Chapter Four: Naming Him "Like a Tiger"

A resounding, full-throated shout rang out, echoing like a bell in everyone’s ears. Song Mu instinctively lifted his head, and Qi Dazuo, startled by the call, hurriedly glanced to the side.

From an inconspicuous alley emerged a man with a pale, beardless face, dressed in a round-collared robe. His head was wrapped neatly in a black gauze cap, and in one hand he carried a scroll, striding briskly forward.

Song Mu’s expression sharpened; he quickly clasped his hands in a respectful salute. “Master Xun.”

“Master Xun.” Qi Dazuo also bowed hastily when he saw the newcomer, while several of his retainers halted, exchanging uneasy glances.

This Master Xun was none other than Xun Yiyi, the chief instructor of the county academy—a scholar of provincial rank. Normally amiable in Stone County, he was known for being especially strict with his students.

Song Mu had become a child scholar last year, ranking thirty-second. By rights, he should have continued in private school, but as a direct descendant of the Song family—a line renowned for its literary heritage—both the county instructor and magistrate had given him special consideration, making him Master Xun’s student.

Though Qi Dazuo was not a child scholar, he too, as scion of one of Stone County’s most eminent families, entered the county academy as a scholar. Master Xun was his teacher as well, and so he too showed deep respect.

To be raised and nurtured is a parent’s grace; to teach and enlighten is a teacher’s blessing—one must not dare to show disrespect.

Master Xun, upon seeing Qi Dazuo, gave a cold harrumph, then, with a sudden motion, sent a pebble skimming from the ground, striking Qi Dazuo sharply on the knee.

With a cry, Qi Dazuo fell to his knees, lowering his head in submission.

“Hold out your hands!” Master Xun approached, commanding sternly. Qi Dazuo obediently extended both hands, and the ruler that had been hovering beside Song Mu suddenly whipped forward, lashing hard across Qi Dazuo’s palms.

“First offense: insulting your fellow student.” The ruler came down again. “Second offense: improper attire, showing no respect for a scholar’s bearing.”

“Third offense: abusive language in the street, unbecoming of a man of letters.”

Three strokes fell; Qi Dazuo’s face flushed crimson, but he dared not utter a sound. Such were the rules of the academy—any protest meant harsher punishment.

Passersby watched the scene unfold, but a teacher disciplining his student was sacrosanct—no parent, no matter who, could object.

Song Mu stood respectfully to one side, head lowered, until Qi Dazuo’s punishment was complete and Master Xun permitted him to rise.

“Return and recite the Thousand Character Classic. Tomorrow in class, I will test you myself.”

In this world, too, there was a Thousand Character Classic, though not the rhymed text composed by Zhou Xingsi during the Northern and Southern Dynasties, but rather the foundational essay penned by a great scholar who had cultivated “literary power,” meant to awaken that force in children.

Qi Dazuo’s face turned woeful at this, but he hurriedly saluted and left with his entourage in tow.

Only then did Master Xun turn to Song Mu, who looked up with a faint smile. The pale and beardless Master Xun merely snorted and strode on.

“Song Mu, today you relied only on ancestral favor. Do not think that as a child scholar you can fend off all enemies. Only when you become a licentiate will you have truly set foot on the path of scholarship.”

Song Mu quickly followed, lowering his head half a step behind and speaking softly. “Master, you saw through it?”

It was clear that his ability to repel enemies had not escaped the notice of a scholar like Master Xun, but for him to point out the cause so directly left Song Mu in awe.

“Did you heed my words?” Master Xun did not answer directly, but pressed him again. Song Mu nodded quickly, responding with utmost respect: “I will remember your teachings.”

Master Xun grunted in acknowledgment before speaking again. “Lately, all of Stone County is abuzz with rumors about you. How will you respond?”

“I do not know, Master. I ask for your guidance,” Song Mu replied, deftly passing the responsibility back. Yet Master Xun remained indifferent. “That is for you to decide. I shall only ask this: if in the past you hid your talents, does this mean, after this incident, that you have resolved to show your true self?”

Master Xun’s tone was light and airy, but Song Mu’s expression grew thoughtful. Perhaps Master Xun believed his former dullness was a pretense, and that now, after recent events, he had decided to reveal his abilities.

After all, Master Xun could not possibly know that Song Mu’s body now housed a different soul, and that this sharpness was his true nature.

But since Master Xun thought adversity had awakened him, that gave Song Mu an excuse, and he made no attempt to correct him.

Seeing Song Mu’s silence, Master Xun continued: “After this incident, the county instructor himself inquired after you. Fortunately, you are unharmed. Otherwise, someone in the academy would surely have been stripped of rank.”

The words stunned Song Mu. He had only met the instructor once, and only because of his family’s past glory. To be remembered—and defended—was unexpected.

Perhaps this explained why the usually tactful Master Xun had publicly punished Qi Dazuo. There were hidden motives—Master Xun was helping him deter petty schemers.

As though reading Song Mu’s thoughts, Master Xun explained, “Our Great Wen Dynasty has endured for over two centuries. The current emperor prizes scholarly virtue above all. This year, a thorough investigation into all scholarly lineages is underway to select the worthy. Your Song family is one of the few in Stone County with an unbroken scholarly line. You must not let it end with you.”

“I tell you this not so you may act recklessly under ancestral favor, but to warn you—no more risky ventures. From now on, remain in town and devote yourself to study for the provincial exams. If any troublemakers harass you again, report directly to me.”

As he spoke, a spark of light glimmered from Master Xun’s hand, falling upon the jade token at Song Mu’s waist. Song Mu was stunned, but bowed respectfully. “I will remember your teachings.”

“Very well. Return to the academy. The exam is not far off.” With a casual wave, Master Xun strolled away.

Song Mu’s expression darkened. Everyone said he went to Yang Ridge of his own accord, yet his memory said otherwise. The matter grew more suspicious, and now, hearing Master Xun’s words, he wondered—who had truly orchestrated events, and had they really meant for him to die?

Song Mu could not let it rest. To nearly bring about the downfall of the Song family was an unforgivable sin. Others might turn a blind eye, but as a son of the Song family, he could not.

If someone truly meant harm to him or his family, he would need to be vigilant—and perhaps cut the threat out at its root.

With these thoughts, Song Mu decided to seek out Butcher Wang, to verify if it was indeed upon Yang Ridge that he had been found, and to dig out the details.

...

“Young Master Song, would I lie to you?” Old Wang protested. “That day, I went to Green Hill Hamlet to buy pigs. As I was returning, someone from town told me my wife was about to give birth. How could I stay put?”

“Anyway, I’m a butcher—always steeped in blood. I’ve even got a tattoo of Lord Zhong Kui on my back, inked with black dog’s blood, to ward off evil. Ordinary spirits don’t dare come near. It was a bright night, so I took a shortcut by Yang Ridge.”

“Guess what? I saw you collapsed under a tree. At first, I thought I’d seen a ghost! Only when I got closer did I realize it was you, Young Master Song. You were pale as death, not even breathing. So I carried you straight back.”

In front of the butcher’s shop, Song Mu paused, listening as the stout, broad-faced Butcher Wang chopped lamb ribs on the block, recounting that fateful night.

From inside, a baby’s cries rang out. Butcher Wang wrapped up a piece of meat in straw paper, tied it expertly with rice-straw, and handed it to Song Mu with a smile. “Here you go, Young Master Song, all ready for you.”

Song Mu listened, sinking into thought. He could not believe that such an upright man as Butcher Wang would lie, and so he sighed and let the matter rest, pulling out some coins.

“Young Master Song, you’ll spoil me—just a few bones, that’s all,” Butcher Wang protested, pointing at the shop sign. “See, that sign was written by your father himself. Thanks to his calligraphy, business has been booming these past two years.”

He referred, of course, to Song Mu’s late father, Song Liantong.

Seeing Song Mu still trying to pay, Butcher Wang hesitated, then said, “If you don’t mind, Young Master, I do have a small request.”

Song Mu was taken aback, then replied, “I must thank you for saving my life, Uncle Wang. If there’s anything I can do, please ask.”

Butcher Wang chuckled, “It’s nothing much. As a butcher, I’m always around death and blood, and though the tattoo of Lord Zhong Kui wards off some evil, it’s too much for a newborn. My child’s been crying day and night since birth.”

“Would you give him a strong name? I’m just a rough fellow—only managed to call him ‘Stone’ as a nickname.”

Song Mu smiled in relief, hearing the baby’s wails from inside. No matter how the family tried to soothe the child, nothing worked. Glancing at the bloodied meats on the chopping block, he surmised the scent of blood must unsettle the child. He fell silent in thought.

“Do you have brush and paper?” he asked after a moment.

Butcher Wang quickly called over a fortune-teller from down the street.

With the brush in hand, Song Mu, who had practiced calligraphy for years, felt a familiar warmth. He dipped the brush and wrote.

“Like a tiger,” the fortune-teller read aloud, eyes shining. “Excellent! The lord of the mountains can banish evil spirits!”

“Master Song, may I ask the meaning behind these characters?” Butcher Wang inquired excitedly, having entertained hopes of bestowing upon his son a name blessed by the Song family’s scholarly aura ever since carrying Song Mu back into town.

Song Mu’s heart stirred; in a low voice he replied, “A line from a short poem: ‘With a spirit that swallows ten thousand miles like a tiger.’”

This was from the great poet Xin Qiji, famed for his bold and heroic verses—a true master among masters.

Butcher Wang’s face turned solemn, while the fortune-teller gazed rapturously at the two characters on the page, then asked, almost reverently, “Young master, may I ask—what is the origin of this script?”