On the first Ding day of February, when regional officials presided over ceremonies honoring Confucius at government schools, private academies in Hangzhou also began opening their doors one after another.
After completing his official duties, Su Shi specially prepared two generous tuition gifts and brought Yuan Niang and Chen Ge’er to visit Song Laoxiucai, a learned scholar preparing to open an academy at Lingyin Temple.
Having achieved fame in his youth for extraordinary talent, and currently serving as Vice Prefect of Hangzhou with astute judgment that earned him local admiration, Su Shi was revered by all educated people in the Wu region. Song Laoxiucai was overjoyed by Su Shi’s personal visit and readily accepted Yuan Niang and Chen Ge’er as students.
Chao Yun and Fu Shuang had earlier crafted an exquisite three-layer deerskin satchel for Yuan Niang, embroidered with plum blossoms and orchids. One compartment held paper and felt, another contained brushes, ink, and an inkstone, while the third stored sweets and pastries. The satchel strap even had a hook for an octagonal sachet, making it particularly beautiful.
Chen Ge’er glanced at it and posed a soul-searching question: “Why does my bookbag only have two layers?” No snack compartment!
Su Mai patted his shoulder and said, “Yuan Niang is starting school earlier because of you – she’s still young for elementary education. Look after her at school. Don’t steal her snacks, and don’t let others take them either.”
Assuming a mature demeanor, Chen Ge’er readily agreed. His page Huanmo patted his own bag and said, “Erlang’s snacks are with me. You can ask me for them during breaks.”
With everything prepared, Huanmo and Fu Shuang saw the two children onto the carriage.
Fine snowflakes fell whisper-soft, dampening clothes upon contact.
After about the time needed to drink a cup of tea, they reached the school. Yuan Niang and Chen Ge’er ducked under the blue canopy umbrella held by their page and waddled roundly indoors.
The classroom was fairly spacious – twenty-two feet across and thirty feet deep – occupying a single room that had previously served as the old Zen master’s lecture hall at Lingyin Temple. Since the master’s passing last December, the space had been vacant, making it convenient for the temple’s novices to let Song Laoxiucai use it this spring, providing additional temple income.
In the prosperous Qiantang region with its strong scholarly traditions, finding students posed no difficulty, especially since Song Laoxiucai had previously taught in Hangzhou with excellent reputation.
Thus the spacious room was packed with young beginners, mostly eight or nine years old, making Yuan Niang among the youngest.
Arriving somewhat late, they found few empty seats remaining except for connected spaces in the back row by the window. She pulled Chen Ge’er to sit there, neatly placing her satchel on the desk.
Unexpectedly, all eyes turned toward them as they entered. A yellow-clad boy in the front row even twisted halfway around to grin at them, revealing a gap in his teeth, though this didn’t hinder his curiosity. His eyes sparkled as he asked Chen Ge’er: “Are you Su Zi’s descendants?”
Chen Ge’er nodded silently.
“What’s your name?” the yellow-clad boy asked eagerly.
“Su Yu,” Chen Ge’er replied curtly. He wasn’t in a talkative mood today, having originally intended to keep a low profile at school. Yet the moment he stepped into the classroom, he became the center of attention, making him tense. With his father’s renowned reputation spanning the world, wasn’t he obliged to top every exam to live up to being Su Shi’s son?! The thought alone was exhausting—he still wanted to be mischievous and lazy sometimes.
The boy in yellow introduced himself, “I’m Chen Yunjian. You can call me Seventeenth Lad.”
Chen Ge’er nodded, then carefully unpacked his books, brushes, and inkstone, arranging them neatly on his desk.
The yellow-clad boy then asked Yuan Niang for her name. After they exchanged names, he suddenly declared, “My father said that when I grow up, I can study under Su Zi and pursue scholarship alongside him.”
Yuan Niang found his features somewhat familiar, as if she had seen him somewhere before, but she couldn’t quite place him no matter how hard she tried.
Chen Ge’er leaned close to her ear and whispered, “He’s the youngest son of Prefect Chen.”
Yuan Niang suddenly understood.
Just as Chen Yunjian was about to say more, Song Laoxiucai burst through the door clutching a book and a ruler. Chen Yunjian quickly turned around and sat up straight, his posture impeccable.
Song Laoxiucai placed the book on the lectern and scanned the room with a sharp gaze. The previously chaotic classroom, buzzing like a boiling pot, fell silent instantly.
Yuan Niang looked up and saw a middle-aged Confucian scholar standing by the lectern. He wore a faded blue Lanshan robe, its cuffs frayed and beginning to split at the seams, revealing his humble circumstances.
His face was lean and elongated, with a dark, reddish complexion resembling a shriveled jujube. At this moment, his stern expression carried an intimidating air, clearly marking him as a strict disciplinarian.
Yuan Niang felt a twinge of nervousness but consoled herself—she wasn’t even seven years old yet. How strict could the teacher possibly be with someone her age?
Her fingers traced the cover of the “Thousand Character Classic” before she opened to the first page. Joining the other children, she began reciting: “Heaven and Earth, dark and yellow; the universe, vast and chaotic; sun and moon, waxing and waning; stars and constellations, spread across the sky…”
Suddenly, the classroom fell silent. Yuan Niang glanced up and met the old scholar’s intense stare, his brows tightly furrowed. Then she heard him say, “Pay attention. Do not let your mind wander.”
Heavens! How unfair! She truly hadn’t been distracted—her focus on studying had been absolute!
Chen Ge’er secretly tugged at the hem of her robe under the desk and whispered, “Sway your head.”
What? Why did everyone have to sway their heads while reciting? She tried it tentatively—how strange! Her neck felt as stiff as a puppet’s!
Song Laoxiucai was still watching her. Instantly, she broke into a nervous sweat and began swaying her head belatedly, making her stand out awkwardly among the crowd.
Song Laoxiucai let out a soft sigh and said, “Lin Puyuan, recite the first twenty lines of the ‘Thousand Character Classic.'”
Yuan Niang rose to her feet.
This shouldn’t have been difficult. Although her previous school hadn’t taught this text, she was quite familiar with the opening passages of the “Thousand Character Classic.” Back in high school, her class had alternated between reciting it and Liang Qichao’s “Young China” during morning assemblies to boost morale. Repeating it so many times had naturally committed it to memory.
So reciting the Thousand Character Classic wasn’t difficult for her. She dutifully recited the first twenty lines of the text.
After listening, Song Laoxiucai nodded and said, “Very good, you may sit down. Pay close attention during lessons and don’t disgrace Su Zi’s reputation.”
When had she not been paying attention?! She just couldn’t master that swaying-head style of reading…
During the break, Song Laoxiucai strolled over to Yuan Niang and said, “Although you’re naturally bright, you must still devote yourself to studying. Only then will you live up to Su Zi’s earnest expectations for you.”
Yuan Niang blinked but didn’t argue.
Outside the window, the snow fell increasingly thick and fast. Some older children stood at the doorway admiring the snow, deliberately reciting snow poems loudly to catch Song Laoxiucai’s attention.
Though this was just an elementary school, most children from well-off families already recognized many characters. Some had even begun studying rhymes and memorizing anthologies of ancient poets’ works.
Suddenly, Song Laoxiucai looked at Yuan Niang and said, “It’s said that Su Zi could compose poetry at seven years old. Since you’re Su Zi’s disciple, you must possess exceptional talent as well. The spring snow outside is quite lovely – why don’t you compose a poem about snow?”
Yuan Niang stared in stunned silence. Why was she suddenly being asked to compose poetry? She didn’t know how!! Excluding kindergarten, she had received sixteen years of education, but none of those stages had taught poetry composition! Help!!
Her eyes met Chen Ge’er’s, only to find him watching her with keen interest. Wiping sweat in frustration, she thought – when had he become a traitor??! Wasn’t he the one who hated poetry most? Why did he look so expectant?!
Looking up, she suddenly realized everyone’s eyes were fixed on her – some examining, some curious, some admiring, some expectant, and some jealous. They all wanted to see what kind of talent had earned the title of Su Zi’s first disciple.
Yuan Niang fiddled with her dress ribbons as her mind raced through snow poems from after the Northern Song dynasty. Damn it! If she’d known this would happen, she wouldn’t have memorized the Three Hundred Tang Poems back then, but rather selected poems from the Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties instead. Then she wouldn’t be in such difficulty now.
The classroom suddenly fell so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
Yuan Niang’s little brain kept turning but couldn’t come up with any snow poems.
Suddenly, she had an inspiration – she remembered there was a “Primary School Poetry Anthology” available for exchange in her system. Quick as lightning, she clicked the exchange button and searched for the keyword “snow.” Sure enough, several snow poems popped up. After excluding those from the Northern Song and earlier dynasties, only one poem remained. Seeing the author was Zheng Banqiao from the Qing dynasty, it was like receiving a pillow when drowsy – this was the one!!
After brief consideration, Yuan Niang gazed at the swirling snow outside and recited: “One flake, two flakes, three four flakes.”
The classroom grew eerily quiet. Though this opening seemed ordinary, many masterpieces had begun similarly. Song Laoxiucai stroked his beard and said, “Continue.”
Yuan Niang went on: “Five six seven eight nine ten flakes.”
The students began whispering, with someone even deliberately raising their voice to say, “What kind of poem is this? I can count numbers too!”
Song Laoxiucai scanned the classroom, his gaze effectively suppressing the growing discussion.
Chen Ge’er looked serious as he quickly wrote several lines on paper, then subtly slid the paper toward Yuan Niang.
Addressing this obvious cheating attempt, Song Laoxiucai lightly coughed and mercilessly confiscated the paper before Yuan Niang could even glance at it.
“Continue,” said Song Laoxiucai.
“Thousands flakes, tens of thousands flakes, countless flakes,” Yuan Niang could only brazen it out.
As soon as the words fell, the entire hall erupted in uproarious laughter. Chen Yunjian even turned his head mischievously and exclaimed loudly, “Oh no! You’ve already counted countless pieces, and there’s still one more line to go—how will you ever tally them all?”
Yuan Niang’s face flushed crimson with embarrassment. She felt she had completely disgraced her master. From now on, whenever people mentioned Su Zizhan, they would recall that he had a disciple who was shallow in learning, unstudied, and ignorant of poetic rules!
Other things might be tolerable, but her master was Su Zizhan!
Overwhelmed with shame, Yuan Niang felt she had nowhere to hide. The more she thought about it, the more humiliated she became; the more she dwelled on it, the more aggrieved she felt—until finally, with a loud “Waaah!”, she burst into tears. Shouting the line “They fly into the plum blossoms and vanish from sight,” she grabbed her book bag and ran off!
She could no longer bear to stay there another moment!