Guo exchanged a glance with his wife. She said, “Yue’er, when you return, tell your elder brother and sister-in-law that once the master is well again, he will devote himself to teaching you.”

Zhang Yue felt uneasy. He didn’t mind continuing his studies here, but it seemed the professor at the academy wanted to take him as a disciple. How was he supposed to explain this? Zhang Yue was at a loss. Guo Lin, knowing his thoughts, quickly interjected, “Father, why say such things? The food’s getting cold.”

Scholar Guo glared at Guo Lin, but then stood and gave a few shadow punches, twisted his waist to either side, saying, “See? I told you, I’m much better. After the New Year, I’ll be fully recovered.”

Zhang Yue was amused to see the already thin scholar sweating from his exertions. But after the laughter came a pang of bitterness—his teacher truly wished for him to stay and study.

Zhang Yue rose and said, “Sir, whatever I may become in the future, you will always be my teacher.”

Scholar Guo and his wife took these words as a promise and were delighted. “Why say such things? No one’s ever said you weren’t our student.”

Under the dim light, with a few more sips of wine, Mrs. Guo forbade her husband from drinking further. Having nothing else to do, Scholar Guo began asking Zhang Yue about his studies. Upon hearing that he’d finished the Book of Documents and was now reading the Book of Songs, he was deeply gratified and began pondering where to borrow books for the coming year.

“Madam’s cooking is delicious. May I have another bowl?”

“Of course.”

While Mrs. Guo was serving Zhang Yue more rice, Scholar Guo sneaked another sip of wine and gestured to Zhang Yue and Guo Lin to keep quiet about it, then smacked his lips as if savoring the lingering taste.

She brought Zhang Yue a large bowl of rice, paused, and then pressed it down with the ladle and added two more spoonfuls. Guo Lin shook his head at Zhang Yue’s hearty appetite, pushing his favorite dishes toward him.

That night, the moonlight was as clear as water. Outside the window, the village dog devoured rice mixed with bones, and the crippled servant leaned against a tree, singing a rustic tune of unknown melody.

As Zhang Yue packed, he heard Guo Lin sigh deeply beside him.

Zhang Yue smiled, “Senior Brother, don’t miss me. I’ll be back on the fifth.”

Guo Lin replied gruffly, “Who’s missing you?”

Noticing his troubled expression, Zhang Yue suddenly asked, “Senior Brother, do you know what the cripple is singing?”

With a melancholy look, Guo Lin replied, “How would I know? Can you understand it?”

“I can’t, but I know it’s a song about longing between a man and a woman.”

Guo Lin stepped in front of him and said seriously, “You’re too young to understand such things. You should focus on your studies.”

“And you’re one to talk! Don’t you still pine for Miao Sanniang?”

“You… how did you know?” Guo Lin’s face was a mix of embarrassment, anger, and the strange relief of having his secret guessed.

“Don’t worry, Senior Brother, I’ve already told Madam. Silencing me won’t help.”

Guo Lin’s mortification was replaced by indignation: “Why would you do that? Did you think telling my mother would help me?”

“Not really. I was just chatting with her and let it slip. But really, isn’t longing between men and women perfectly normal? The very first poem in the Book of Songs—‘Gentle and graceful, the king seeks a fair mate.’ Even the sages said, ‘The three hundred poems are all about upright thoughts.’”

“Love and longing are human nature. Pretending not to see it is what’s truly askew.”

“Askew thoughts…” Guo Lin couldn’t help but smile wryly. Then he recited, “Graceful maiden, I seek her in waking and in sleep; to seek her and not obtain, I think of her in waking and in sleep… But what do you know of the pain of longing?”

He leaned against the door frame and murmured, “Enter my door of yearning, know my pain; long longing is endless, short longing knows no bounds. Had I known how binding it would be, I would rather never have met her.”

Does he think I’m just a twelve-year-old child?

Zhang Yue said, “I may not know the pain, but I’ve heard of a way to ease it!”

“Don’t joke. How could longing be eased? Still, go on, let’s hear it.”

Zhang Yue nodded solemnly. “That’s the right spirit. Otherwise, even if I teach you, it’s pointless. I heard of a scholar who fell for a girl but couldn’t win her. So, every time he thought of her, he would recite a page of the most difficult classics and write it out. When he had copied enough to fill a volume, he would present the book to her…”

Guo Lin paced the room, nodding. “Brother, you are truly well-read. In this way, one expresses his feelings without alarming the lady, and does not abandon his studies. It’s a fine method. Did the scholar win her heart in the end?”

Zhang Yue shook his head. “When he reached the second page, the pain of longing had already faded.”

Guo Lin was stunned, then angered, “So you were teasing me all along?”

Zhang Yue laughed heartily. “You’re too earnest, Senior Brother—only now do you realize?”

“But seriously—tell me, which is worse: the pain of longing, or the hardship of study?”

Guo Lin sighed, “To be honest, studying is harder.”

“So there you have it,” Zhang Yue said. “If you can endure the hardship of study, what is longing? But if you truly care for Miao Sanniang, you must let her know.”

“And what good would that do? She’s out of my league…” Guo Lin blushed.

“That’s the beauty of it!” Zhang Yue clapped. “If you aren’t turned away, how will you ever let go?”

The next morning, Zhang Yue set out from Wuxi for home.

Six months in the mountains—had his studies succeeded? Whether or not, he still had to return. Was it not like the vast crowds heading home for the New Year every spring? Rich or poor, everyone goes home for the festival.

He rose early. Scholar Guo and his wife packed his bag with mountain goods and asked a villager to carry them part of the way.

Besides the mountain goods, the income from copying books—three and a half coins a page—had made him considerably wealthier; he had more than a string of cash left. Before he departed, Madam Guo threaded the coins together and sewed them into his waistband, warning him not to remove them until he got home. Zhang Yue wondered what he was supposed to do if he needed the toilet.

Mist rose from the mountains at dawn, and the half-dried creek was shrouded in fog. Since the creek was shallow enough to cross, he took the shortcut over the mountains instead of following the watercourse. The shortcut saved half an hour, but was steep. When his companion asked if he dared take it, Zhang Yue refused to be outdone and agreed.

They walked along mountain paths and creek banks, treading on pebbles, the sound of water faintly audible but always elusive. As they walked, the day grew brighter. Zhang Yue, sweating and breathless despite his youth, had to rest on a boulder. By then, the mist had lifted, and he saw the stream flowing out of the mountains; downstream, it widened into a silvery expanse, waves glinting and murmuring. The elusive sound of water was now before his eyes—a scene of such beauty as he had never seen.

He recited from a passage he’d just read: “Where the land is level, many will travel; where it is steep and far, few will go. Yet the most extraordinary sights are often in distant, perilous places, rarely visited—so only those with will and strength can reach them. But even with will, if strength is lacking, one cannot arrive…”

He had read that essay before crossing over, but reading it now, after copying it by hand, the meaning was different. To seek distant wonders, one must have both will and strength; Wang Anshi did not deceive him.

Following the creek down, he soon saw the county town in the distance. The shortcut truly was much quicker.

At the foot of the hill, seeing the bustling crowds beneath the city walls, Zhang Yue felt as if a lifetime had passed since he was in the silent mountains.

His companion would go no further, refusing Zhang Yue’s offer to come home with him. When pressed, Zhang Yue tried to give him money, but the man refused. “You’re the scholar’s disciple; I cannot take your money,” he said, and left resolutely.

Watching the man’s departing figure, Zhang Yue marveled at the honesty of these folk.

He slung his pack over his shoulder and walked toward Xin Street on the south bank. As he entered the street, he met many familiar neighbors.

“Sanlang, you’re finally back.”

“Sanlang, you’ve returned from your studies.”

“That’s right, he’s home to take the imperial exams now.”

Laughter and teasing followed him—no one believed that the once lazy boy who hated learning had suddenly become studious in the mountains. But their tone was familiar and comforting.

Zhang Yue remembered the guides he’d read on dealing with relatives’ questions during festival visits and parried, “Aunt Ma, has your third son married yet? Not yet? You’d better hurry! I know a good match in town.”

“Uncle Chen, is your eldest still wetting the bed? There’s a remedy I picked up in the mountains—give it a try.”

“Granny Yu, are you still coughing? It’ll pass if you bear with it. Just kidding—I brought you some herbs from the mountain. Try them.”

Behind him came a chorus of sighs: This child… so warmhearted, much better than my own second son.

Zhang Yue thought, “They say a drop of kindness should be repaid as a spring. But kindness needn’t wait until one is successful to repay.”

He walked on, and before he knew it, he had reached his own doorstep.

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