Chapter 91 – Two Characters

What kind of person needs to bring out a calligraphy copybook?

No matter how poor one’s education, surely anyone could recite the Thousand Character Classic used for basic literacy.

A sudden inspiration struck Li Baimao, filling him with joy — could it be that his true successor had arrived? Forgetting about his own ink-work, he craned his neck to peer over in that direction. The other students, even as their brushes continued to move, pricked up their ears.

A clear, crisp voice drifted through the sunlit warmth, languid and at ease. “Teacher Qin, what characters do you see me writing?”

Qin Huan’s brow gave a slight twitch. He always felt this student was a little beyond the ordinary. “‘Long life.'”

“And how are they written?” she asked again.

Qin Huan considered for a moment. “Soaring to great heights yet concealing the blade’s edge — they are fine characters.” This was somewhat unexpected. A female student from Shenzhou, and yet the characters she wrote carried a spirit that looked down upon the world.

Moreover, she had not written the small regular script commonly used in Shenzhou, nor the simplified characters standard in Cangyun Ravine, but rather an older form of writing — so ancient that if he were not a scholar of history and literature, he might not have been able to read it.

Zhan Changfeng said, “Teacher Qin asked us to write in our finest hand and transcribe a passage we most admire. As far as I am concerned, I have already used my finest hand, and ‘long life’ is sufficient to encompass every vista there is.”

Arrogance, or sophistry?

Even the most focused students set down their brushes and turned to look toward the figure by the window. Hushed whispers erupted.

Qin Huan’s eyes were sharp and shrewd. Others might not know, but he was well aware that she could not recite any other passages. He inwardly wondered whether this quick-wittedness was a blessing or a curse. Honestly speaking, he would have preferred his students to face their own shortcomings rather than gloss over them.

So he deliberately pressed her. “Two characters are too few. It is difficult to gauge the depth of understanding from so little. Is there anything else?”

Zhan Changfeng refused plainly. “It is enough.”

Qin Huan stared at her, as though searching for something. Zhan Changfeng met his gaze with perfect composure.

After a long moment, Qin Huan suddenly understood — he had been speaking to her about calligraphy, while she had been speaking to him about the Dao.

Qin Huan found this somewhat absurd. What could a child possibly understand about the Dao? She was merely saying deliberately ambiguous things to paper over her deficiencies.

He could not help but shake his head. “Children ought not to speak of long life.”

Qin Huan addressed the class of students, “You all wish to cultivate, and you all yearn for long life, but in living one’s life, pragmatism must come first. Do not let those empty imaginings cloud your hearts.”

Quite a few students nodded thoughtfully. There was indeed deeper meaning in those words — hidden barbs beneath the surface.

Zhan Changfeng merely smiled and let it pass, with no inclination to argue.

All of a sudden, Li Baimao seemed to have received some kind of pardon. Bursting with irrepressible delight, he raised his hand and shouted, “Teacher Qin, for me, memorizing the complete history is an utterly impractical matter — far too unrealistic! Can I be excused from it?!”

“Wishful thinking.” Qin Huan rebuked him curtly, and proceeded to pour a bucket of cold water on him at the same time. “You haven’t finished reciting this morning’s text yet. Come find me before you go home and receive your paddle — better not let it accumulate until tomorrow.”

The lesson ended. Zhan Changfeng was wiping away the ink that had inadvertently smudged her fingertips when her field of vision suddenly dimmed.

“Not bad, sister. You’ve barely arrived and you’re already butting heads with Teacher Qin.” The person outside in the corridor had draped themselves halfway over the windowsill, smiling to reveal two dimples and a pair of slightly pointed teeth, cradling a freshly washed brush and a small blue-and-white porcelain dish in their hands — washed quite thoroughly, at that.

Zhan Changfeng narrowed her eyes. “Move a little to the right.”

“Huh? Oh.” Li Baimao shifted his body. Only when he saw that the light was no longer blocked from Zhan Changfeng did he realize what had happened — yet he still didn’t move away, and complained mildly, “You really are — really are — hey, Yu Sheng, what’s that phrase for someone who just won’t leave you alone?”

Yu Sheng said, “Shamelessly persistent.”

“Oh ho, did I actually use the right phrase?!” Li Baimao exclaimed in delight.

“Indeed. You’ve finally found a phrase that suits you perfectly.” Yu Sheng was equally pleased.

Li Baimao was baffled. “Which phrase?”

“Shamelessly persistent.” A tall young man sneered as he walked past.

“Just you wait, Han Zhigao.”

Li Baimao had a thick skin. What kind of person used a phrase like “shamelessly persistent” as a joke on someone they hadn’t even properly met yet? If there hadn’t been someone there to smooth things over, he would have long since been ambushed and beaten in an alley more times than he could count.

Yu Sheng watched this newly arrived classmate — her expression showed neither awkwardness nor forced understanding, as though she was simply enjoying a rare moment of cool shade. She was rather different from the people Yu Sheng had encountered before.

Yu Sheng was delicate in appearance, with finely arched brows lightly traced and eyes like stars. She sat composed, hands folded before her abdomen, and greeted Zhan Changfeng across the narrow aisle between them.

The scholar’s robe suited her fair complexion, graceful and gentle yet without concealing a certain cool pride.

She said, “How do you do. My name is Yu Sheng — the ‘Yu’ of ‘the remainder of one’s life,’ the ‘Sheng’ of ‘the lingering sound of a flute.'”

Li Baimao rolled his eyes. “Sister, you’d have been better off not introducing yourself at all. Who on earth knows which two characters you mean.”

Zhan Changfeng propped her cheek on one hand, tilting her head to regard Yu Sheng with a lazy glance, the corners of her eyes seemingly touched with a trace of a smile. “The flute bestows its lingering sound, the gardenia holds fast to its finest years; a beauty whose morning has not yet begun — yet who would dare claim what remains of her life?”

Li Baimao could not tell whether it was praise or mockery, but he watched wide-eyed as the undisputed literary champion of the Orchid Heart Pavilion — who feared neither heaven nor earth — suddenly became flustered, her expression caught between vexation and helplessness. “I’ll just take that as a compliment.”

“It was meant as one,” said Zhan Changfeng.

So forthright that it was impossible to handle — fortunately the bell rang, and the chess and strategy class began.

Yu Sheng listened to the elder master’s explanation of chess theory, yet her thoughts drifted involuntarily toward the new classmate. Within the space of a single hour, her impression had shifted three times — flipping through a book seldom brought such turbulence.

At first, she had stood tall in the doorway — restrained, cold, and controlled, courteous yet devoid of warmth.

A single phrase — “It is enough” — and she was full of the tenacious conviction and bearing of a maverick. Yet when she had narrowed her eyes and recited those lines, she had been gentle and languid, possessed of a piercing and perceptive clarity.

If one’s temperament constitutes the whole of a person, then she was perhaps one part restrained courtesy and nine parts daring enough to quarrel with the heavens.

Zhan Changfeng had no intention of pondering how others perceived her. She picked up the chess manual and let her mind go blank. Chess was truly her weak point — what she disliked most was navigating within the rigid confines of this kind of game. Even the most brilliant player, though capable of breaking a deadlock, might not be able to leap beyond the board itself.

The elder master teaching chess explained the various strategies while drawing on a wealth of classical allusions, and after half an hour had them pair off to compete.

Generally, it was the two students in front and behind one another — just a matter of turning around.

Seated before Zhan Changfeng was a young man named Wang Xi, who at this moment held a chess piece in one hand while clutching his stomach with the other.

Seeing that his expression was off, she said, “If you’re unwell, you can rest for a bit.”

“No, no, it’s not that,” Wang Xi laughed awkwardly. “I just tend to get stomachaches when I’m anxious.”

“It may be caused by an imbalance between the liver and spleen. A minor symptom can become a serious ailment — find time to visit a physician.”

“Ah, thank you — you know medicine too?”

“I don’t just know medicine, I can also read fortunes,” Zhan Changfeng said with a straight face. “Right now, if you put down that piece, your stomachache will definitely stop.”

Wang Xi froze with his hand suspended over the board, eyes wide. He looked at the white piece in his hand, then at the empty spot it was now pointing toward. “Really? No — don’t trick me. I’m clearly about to lose, and this position looks completely useless.”

Zhan Changfeng said nothing more.

Wang Xi glanced at her, hesitated again and again, and finally, in a throw-caution-to-the-wind manner, placed the piece down. In an instant, the surviving white pieces connected — the great dragon lived!

“I won?!” the young man cried out in shock. How had it come back to life?!

Most of the other pairs had already finished their matches. No longer confined to their seats, students were moving about and seeking out suitable opponents.

Just as Wang Xi let out his shout, someone happened to walk past. Upon hearing it, they gave a cold snort. “And here I thought it would be something impressive.”

He cast a sideways glance at Zhan Changfeng with a somewhat contemptuous air.

“Who is that?” Zhan Changfeng asked casually.

Wang Xi frowned. “Yu Zhihuai.”

Li Baimao was nosy as ever, twisting around in his seat two desks away to call out, “Yu Zhihuai. Top player.”

Zhan Changfeng raised an eyebrow. Li Baimao abandoned his opponent and came trotting over, lowering his voice. “A top chess player. If you beat him, he won’t just be ‘passing by’ anymore.”