A village school stood nestled amid mountains and waters. A nearby stream murmured along, its waters splashing against stones, with clumps of calamus growing lush and green.
Chen Ping'an's true body lay in a wicker chair, holding a palm-leaf fan as he rested with his eyes closed.
The Dao came when daytime clouds had dispersed; spring lingered as the stream flowed through the blue night.
Zhao Shu Xia stopped practicing his stance-walking and sat on a bamboo chair beneath the eaves.
Zhao Shu Xia glanced at his master, lying there and waving his fan, and for no reason recalled something Mr. Zhu had once said: "The span of one's life is uneven, and does not rest with Heaven alone. Cultivate yourself and nurture your nature, and you may live long."
Chen Ping'an still had his eyes closed. "If you want to laugh, laugh. No need to hold it in. But let's make this clear first: don't let today's matter reach Luopo Mountain, especially not Little Millet."
Zhao Shu Xia nodded, his face full of smiles, but he ultimately did not laugh aloud. He was giving his master a little face.
The more he thought about it, the more amusing it seemed. After all, this had happened to his master. No matter how honest and simple Zhao Shu Xia's temperament was, he could not help wanting to laugh.
Earlier that day, the mother of one of the young pupils had come over. She was clearly a shrewish woman. The moment she reached the doorway, she raised her voice and called for her child to come home with her. He would not be studying here anymore.
When his master asked why, the woman ignored him entirely and merely kept shouting her child's pet name. The young pupil stood up timidly, seemingly embarrassed