Poor but talented scholar

Chapter 26 The Master's Investment

On this day, Master Zhao was examining the line "Clouds rise and bring rain, dew condenses into frost" from the Thousand Character Classic.

While Wang Lang was still memorizing the literal meaning of words, while Li Ji was still counting the sparrows outside the window, and while the other students only knew how to follow the teacher and sway their heads.

Lu Chuan stood up, his voice slightly immature, yet it exuded a composure beyond his years.

"Master, when I was in the countryside, I heard an old farmer say that if the frost forms too early, the late-planted crops in the field will suffer."

Lu Chuan, combining the principles taught by Confucius, explained in a soft voice: "Last year, the frost came seven days early in the village, and that mu of land yielded less than half a dou of grain. If the entire county's farmland suffered such losses, it wouldn't just be a shortfall of a few dozen taels of silver, but a matter of hundreds or even thousands of farming households going hungry."

You could hear a pin drop in the classroom.

Master Zhao's eyes lit up as he listened, and his previously furrowed brows gradually relaxed. He praised repeatedly, "Excellent! Reading the classics and observing the affairs of the world. Lu Chuan, you have put your mind to this very purpose, and you have lived up to my expectations of you."

Before get out of class ended, under the watchful eyes of everyone, Master Zhao did not leave directly as usual, but solemnly took out a stack of fine, rough-edged paper with a faint fragrance from behind his desk.

There were about twenty sheets, crisp and white, rare items that even Zhou Wencai usually wouldn't use often.

Immediately afterwards, the Master took out a well-preserved, semi-new wolf-hair calligraphy brush.

"Lu Chuan, you are single-minded and possess a worldly insight far exceeding that of ordinary people. However, 'literature conveys the Way, and handwriting is one's calling card,' so don't waste this talent. These paper and pens are for you to practice. I hope that next time I see your handwriting, it will be worthy of your talent!"

This remark was like a thunderclap in the school.

Suppressed gasps and gasps rose from the surrounding area.

Li Ji's face instantly turned ashen, and his fingernails dug fiercely into his palms. In his eyes, these things, which symbolized the Master's favor, had actually fallen into the hands of that peasant.

Lu Chuan accepted the gift with both hands, bowed deeply, and said in a calm voice, "This student thanks Master for his generous gift. I will certainly study diligently day and night to live up to Master's expectations."

During meals, the seat next to Lu Chuan was always empty; even when he played around after class, no one dared to disturb him.

This silent isolation might be seen as bullying by ordinary teenagers, but Lu Chuan was happy to accept it.

He sat alone in a corner of the dormitory, not feeling the slightest bit uncomfortable despite the exclusion from those around him.

Instead, he was unfolding the clean, rough-edged paper, his gaze focused.

Lu Chuan picked up his pen and took a deep breath.

The feel of the wolf hair brush was completely different from the brushes he usually used; it was incredibly elastic.

He steadied his wrist and tried to draw a horizontal line on the paper.

However, due to the large knuckles caused by frequent labor and the lack of muscle memory, the first stroke resembled a crawling insect struggling on the snow.

He frowned slightly, but was not discouraged.

He knew that calligraphy was something that couldn't be improved quickly.

"Firm fingers, hollow palms." He thought to himself the key points his teacher had taught him.

Instead of rushing to write complete characters, he began to break down each stroke.

Beginning stroke, middle stroke, ending stroke.

He wrote that one horizontal line a hundred times.

This monotonous and tedious repetition drew respect from passing classmates.

In the eyes of young men like Wang Lang and Li Ji, diligence is understandable, but for someone like Lu Chuan to sit for an hour, repeating the same thing a hundred times without expression or a racing heart, goes beyond the scope of diligence.

Even the classmates who originally wanted to make a few sarcastic remarks, when they passed by Lu Chuan's desk and saw the thick stack of papers covered with dense black lines, unconsciously restrained their arrogance and quickly walked away.

With the Qingming Festival approaching, the school will traditionally give students a five-day holiday to return to their hometowns for ancestral worship and spring plowing.

This was originally the most exciting time for the boys, and the schoolhouse was filled with whispers and discussions about where to go back to the village to catch fish or raid bird nests.

Lin Zhe originally wanted to ask Lu Chuan if he wanted to travel together, but when he got closer and saw Lu Chuan gently straightening his pen, he didn't dare to speak. He just nervously tugged at the hem of his clothes and turned to find the others.

While some are enjoying peace and quiet, others are grinding their teeth in the shadows.

Sitting in the back row, Li Ji watched Lu Chuan's tall, straight back, his eyes brimming with resentment. He'd been getting yelled at at home every day for the past few days.

He blamed all his grudges on Lu Chuan.

"Brother Li, are you really letting him go back to the village like this?" Zhang Fugui leaned closer, lowering his voice, a half-eaten meat bun in his hand. "I heard from my dad that this kid is highly regarded by his wife now. If he really takes the imperial examination, will we brothers still have a good life?"

"How about we..."

Li Ji abruptly interrupted him, his voice tinged with barely concealed fear and frustration. He snatched the steamed bun from Zhang Fugui's hand and threw it to the ground.

"Have you forgotten how my dad slunk away the other day? That kid is really weird." Li Ji said through gritted teeth, his face dark. "Now that he's injured, the teacher will definitely know what we did. We can't lose his student status just to vent our anger. My dad will beat me to death when we get back."

Zhang Fugui shrank back, withdrawing his hand that had been poised to provoke a fight: "So... then we'll just leave it at that?"

"What else can we do?" Li Ji sneered.

The two whispered to each other very softly, but in the quiet school dormitory at that moment, it sounded like the buzzing of flies.

Lu Chuan's ears twitched. His senses were naturally more acute than those of these pampered young masters due to his years of hard work.

He didn't turn around, but his pen paused slightly, leaving a tiny ink dot on the paper.

At the beginning of the Shen hour (3-5 PM), the school gates opened wide.

One after another, oxcarts and horse-drawn carriages were parked at the door, mostly belonging to wealthy families from the city or town who came to pick up their precious children.

Lu Chuan slung the faded bundle over his shoulder, not bothering to squeeze into the noisy crowd.

Master Zhao stood on the high steps, watching Lu Chuan's departing figure, a complex look flashing in his eyes.

Although he admired Lu Chuan's talent, he also knew that the young man was too stubborn, and in this murky world, things that are too stubborn are often easily broken.

"Lu Chuan, never forget my words: your handwriting reflects your character, and your heart must be upright." The Master's voice rang out from behind.

Lu Chuan stopped, turned around and bowed deeply: "This student will remember this and will certainly live up to Master's high expectations."

Amidst this scene of luxurious carriages and horses, a dilapidated, even somewhat shabby, oxcart stands out conspicuously.

The ox was extremely thin, with its ribs clearly visible, and the cart it pulled was covered with a layer of yellowish straw.

Lu Chuan's father, Lu Dashan, rubbed his calloused hands nervously. His patched-up short jacket was faded from washing. He stared anxiously at the door.

"Chuan'er!"

Lu Chuan had just stepped out the door when Lu Dashan spotted him with his sharp eyes.

He wanted to shout, but was afraid of disturbing the distinguished people around him, so he could only hurry forward. He originally wanted to take the bundle, but then withdrew his hand in mid-air, afraid that the mud on his hands would soil his son's school clothes.