Volume One: Morning as a Country Lad Chapter 21: Listening to Chu Liu Tell Stories

Innkeeper Niu forcefully shook off Jin Buhuan’s hand and shouted angrily, “I walk with integrity and act uprightly—why should I go see the authorities with you?”

“Fellow villagers, please be the judge. This is merely a mythological tale, yet Manager Jin insists on taking it personally. Isn’t that twisting words and forcing logic? How very much like the Jin Buhuan in the story!”

“And besides, Jin Buhuan in the tale knew magic; he was a disciple of the eminent monk Fahai, stirring wind and rain around Jinshan Temple. And what are you, really? Still trying to ride the coattails of a monk’s disciple? Best go home and hammer iron, where you belong…”

“Hahahahaha…”

The crowd burst into laughter. Jin Buhuan turned purple with rage, flung his sleeves, and stormed off.

“Don’t be angry, Manager Jin—I didn’t even know his name was Jin Buhuan.”

“Sir, do you think Jin Buhuan can turn over a new leaf?”

“Buy a ticket tomorrow and you’ll find out.”

“You money-grubber!”

Another wave of laughter erupted, and the bookstall at the teahouse dispersed.

…

This was retribution from Chuxiu.

He wrote an extra episode to the Legend of the White Snake, with Jin Buhuan as the prototype.

After Xie Fifteen returned home, Chuxiu talked with him about his past at Ironwork Pavilion and discovered that his elder brother bore severe psychological scars.

Chuxiu helped ease his brother’s trauma through conversation.

During their talk, Fifteen revealed that there were many apprentices like him; Jin Buhuan and Jin Ruizhe treated them all the same.

They had never intended to teach any trade; they just wanted free labor.

Chuxiu decided to make this public.

He had already finished “Flooding Jinshan Temple,” the fourth volume of the Legend of the White Snake. Then he wrote “Madame White Snake Rooting Out Evil at Jinshan Temple,” along with a notice.

During the New Year, he asked his father to drive him to pay respects to Su Laibao, and took the opportunity to conspire with Su Laibao about this plan.

Su Laibao offered a twenty-tael silver dividend, but Chuxiu refused a single coin.

He said the silver would serve as expenses.

…

This child was truly inscrutable; twenty taels of silver was no small sum, yet he gave it away without a second thought.

Su Laibao pushed the silver forward, saying, “What’s given is given—I won’t take it back. I promise to handle this cleanly, provided you write four more such short storybooks for free.”

“Deal!” Chuxiu agreed readily. “Make it six volumes!”

Su Laibao nodded and added, “Chuxiu, you can make money from writing stories, but remember not to let manuscripts fill your mind and neglect the classics. The imperial exams and officialdom are the true path—never forget your original purpose.”

Chuxiu replied with sincere earnestness, “Uncle Su, writing stories is just a pastime. It won’t affect my studies.”

To prove it, he even recited a long passage from the Analects.

Su Laibao knew that Chuxiu’s storytelling hadn’t interfered with his schooling and nodded. “On the Lantern Festival, go visit Master Wen with Su Biao. Don’t underestimate him—though he’s still a student, he’s more learned than many scholars. If you study well with him, you’ll have a bright future.”

“Uncle Su, I’ll remember your words!”

…

On the Lantern Festival, Doumiao drove the donkey cart early and took Chuxiu to the entrance of Fengle Village. After a short wait, Su Laibao sent someone to bring Su Biao and Su Wei.

At the door of Wen Lancang’s home, the three boys carried gifts inside while Doumiao and the driver waited at the village gate.

The three respectfully bowed their heads to the master.

Wen Lancang was delighted, repeatedly saying, “No need for such formalities, no need—you’re not officially my disciples. I’m only substituting as your teacher…”

He said this, but his face shone with pleasure.

Living alone, his days passed in reading and simple meals. Life was monotonous but fulfilling.

Wen Lancang gave each boy two copper coins as a New Year token, then seated them on stools and placed some snacks—twisted crullers and dates—on the table.

“Did you let your studies slide this winter? Su Biao, you answer.”

Wen Lancang never strayed from learning; his every word turned to study, for apart from reading and teaching, he knew little else.

“Master, I’ve been reviewing and have copied out the Thousand Character Classic from memory.”

“Very good. And you, Su Wei?”

“Master, I did the same.”

Wen Lancang then turned to Chuxiu.

“Master, I can recite the Three Character Classic, the Hundred Family Surnames, and the Thousand Character Classic from memory. I heard we’ll be studying the Analects when school resumes, so I’ve done some previewing. And since we’ll later learn to compose poetry, I bought a book called A Detailed Guide to Poetic Forms. There are some things I don’t understand—when classes start again, I’ll need your guidance…”

Chuxiu smiled lightly. “I also bought a commentary on the Analects. Whenever I was confused, I’d check the book. That way, I managed to memorize things more or less.”

Wen Lancang quizzed him on various passages from the Analects, and Chuxiu answered each perfectly, without a single error.

“Next term you’ll study the Four Books, starting with the Great Learning. Make sure you get the textbooks.”

Su Biao asked doubtfully, “Aren’t we supposed to start with the Analects?”

His father had told him to study the Analects first and already bought the book.

“Other teachers start with the Analects, but I think that’s a mistake.”

Whenever the talk turned to scholarship, Wen Lancang became a different man, radiating confidence.

“In my view, a scholar must first read the Great Learning to establish structure; then the Analects to set the foundation; next, Mencius, to understand its depth; and finally, the Doctrine of the Mean, to seek the ancient sages’ subtlety…”

He gave many examples and expounded at length, leaving the three children thoroughly bewildered.

“Su Biao, what are you looking forward to in the new term?”

Look forward to? Studying was exhausting—he’d much rather listen to Chuxiu’s stories… That’s it!

“Master, I’m most looking forward to school starting, because then I can hear Chuxiu tell stories again.”

“Su Biao, what do you mean by that?”

Su Biao’s eyes sparkled. “Master, you have no idea—Chuxiu is an amazing storyteller…”

Su Wei was a quiet child and didn’t say a word.

But he was devoted to snacks; without realizing it, three crullers had already vanished from the plate into his belly.