The early summer afternoon sun shone brightly, and the cicadas chirped incessantly.
Cheng Zi’an had a dream. He dreamed he had turned back into a little brat still in school, right in the middle of taking an exam.
To him, the contents of the exam were like a heavenly script. The test paper was filled entirely with traditional Chinese characters, and he couldn’t even recognize them all, let alone answer the questions.
A slacker’s nightmare.
In a state of panicked helplessness, Cheng Zi’an suddenly bolted upright, finally waking up and returning to reality.
Yet, reality was even more terrifying than the nightmare.
His current identity had shifted from a “rich third-generation” slacker with a family fortune to inherit into an actual seven-year-old Mengtong.
Subconsciously, Cheng Zi’an looked up at Mr. Zhou on the lecture platform.
The middle-aged, slightly plump Mr. Zhou had been reading, but he suddenly lifted his eyelids to look at him. His gaze held the clarity of one who saw through everything, coupled with the regret that “rotten wood cannot be carved.”
Cheng Zi’an understood the complexity of Mr. Zhou’s gaze.
It was all because of this body’s father, Cheng Zhen.
Cheng Zhen was a man of both talent and looks, having once placed first in the Autumn Imperial Examination to become a Juren.
In the Great Qi Dynasty, all students could be called Xiucai, but a student with an actual official degree only started from the rank of Juren.
Being a Juren was not a lifelong status either; if one failed to become a Jinshi, the title of Juren would automatically be voided. After failing the Spring Imperial Examination, one had to pass the Juren exam again to retake it.
Though Cheng Zhen had become a Juren in one stroke, his fate had been rather ill-starred.
After passing the exam, he faced the deaths of both his parents in succession. He spent six years in filial mourning, missing the Spring Imperial Examination twice.
Cheng Zhen was only twenty-five this year. Having become a Juren at nineteen, he could well be called young and promising.
Unfortunately, a tiger father produces a dog of a son.
Cheng Zi’an, the “dog son,” blocked his face with his book, utterly despondent.
The Mengtong class was a group of little brats. Some were huddled together whispering, some were dozing off, some were playing with their heads down, and some were reading seriously.
It was no different from going to school in the later generations.
Seeing the students below behaving improperly, Mr. Zhou pulled a stern face and said solemnly, “Can you all recite it yet?”
The classroom fell silent instantly. As Mr. Zhou’s gaze swept across the room, Cheng Zi’an averted his eyes, trying his best to bury himself behind his book, not daring to make eye contact.
Cheng Zi’an had only transmigrated into this brat a month ago. He had spent twenty days recovering from illness and had been back at school for less than ten days.
In addition to the Three Character Classic, the Thousand Character Classic, the Hundred Family Surnames, and the Poetry for Instruction, the Mengtong class also had subjects like arithmetic.
The lesson Mr. Zhou was teaching was the Hundred Family Surnames. Of the twenty-three students in the class, most had already begun their primary education at home.
There were even some fast learners who could fluently recite books like the Three Character Classic and the Hundred Family Surnames.
Once they entered the school, the teacher still taught from the beginning. Besides consolidation and explaining the meanings, this was also to unify the learning progress.
The original owner’s academic performance hadn’t been good either; he was a slacker just like him. Now that Cheng Zi’an was in school, his sudden lack of progress wouldn’t cause the teachers much confusion.
After Mr. Zhou’s gaze circled the room twice, he called out a name in a low voice, “Xin Jinian.”
Having escaped the ordeal, Cheng Zi’an breathed a secret sigh of relief, looking gloatingly at the unlucky fellow sitting in front of him.
Xin Jinian came from a prominent clan in Mingzhou Prefecture. Many of his clan’s sons served as officials elsewhere, yet he, like Cheng Zhen’s son, was a thorough slacker.
Xin Jinian had also been dozing. Called upon by Mr. Zhou, he stood there dazed and at a loss.
Mr. Zhou said, “‘Leng, Zi, Xin, Que.’ Continue the recitation.”
Xin Jinian stammered, unable to recite a single word for a long time.
Mr. Zhou frowned deeply and called on Fang Yin to answer instead.
Fang Yin was a top student in the Mengtong class and was often praised by the teachers. He stood up and, living up to expectations, recited fluently, “‘Na, Jian, Rao, Kong…’”
Mr. Zhou’s gaze softened, and he nodded with satisfaction. “Good, you may sit.”
Then, he said indifferently to Xin Jinian, “You sit down as well.”
Although he wasn’t scolded, when Xin Jinian respectfully complied and sat down, Cheng Zi’an heard a heavy thud from the stool.
Cheng Zi’an hurried to flip his book open and found his own surname to read: “‘Cheng, Ji, Xing, Hua; Pei, Lu, Rong, Weng.’”
If Mr. Zhou had called on him to recite and he couldn’t even recite the line containing his own surname, he might have his palms lashed with the Teaching Ruler.
Cheng Zi’an hadn’t been lashed yet, but his neighbor, Zhang Qi, had.
The Teaching Ruler, made from two blocks of elm wood joined together, had been polished to a glossy sheen by the teacher’s constant use. Although the teacher had held back his strength, one strike had turned Zhang Qi’s chubby palm bright red on the spot, and the boy had cried until bubbles came out of his nose.
Since he was reading, he decided to be magnanimous and read the preceding and following lines as well.
After Mr. Zhou had finished calling names, the sound of reading in the classroom finally grew louder.
Cheng Zi’an mimicked them, swaying his head as he read. Before long, he could no longer resist his drowsiness and swayed himself back to sleep.
In his hazy slumber, the sounds in the classroom gradually changed, like spring rain pitter-pattering on leaves.
Cheng Zi’an woke up in an instant, quickly becoming spirited.
Class was over.
Mr. Zhou walked out of the classroom with his books tucked under his arm. The Mengtong students immediately abandoned the classroom rules, gathering in groups of twos and threes to laugh and play.
Zhang Qi had also woken up. He let out a yawn and hurriedly called to Cheng Zi’an, “Let’s go out and catch green-shelled bugs.”
Mingzhou Prefecture was wealthy with a strong academic atmosphere; its prefectural school boasted many famous scholars and was renowned throughout the Great Qi Dynasty.
The Mingzhou Prefectural School was built on the scenic Mount Siming. At this time of year, the mountain flowers were brilliant and the trees provided deep shade.
The older students couldn’t be bothered to play with this group of Mengtong, so the children amused themselves, their favorite activity being catching green-shelled bugs.
If you tied a thin string to a green-shelled bug’s leg and shook it, it would whir its wings, creating a breeze just like a fan. It was extremely fun.
As a formerly wealthy playboy, what hadn’t Cheng Zi’an played with? He didn’t care for catching bugs with little brats.
But the end of class was for playing; not playing was a shameful waste.
There wasn’t much to play with in this era, so Cheng Zi’an quickly said, “Wait for me to go to the straw-house first.”
Zhang Qi felt the urge too. He hopped forward and bumped his head against Cheng Zi’an, giggling, “I’ll go too, otherwise I’ll have to hold it when class starts.”
After relieving themselves, the two walked out of the Mengtong courtyard together and headed toward the woods.
Soon, other classmates arrived. A group of seven and eight-year-old boys sent the birds in the woods fluttering away in alarm.
The green-shelled bugs were nearly hunted to extinction by them. Even the bug-catching expert Zhang Qi returned empty-handed, grumbling unhappily, “So many people came that the bugs were all scared away. How annoying.”
Cheng Zi’an followed behind indifferently, purely to pass the time. Just then, he heard Xin Jinian’s mocking voice coming from the woods, “Ooh, a stink bug!”
Fang Yin’s voice rose, filled with shock and anger. “What are you doing? Careful, or I’ll tell the teacher!”
Zhang Qi also heard the commotion. He craned his neck to look and, seeing a bunch of classmates gathered together, hurriedly said, “What’s happening? Let’s go see.”
Cheng Zi’an was curious too. He walked over with Zhang Qi and saw Xin Jinian pulling at Fang Yin’s clothes with his right hand, his left hand balled into a fist, making a move to shove it down Fang Yin’s collar.
Xin Jinian was usually a bully in class. It seemed he had been outdone by Fang Yin during the recitation and, harboring resentment, was taking the opportunity to bully him.
The students in the class were divided into three types: those like Fang Yin, who came from poor backgrounds but were exceptionally bright; those like Cheng Zi’an and Zhang Qi, whose families had some property and influence in Mingzhou; and those like Xin Jinian, who belonged to prominent clans with prestige in Mingzhou and throughout Great Qi.
These different types of students were clearly demarcated from one another.
Zhang Qi’s eyes flickered. Wary of the Xin family’s power, he pulled Cheng Zi’an to leave. “Class is about to start. Let’s head back.”
Though the Mengtong were small, their parents and elders had already warned them never to provoke certain people. They watched with varying expressions, standing by as spectators.
Several teachers and the headmaster of the prefectural school were from the Xin clan, and others had intricate ties through marriage or other connections.
Although Xin Jinian’s father was not an official, he came from the main branch of the Xin clan and was still not to be trifled with.
“A magistrate can break a family, and a prefect can exterminate a clan.” Cheng Zi’an knew well the power of authority. He didn’t plan to interfere and started to leave with Zhang Qi.
A stink bug smelled horrific, let alone having one stuffed down one’s back.
Fang Yin was wearing a cloth shirt that had been washed until it was faded. His face was whiter than his clothes, his lips tightly pressed as he twisted and resisted.
Xin Jinian was well-fed, as round and sturdy as a little bull. Dressed in a bright red silk robe, he was arrogant and refused to let go.
Fang Yin was half a head shorter than him. His coarse cloth shirt wasn’t sturdy; the threads were pulled thin, and his thin back could be faintly seen.
The prefectural school recruited poor students, but being poor wasn’t the only requirement. While studying at the school, brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones were all provided by the school.
Those seen as likely to pass the Spring Imperial Examination would naturally receive food and money from people as an early investment.
Fang Yin had only just begun his primary education. His path was still long, and he hadn’t yet caught the eye of any patrons.
When Cheng Zi’an was sick, carriages from wealthy families often arrived at his home, bringing precious supplements to visit the sick.
Of course, they weren’t visiting him, but rather Cheng Zhen, who had finished his mourning period and would be going to the capital for the Spring Imperial Examination the year after next.
Speaking of which, Fang Yin and Cheng Zi’an actually had a connection.
Fang Yin came from the village next to Cheng Zi’an’s. The teacher of his village’s private school had approached Cheng Zhen, who then recommended him to the prefectural school.
Because of this connection, Fang Yin’s father had also come to visit the sick. The Fang family had only two mu of poor land; after paying taxes, they could barely afford to eat. They truly had nothing to offer, so they had caught the old hen kept at home for laying eggs to supplement their income.
Cheng Zhen kept the hen but gave a bolt of fine blue cloth in return. A bolt of fine cloth was far more valuable than a single hen, yet not as conspicuous as the silk worn by wealthy families.
For instance, Cheng Zi’an wore fine cloth, and the buns on his head were also wrapped in it.
It seemed that with so much farm work to do, Fang Yin’s mother hadn’t had time to turn the fine cloth into a new shirt for him yet.
As Cheng Zi’an turned away, he saw a flash of tears in Fang Yin’s eyes under the sunlight filtering through the trees.
Bullying, huh?
“Mr. Zhou!” Cheng Zi’an pointed randomly ahead and shouted.
Students feared their teachers. Xin Jinian let go of Fang Yin in a flash, threw away the stink bug in his hand, and pretended to be calm, looking left and right.
Where was there any sign of Mr. Zhou?
Cheng Zi’an pulled Zhang Qi and ran forward, saying as he ran, “Hurry up! Mr. Zhou has already gone to the classroom. If we’re late, we’ll get scolded again.”
Seeing them run, everyone followed in a swarm, their short legs moving as fast as they could.
Xin Jinian glared sullenly at Fang Yin, ran to the stream to wash his hands, and then returned to the Mengtong courtyard.
Having been saved, Fang Yin wiped away his tears and tried to smooth his crumpled cloth shirt. The stitching under the armpit was already precarious, and he didn’t dare use force, for one pull would tear a large hole.
Seeing that everyone had left, Fang Yin could only give up and dejectedly hurried back.
Mr. Zhou, as usual, had arrived early. Everyone greeted him at the door and sat down properly in their seats.
Once everyone was seated and had finished their greetings, Mr. Zhou picked up the exam papers in his hand and said, “During the exam, there is to be no whispering and no cheating. Anyone caught will be severely punished without exception.”
Cheng Zi’an’s eyes widened instantly.
Dammit!
There’s an exam?
Since when was there an exam?