Poor but talented scholar

Chapter 46 Effort

Not long after, the old servant walked over to the ancient locust tree with a smile and waved to Lu Chuan, saying, "Chuan'er, come quickly, the teacher has warmed some tea in the study and is talking about you. He must have taken a liking to your few good lines of poetry."

Lu Chuan humbly thanked him, straightened his blue cloth shirt, and slowly entered the study.

The sandalwood incense wafted slightly inside the room. He bowed deeply, showing utmost respect: "Student Lu Chuan greets Master."

Master Zhao sat upright in his armchair, the paper with the poem written on it still on the table.

He looked up at Lu Chuan, his tone calm but with a hint of warmth: "Just now, your elders were here and praised you for your eloquence."

Lu Chuan's heart stirred slightly, thinking to himself that his uncle's quick tongue was indeed something he couldn't escape from being tested. So he bowed again and said, "Replying to the teacher, what I was thinking was just a momentary whim under the scorching sun. Seeing the birds swooping down on the gold, I was moved by the hardship of farming, so I just randomly pieced together a few lines. They are just common sayings from the countryside, not worthy of being presented in a refined manner, and I'm afraid they have offended the teacher's ears."

Master Zhao nodded slightly, secretly approving of this composed demeanor that showed no arrogance, and gestured with his hand, saying, "It's alright. I teach literature, but I value character. Please recite that original sentence for me again."

Lu Chuan composed himself, closed his eyes for a moment, as if the scorching sunlight and the fragrance of rice paddies were rushing towards him again, and then recited clearly and steadily:

"The scorching sun is like a furnace, refining grains into pure gold. Do not say that farmers suffer, for their world is full of wonders."

Master Zhao waited until the echo of his voice faded before slowly speaking, his words ringing with power and conviction:

"The beauty of this poem lies first and foremost in the word 'atmosphere.' When ordinary people write about farming, they mostly look down at the soil and sigh at the hardship of sweat dripping onto the crops. But you look up at the sky, transforming the scorching sun into a 'furnace' and the grains into 'pure gold.' The word 'refinement' is used extremely forcefully and precisely, bringing to life the mysterious workings of nature behind the harvest. Without this broad-minded perspective that overlooks the earth, one could never write such powerful lines."

He paused, his gaze growing even deeper: "Secondly, the key lies in 'comprehension.' 'Don't say the farmer suffers,' this phrase alone opens up a whole new realm. You didn't fall into the cliché of lamenting the autumn harvest and pitying the farmers, but instead saw the principle of life and growth in this parched landscape. The last line, 'Everywhere you look is the universe,' not only describes the good growth of the grain, but also that you've grasped the essence of the earth in your heart. This kind of insight transcends the petty sentimentality of ordinary children lamenting the passing of spring."

Lu Chuan listened intently, feeling that every word the master spoke pointed directly to the unspoken aspirations in his heart.

Master Zhao then changed the subject, his tone becoming more serious: "Of course, in terms of poetic rules, while the imagery of 'furnace' versus 'pure gold' is expansive, the tonal balance is still somewhat awkward, and the transitions show slight signs of forced artifice. This is because while the 'skeleton' is strong, the 'vital energy' is not yet fully developed. However, poetry is valued for its spirit, and your spirit is enough to overshadow these minor flaws."

Finally, Master Zhao put away the paper and earnestly advised, "Your ability to unearth poetic inspiration from the soil is a gift from heaven. But remember, writing poetry is like cultivating medicine: first, 'deep roots,' meaning the imagery must be grounded in reality; second, 'straight trunk,' meaning the spirit must be unyielding; and third, 'lush foliage,' meaning the language must be vibrant and lively. Read more of the style of the Han and Wei dynasties, and avoid the soft, effeminate airs of that time. Given time, your pen will surely be able to write truly earth-shattering articles."

This commentary contained both praise and criticism.

He bowed deeply, his voice clear and firm: "I will remember your teachings and live up to the tempering of this scorching furnace, as well as your guidance."

With the summer harvest holiday over, a new chapter has begun for the elementary school students at Qingyang Academy.

Master Zhao was no longer satisfied with simple memorization and couplet writing in his students' studies. He began to guide them to try a more spiritual writing skill - "essays and notes".

Master Zhao stood on the platform, holding a fine sheep's hair brush in his hand, and taught in a slow and gentle voice:

"The so-called 'short notes' are simply short sentences that you take in what you see and feel. They do not require fancy words, but rather 'truth' and 'flow.' For example, you can write 'The cicadas chirped in the afternoon, the shadows of the trees swayed, and I was restless'; or you can write 'I returned home and saw my mother sewing clothes, the lamplight flickering, and I felt her hard work.' The words should flow like a stream, with cause and effect, introduction, development, transition, and conclusion all clearly stated."

In order to teach these teenagers how to use words and construct sentences, Master Zhao set a rule: every three days, they had to submit a short note of about a hundred words.

When correcting the mistakes, Master Zhao's vermilion pen struck very hard.

He would circle every instance where the subject and verb didn't match, and every instance where the meaning of a word was unfamiliar.

In subsequent classes, he would identify these typical "grammatically incorrect sentences" and teach everyone how to straighten them out.

For these young children who were used to reciting texts while swaying their heads, it was even more grueling than harvesting rice in the fields.

To encourage learning, Master Zhao placed a "Wash Ink Board" on the blue brick wall on the east side of the school.

Any student whose notes are well-written and coherent, or whose handwriting is outstanding in calligraphy class, will have their work displayed there.

For these competitive children, this was a greater honor than a few pieces of candy.

Before long, the "Ink Washing List" practically became Lu Chuan's personal showcase.

Lu Chuan's short notes mostly describe the rustic charm of the countryside, but his choice of words is extremely precise.

While others were still writing "the peach blossoms are very red," he was already writing "their splendor is dazzling"; while others were writing "the rice is ripe," he was writing "golden fragments scattered all over the ground."

The handwriting has improved rapidly, from the initial square and neat style to now showing a hint of a strong structure and powerful strokes, making it truly unique among the crooked "crab-crawling" characters.

Master Zhao, seeing this, simply assigned Lu Chuan a task: "Chuan'er, you have already mastered the art of calligraphy. From now on, during calligraphy lessons, you can walk around the classroom and, if you see any classmates making mistakes in their finger placement or stroke order, you can offer some pointers on my behalf. Teaching and learning go hand in hand, and this will also help you cultivate your own character."

Lu Chuan respectfully accepted the order. He understood that this was a promotion from his teacher and he also wanted to take the opportunity to help his classmates.

But he underestimated the pride of these scions of noble families and mischievous children.

When Lu Chuan walked up to Sun Decai, a wealthy man from the county town, and gently reminded him that the horizontal stroke was too heavy at the end, making it look like a big lump, Sun Decai suddenly slammed down his pen, splashing ink all over Lu Chuan's sleeve.

He glanced sideways and retorted sarcastically:

"Do you think you need to teach me? You're just a peasant, you only got lucky and received a few words of praise from the teacher, and you really think you're a teacher?"

Lu Chuan wasn't annoyed; he just calmly looked at him, then turned and walked to the other side, intending to correct Liu Wencai's habit of writing the radical "辶" backwards.

Although Liu Wencai didn't curse, his face turned bright red, and he covered the paper tightly as if guarding against a thief.

Even Zhang Hu, who was usually the most playful, grabbed the inkstone like a little animal guarding its food when Lu Chuan approached to help him add some water to grind ink, his eyes full of vigilance and resentment.

In the eyes of these classmates, Lu Chuan's excellence already made them feel ashamed in front of their elders; now, his status as a "little teacher" felt more like a condescending act of charity and humiliation.

Lu Chuan remained unmoved by the looks of rejection and even hostility in their eyes.

Having lived two lives, he knows all too well how fragile the self-esteem of the weak can be.

He didn't force the issue, nor did he complain to the teacher. He maintained his gentle smile and would still offer reminders when necessary. If the other party clearly resisted, he would simply nod slightly and walk away silently.