"Heaven's decree is called nature; following nature is called the Dao; cultivating the Dao is called teaching. The Dao cannot be left for even an instant. If it could be left, it would not be the Dao."
"Therefore, the gentleman is watchful and wary of what he does not see, and fearful of what he does not hear. Nothing is more visible than what is hidden; nothing more apparent than what is subtle. Thus, the gentleman is cautious when alone."
On the edge of Zhongzhou, where mountains and rivers enclosed the land, the clear, sonorous sound of reading could faintly be heard. Follow it a few dozen paces, and one would find bamboo groves casting shadows over winding covered walkways, with a bamboo hall standing among them. Inside, several dozen young pupils recited the classics of the sages, nodding their heads as they read, utterly absorbed.
A man in a green shirt, dressed in scholar's robes and around forty years old, sat at the front. He listened as the children recited in their childish voices. After they had repeated the passages several times, he broke down their meaning and explained it carefully to the young pupils.
The sun had climbed high when a zither sounded in the rear courtyard of the bamboo garden. Only then did the green-shirted teacher stop lecturing. With a smile, he brought the day's lesson to a close and assigned them some homework.
The children scattered in a clamor.
Some began playing, while others chatted about their plans for the holidays.
Among them were quite a few children dressed in fine silk, from well-off households. The teacher, his hair bound with a wooden hairpin, turned his gaze toward one side of the bamboo grove. Sure enough, he spotted a green bamboo stalk as thick as a wrist trembling slightly. Smiling, he rose and went over.
There was no one by the window. Instead, a plump rabbit hung from the green bamboo, six feet above the ground. The teacher reached out and gave it a feel. It was fat and heavy in his hand. Winter was drawing near, and rabbits grew plump to make it through the cold. Cooked until the fat sizzled and served with winter bamboo shoots, they made an excellent meal.
The zither music gradually ceased, and approaching footsteps drew near. From behind him came his wife's voice:
"Was it that boy again?"
"Qi WuHuo?"
The green-shirted teacher gave a quiet affirmative and lifted his head. He could still just make out the silhouette of a youth heading from the little bamboo hall halfway up the mountain toward the town below. He wore an ordinary short jacket of light brown cloth. His back looked unremarkable, save for how straight he held himself.
Wind and snow were beginning to stir. Amid the wintry gale and snow-covered mountain, the youth walked farther and farther away.
The woman had been born into a wealthy family, but life's trials had made her somewhat stern and sharp-tongued. She pressed her lips together, showing a rare hint of weakness. "Why go to such lengths? You've already let him sit in on the lessons, yet he won't accept your kindness. His life is modest enough, but he still insists on bringing you these things."
She paused, then sounded regretful. "Could he still resent how poorly I treated him back then?"
The man in the green shirt chuckled and reassured her. "That isn't the sort of person he is."
"I did ask him why he wouldn't come in. At first, I thought it was just a child's pride getting in the way. I was proud of my learning, and I'd once served as an assistant magistrate, handling more than a hundred cases. Surely I could persuade a mere child. But in the end, I couldn't. Instead, he left me at a loss."
He paused.
His wife gave him a doubtful look. "What did the boy say?"
The man in the green shirt stroked his beard.
"He said that among all things, the problem isn't scarcity, but inequality, and that fairness must be upheld."
"I've accepted tuition from all those children's families before letting them enter the school. Some households aren't very well off; they scrape together every last coin to send their children to study. If I let him in out of pity, those families might well have some complaints."
"It would also harm my reputation."
"He said that if he learned to read and write from me, but did so at my expense and to his own benefit, that would be unacceptable."
"These things, then, are his tuition."
His wife was astonished. "The problem isn't scarcity, but inequality... How could a little boy from a small town say such a thing?"
The man in the green shirt replied, "It's true. But he's also terribly stubborn."
"I asked around among the townsfolk. He isn't from here."
"Five years ago, Jinzhou suffered a disaster, and he came here with the refugees. Life is hard. People will do anything to survive. Someone who can remain so upright and steadfast, yet still loves learning, is a rare sight."
He hesitated, then took his wife's hand and spoke gently. "Madam, I plan to have the students compete after the New Year. If he truly has talent, I'll take him as my disciple and recommend him for the imperial examinations one day. We shouldn't let someone like him languish in the mountains. What do you think?"
His wife rolled her eyes at him. "Recommending the talented is the duty of a scholar like you. If he truly has talent, then failing to recommend him would be your dereliction. I'd also be willing to contact my relatives and find him a suitable match."
The green-robed Scholar was overjoyed. He swept his wife into his arms. For now, that is where we'll leave them.
The youth left the school, silently reciting that day's lessons in his heart and reviewing the characters' written forms and meanings. Before he knew it, he had entered the mountains. The wind and snow had not been heavy; it seemed snow had fallen elsewhere on the mountains and been carried here by the wind. Now it had gradually stopped.
When he was young, his hometown had suffered a terrible disaster. Not a single crop had been harvested, and plague and demons ran rampant. His parents had given him the last of their food, and that was how he had barely survived. Mixed in with the refugees, he had fled here. Fortunately, the locals had taken them in, giving him somewhere to settle.
Without parents or elders to look after him, he might have fallen in with the local ruffians and ne'er-do-wells. But ever since he was young, strange things had appeared in his dreams every night. In that dream-world, iron birds soared into the sky, people came and went everywhere, and towering buildings crowded the cities. There were also many square-shaped written characters.
He had forgotten much of what he saw in his dreams, but he still remembered many things.
Especially those square-shaped characters.
"Learning must never cease."
"A scholar must be broad-minded and resolute, for his burden is heavy and his road long."
He seemed to hear voices reciting these words. He always felt that what they meant was of great importance to him, and so he firmly believed in the principles they expressed.
The weather was cold today, and the mountain might soon be blocked by heavy snow. He needed to gather more firewood to get through the winter ahead. With his basket on his back, Qi WuHuo climbed the mountain step by step, sometimes picking up fallen pinecones along the way. He was lucky; he had gathered a full basket a quarter-hour earlier than usual. It should be enough to see him through this coming snowfall, so he slowly turned back.
But at some point, night mist had risen in the mountains.
Qi WuHuo was only mortal flesh and blood, and could not sense it. Yet his spirit was different from an ordinary person's, and he detected something amiss. Frowning slightly, he gripped a long, straight branch and slowly made his way downhill. An ordinary mortal would have descended without noticing anything, but his spirit was several times stronger. By a stroke of misfortune, he had wandered onto a different path.
When he looked back, the way he had come was gone.
He had walked little more than a hundred paces when he suddenly heard a desolate voice, keeping time as it sang aloud. The voice was old yet clear, like metal striking metal, but with the pure resonance of jade—never harsh to the ear.
There were many strange things in Zhongzhou. In winter, insects appeared, bright as candle flames.
They spun and vanished, then suddenly appeared right before him.
Qi WuHuo's steps faltered. Unwittingly, he had entered a deep valley. He did not know that insects and birds had gathered around him, that a tiger watched with lowered eyes in the night mist, or that countless beasts and spirits were all there. He heard only the ever-clearer verse, its rhythm beaten out by a hand as a long, ringing song rose into the air.
"Not a speck of dust from the mortal world touches me; my hall is filled with those who study immortality."
"My clothes always bear the hues of mist and sunset; my staff and sandals accompany me, a body at home amid clouds and streams."
"My iron flute plays across the moonlit sea; my sleeves gather all the spring of the grotto-heavens."
"Now guests from every quarter have gathered here. Let us see who among them is Dongbin."
"Ah?"
"A guest has arrived!"
"Little guest, come forward and speak with me."
Before you continue