Two copies of The Analects flew past Shen Jianglin's face, yet no one inside stood up to offer even a greeting. Shen Jianglin walked in and took a look, feeling that this was hardly a school—it could not even compare to a vegetable market.
The school was in complete uproar. Several half-grown boys were chasing each other, shouting and shoving, while some of the slightly older ones had their heads pressed together, poring over an illustrated booklet with great relish. There was even a child about Shen Jianglin's age who had jumped straight onto a desk, rolled a book into a tube and clutched it in his hand, gesturing wildly as he recounted what he had seen and heard during the New Year. Below him, two other children urgently called out, "And then? Did they fight or not?"
The chaos inside was beyond description, but not a single person was studying.
Shen Jianglin found his own desk from the original body's memories and walked over. A few people noticed him, but they merely glanced his way before returning to their own business. No one came over to talk to him.
Shen Jianglin was somewhat out of place in this school.
Logically speaking, he should have been the highest-status person among all the students here. His elder brother Shen Jiangyun had never attended school here; instead, through the connections of Madam Wei's natal family, a renowned teacher had been hired to instruct him privately. Without Shen Jiangyun, Shen Jianglin, as the son born of a concubine in the Rong'an Marquis household, was naturally somewhat more noble than those from collateral branches.
It was just that the original body had a solitary, dull-witted nature and was extremely stubborn. He looked down on the collateral relatives who depended on the Rong'an Marquis household, and could not get along with anyone. In the entire school, he did not have a single friend.
Fortunately, perhaps the families of those children had all given them warnings, so no one was foolish enough to bully the original body. It was just that the original body had mediocre talent in academics and seemed to exist like an invisible person in this school, silently coming and silently going every day.
Shen Jianglin surveyed his surroundings. Apart from the noisy students, this school was actually a large open space formed by knocking three rooms together. On the front wall hung a portrait of Confucius, and beneath the portrait was a long table with an incense burner for offerings.
In front of the incense table was another square desk, on which were placed some books and a long ruler for punishment. Behind the desk was a round-backed armchair, clearly meant for the teacher.
By now, almost all the students in the school had arrived. The desks were arranged six to a row, extending backward. Perhaps because of Shen Jianglin's status, his seat was arranged right in the center of the front row. Of the fifty-eight students, most were between eight and twelve years old, and the oldest was no more than fifteen or sixteen.
The children who came here to study were basically all connected to the Shen family by blood or marriage. Some families simply wanted their children to learn a few characters—at the very least, they needed to be able to read contracts and documents. If they went into small business later, they would not be cheated. Of course, the most important thing was that the school provided one meal a day. As the saying goes, half-grown boys eat their fathers into poverty—this also saved the family some food.
Therefore, Shen clan children who had reached the right age would all come to the school to study for a few years.
There were also some who genuinely wanted to let their children try and see if they could make something of themselves through study. In today's world, "all pursuits are lowly, only reading is exalted." If one could succeed in studies, would that not be a leap to the heavens?
So this could be considered an initial screening for the Shen family's children. Those who could be screened out would later be taught by specially selected renowned teachers, while those who couldn't would just muddle through three or four years at the school, and once they grew up, they would go out to work.
Shen Jianglin didn't quite understand what the Shen family's head was thinking, having the original body also study at the Clan School. Was it to let their own child take the lead? Or did they think the original body wasn't cut out for it, so they simply gave up and let things fall apart?
Setting other things aside, with this kind of study environment and this kind of teaching resources—although the Shen family was already on the decline, a starved camel was still bigger than a horse; were they really unwilling to invest even this little in the children's education?
Over the past dozen years or so, the furthest anyone from the Shen Clan School had gotten was stopping at the Xiucai academic title. As for advancing further to become a Juren, there had not been a single one to this day.
Talent was dwindling, and scholarship was not strictly managed—this was presumably another reason for the Shen family's decline.
Shen Jianglin remembered that the teacher about to arrive was surnamed Zhang, already over fifty years old, and had been sitting as the resident teacher at the Shen Clan School for eight years. He received fifty taels of silver from the Shen family each year, lived in the small residence behind the school hall, had three meals a day included, and managed so many children under him.
It was just that this Mr. Zhang was an old pedant who quoted from books all day long and only made the children memorize by rote. As long as they did not act up in front of him, Mr. Zhang did not bother with them either; he simply taught according to his own pace and was done once he had lectured.
If they made too much of a fuss and disturbed Mr. Zhang's teaching, then he would directly take out the disciplinary ruler and fiercely strike their palms. Several times he had beaten the palms of two mischievous little monkeys until they were raw, frightening everyone so much that no one dared to act up in front of Mr. Zhang.
So when everyone heard someone say it was time for class, they all quieted down, quickly ran to their seats, opened their textbooks, and pretended to read.
But after waiting for a quarter of an hour, there was still no sign of anyone coming. Some people began looking out the window, and some began whispering to one another.
Shen Jianglin lowered his head, opened the book, and with great interest began reading The Great Learning. It had been a long time since he had read these Confucian classics. Now, savoring them again, his state of mind had changed, and there was a different flavor to it.
Shen Jianglin propped his chin on his hand and read. Suddenly, he felt the noise around him stop. He looked up and saw a young man of about twenty years old walk in wearing a Confucian robe and cotton-padded coat, with a square headwrap.
Bringing a chill in with him as he entered the room, his cotton-padded coat was somewhat old too, but it could not conceal this person's bearing: imposing and dignified, with a broad and open countenance.
But he was clearly not Mr. Zhang.
"Everyone, Mr. Zhang is unwell and asked me to come substitute for a few days."
The newcomer introduced himself concisely. His surname was Meng, and everyone could call him Mr. Meng. He was also of Xiucai origin. Coming here to teach some children who had just begun their elementary education was naturally no problem for him.
When the students below heard that he was only a temporary teacher substituting for a few days, especially since the newly arrived teacher looked very young, their minds immediately became restless. They all exchanged glances and winks, very unruly.
Meng Zhao acted as if he had not seen it and merely continued teaching according to Mr. Zhang's pace.
This group of students had just finished studying the "Three Hundred Thousand" (Classical Text), and a number of them had already been weeded out. Those who only wanted to learn a few characters, or who were older and needed to go out to work, had already left the school. The ones who remained were children whose families hoped they would become successful, or those with some natural talent, still studying.
Mr. Zhang instructed Meng Zhao to begin teaching from the Four Books.
Among the Four Books, the first to be read was the Great Learning. Meng Zhao then led the students in reading it aloud.
Beneath the droning sound of reading, many were actually nodding off. The Great Learning consists of 1,747 characters in total, filled with phrases like "The way of the great learning lies in manifesting virtue," "Things have their roots and branches, affairs have their end and beginning. To know what comes first and what comes last is to be near the Way," and "Therefore, few in the world are those who can love what they hate and hate what they love"—all obscure and difficult words and principles.
For students who had just completed their elementary education, these words and phrases were far too abstract. Several of them stared at their books as they read, but as they read on, they began to yawn, so sleepy that tears welled in their eyes. They secretly lowered their heads and wiped them away with their sleeves before they felt better.
Meng Zhao also felt that for these children, jumping straight into the Four Books was too big a leap. Logically, there should be a transition first—at the very least, elementary readers like A Thousand Poems by a Thousand Poets and Precious Mirror of the Heart could be taught in greater depth. However, when assigning the teaching content, Mr. Zhang had excluded all of these, believing that after completing elementary education and learning to read and recognize characters, the proper path was to study the Four Books and Five Classics. Everything else was a "crooked" path and must not be touched too much, lest it warp the students' temperaments.
Meng Zhao, entrusted by another, was loyal to the task, and could only teach according to Mr. Zhang's wishes.
Shen Jianglin, however, found some interest in it.
In his modern life, he had enjoyed reading ancient texts in his spare time and studying poetry and painting, including having done considerable research on the thoughts of the ancients. He had of course read the Great Learning long ago—not as an examination text to memorize, but he had carefully studied it.
Now, having someone from this era explain it to him, he quickly realized that this Mr. Meng was a man of considerable ability. Although he was not skilled at explaining texts in simple, accessible language, this man's thoughts leaped about, he spoke in elegant phrases, and he could effortlessly cite all manner of classical allusions and sources. He was far superior to Mr. Zhang, who, as far as Shen Jianglin remembered, could only show off by quoting from books.
Some listened with rapt attention; others fidgeted constantly.
Shen Wanjie, bored out of his mind, was thinking about where to go play after school let out. As he swayed his head back and forth, his gaze happened to meet that of Guo Baocheng, who had gotten into a fight with him just a few days ago. Then Guo Baocheng rolled his eyes upward, giving him a contemptuous glare!
Shen Wanjie was instantly furious!
That bastard Guo Baocheng! A drag-along who had come to the Shen family when his mother married in, and now that he was at the Shen family school, he actually had the nerve to act smug!
This was beyond bearing. Children have no notion of such nonsense as "a gentleman's revenge is never too late"—not even ten years. Right then and there, he crumpled a piece of paper into a ball, and seizing the moment when Mr. Meng turned his head, he hurled it straight at Guo Baocheng's head.
The paper ball flew over Guo Baocheng's head and kept going forward. Smack—the paper ball hit the ground, and Mr. Meng, struck on the back, whipped his head around. He glanced at the paper ball on the ground, his face darkening as he asked, "Who threw that?"
Not a single student below responded. Even if some had seen that it was Shen Wanjie who threw it, at a time like this, for the sake of "brotherly loyalty," they would not step forward—otherwise, what kind of person would that make them?
Although Mr. Meng did not know who had actually thrown it, he knew from which direction it had come. He directly rapped his knuckles on Shen Jianglin's desk, making everyone in that row stand up.
"Whoever threw it, stand up yourself," Mr. Meng said, his tone not heavy, but everyone knew this matter could not be settled easily.
Shen Wanjie stood right in the middle, head lowered, not making a sound.
Meng Zhao gave a cold laugh, then said loudly, "It seems you all learned what I just taught, which is why you have the leisure to throw paper balls. Very well, since no one will stand up, then recite the passage I just taught. Those who can recite it are fine. Those who cannot will copy The Great Learning five times and hand it in tomorrow."
Meng Zhao strolled to the last row. There were ten people in this row, and upon hearing this, their expressions all changed, but Shen Wanjie's fists were not easy to deal with either. Shen Wanjie was fourteen years old and had considerable prestige in the school, so in the end no one dared to say anything.
Meng Zhao walked past the last row one by one, yet not a single person could recite it. At most, one or two managed the first two or three sentences before getting stuck. In their hearts they sighed deeply, feeling that this Teacher Meng was deliberately making things difficult. How could anyone recite what had just been taught today? They also secretly resented Shen Wanjie—why could he not just stand up himself? Did he have to drag everyone down with him before he would stop?
Meng Zhao naturally knew no one could recite it. That was exactly the effect he wanted. If you do not have the courage to take responsibility for what you have done, then see how others view you. At the same time, knowing the truth and not reporting it is shielding and complicity in a legal case, and in officialdom it makes one an accomplice, so naturally a price must be paid.
As for copying The Great Learning five times, once school let out they could start copying, and by the time the lamps were lit they would be done. It would also conveniently reinforce the knowledge learned today and practice their handwriting.
Very good.
When Meng Zhao reached the very front and stood before Shen Jianglin, he signaled Shen Jianglin to begin reciting.
Shen Jianglin sat at the very front. Like Meng Zhao, he truly did not know who had pulled the trick. But being made to copy The Great Learning five times was also something he was unwilling to do—copying merely for the sake of copying. If he wanted to practice handwriting, he could copy famous calligraphy models; if he wanted to study, he could read the various philosophers again. There was really no need to waste time on this.
He ran the entire ideological structure of The Great Learning through his mind. Just as Meng Zhao was about to continue, "You will also copy it five times tonight," he heard Shen Jianglin begin to recite.
"The way of the great learning lies in manifesting bright virtue, in renewing the people, and in resting in the highest good. Knowing where to rest, one then has stability…"
Meng Zhao had thought this student would at most finish the first and second paragraphs. In fact, that was all he required—although he had summarized the entire Great Learning today, he had only explained two paragraphs in detail.
But after Shen Jianglin finished those two paragraphs, he kept going, all the way to the final sentence of the whole text.
"…This is what is meant by a state not taking profit as profit, but taking righteousness as profit."
Shen Jianglin recited freely and at length for the time it takes to burn a stick of incense. The youth's voice was clear and resonant, like a clear spring flowing over stones—clean and distinct, with rises and falls in orderly measure. Just listening to him recite was a kind of enjoyment.
So when Shen Jianglin finished, every student in the school, including Meng Zhao, could not immediately come back to their senses for a moment. In the whole school, one could hear a pin drop.