Chapter Forty-Nine: The Headmaster’s Carelessness Cost Him His Mother

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Morning and evening, the chill of early spring still lingered in the mountains, yet by the time the two young men arrived, they were drenched in sweat. The road was dusty, and to avoid soiling their pristine academy robes, both had packed them away in their book chests, wearing old clothes on the journey instead.

Nearing the academy, they stopped at the sheltered spot where they had eaten earlier, took off their outer garments, wiped their faces with damp cloths, and changed into white round-collared robes trimmed in black, fastening them with black cloth sashes, and finally, they donned their scholar's caps with care.

Truly, as the saying goes, “Clothes make the man, as gold adorns the Buddha.” The two country lads who had moments before looked dusty and bedraggled were now transformed into refined, scholarly youths.

“After you, elder brother,” Su Dan said, stepping aside, cupping his hands respectfully before his chest and inclining his body.

“You first, dear brother,” Su Lu replied, returning the gesture. After this formal exchange, the two of them walked side by side toward the academy’s mountain gate.

~~~

According to the fifteenth academy rule, “Gatekeeping,” all students were required to rise early, and the academy gate was locked and unlocked at fixed times, which varied with the seasons. For instance, in these winter-spring months, the gate opened only during the middle of the second hour after dawn and was locked again promptly after. Day students, therefore, had only half an hour to enter; anyone late would be shut out and marked absent for the day.

The sun had not yet risen, though the sky was already brightening. Like Su Lu and Su Dan, other day students converged from all directions on the academy gate. Most were from the town of Taiping; few, like these brothers, made the trek before dawn.

Following the crowd through the entrance and across the courtyard, the two made their way to the Self-Reflection Hall inside the secondary gate.

The classroom was spacious and filled with sunlight, easily accommodating twenty desks and chairs, giving each student ample room. Each desk bore a name tag; Su Lu was just about to look for his seat when Li Qiyu pointed to a corner by the window in the back row.

“You’ll sit behind me.”

Su Lu walked over, grinning, and asked, “How did you sleep last night?”

“What do you think?” Li Qiyu pointed to the dark circles under his eyes.

“What’s wrong, not used to it?” Su Lu inquired.

“Don’t get me started. When I was awake, they mocked me with sly remarks, and after lights out, it was all burping, farting, teeth grinding, and mumbling in their sleep.” Li Qiyu grimaced. “I barely shut my eyes all night.”

“And you have the nerve to complain about others!” one of the nearby roommates snapped. “You toss and turn like a madman. I dreamed I was gnawing on pig’s trotters, thought the New Year feast wasn’t over, but when I woke up, it was your foot in my face!”

Laughter burst out among the boys.

Su Lu thought to himself that it was just as well he still slept at home. Stifling a chuckle, he set his book chest down beside his desk.

The academy provided single desks for each student. Su Lu, unfamiliar with fine furnishings, couldn’t say what kind of wood it was, only that the desk was heavy and hard, its surface smooth, the ends curling upward, and the legs splayed for a touch of elegance.

He rolled his shoulders and opened his chest to retrieve his stationery box. The clever design of it caught the attention of every boy in the class. In fact, Su Dan had envied the book chest all the way here—among students who dressed alike and ate the same food, a handsome book chest was an object of great allure.

“What a fine book chest—such a pity, though…” The Cheng brothers’ mocking voices came, as expected if a little late.

“Pity your own mother,” Su Lu said with a cheerful smile. “If you want to stay silent, nobody’s stopping you.”

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“You insulted me! You broke the rules! I’m telling the teacher!” cried the bucktoothed Cheng boy, pointing at Su Lu.

With help from the name tags, Su Lu finally matched names to faces. The bucktoothed one was Cheng Wan Fan, the one with a pimpled face was Cheng Wan Tang, and the effeminate one was Cheng Wan Zhou.

“How did you memorize the rules? Which one forbids insults?” Su Lu sneered.

“Haven’t you learned from childhood not to use vulgar village talk?” said pimple-faced Cheng Wan Tang.

“That’s a rule for young children, but we’re in secondary school now,” Su Lu replied, smiling. “And besides, when did I insult anyone?”

“You said ‘pity your own mother’—how is that not an insult?” the bucktoothed Cheng protested.

“My brother said ‘pity your mother’ out of regret that her lack of height left your own stature wanting,” Su Dan chimed in, a master in the art of retort.

“In fact, it’s you who have broken Rule Eighteen, ‘Proper Conduct’: ‘No jealousy among classmates, no forming factions or sowing discord!’” Li Qiyu added, quick to join the fray.

“You, you all…” The three Chengs were caught off guard by the combined firepower. Fair-skinned Cheng Wan Zhou snorted, “What a waste you aren’t all legal advocates.”

“How did you know my dream is to pass the scholar’s exam and become a master of litigation?” Li Qiyu laughed.

Just then, a stern voice sounded from outside: “All new students, gather at the Confucius Shrine!”

The sixty new students from the three dormitories filed out in an orderly line and assembled before the shrine dedicated to the Sage.

A stern middle-aged man, dressed in a navy round-collared robe and wearing a scholar’s cap, directed the new students in formal obeisance to Confucius.

After the rites, he led them to the Hall of Enlightenment, where they lined up by class.

Once the rows were neat, the middle-aged man barked, “Salute the Headmaster!”

“Salute the Headmaster!” the students quickly bowed. When they were told to rise, they saw a row of teachers of various ages standing on the dais.

Most were in their forties or fifties, wearing scholars’ robes with silk sashes. But the man at the head was clearly younger, dressed in a blue round-collared robe with a black sash and tall black gauze hat—the academy’s Headmaster, and the only graduate scholar in Taiping, Master Zhu Liu.

Su Lu noticed two other teachers wore round-collared robes like the Headmaster’s, but in a darker navy. Instead of tall hats, they wore scholar’s square caps. He would later learn these were Supervisory Students, their rank between scholar and graduate.

The stern-faced middle-aged man was one such Supervisor. He introduced himself, “My surname is Chen. I am the academy’s Supervisor. You may call me Supervisor Chen. All your conduct during your time here falls under my jurisdiction.”

He paused for effect, voice turning even more severe. “From now on, watch your words and actions, unless you wish to meet me in the Disciplinary Room!”

He waved his ruler menacingly, as if to reinforce the threat—indeed, it seems the world over, all deans are part wolfdog.

Supervisor Chen then reiterated the academy rules, with especial emphasis on prohibitions: no gambling, drinking, or harboring women in the dorms; no fighting, spreading rumors, or serving as someone’s pawn.

There was, in fact, no explicit rule about “vulgar village speech”—perhaps the academy hadn’t expected that even those who’d made it into Taiping Academy would still use such coarse language.

After thoroughly intimidating the students, Supervisor Chen concluded, and respectfully said, “Headmaster, please address the students.”

~~~

Once the fierce Supervisor Chen stepped back, the refined and handsome Headmaster Zhu moved forward, and the air before the Hall of Enlightenment seemed to grow gentler.

The students could finally breathe easily—yet, in the next moment, they found themselves even more stifled…

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Headmaster Zhu’s voice, resonant and magnetic, rang out: “I arrived at this academy less than half a year before you. Before retiring, the old headmaster visited me three times, wishing for me to take this post.”

“I have always been interested in this calling. A scholar’s life is either in public office or in teaching—not otherwise. The reason I hesitated was that the old headmaster and I disagreed on a certain point.”

“I asked him, ‘Is Taiping Academy here to nurture talent or to produce scholars?’ He said both. I pressed him, ‘But which is more important?’ He replied, ‘Both matter equally.’”

“I told him, ‘I do not agree. I believe our academy should devote itself wholly to the Imperial Examinations. Students toil hard to enter, with a clear goal: to become scholars. If we refuse to admit this, we are being disingenuous—how can we then claim to be true educators?’”

These words drew frowns from the older teachers; some, perhaps, quietly lamented the height of the headmaster’s mother…

“If it’s about learning morals and conduct, six years of basic schooling suffice. To keep drumming these lessons into students at the academy stage is pointless—they come here to master the exam essays!” Zhu Liu continued.

“And these essays serve only to win degrees. Fail the exams, and they are useless—a man may end up fit for nothing!”

Now the students were gaping in shock. Was this really the tone of a graduate scholar?

“That’s why I believe it is an act of mercy, not cruelty, to weed out early those with no hope of passing the exams. They and their families will suffer less. Leave school sooner, keep their minds clear, make a living more easily, and lighten the family’s burden.”

“The old headmaster pondered long, but finally agreed.” Zhu Liu raised his voice: “So I took up the post, and my first act was to announce that from this year, the ‘Three Dormitory Ranking System’ would be used to assess and advise students to withdraw!”

“You don’t have to complete a full year—if your points are certain not to reach eight, you are to go home at once. Rest assured, your tuition will be refunded for the unused months—you won’t lose a penny!” Zhu Liu declared, stunning the new students.

Taiping Academy was indeed wealthy. After Zhu Liu secured tax exemption for the academy lands from the authorities in Yongning, Luzhou, and Chishui, the rental income alone covered all teachers’ salaries and daily expenses.

Thus he could speak so forcefully, and none could object.

As he watched the students’ faces tighten in apprehension, Zhu Liu’s voice grew even gentler, as if guiding lost lambs:

“Some say my way is too harsh. No, I say again, this is true compassion. One in twenty of you earned a place at this academy—admirable, but do you know how many each class actually make it as scholars?”

“Three at most, sometimes only one. On average, two per class.” Zhu Liu raised two fingers, speaking more emphatically.

“Is it the academy’s fault, or the students’ lack of effort? Clearly not. If it were, Taiping Academy would not have its present renown—producing scholars in every class is no easy feat, especially in a poor backwater like ours!”

These words softened the old teachers’ expressions a little; their life’s work, their pride, could not be disparaged, not even by the new headmaster.

Then Zhu Liu, with the gentlest tone, spoke the harshest truth:

“The only reason is—there are always stronger contenders. Most of you must take the county exam in Hejiang. After passing, you’ll compete with students from all over Luzhou. Luzhou is a cultural stronghold in Sichuan; the scholarly spirit there rivals that of Chengdu and Chongqing!”

“Add to that the military and rural candidates like yourselves—over three thousand take each county exam, but only about fifty pass the final academy test!” Zhu Liu counted on his fingers.

“Half of those places go to Luzhou students, another quarter to those from Naxi, Jiang’an, and Hejiang. The final eleven or twelve spots go to you—children of garrisons and villages.”

“Even if all those spots went to our academy, there are sixty of you, and still, fifty would fail. And remember, it’s not just your class taking the exam—upperclassmen who failed before are trying again.” He fixed them with a penetrating gaze and asked, in a voice that rang like a bell:

“How many of you, in the end, will don the scholar’s robe? You should know the answer. Anyone who can’t even reach eight points will certainly not succeed!”

With a decisive wave of his hand, he delivered his verdict.