◎The Wisdom of Being Human◎
Passing the Xiang Examination with high honors was, after all, a cause for celebration. Chen Yan hadn’t touched brush and ink these past few days, either resting in the inner residence, idly flipping through books when bored, or attending literary gatherings, visiting relatives and friends, and writing letters to his mentor.
Ping’an had also been quite exhausted during this period, and as the weather grew colder day by day, he lingered in bed every morning, reluctant to get up.
This day, A Man forcibly dragged him out of bed, saying there was excitement outside and all the idle folks from the clan had gone to see.
The Southern Chen Family had many idle members, all gathered at the southern end of the small bridge. A Man pulled Ping’an and Xiao Fulu through the crowd, only to find that the County Yamen had sent workers to erect a large memorial archway at the bridgehead. It was brand new, standing opposite the Northern Chen Family’s archway.
Once the archway was completed, county officials standing on tall ladders unveiled the red silk covering the plaque. Firecrackers crackled, gongs and drums roared, dragons and lions danced together, and the onlookers erupted in thunderous applause.
The archway had four pillars and three gates, with the characters “Jie Yuan” written in bold, elegant strokes, its ridge soaring skyward—truly magnificent beyond words!
In the following days, the Southern Chen clansmen walked with their heads held high. Though the Northern Chen Family had produced several Provincial Graduates and even one Presented Scholar, so what? They never had a Jie Yuan, did they? That was the top candidate in the entire province, no less impressive than the descent of Kui Xing.
It wasn’t until someone, too busy holding their head high to watch their step, slipped and fell, ending up with a bruised and swollen face, that things gradually returned to normal.
Human joys and sorrows are not interconnected. Ping’an sat on the stone steps at the bridgehead, chin in hand, looking up at the Jie Yuan archway as he pondered life.
According to the records in the book, Old Dad had placed sixth as the Second Place Scholar in the Xiang Examination, thirteenth as a Tribute Scholar in the Huishi, and twenty-fifth as a Presented Scholar in the Dianshi.
Such achievements were already remarkable, but who would have thought that, despite Ping’an’s repeated interference, Old Dad had actually topped the exam as Jie Yuan.
What did being the Xiang Examination Jie Yuan mean? In later generations, there would be two top scorers in the provincial college entrance exams for arts and sciences each year, but the Xiang Examination Jie Yuan only emerged once every three years.
Old Dad’s Imperial Exam ambitions had ultimately become even more successful due to Ping’an’s persistent attempts to hinder them.
As the second son of the third uncle from the Benevolence Hall passed by the small bridge, he noticed Ping’an’s solemn little face and asked, “An Ge’er, why are you sighing on such a joyous day?”
“Ah,” Ping’an sighed, “Those who know me say my heart is troubled; those who don’t know me wonder what I seek.”
“Wow! An Ge’er can recite poetry too! Truly the son of the Jie Yuan! A child prodigy!”
Ping’an felt another stab to his little heart.
The man had a loud voice and soon attracted the attention of passing clansmen. People crowded around, eagerly teasing Ping’an: “An Ge’er, what other poems do you know? Recite a few more for us!”
“You must have already memorized the 《Three Hundred Classic》, right? Your father was already studying the 《Four Books》 at your age.”
“The 《Four Books》 are nothing! At your age, A Yan could already compose poetry. An Ge’er, compose a poem too, and have it carved on this archway alongside your father’s name.”
“Why carve it together? An Ge’er will have his own Jie Yuan archway in the future—no, a Zhuang Yuan archway! Isn’t that right, An Ge’er?”
The crowd’s words grew increasingly exaggerated. Ping’an grinned at them, then suddenly pointed at a century-old ginkgo tree at the bridgehead: “There’s a pig in that tree!”
As everyone turned to look where he pointed, Ping’an, taking advantage of his small size, ducked his head, pushed through the crowd, and dashed away in a flash.
He ran all the way home in one breath, charged through the second gate, and collided headlong into Mother, nearly knocking Lin Yuebai off her feet.
Chen Yan steadied his wife from behind as their son came running over, sweating profusely. Glancing behind the boy, he saw only Aji following—nothing was chasing him.
“What’s got you so flustered?”
“Father, I understand now!” The boy panted, bracing his hands on his knees. “From now on… I’ll pretend to be illiterate whenever I go out.”
Chen Yan was momentarily taken aback, then laughed. “Good that you understand.”
Lin Yuebai looked bewildered. “What coded conversation are you two having now?”
Chen Yan explained, “I’m teaching him wisdom in life.”
Ping’an clutched the water cup Cao Mama had brought, gulping down several mouthfuls to calm himself before catching his breath. Turning to his mother, he declared, “It’s great wisdom—truly great wisdom.”
Returning to the front courtyard, they found it carpeted in golden ginkgo leaves.
Ping’an picked up a small basket and began collecting ginkgo nuts everywhere.
A Xiang brought out a small red-clay charcoal stove and lit the coals.
While waiting for the water to boil, Lin Yuebai sat at the stone table as Chen Yan began recounting his past: “You probably don’t know what my life was like before I found my mentor.”
Chen Yan told her that although the Chen family was well-off, his parents weren’t far-sighted, especially regarding education and imperial examinations.
From the moment he began his studies, Chen Yan had pursued learning relentlessly—through heat and cold, day and night. Each year, he only set aside his brush during major festivals like New Year’s Day, Dragon Boat Festival, and Mid-Autumn Festival. He had memorized the Four Books and Five Classics along with their annotations so thoroughly that at fourteen, he took the County Exam and achieved Top Scholar, becoming the envy of all as a child prodigy.
His parents swelled with pride, and his clan held high expectations. Yet from childhood, he wasn’t even allowed to eat candy, simply because his mother had heard somewhere that “sugar dulls the mind.”
At fifteen, Chen Yan participated in the Prefectural Examination. The presiding Prefect, Shen Tinghe, immediately recognized that prolonged forced cultivation had depleted Chen Yan’s innate cleverness.
A teenager of fourteen or fifteen, his knowledge remained constrained, his writing rigid and artificial. Continuing down this path would inevitably lead to the tragedy of “a brilliant child failing to fulfill early promise.”
Moved by a desire to nurture talent, Shen Tinghe decided to take Chen Yan under his wing.
After accepting him as a disciple, Shen Tinghe didn’t rush him into the Imperial Examination but held him back for three years. During this time, Shen Tinghe guided him through extensive reading—the Hundred Schools of Thought, classics and philosophical collections, legal codes, state policies, and even various official documents. He involved Chen Yan in prefectural administrative duties, copying documents, and accompanying him on official trips to broaden his horizons. From then on, Chen Yan’s writing shed its superficiality, becoming more steady and unadorned, with unique perspectives and meticulous reasoning.
At eighteen, he took the Imperial Examination and indeed achieved Top Scholar.
Afterward, Shen Tinghe restrained him for several more years, urging him to delve deeper into focused study of Cheng Essays from past examinations to enhance his test-taking skills.
The results spoke for themselves—he also topped the Xiang Examination.
To Chen Yan, his mentor was a destined benefactor. Otherwise, after the Imperial Examination, he might have stagnated, remaining a mere common scholar for life.
Now Ping’an was only four, not yet formally educated, but already recognized many characters and often surprised people with insightful remarks. If labeled a “child prodigy,” he risked repeating Chen Yan’s arduous path.
As the saying goes, enlightenment emphasizes inspiration, nurturing emphasizes cultivation. Forced growth yields crops devoid of vitality, merely awaiting withering.
Besides, what does it matter whether he’s a prodigy or not? He hoped Ping’an would grow up slowly; even if he became an unaccomplished person, it would be better than being a horse that runs at the sight of a whip’s shadow, galloping every day without ever knowing why it runs.
“Dad! Mom!” Ping’an ran over from a distance and handed them two large, intact ginkgo leaves.
“They’re beautiful,” said Lin Yuebai.
“Mom, what do they look like?” Ping’an asked.
Lin Yuebai replied, “Like little fans, yellow butterflies, goldfish tails, or a fairy’s dress.”
The child’s laughter, sweet and clear, echoed through the courtyard.
Lin Yuebai said to Chen Yan, “Someday, when you retire from office, we’ll buy a small house. When the mulberries turn purple, we’ll pick them; when the pomegranates redden, we’ll harvest them; and when the ginkgo leaves cover the yard, we’ll brew a pot of tea and chat idly.”
“What about me? What about me?” Ping’an jumped over to ask.
“You? You’ll get married and have children, raising a little Ping’an of your own, busy sparring with him every day,” Lin Yuebai said.
Chen Yan couldn’t help but laugh—the thought alone felt deeply satisfying.
“Mom!” Ping’an puffed up like an angry blowfish.
…
By the end of September, autumn had deepened.
The surroundings grew bleak and desolate, but Uncle Chen’s garden remained a delightful sight. The aged jujube and pomegranate trees gradually bore heavy fruit, adorning the once-empty courtyard with vibrant reds and lively energy.
Ping’an had grown less enthusiastic about his “the harder I try, the worse it gets” plan. Every day, he frolicked in the garden with A Man and Xiao Fulu, climbing trees to pick fruit or using bamboo poles to knock winter jujubes from the branches.
He had come to a realization: if Old Dad’s Imperial Exam career was truly unstoppable, he could relax his standards a bit—letting Old Dad become a minor academic official, perhaps teaching at the Imperial Academy, compiling histories at the Hanlin Academy, or even forecasting weather at the Imperial Observatory…
But one matter still weighed on his mind: the truth behind Chen Pingye’s wife-murder case.
Coincidentally, Chen Yan noticed Ping’an had too much idle time and assigned him a task: take the abundant harvest from the neighboring garden to comfort the “lonely old man” Chen Jingshi at the Porcelain Workshop. Ping’an agreed readily—after all, Chen Jingshi was involved in the case, and questioning him directly might bring him closer to the truth.
After lunch, he gathered A Man and Xiao Fulu, filled a basket with persimmons and jujubes from Uncle Chen’s garden, loaded them onto a carriage, and bounced along to the Porcelain Workshop.
Today, Chen Jingshi seemed different from previous days—his beard and clothes were disheveled, and his spirits were low.
Ping’an circled him and asked with a laugh, “Uncle, are you suffering from Writer’s Block?”
Chen Jingshi retorted, “What’s Writer’s Block?”
“It’s when you can’t write anymore—you’re stuck,” Ping’an explained.
Chen Jingshi chuckled, “You little rascal, are you clairvoyant or something?”
“Uncle, if you talk with us more, inspiration will come,” Ping’an said.
Since A Man was already a nine-year-old girl, Chen Jingshi felt it improper to appear disheveled in front of her. He went to his inner room to wash his face and tidy his clothes, then asked an old servant to bring out a small clay stove. They sat around it, brewing tea and roasting persimmons together.
When Ping’an brought up the murder case from two years ago, Chen Jingshi showed no interest in discussing it.
“Uncle, writers draw inspiration from suffering,” Ping’an said.
It was the first time Chen Jingshi had heard such a notion: “Really?”
Ping’an nodded confidently, “My mom has already read me over fifty novels—I know what I’m talking about.”
“Your mother really has… an astonishing reading volume.”
Chen Jingshi couldn’t properly comment on this. His gaze grew distant as he recalled events from two years ago.