The next day, the sky was bright and clear when Zhou Shanheng finally woke up.
He usually got up as early as the first hints of white light appeared in the sky, and in summer, he rose even earlier. But for some unknown reason today, he only woke up at the time of the Chen hour.
Actually, it wasn’t that late; it was just the time when the country folks were having their morning meals. But for a scholar, it was not considered diligent.
Zhou Shanheng had just passed the county exam hosted by the county officer, gaining the qualification to participate in the upcoming prefectural exam. The autumn exam was in September, and it was already mid-May, leaving him less than four months.
He hurriedly got up to wash, made a soup cake, cooked some porridge, brought the food into their mother’s room, instructed Zhou Erlang to take good care of her, then hastily finished his own breakfast before stepping out the door.
In Dacheng, those who wanted to study generally had three options: at home, at official schools, or in mountain temples and monasteries.
The first option was mostly for aristocratic families, scholarly households, or prestigious clans. Their homes naturally had vast collections of books for the children to study, often with fathers teaching sons, or elder brothers teaching younger ones.
The second type of official school was divided into two categories;
One was the schools run by the imperial court, all directly overseen by the Guozijian(Imperial Academy). The students admitted were all children of high-ranking officials. They didn’t need to go through county or prefectural exams like Zhou Shanheng. As long as they passed the internal qualifying exams of the official school, they could directly take the provincial exam in the capital.
The second category of official school was the local schools in the prefectures and counties. These had very limited slots for students, and entry required passing an exam. Very few could afford the tuition, so often there were sixty slots in the upper prefecture, fifty in the middle prefecture, forty in the lower prefecture; forty slots in the upper county, twenty-five in the middle county, and twenty in the lower county. In Dacheng, students who could receive official school education were truly one in a thousand.
Regardless of whether it was an imperial official school or a local one, all students in the official schools didn’t need to go through county or prefectural exams. As long as they passed the school’s graduation exam, they could qualify as shengyuan and directly participate in the provincial exam in the capital during the spring.
However, for children of commoners like Zhou Shanheng, who couldn’t afford the tuition of official schools, they usually began their education in village schools, scraping by with thin porridge and coarse vegetables, and using sand as paper. If they wished to continue their studies, they had no choice but to go to the mountain temples and Taoist monasteries.
In Dacheng, both Buddhism and Taoism were quite flourishing, with ample book collections available for reading. They didn’t charge tuition, allowed free meals, and there were even some learned monks and famous Taoists who were willing to answer students’ questions.
Thus, for students from humble backgrounds, this was very attractive.
Zhou Shanheng carried a bamboo book chest on his back, which had layered compartments inside for holding books. The top part had a canopy sufficient to shield from rain, with side hooks for hanging small personal items like cloths and towels.
He went to Huifu Temple on the mountain almost every day, leaving early and returning late. This type of bamboo book chest was very convenient for a scholar traveling long distances.
Because he always carried so many items every day, he didn’t even notice that today’s bamboo chest was heavier than usual.
Every dawn, the head monk of Huifu Temple would knock on a wooden fish while walking through the streets to announce the morning. Sometimes, he would even forecast the weather. As Zhou Shanheng passed through the alleys of the village, he heard the villagers saying that today would be another clear and sunny day, with no rain in sight.
He reached the foot of the mountain and climbed up the path.
Huifu Temple was located halfway up the mountain, surrounded by clear streams and lush trees, bringing a cool and refreshing feeling.
The surroundings were tranquil, with only faint sounds of Buddhist chants drifting through the air. Outside the temple gate, a little novice monk was sweeping fallen leaves, and the bronze bells hanging from the eaves rang out with a distant, lingering chime.
All the books in the temple’s sutra library were available for scholars to borrow and read, with no tuition fee charged. Therefore, Zhou Shanheng would sometimes help the temple with copying scriptures.
He sat in the sutra library for the entire morning, and by the time he came back to his senses, the sun was already at its peak.
Reading in the temple allowed him to share meals with the monks, so he could have a meal whenever the monks had their vegetarian meal. However, the monks’ meals were extremely simple, and they only ate once at midday every day.
When Zhou Shanheng heard the bell being rung, he hurried to the dining hall.
Unfortunately, when he arrived, it was clear that the monks had already finished eating, and the dining hall was deserted and cold.
Usually, the bell was rung before the meal to give a reminder, so it shouldn’t have been that he missed it.
Zhou Shanheng was a bit puzzled.
Then he saw the little novice monk who was responsible for ringing the bell making a funny face at him. “Serves you right for always eating for free! And you never come on time!”
It was clear that the little novice monk had intentionally rung the bell after the meal.
The other party obviously didn’t like him.
Zhou Shanheng didn’t say anything and didn’t argue with him.
The little novice monk was only about twelve years old and was soon reprimanded by an older novice. The older novice then came forward to apologize to Zhou Shanheng.
Zhou Shanheng: “It’s fine.”
He turned back and returned to the courtyard of the sutra library.
There were still leftover steamed buns from his breakfast in his bamboo chest, but after two hours and without porridge to accompany them, they were dry and made his throat choke.
Even while eating, he didn’t slack off, sitting on the stone steps under the eaves of the sutra library, holding a book in his hand.
Just as he was fully absorbed, something round and smooth struck the very center of his forehead, bounced off, and rolled into the hem of his narrow-sleeved shirt.
Zhou Shanheng put down the book and picked up the thing that had hit him.
It was a small, green wild fruit.
He looked up in confusion.
And there, sitting atop the mountain wall, was a young man of graceful elegance, with a smile in his brows and eyes as he looked at him.
He wore a new white silk shirt, sitting leisurely on the wall with his legs crossed. His face was exquisitely beautiful, and his demeanor as graceful as jade.
That young man casually beckoned to him.
Zhou Shanheng inexplicably felt that this person seemed familiar, though he was certain it was their first meeting.
His reaction was a bit slow, and he saw the young man frown slightly in displeasure, like ripples forming on a spring pond. Zhou Shanheng stood up and picked up the green fruit.
He walked to the foot of the wall and stretched his hand up high to return it to the young man.
“Idiot,” Xin Hexue chuckled lightly, “it’s for you to eat!”
Zhou Shanheng had thought the fruit was accidentally thrown over by the other party, so he was just about to return it.
Hearing this, his ears flushed red with embarrassment. “Thank you.”
Xin Hexue threw him another one.
This time, although Zhou Shanheng was slightly flustered, he still managed to catch it steadily with his hand.
So as not to disappoint the young man’s kindness, he didn’t even think and immediately popped the fruit into his mouth, taking a deep bite.
Instantly, his face scrunched up from the sourness.
A mischievous glint flashed in Xin Hexue’s eyes, and the corners of his lips curved with a smile, like a cat that had just stolen something.
According to the plot, this poor scholar might even team up with a high monk later to suppress him. Since that was the case, letting him have a bit of fun now wasn’t too much, was it?
That fruit was a wild, unripe one Xin Hexue had casually picked from the mountain.
Who would have thought Zhou Shanheng would be so stupid as to pop the whole green fruit straight into his mouth?
Xin Hexue still had two more in his hand, and he continued to toss them up and down.
Zhou Shanheng did not feel that he was being teased, and instead reminded Xin Hexue: “Gongzi, this kind of fruit is not ripe yet, and it’s very sour. You should not eat it.”
‘Was he really a fool?’
Xin Hexue raised his eyebrow slightly. “Move aside.”
Zhou Shanheng obediently stepped back, making way.
He saw the young man on the wall land lightly like a flying swallow, his white robe fluttering gracefully as he stepped onto the ground with a pair of new satin cloud-soaring shoes.
Xin Hexue felt an unprecedented sense of ease.
The koi demon’s two hundred years of cultivation on Zhaoyao Mountain was enough to allow him to fly over rooftops and walls like in martial arts novels.
But it was only limited to these kinds of light-footed tricks.
Even so, it was something his formerly sickly body had never been able to achieve.
Zhou Shanheng observed this young man with skin as fair as snow, and an aura of noble elegance and otherworldliness, and knew he was no ordinary person, perhaps a child of an official family.
He slightly cupped his hands and asked: “May I ask where Gongzi is from, and how should I address you?”
Xin Hexue glanced at him, and casy made up an identity. “The Xin family from the capital, Xin Yao, with the courtesy name Hexue.”
The capital was so vast, there should certainly be a family surnamed Xin. Xin Hexue wasn’t worried about being exposed, especially since Zhou Shanheng wouldn’t be heading to the capital until winter at least.
Xin Yao was indeed the name Xin Hexue had used in his second lifetime.
His imperial father hadn’t expected his birth, a foolish and dull prince born of a deposed concubine, and even his name carried the meaning of “short-lived”.
Zhou Shanheng nodded slightly, savoring the name. “Yao? Tao zhi yao yao, qi ye zhen zhen…(The peach tree is young and lush, with leaves that are dense).”
“Hexue beneath the snow, a fine name.”
The word “Yao” had two meanings. Yaozhe meant short-lived and easy to break, but ‘Yao Yao’ took the meaning of flourishing grass and trees.
Xinhe referred to good grain, growing in the second month and maturing in the eighth, thriving through all four seasons, harmonizing yin and yang.
The courtesy name Hexue was interpreted as green grain beneath the snow, thriving in growth, and matched the “Yao” in his given name.
Xin Hexue’s heart stirred, and he finally took a closer look at Zhou Shanheng.
“I thought you were a blockhead, but I didn’t expect you to speak so well.”
When Zhou Shanheng met those eyes clear as autumn water, for some reason, his ears flushed red, and he immediately lowered his head in embarrassment, feeling that his ears must have turned completely red.
However, his skin was tanned by the sun, so it wasn’t very noticeable.
“It’s not flowery words,” Zhou Shanheng said earnestly. “I, Zhou, have always spoken plainly.”
Xin Hexue said leisurely, “Then it’s a case of speaking from the heart.”
Zhou Shanheng hesitated, not knowing how to reply. “Gongzi Xin, please don’t make fun of me.”
Xin Hexue’s words were somewhat teasing, as if suggesting that Zhou Shanheng harbored feelings for him.
But he had the right to say such words.
The young man was of stunning beauty, his figure slender and graceful like a jade tree in the wind, his delicate bones propping up his thin robe. Such a person would move even a stone, make even iron fall in love.
Zhou Shanheng was momentarily dazed. As if just remembering he hadn’t introduced himself, he said: “I am from Xushou Village, Sanyuan Township, surname Zhou, given name Shanheng, courtesy name Ziyue.”
Xin Hexue asked curiously, “Zhou Ziyue… who gave you this courtesy name?”
Such a name didn’t sound like something an illiterate country villager would choose.
Zhou Shanheng answered honestly, “My father passed away early, and the elders of the clan gave me this courtesy name when I came of age.”
