Chapter 51: The Brook Flows West

Chapter 1

Zhang Yue had already caught sight of the county magistrate, Squire Miao, and the young Master Miao.

The magistrate wore a handsome beard three feet long, and at about thirty years of age, he bore a refined and dignified air. Zhang Yue had heard little about the magistrate’s character, only that he had recently been transferred here three months prior, had earned recognition from Ouyang Xiu for his literary talent, and was by nature rather fastidious.

Squire Miao, on the other hand, bore a certain resemblance to his daughter, Miss Miao, though he himself was strikingly lean, quite the opposite of his son, who had been raised plump and fair.

As the three men emerged, Zhang Yue and Guo Lin stepped forward together.

The magistrate, upon seeing the scroll bags at their sides, immediately guessed their purpose and stroked his beard with a faint smile.

He had no fondness for the capital’s convoluted customs, where scholars would first deliver a calling card, and only after several days send in their manuscripts. If the official was interested, only then would host and guest finally meet. Reading scrolls was a laborious task—who had the time for such tedium? To first meet the person gave one a general impression; even if it was not immediately clear, one could at least form an idea. Though this method had its flaws—judging by appearance—one could discern a great deal at a glance, and most importantly, it saved much time.

At least, these two scholars were presentable, the magistrate thought. Their coming here after hearing of his visit to the countryside showed their earnestness. Otherwise, unless a man’s talent equaled that of Mi Heng or Zuo Si, he would not bother to read their writings.

He found the two young men pleasing to the eye.

Yet the magistrate only cast a sidelong glance, pretending not to notice as he walked by. At his side, the experienced soldiers stepped forward, declaring, “The magistrate is present. All idlers are to step aside!”

With that, they made as if to drive them away, but Guo Lin and Zhang Yue stepped forward, bowing deeply. “We have heard the honorable magistrate seeks men of talent for the county and have come to present our humble works!”

The magistrate was pleased by this, stroking his beard and murmuring to himself, “Who would have thought that my reputation for seeking talent has reached even this remote corner? Let them come forward!”

Squire Miao grew anxious at this, having gone to much trouble for his own ends—how could he allow others to benefit instead?

But the entourage had already parted, letting the two approach.

The magistrate ordered their scrolls to be collected, smiling gently. “In former times, when Han Yu held office, he delighted in helping the younger generation. Countless men sought advancement by presenting him with their writings. Yet when he rose to high office, he no longer did so. Why? For there were simply too many to read.

“I myself have been in this county but a few months, and already the box of submitted works is half full. So it seems the literary talent of Pucheng is truly not lacking!”

Squire Miao and the other officials had no response to this, and could only grin awkwardly. Squire Miao kept glancing at his son, who only scratched his head in confusion.

At this moment, Zhang Yue spoke: “When Bai Juyi first brought his writings to Gu Kuang in Chang’an, the elder, upon seeing his name, joked that ‘living in Chang’an is not easy.’ But after reading his poem, ‘The grass on the plain, year after year it withers and thrives,’ he said, ‘With words such as these, living here is, in fact, easy.’

“There are many who come to present their works, all due to your lordship’s far-reaching reputation. Yet if a county can produce but one outstanding talent, it is enough for the court. I speak rashly and beg your lordship’s instruction.”

Squire Miao immediately exclaimed, “A mere village boy dares call himself a talent before the magistrate—where does he find such confidence? Throw them out!”

The magistrate said slowly, “Wait. What is your name?”

He took Zhang Yue’s scroll bag from the attendant.

Zhang Yue, bracing himself, replied, “Your lordship, my humble name is Zhang Yue.”

The magistrate smiled faintly. “Zhang Yue? A scion of the Zhang clan?” He looked Zhang Yue over, noting his plain attire, and surmised he was not of official descent. If he were, with such eloquence, perhaps he could be cultivated.

He opened the scroll and nodded at once. “Fine calligraphy!”

“I dare not claim as much; how could my writing be worthy before your lordship?” Zhang Yue thought briefly but refrained from mentioning Zhang Youzhi’s name in this setting.

The magistrate answered, “I do not offer empty praise. Your calligraphy is, frankly, exemplary for your age. If I am not mistaken, your style follows that of the Wei and Jin dynasties? No, there’s a touch of seal and clerical script as well.”

Zhang Yue answered earnestly, “Your lordship is truly discerning. I have studied seal script and apply its essence to my regular script.”

Indeed, since parting ways with Zhang Youzhi, Zhang Yue had begun to learn seal script.

The magistrate smiled as he examined the essay. Its content, the “Great Righteousness,” did not particularly interest him, but the calligraphy was truly pleasing to the eye. The scroll was spotless, without a blot or blemish. He thought, This youth must have learned from a fine teacher, but since he does not volunteer the name, I will not inquire.

The magistrate did not know that Zhang Yue’s seal script was learned from Zhang Youzhi, but the habit of neatness was instilled by Scholar Guo.

It was the same in later ages: truly accomplished scholars always had excellent habits. The manuscripts of top scholars were always neat and orderly. If one looked over the examination papers of the highest-ranking scholars from the Ming or Qing, regardless of the beauty of their writing, the orderliness of the pages was a pleasure for the examiner.

Scholar Guo had cultivated Zhang Yue meticulously in this, ensuring that after reading, his papers were tidy, and his brushes and ink were cared for, curing his former habit of scattering books and stationery everywhere.

With steadiness of mind and discipline in study, even the writing itself was transformed.

Chapter 2

The magistrate then took up Guo Lin’s scroll, nodding again—this handwriting surpassed even the last.

He turned to Squire Miao with a smile. “Who would have thought that a village of barely a hundred households would yield such talent?”

Squire Miao’s face turned ashen, as if Zhang Yue and Guo Lin had stolen several hundred strings of cash from him. But he could hardly deny it now, and could only manage an embarrassed smile.

As the magistrate read, he asked Guo Lin, “What is your name?”

Guo Lin trembled, his lips and body shaking. Zhang Yue could not help but smile inwardly at the sight.

Guo Lin replied respectfully, “Honored sir, my humble name is Guo Lin.”

Their names were written on every page, but the magistrate’s inquiry showed respect.

He said, “Both your essays are commendable. Next month, I shall host an examination for county students at the Royal Academy. You two may come and try your luck.”

Zhang Yue and Guo Lin were overjoyed, responding in unison.

Squire Miao, seeing them seize the opportunity, was inwardly furious. He had spent much money and effort preparing for this day—how could he let these two get ahead?

He signaled his son, who, bored, was scratching his back. At his father’s urging, he produced his scroll. “Sir, this is my work.”

The magistrate, interrupted while reviewing Guo Lin’s essay, frowned slightly.

Yet, having accepted Squire Miao’s gifts and hospitality, he betrayed nothing. Besides, he himself had once made the rounds in the capital, submitting his works for the attention of the powerful.

“Very well.” The magistrate nodded, a haze of memory passing before his eyes, and he sighed.

Guo Lin clenched his fists; his essay had been interrupted by Squire Miao—cutting off another’s path to success was like committing a crime.

Squire Miao hurried to say, “My son practices calligraphy diligently and has studied under several renowned masters. They all praise his natural talent.”

He eagerly unrolled his son’s scroll before the magistrate.

The magistrate took one look and felt as if he had swallowed a mouthful of foot-washing water.

“Such handwriting is not worth reading further!”

He shook his head, pale. “It will take countless copies of Yan and Liu’s models to cleanse such impurity.”

Young Master Miao, oblivious to the sarcasm, was pleased to hear the names Yan and Liu—the Tang dynasty masters Yan Zhenqing and Liu Gongquan.

He beamed, “Thank you, sir, for your praise. I dare not compare myself to the great masters, Yan and Liu…”

The magistrate glanced at Squire Miao, who looked as if he wanted to bury his head in the ground.

With a faint smile, he said, “Your son is truly a rare talent, a rare talent indeed!” With that, he swept his sleeves and departed.

“Sir! Sir!” Squire Miao ran after him in frustration, then, turning back in anger, kicked his son. “Why aren’t you following the magistrate? Must I teach you everything?”

“Father, I didn’t say anything wrong. That hurt!”

“It was just a light kick. Does it hurt? Let me rub it for you. Now go after the magistrate at once.”

Young Master Miao ran off, while Squire Miao turned a cold glare on Zhang Yue and Guo Lin. “I’ll settle this with you later!”

He scolded Miss Miao as well. “And you—helping outsiders make your brother look foolish.”

Zhang Yue said, “Squire, enough. The magistrate is far ahead…”

Squire Miao shot him a furious look and hurried after the others.

“Come, let me see you out,” Miss Miao said, wiping her tears.

The three walked beneath the rows of mulberry trees at the village entrance, the slanting sun casting its light on the leaves, the dusk painting a tranquil scene.

Suddenly, Miss Miao spoke: “The ancients say the setting sun returns to the mulberries, but where will I find my home?”

Guo Lin asked anxiously, “Why do you say this, Miss?”

Chapter 3

Miss Miao shook her head. “Father is marrying me off again. He cares not for age or whether the man is widowed—only for the bride price.”

Guo Lin’s chest tightened. “Miss, what price does your father demand?”

“Why do you ask?”

“N-nothing…”

She shook her head. “Why am I telling you all this? Here we part. Next time we meet, I may already be another man’s wife.”

Guo Lin nearly burst into tears. Zhang Yue coughed. “Senior brother, if you have something to say, say it now!”

Guo Lin struggled for words. “Miss, when the time comes… you must invite me and my junior to your wedding feast!”

Zhang Yue nearly choked on his own breath.

“Take care, sister. We’re leaving.”

The two walked back toward Wuxi, following the stream, the sound of water murmuring at their side.

Above, the full moon cast its glow, silver light dancing on the rippling creek.

“If Squire Miao judges a daughter’s worth by the bride price, how much would I need to marry Miss Miao?” Guo Lin said suddenly, sorrow overwhelming him. “But no matter the sum, I could never afford it.”

Zhang Yue replied, “Let me teach you a saying: Never look down on a youth for being poor!”

“Never look down on a youth for being poor!” Guo Lin repeated, spirits lifting. “That’s a fine line. Does it have a second part?”

“Yes. Never look down on a man for being poor in middle age.”

Guo Lin’s face fell.

“And after a few decades, it’s: Never look down on a man for being poor in old age! As long as one lives, there is hope! The dead hold the highest rank!”

Guo Lin heaved a long sigh. “Junior, I know you mean well, always making light to ease my cares.”

Zhang Yue said, “Brother, just months ago, we walked this same road home at night. You told me to look at how high the sky was. Why not see for yourself?”

Guo Lin smiled bitterly.

“How else would you know? Even if you fail, it’s worth the attempt.”

Guo Lin turned to him. “You're right!”

Though the spring night was cold, before them the moon hung bright, the stars thick above, and the breeze caressed their cheeks.

After a long, hard winter, the grass beneath their feet was growing strong and green.

“Look, brother—this stream flows west, just as we return together,” Zhang Yue called out in excitement.

“What’s there to be glad about?” Guo Lin asked.

“When we first read together, we imagined great futures for ourselves. Whenever I saw this stream, I wanted to follow it to its end. Yet though I thought of it, I never did. There are too many futile things in life, but time passes as swiftly as water flowing east, never to return. Yet this stream flows west—who’s to say we cannot be young again?”

Guo Lin was left weeping silently.

“Brother, what do you wish for most in this moment?”

“I want to study hard, succeed, and repay my parents’ kindness!” Guo Lin wiped his tears away.

Zhang Yue nodded slowly. “As do I. Waste not your youth—whether or not you succeed, try your best.”

As the two prepared for the county examination, the provincial exams of the second year of Jiayou were soon to open in Bianjing.