Lu Chen finished his wine and casually tossed the empty wine flask out the window into the stream. It drifted away, destined, barring any mishap, to be retrieved by some discerning new River God downstream, a treasure to be added to his collection.

“You, Gao Niang, are wine buddies with that young Hidden Official, and I, I’m a Daoist companion of Chen Ping’an. That makes us, in a way, friends who just haven’t met yet. This little trinket that can refine water essence? Just a small token of my esteem.”

He turned to Ning Ji with a smile, “Our Master Chen is about to begin his lessons. Come with me outside the schoolhouse and take a look at some interesting things.”

Under the eaves of the schoolhouse hung a string of bells, a long rope dangling down, the end about the height of Chen Ping’an’s outstretched arm. Lu, ever the mischievous Headmaster, reached out to pull the rope and ring the bells, but Ning Ji stopped him. Lu Chen chuckled, “They won’t hear it but you and I.” Seeing the boy’s insistence, Lu relented, leading the boy to another object and asking if he knew what it was. Ning Ji admitted he didn’t, so Lu Chen began to explain. It turned out that Chen Ping’an had personally built a crude sundial outside the schoolhouse, engraved with the twelve earthly branches, using the shadow of the sun to tell the time. Twelve two-hour periods in a day, each divided into eight quarters.

But on cloudy or rainy days, it was impossible to use it to tell the time. So Chen Ping’an had asked Zhao Shuxia to give him a shout at certain key points in the day as a reminder.

Lu Chen extended a finger, pressed it against the shadow on the sundial, and began to move it. The shadow rapidly shifted with the Headmaster’s finger.

Ning Ji subconsciously turned to look towards the schoolhouse. Inside, the scene looked like the pages of a book flipping by quickly. Only when Lu Chen withdrew his finger did the scene freeze, everything returning to normal.

Then Lu Chen entered Chen Ping’an’s room. Ning Ji, though curious, only stood at the doorway. Unable to stop the Headmaster Lu, the boy could at least suppress his own curiosity.

Lu Chen looked at the stacks of books on the table, at least half of which were the first drafts penned by Chen Ping’an himself, and smiled knowingly. It seemed Chen Ping’an, in this village school, was using more than just the *Three Character Classic*, the *Thousand Character Classic*, and the *Dragon Patterned Whip*, those common primers used in schools down the mountain.

Walking through the long river of time, the youth swimming within remained blissfully unaware, showing no sign of dizziness.

From this it could be seen that the fortitude of Ning Ji’s soul, contained within this mortal shell, was exceptionally remarkable.

Lu Chen walked out of the room, flicked his wrist, and in his palm appeared a miniature sundial. He handed it to Ning Ji, “From now on, you control the flow of time.”

Ning Ji shook his head.

Lu Chen laughed. “Ning Ji, remember this principle: whether you have something and whether you use it are two different things, as different as Heaven and Earth.”

Ning Ji hesitated for a moment, then thanked the Headmaster Lu. The boy carefully took the sundial, finding it lighter than he had expected.

Then Ning Ji asked, “Headmaster Lu, can you make the hours pass more slowly, or even go backwards?”

Lu Chen inwardly praised the boy for being so quick to grasp the possibilities. He nodded, his expression nonchalant, “Of course. It’s just a trivial skill that any celestial on the mountain would know. Nothing worth mentioning. You really don’t need to admire my abilities.”

The boy clicked his tongue in wonder. Were all immortals on the mountain so incredibly powerful?

Lu Chen was filled with malicious glee. Since he wasn’t likely to take the boy as his personal disciple, he might as well trick him a little. Someday, when the boy found out that Chen Ping’an couldn’t even control a small section of the river of time, the look on his face would be priceless. Lu Chen found the thought of that scene amusing, exhilarating, absolutely delightful!

Inside the schoolhouse, the fingernails of some of the children were caked with dirt.

Others came from poor families, their young hands already calloused. Some were barefoot, while others, slightly better off, wore new shoes to their first day of school.

Some were naturally restless, as if they couldn’t sit still for a moment, constantly fidgeting or bothering the student next to them.

Standing at the door, Ning Ji was a little hesitant to enter the school.

Lu Chen stood to one side, one leg propped up on the windowsill, bending over to stretch.

Ning Ji asked in a low voice, “Why doesn’t Daoist Wu use his real name?”

He still couldn’t bring himself to speak in a normal voice. The boy was afraid of disturbing Daoist Wu’s lesson.

Lu Chen chuckled, “It’s not a good habit, not righteous enough. In the martial world, people always say, ‘I never change my name or my title.’ As a friend, I should really advise Chen Ping’an about it.”

“Wu Di, sounds like ‘invincible.’ The origin of that pseudonym comes from when he and a good friend visited the Locking Cloud Sect, a relatively established sect in the Northern Ju Continent. At the foot of their mountain, he decided on a whim to call himself Chen Haoren (Chen Good Man), Daoist name ‘Invincible,’ saying that he liked to walk a straight path, and wanted the Locking Cloud Sect to move their ancestral mountain that was blocking his way. Listen to that! If you were a gatekeeper of the Locking Cloud Sect, wouldn’t you want to punch someone for saying such nonsense?”

Ning Ji said, “Daoist Wu always has his reasons for doing things.”

Lu Chen smiled knowingly. “Coincidentally, his friend was called Liu Jinglong, who he promptly declared his disciple and changed his name to Liu Daoli (Liu Reason). No Daoist name yet, just Liu Reason. A Chen Good Man who will always believe that good deeds are rewarded, and a Liu Reason who is extremely patient and believes that you can always reason with people if you try hard enough. If you grasp the essence, it’s just a good man who can explain good principles well. So, in that way, it’s indeed a beautiful aspiration.”

Ning Ji said, “Headmaster Lu, when you travel, do you use a pseudonym?”

Lu Chen intertwined his fingers and raised them high above his head, repeatedly bending from side to side as he stretched. He chuckled, “I prefer to use my real name when I’m out and about, but most people just hear it and forget about it. Even if they know there’s someone in the world called ‘Lu Chen,’ they probably wouldn’t take it seriously. Some people, when they hear it, if I don’t want them to think too much, they won’t be able to make the connection to the White Jade Capital or Headmaster Lu. The remaining few peak cultivators are mostly old friends, so I don’t bother hiding my identity from them.”

“As for the origin of Chen Ji…”

Lu Chen pointed to the weeping willows in the distance, “Look, every year when winter turns to spring, the new willow branches are turned out; the old scenery is familiar. Chen Ji, traces of the past, of what has been lost, carries a sense of sorrow and remembrance. Life is like a millstone, step by step treading old paths, going, going, never to return, so much hardship, so much pain.”
Speaking of which, Lu Chen was smug, his eyes narrowed in a smile. “As you read more in the future, you’ll discover something interesting. To be precise, the term ‘Chenji’ (traces of the past) actually originated in my ‘Tianyun Pian’ (Essay on the Heavenly Dao). Ningji, I’m not boasting, but in the last six thousand years, across several celestial domains, no matter who it is, or what their Dao lineage is, as long as they have some scholarly knowledge, when they write books and establish doctrines, the person they mention the most in their books, if someone were to compile a list, I dare say that while I might not be at the very top, I’d definitely be in the top three. Even Buddhist koans often quote my words to deliver profound insights.”

Having said that, Lu Chen patted his belly and said, “Nothing is more important than food! Are you hungry?”

Ningji was about to shake his head, but his stomach betrayed him with a loud rumble, as if Lu Daoshi’s reminder had made the boy aware of his hunger.

Lu Chen retracted his legs and scurried over to the mud-brick kitchen, which also served as a storage shed and the place where the martial artist Zhao Shuxia slept on the floor. He began to busy himself and soon made two large bowls of wontons. After handing one to Ningji, Lu Chen sat on the kitchen threshold, a blue porcelain wine jug filled with last year’s Yangmei (Chinese bayberry) liquor placed at his feet. As he ate the wontons and sipped his wine, Lu Chen’s cheeks were bulging. He gently tapped the rim of his bowl with his chopsticks and asked with a smile, “Ningji, do you think reading can fill your stomach?”

The boy squatted beside him, holding a bowl in one hand and chopsticks in the other. Upon hearing Lu Daoshi’s question, he quickly swallowed the wonton in his mouth and said, “Now that the world is better, with a skill, I believe one can always have enough to eat and wear.”

Lu Chen ate with great speed, devouring the wontons. He picked up the last one from the bowl and laughed, “In the past, in your Bao Ping Continent, there was a very powerful cultivator, a sword cultivator with a pure Dao heart, called Li Tuanjing. He had an interesting saying, that the reason cultivators are treated like lords on the mountains is because Heaven is feeding them, and cultivators are simply the largest bowls. The food in the bowl is just wontons transformed into spiritual Qi. If Heaven had started with a different method, like whoever weaves the best straw sandals, whose craftsmanship is the highest, that person would be the lord, then it would be a different world.”

Ningji asked in confusion, “Why are you telling me these grand principles, Lu Daoshi?”

Lu Chen drank the remaining soup in his bowl, let out a satisfied burp, placed the empty bowl beside his feet, rested the chopsticks on top, picked up the jug of Yangmei wine, and took a large gulp of the strong liquor. The Daoist shivered for a moment and then laughed, “We always do too much and think too little. We eat too much, and then we have nothing to do. So, in my master’s eyes, what is a Daoist? It is simply ‘having a surplus to offer to the world.'”

Ningji tentatively asked, “Is it like when I’m hungry but have nothing, and Lu Daoshi is kind enough to make me a bowl of wontons?”

Lu Chen exclaimed in surprise, “Is this young man so enlightened?”

Ningji hesitated for a moment. “But the ingredients and the kitchen all belong to Wu Daoshi.”

Lu Chen suddenly burst into loud laughter and finally managed to restrain his mirth. He tilted his head, finished the Yangmei wine in one gulp, and then turned to wink at the boy. “Then, what do you think I did between you being hungry and being full?”

Ningji subconsciously glanced at the empty bowl at Lu Daoshi’s feet, the chopsticks resting on it, and then looked at the bowl and chopsticks in his own hands. The boy shook his head, feeling that the answer in his heart was ultimately wrong.

“Lending money is like giving alms, collecting debts is like begging.”

Lu Chen smiled and said, “It has always been so.”

Ningji didn’t think much about it, as he couldn’t understand it anyway. He simply gathered Lu Daoshi’s bowl and chopsticks, went into the kitchen, cleaned them, and then placed them back in the cabinet and bamboo holder, respectively.

Lu Chen folded his hands in his sleeves and turned to stare at the figure in green robes near the schoolhouse.

The schoolhouse started classes promptly at Chen Shi Zhong (around 8 AM) every day. The early morning lesson was reciting, which lasted for two quarters of an hour, considered a review of what they learned.

Children who were late would be punished, standing in the classroom against the wall. After multiple times, they would be caned, receiving three strokes of the ruler. Those who were playful, forgetful, or didn’t finish their homework had a desk and stool prepared specifically for them in the back, where they could make up their work before returning to their seats.

The seats in the schoolhouse were divided into three rows based on age: six to eight years old, eight to ten years old, and above ten years old.

There were more than a dozen children, each with their own desk and stool. Because there weren’t many students, it didn’t feel crowded.

Chen Ping’an sat on a chair, facing the children, seemingly closing his eyes to rest, but actually carefully listening to the different reading voices of the three rows of children.

Lu Chen asked with a smile, “Ningji, do you know what ‘shusheng langlang’ (clear and melodious reading sound) means?”

The boy shook his head.

“Readers, readers, reading naturally means reading out loud, one word at a time.”

Lu Chen leaned against the window sill, folded his hands in his sleeves, and explained with a smile, “The original meaning is the sound of metal striking stone, with a quality like the chime of a jade instrument and a sound like a solitary tung tree. Later generations felt that this reduplicative word had a beautiful meaning, so it was used to describe a pleasant reading sound, and that’s what it is now.”

Chen Ping’an would impart lessons of varying degrees to the three different age groups.

For example, yesterday’s lessons, today’s morning recitation. When a child felt that they had memorized it well, they could raise their hand. Chen Ping’an would then ask them to come to his side and check them. If the content was accurate, and they passed, he would ask the child to explain the rough meaning of the passage they had recited. At that moment, it was as if the roles of teacher and student were reversed.

If they explained it fluently and generally correctly, Chen Ping’an would nod and let the child return to their seat. If the child only recited accurately, but the meaning was still not accurate enough, or the content was missing, Chen Ping’an would help to correct them, fill in the gaps, and then let the child go back to continue memorizing.

Lu Chen, who had been refraining from disturbing Ningji’s viewing of the scenes of time these past few days, finally reminded him, “Ningji, don’t underestimate the step of the children re-explaining, that is the essence of teaching and learning for both sides. Whether the students will be able to succeed in their careers in the future, or even innovate and create their own doctrines to replace the sages, it all lies in this.”

The teacher imparts knowledge, the children recite, and then the reversed roles of re-explaining, the student explains, the teacher listens.

There is a sequence to this, a specific order. This is knowing what it is, knowing why it is, and knowing the order of things, which is close to the Dao.
Ning Ji inquired, “Patriarch Lu, do you also hold lectures at White Jade City?”

Lu Chen chuckled, “Too lazy, only occasionally. White Jade City, with its five cities and twelve towers, has too many intelligent individuals, almost none are dullards. It is precisely for this reason that I am unwilling to impart knowledge.”

When it comes to the breadth and depth of knowledge, in the past ten thousand years of humanity, the number of individuals who could compare can be counted on one’s fingers. Everyone else paled in comparison, the difference being a gulf as wide as Lu Chen himself.

Ning Ji didn’t dwell on it, simply assuming that Patriarch Lu felt those “celestials” of White Jade City were too intelligent to need lectures.

The truth was quite the opposite. As Lu Chen once jested with Chen Ping’an, Cui Dongshan’s sleeve was named “Beat the Dullards,” while his sleeve belonged to “Beat the Intelligent All Over the World.”

Once the morning recitations were finished, the day’s formal lessons commenced.

Chen Ping’an first led the young students in reading “new texts,” lasting roughly half an hour. The three rows of students read different content, arranged by age, from youngest to oldest. Chen Ping’an instructed each row in sequence.

The other two rows of students could read their own books, or study their “new texts” on their own, but were cautioned to keep their voices down. “Read a hundred times, and the meaning will reveal itself.”

Of course, they could also listen to the teacher’s lectures. For instance, children of six or seven, if interested, could listen to the teacher’s explanation of the new texts assigned to students ten and older.

Generally speaking, in rural villages, families didn’t have high expectations for their children’s education. They simply hoped their children would learn enough characters to do simple arithmetic, keep accounts, and write a few couplets for the New Year. Thus, most tutors followed a set curriculum, having the children read and recite, and learn to write. The tutors would explain each character and sentence, one by one. In better-equipped schools, the teacher would begin by teaching the students how to hold the brush and position their wrists, helping them guide their hand as they practiced calligraphy. There were specially printed books and calligraphic models for tracing and copying. After some time, the students could write independently. The teacher would then impart brush techniques. Besides the Confucian classics officially recognized by the Confucian Temple and the imperial court, students would also read ancient prose. At this stage, they could begin learning composition. In rural areas, conditions were rudimentary. Even for calligraphy practice, they had to make do. They often used charcoal pencils or stones similar to loess to write on thin, medium-sized blue stone slates, easy to erase and reuse. Or they might use wooden sandboxes filled with fine sand collected from streams, using twigs or bamboo sections as pens.

Here, however, each desk had a bamboo pen holder, filled with thin bamboo pens. The desk drawers contained square wooden sandboxes.

There was also a palm-sized, thick booklet with a peculiar title: “The Unequivocal Characters.” Chen Ping’an had painstakingly sifted through the “Three Hundred Character Classic” and other primers, selecting and compiling over three thousand characters. Each character was presented with several pieces of information: a bold, regular script character, pronunciation in fine, small script, meaning, and several common phrases using the character.

Ning Ji coveted the “The Unequivocal Characters.” Ever perceptive, Lu Chen granted the book to the boy, adding it to the sundial already in his possession.

The youth asked, “Must we recognize all these characters before leaving the school?”

Lu Chen smiled, “Of course. Once you know three or four thousand characters, what book can you not read?”

The youth asked again, “Is that achievable?”

Lu Chen said, “You certainly can. As for this school, any diligent child who begins their studies at six and continues for five or six years can master them. As for those who are unwilling to study, or those truly unsuited for academics, it’s hard to say.”

The youth hesitated, about to speak.

That “day” after school, Teacher Chen ate with the young man named Zhao Shuxia. Zhao Shuxia helped Ning Ji voice a lingering doubt.

What about those students who just couldn’t grasp their studies?

Teacher Chen smiled, offering an answer. Studying was bitter, seeking knowledge was difficult, but even a thousand difficulties could not compare to the bitterness and difficulty of “effort.”

In their early years of study, as long as they learned the meaning of effort, they would gain true essence, true skill. In whatever profession they pursued afterward, they would have a special skill. But if they abandoned effort in their formative years, when all their peers were enduring hardships, what would they not find difficult upon leaving the school? Not everyone, but most people, would easily resort to self-doubt when encountering difficulties, becoming lazy and unwilling to persevere, giving up early. That would truly make everything difficult to begin.

At the dinner table, Chen Ping’an suddenly asked, “Zhao Shuxia, do you think the ability to exert effort is also a kind of talent?”

Zhao Shuxia thought seriously for a moment, but still couldn’t offer an answer. He merely said, “Human natures are similar, it is practice that sets them apart?”

Chen Ping’an smiled and nodded, “A lax teacher breeds lazy students. From tomorrow on, the paddle must strike harder.”

Zhao Shuxia, after some hesitation, said, “Those few girls in the school occasionally forget their lessons. I haven’t seen Master punish them in any way, not even a ruler.”

They were simply made to stand at the back as punishment, their eyes filled with tears. When Master saw them, he would immediately soften, finding a compromise, making them recite a few lines from some passage, usually something extremely easy. Once they passed the test, he would let them return to their seats.

Chen Ping’an glared, “They are girls, after all. Besides, as you said, they only occasionally forget their lessons. Can they be compared to those mischievous boys who raise hell?”

Zhao Shuxia fell silent, realizing he’d just made a casual remark, and yet Master had become so agitated.

After reading “new texts,” they would then review “familiar texts.”

Since Chen Ping’an was teaching three different age groups of children separately, it took about half an hour.

As a starting point for children’s learning, Chen Ping’an, in addition to teaching the Four Books and Five Classics in a rather rigid, orthodox, and strictly sequential manner, also presented passages from several classics and books that he had carefully selected and found to be inherently rational. His teaching principle was naturally to take the purest writings of ancient sages, read widely and select judiciously. Therefore, these sentences or passages did not need to be taught in such a strict order. They were relatively easy to understand.

In addition, there was the “Classic of Filial Piety.”

During the review of familiar texts, Chen Ping’an would also make brief, pointed extensions based on certain sentences, emphasizing the basic etiquette of being a child and treating others.

“Reason is easily empty, but ritual is substantial.”
Lu Chen sat at the table against the back wall, hands behind his head, and smiled, “Of all virtues, filial piety is paramount. Ning Ji, have you noticed that many local ruffians and vagabonds, no matter how much they fight and kill outside, either become like mice when they see their fathers at home, or no matter how infamous they are, they dare not bear the name of being unfilial? And some children who were especially mischievous when they were studying will still be respectful when they meet their former teachers on the road after they grow up, and may even be willing to pinch their noses and brace themselves to be scolded.”

Ning Ji, on the other hand, usually sat upright on a bench, like a young student auditing a class, listening attentively to Master Chen’s lectures.

Ning Ji asked doubtfully, “Headmaster Lu, isn’t this very different from the curriculum that Master Chen originally arranged?”

Previously, Headmaster Lu had shown him a paper detailing the course schedule, and many places differed from the actual learning plan that was currently being implemented.

Lu Chen smiled, “He overturned it himself. To be precise, Chen Ping An is preparing to slow down for a while, probably feeling that teaching like this from the beginning is too difficult, and the young students won’t be able to keep up. If they’re not careful, they’ll easily lose interest in reading. Although going to school and reading is inherently a difficult thing, if a teacher can make young students feel less bored at the beginning of their studies, that’s certainly better.”

Lu Chen turned his wrist and brought a book from the drawer of Chen Ping An’s desk, handing it to Ning Ji, “See if there’s anything different.”

Ning Ji opened the pages of this school textbook and found that in the blank spaces above, many small annotations were written next to the words. The content of the annotations was several times greater than the textbook itself.

Lu Chen smiled, “This is the book that Chen Ping An uses for teaching. The young students will never know the teacher’s thoughts and efforts.”

Ning Ji asked curiously, “Are all the teachers in the world like this?”

Lu Chen said, “Their thoughts and ideas are probably similar, but the time spent varies, and the effort put in varies in depth.”

Lu Chen shook his sleeves and dropped a stack of papers, handing them to the boy, “This is the ‘Shuowen Jiezi’ of Master Xu, the sage of calligraphy from Zhaoling, who is more worthy than the sages of the Wen Temple. These scattered pages have not yet been compiled into a book, and are truly manuscript versions, not even the so-called base versions that were later printed. You can keep them. You don’t need to return them. You don’t need to ask for my opinion on how to dispose of them in the future. It’s all up to you, whether you keep them or give them away. Don’t be pretentious and think you’re not worthy of receiving something for nothing. We met by chance, and I think we’ll definitely meet again in the future.”

Except for reading new books and reviewing familiar books, the difference was not great, only the book list had been changed, but the “lecturing” item on the paper was directly deleted by Master Chen, who wrote “put aside” in red ink beside it.

And the subsequent “reading,” for example, the earliest curriculum formulated by Master Chen was to read a certain “Zizhi Tongjian Kao Yi,” “Guan Sheng Lu,” and “Wenci Yangzheng Juyu,” three pages each per week. “Zhu Zi Xiaoxue,” one page per day, etc. Moreover, Master Chen had changed the number in this column several times with red ink, constantly crossing out and rewriting on the side, more than once, but in the end, Master Chen still replaced it with simpler and more superficial books, and added an illustrated book, of course, also from Master Chen’s manuscript, drawing various mountains, rivers, and hundreds of skills, etc., supplemented by text, with both pictures and text.

Speaking only of this book, the previous pages are mostly content closely related to rural villages and secular life, such as spring plowing, farming seasons, grains, and various trees and fish, etc.

At the same time, the calligraphy class, which was the last item every morning, was also greatly changed. For example, the earliest plan was that children of different ages would write “ten characters of ancient monument inscriptions every day,” “three to five characters from the ‘Shuowen Jiezi’ chapter, and roughly explain phonology and exegesis during the teaching of characters,” and “‘Xiaojing’ or ‘Huangting Jing’ should be written in regular script with thick strokes in large characters, writing two pages.”