Chapter Six: The Pan Family's Little Schemes

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In the Pan family courtyard, Song Mu asked Pan Wenhao many questions, but ultimately, the answer was always the same.

No one had seen how Song Mu made his way to Yanggang.

This only made Song Mu feel the matter was all the more peculiar—a simple wager between young men had turned into an unsolvable mystery.

It seemed as though from the very moment he arrived in this world, a haze had descended before his eyes, and it was clear that unraveling the rumors about his journey to Yanggang would be nearly impossible.

Song Mu pondered for a moment. Seeing Song Mu fall silent, Pan Wenhao glanced at his mother, unease gnawing at his heart. He finally spoke.

“Song, my fellow scholar, is there anything else? If not, I’ll return to my studies.”

At eighteen, Pan Wenhao was especially dutiful in his mother’s presence. Song Mu caught the tone, the corner of his lips curving into a smile as he replied, “There is one more thing, Pan. That day we had an agreement: if I returned from outside the city...”

“Song—fellow scholar, I know. Once I finish studying, I’ll come find you.”

Pan Wenhao hastily interrupted, looking flustered. He knew why Song Mu had come.

But he hadn’t told his family that all this trouble had started because of a wager with Song Mu. He’d only said it was a roughhousing among classmates. Lady Pan was unaware, her expression unchanged.

Song Mu, sensing he’d made his point, cupped his hands in farewell. “I won’t disturb your studies further.” He turned to leave but paused, glancing back at the relieved Pan Wenhao.

“Pan, in the eighth section of The Great Learning: ‘The way to cultivate the self lies in rectifying the heart. If there is anger, the heart is not upright; if there is fear, the heart is not upright; if there is pleasure, the heart is not upright; if there is sorrow, the heart is not upright.’

‘This is advice from the sages. Master Xun taught us to recite aloud with aspiration in our chests, not to speak timidly. Let us encourage each other in this.’”

Song Mu’s tone was clearly admonishing.

Pan Wenhao’s face darkened at these words. A flash of resentment appeared in his eyes, quickly concealed. He answered repeatedly, his gaze flickering nervously toward his mother.

Lady Pan said nothing, merely watching Song Mu leave.

“Though the Song family has declined, they are still a house of learning. Wenhao, after your studies, prepare some gifts and pay him a visit to apologize.”

After Song Mu left, Lady Pan seemed to have seen through the situation, though she said nothing in front of others. Pan Wenhao quickly agreed, though his heart churned with indignation and annoyance.

That bookish fool dared to make a scene at their door and embarrass him before his mother. After a brush with death, did Song really think he could act so boldly?

As Pan Wenhao knelt, reading, he was already plotting how to teach Song Mu a lesson. Meanwhile, Song Mu strolled home and resumed his studies.

At dusk, the county constable of Shiyang, Pan Shun, returned home exhausted. After dinner, father and son sat together in the main hall. Listening to Wenhao recount the day’s events, Pan Shun frowned.

“Did Song Mu really say that to you?”

“Yes, Father. Song Mu was shameless, even quoting Master Xun to lecture me. He wants to pin all his misfortune on me!”

“Father, I won’t allow myself to be insulted like this—especially not by Song Mu!”

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Pan Wenhao sat beside his father, agitation in his expression; with his father present, he felt emboldened, certain there was no need to fear Song Mu any longer.

But Pan Shun only laughed twice, his sparse beard quivering, and took a sip of tea before turning to Wenhao.

“Interesting. Wenhao, perhaps you don’t know—today, Song Mu cursed at the Qi family’s boy in the street and somehow summoned a surge of literary force, injuring one of the Qi family’s servants. I heard the servant was carried home and never breathed again.”

“What?!” Pan Wenhao exclaimed, then suddenly remembered something, mouth agape. “Was it Song Mu’s doing?”

“That’s right.”

Pan Shun stroked his beard, a gleam of cunning in his eyes.

“But he’s only a student,” Pan Wenhao said uneasily.

“So what? Don’t forget that Song Mu’s great-great-grandfather once served as Minister of Rites during the Grand Wen dynasty, and wrote the family into the annals. The county records still mention Song Wenrong, who rose to the rank of Grand Academician upon completing his treatise. His literary power could split mountains and seas, with a wave of his hand destroying legions of demons.

But fate was unkind to the Song family. Such a brilliant man lived only seventy years.”

Pan Shun shook his head, his gaze turning to Wenhao. “Song Mu must have deciphered his ancestor’s ancient writings. That ancient book—what a pity.”

Hearing this, Wenhao’s eyes grew cold. He whispered, “Father, last time I searched thoroughly, but I don’t know where they hid that ancient book. We even dug up every brick in the Song courtyard and searched Song Mu, but found nothing.”

“But I have a plan. When we go to the prefectural exam in a few days...”

“No need.” Pan Shun raised his hand to stop him, hesitation on his face.

“Recently, several literary lineages have been extinguished in northern Qingzhou. The Imperial Censorate claims demons are to blame, and His Majesty has ordered a thorough investigation.”

“If the Song family’s lineage is severed now, or some mishap occurs, the Ministry of Rites will surely send someone to investigate, given their ancestral prestige.”

“Besides, the instructor has already spoken with Master Xun. Song Mu carries a literatus’ literary force—everyone is looking out for him.”

Pan Wenhao grew anxious. “But Father, if I could cultivate my literary spirit with that ancient book, I’d surely win the scholar’s degree this time.”

“Father, to be a scholar at eighteen—think of it! Even if I don’t win top honors in Jizhou Prefecture, I’d certainly be among the top three.”

“Father, don’t you wish for the Pan family to be honored as well?”

Wenhao pleaded, emotion rising, kneeling by his father’s side with tears streaming down his face.

“Father, there are only three literary lineages in Shiyang County. Even with you as constable, people look down on us. If I could earn the presented scholar’s degree, that would establish a new literary line for the Pan family! We’d rise in the world!”

Pan Shun’s expression shifted as Wenhao spoke, every word striking a chord.

He himself was a licentiate, once famous in Jizhou, but his son Wenhao lacked talent. Pan Shun had spent a fortune, even humbling himself to seek guidance from the Qi and Kong families, whose lineages were well established. Only with their help did Wenhao barely pass the student exam.

Yet despite all this, Wenhao’s literary gifts were shallow. Earning the scholar’s degree seemed a distant dream.

Only the Song family had the longest literary legacy—the great monument on Shiyang’s city wall, inscribed by Song Wenrong himself, had protected the city for a century, keeping disaster at bay.

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A single grand scholar’s essay could pacify the nation and repel demons. If the ancient book, infused with Song Wenrong’s life force, could be obtained, who could measure its blessings?

Having served as constable for many years, Pan Shun was no stranger to ambition. He had long coveted the Song family’s ancient book. Now, with these thoughts stirring, his expression grew even colder.

At last, he gave a cold snort.

“Enough. I will handle this myself. You focus on your studies. Before the prefectural exam, I will find that ancient book of the Song family for you.”

“But understand this: if you fail to win the scholar’s degree, you will return, marry, and raise sons to continue our line!”

At these words, Wenhao’s face lit up with joy. He kowtowed repeatedly.

“Thank you, Father! Thank you!”

Pan Shun exhaled and leaned back, closing his eyes, lost in thought.

...

Three days later, Song Mu had nearly recovered and decided to return to class at the county school.

It was late summer now, with the prefectural exam fast approaching.

The Wen dynasty’s civil service examinations, though based on the Tang system, had been greatly reformed by Emperor Wen Taizu Li Long. Talent was now the measure for choosing the worthy and passing on the literary lineages, making the process even fairer and more just—more akin to the later Ming and Qing systems.

This year’s prefectural exam also coincided with the annual assessment, drawing all the scholars of Shiyang County to the county school. They would complete the annual review before sitting next year’s provincial exam.

Such an occasion was the perfect opportunity for students to seek advice from the scholars. Song Mu, having spent several days studying at home, knew that shutting oneself away was no substitute for learning from the experienced. He would not let this chance slip by.

Carrying the books he’d pored over these past nights, Song Mu walked slowly to the county school gate. Before he could step inside, a warm voice called out behind him.

“Brother Song, at last I see you today. Are you well?”

The speaker was a gentle-faced youth, about Song Mu’s age—the eldest grandson of the Kong family of Shiyang. Seven years ago, Kong Zong’s father, Kong Siqi, had passed the presented scholar’s exam and established their family’s literary line. The Kong and Song families had long been close.

Most of the supplements sent in recent days had come from the Kong family.

“Thank you, Brother Kong, for your care these days. I’m much better now,” Song Mu replied with a smile, bowing in return. His gaze, however, drifted to the person standing behind Kong.

It was a girl, dressed in a pale blue ruqun, her hair tied in a hanging bun. Though only thirteen or fourteen, her delicate features held a trace of pride. At that moment, a pair of clear, water-like eyes was studying Song Mu.

...