Chapter 32: The Imperial Academy (6)
Some things cannot be forgotten, nor should they be; some feelings need no expression, nor are they confined by it.
A sweet, innocent smile and a plate of fragrant fried eggs bring back memories of his childhood. Whether it was the smiles exchanged after indulging in sweet treats at the stall near Xisi Archway, the carefree moments fishing and catching crabs by the Wei River on the outskirts of the city, or the wild dancing and singing on Zhuque Street during the Lantern Festival, every joyful gathering with A Tian clearly emerges in his mind. Just as every plant and building in Chang’an has deeply seeped into the young man’s blood, that person has unknowingly become an inseparable companion to him.
This kind of affection differs from passionate loves like storms—it is like the gentle rain in March, soft as butter, accompanied by refreshing clouds, carrying tranquility within its calmness.
Li Kuo sighed deeply as he gazed at the bluish-gray building before him. Although his third brother had approached him several times over the following months to discuss a marriage to the Lu family, his promise to A Tian gave him the courage to firmly reject his brother’s “kind offer.” Not wanting to be entangled any longer in this meaningless marriage, he took the excuse of recovering from an injury to return to the Imperial Academy, hoping for some peace. But this wish proved unfulfilled. Since he had won first place in the regular examinations, the teachers and scholars in the academy praised him highly, as if they saw in him the hope for the future of the Tang Dynasty.
After the incident at the pharmacy on the outskirts of the city, the emperor personally granted him the rank of a seventh-rank official, which caused a stir in the Imperial Academy. After all, the Tang Dynasty had never before granted official positions to ordinary people before the imperial examinations. Even nobles entering officialdom through family connections had to go through the formalities of taking the classics examinations to prove the court’s commitment to meritocracy. Moreover, since he also held the nominal position of guest to the crown prince, he stood out even more in this academy filled with scholars in white robes.
Compared to these matters, the secrets behind the Qingchen case clearly worried the young man more. Although the emperor had ordered that the case be closed, he did not believe the mastermind would give up so easily. Whenever he thought of that day’s battle, countless images flashed through his mind—the arrogant laughter of the Turkic warriors, the twisted, resentful face of Zhang Jia’s bodyguard before his death, the blood-stained sword in his own hands… He wondered if the mastermind would retaliate again. Perhaps killing him would be as easy for him as squishing an ant? He had intended to clear his grandfather’s name through the imperial examinations but had unknowingly become involved in such a major case, leaving him filled with frustration and distress.
The Imperial Academy had a tradition: the top five candidates before an exam would be promoted to the upper floors of the Western Pavilion to study there, under the personal guidance of renowned scholars, treating them differently from ordinary candidates. Li Kuo seemed to have grasped a lifeline; after giving a few instructions to Zhang Yanji, he moved into the pavilion with the scholar. He needed time to think about his next steps and needed solitude to cope with this crisis.
This three-story wooden building, named Siyuan Pavilion, was located in an unassuming corner of the Western Pavilion in the back courtyard. Apart from a 100-meter-high hill made of rammed yellow soil about fifty steps away, there was nothing unusual about the surroundings of the pavilion. The same black tiles and plain walls, the same red doors and green windows—accompanied by the calls of partridges, the rise and fall of the sun, and the shifting clouds. Due to its secluded location, aside from servants bringing food and water, it was rare to see anyone else there.
It was said that this pavilion was built during the Zhenguan era by Emperor Taizong to provide a place for extraordinary talents to study. Since they were extraordinary talents, they naturally couldn’t be measured by the standards of ordinary smart people. According to the scholars, only four people had ever reached the top floor of this pavilion since its construction. Xu Jingzong during Emperor Taizong’s reign, Wang Bo during Emperor Gaozong’s reign, Di Renjie during Empress Wu’s reign, and Wang Youcheng during the Kaiyuan era—none of them were ordinary people? It took decades for the entire Tang Dynasty to produce these four unparalleled geniuses. To be able to reach the second floor of the pavilion before even reaching adulthood, so close to these great minds, how could it not inspire excitement?
In fact, this pavilion was not usually used for teaching. As soon as you entered, you could smell the scent of books, mixed with the fragrance of azaleas drifting in from the back windows, making you slow down and calm your mind. Unlike ordinary bookstores, the first-floor hall was quite spacious. Six red-painted wooden pillars reached straight to the ceiling, with floor-to-ceiling bronze mirrors set between each pair of pillars. Together with the faint light coming in through the skylight, they created a strangely eerie golden hue. The space behind the mirrors was divided into small compartments by three-sided screens. Middle-aged men in teaching attire sat there either in deep thought or writing furiously to capture their inspirations. Yet Li Kuo had never seen these people in the Imperial Academy, and there was always an indescribable strangeness about them. Just as he wanted to get closer to find out more, he heard Dr. Du, his guide, whisper softly, “Heavenly laws and human fate—what is meant for you, you will eventually know. What is not meant for you, even understanding your fate will only bring more trouble.”
Li Kuo’s cheeks turned red as he realized the doctor was reminding him to abide by the rules. He quickly put aside his curiosity and followed the instructor up the stairs at the end of the hall. Perhaps because no students had climbed there for a long time, a thick layer of dust covered the crimson wooden steps. With everyone moving around, the dust flew up, causing those who inhaled it to cough nonstop. After turning four corners, the stairs became much narrower, requiring one to lean slightly to climb upward. The young men imitated the doctor by tying the lower parts of their robes around their waists and bending forward slightly. Fortunately, this posture didn’t last long; otherwise, by reaching the second floor, their backs would be sore, leaving them no energy to study books.
After exerting effort to climb the last step, Li Kuo suddenly felt the surroundings become much clearer. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he stared in slight astonishment at the scene before him. Rows of brownish-ochre peachwood bookshelves were neatly filled with various classics. The morning sun streamed in through the carved windows, casting a dazzling golden glow on the brownish-blue covers. Unlike the serene and mysterious atmosphere of the lower hall, the second-floor hall was spacious and bright. On the main wall to the east hung a colorful map of the Tang Dynasty’s territories.
Starting from Chang’an, passing through Yangguan and Shule, and crossing the Pamir Mountains to reach the far-western country of Flin. This ancient road, marked with red silk on the map, had witnessed countless cultural exchanges from the Han to the Tang dynasties. For a moment, the young man couldn’t bear to look away, longing to stay on this road that symbolized the prosperity of the Tang Dynasty for a little longer. Below the east wall stood a blackwood square table. In the right corner of the table lay a piece of raw rice paper, weighted down by a piece of green jade. To the right of the table was an ivory pen holder, with several wolf-hair brushes scattered inside. On the left side of the desk lay a copy of *Huainanzi*—likely half-read by the doctor, who was taking a short rest.
Dr. Du, who had spoken little before, suddenly spoke up, “You are all talented young people of my Tang Dynasty, with minds as sharp as anyone’s. Having climbed up these stairs, you must already be familiar with the scenery here. There’s no need for me to say much else, but I still need to remind you of a few rules in this hall.”
After pausing briefly and seeing that everyone was listening attentively, Dr. Du nodded in satisfaction. “Since you are all talented, appropriate teaching methods should be used. From today onward, you may freely browse the books on the floors below the third. Before leaving class each day, you must write an essay summarizing what you’ve learned. But under no circumstances may you climb the top three floors—this is a rule of the Imperial Academy!”
Pei Xingchen of the Pei family from Hedong bowed deeply to Dr. Du and said, “I am ignorant and unaware which doctor will teach us literature and essays.”
Dr. Du shook his head gently and said, “The highest pursuit in learning lies in exploration. You all are talented individuals and should have the desire to trace things back to their origins.” After a brief pause, he sighed and added, “As for classics and history, aside from the master, there is no one else in the Imperial Academy who can teach you. But coincidentally, Li An, the former Hanlin Academician, is coming to the attic to compile a collection of writings. He spends his days at the corner table by the wall on the east side of the second floor. With his knowledge, it shouldn’t be difficult for him to teach you some aspects of the classics. If you have any questions, go and ask him.” After thanking Dr. Du, the group watched as the reclusive and rigid old man turned and walked away. Only when his brown-green robe disappeared around the corner staircase did they breathe a sigh of relief. “Hmm, this regular exam was truly rewarding—it allowed me to meet a talent like Brother Kuo.” Chen Runzhi walked over, bowed slightly to Li Kuo, and smiled warmly. “Brother Runzhi, you’re too modest. I just happened to be lucky enough to come in first. When it comes to knowledge, who doesn’t know that Chen, the third son of Siyang, is one of the most outstanding young talents in our Tang Dynasty?” Li Kuo didn’t dare to be overconfident and quickly returned a polite bow with a smile. “Ah, being first is just being first—there’s no such thing as luck. I, Chen Runzhi, am not someone who cares only about empty titles. How could I possibly have any grudges against Brother Kuo because of a title?” Chen Runzhi waved his hand. “Hehe, we’re all scholars. As the old saying goes, there’s no best in literature, no second best in martial arts. If I encounter any difficulties in the future in studying historical texts, I hope Brother Runzhi will kindly teach me.” “Sure, of course.” “Literature and martial arts complement each other to make one a true talent. Our Tang Dynasty was founded through military conquests. I wonder if Brother Kuo is skilled in horseback riding and archery?” Pei Xingchen gently waved his folding fan, though his gaze never met Li Kuo’s. Li Kuo wasn’t annoyed and smiled, saying, “As for combat skills on the battlefield, I’m completely clueless. But for a target fifty steps away, I can barely manage to hit it twice.” Pei Xingchen’s lips twitched slightly, and a hint of annoyance flashed across his face. “That’s good. The Prince of Tan will hold a polo match in the palace in a month. The emperor and the imperial concubine will also attend. The two teams will consist of soldiers from various border garrisons and talented archers from our Imperial Academy. Coincidentally, Brother Zijiao injured his leg while riding a few days ago, and I was worried about a shortage of players. If Brother Kuo joins, our team’s chances of winning increase by ten percent.” Seeing Li Kuo look troubled, Pei Xingchen was secretly pleased. He bowed toward the east and said, “I forgot—Brother Kuo is now also an official in the Eastern Palace. If there are any inconveniences…” Li Kuo’s brows relaxed, and he pushed his hands forward. “What’s the difficulty? It’s just a polo match. We should strive to bring honor to our students!”
The two agreed on the timing and location for the training, and after shaking hands, the matter was settled. Li Kuo exchanged a few words with a few other students, but finding it dull, he found an excuse to head to the book collection in the east. Li Kuo’s family had a tradition of valuing poetry, literature, and etiquette, and since his grandfather, they had placed great emphasis on educating their descendants. Thus, Li Kuo had developed a habit of preferring quietness and reading since childhood, and sitting among books felt like a fish in the sea—utterly delightful. He walked slowly to a shelf filled with pre-Qin texts, found a low stool, and sat down after lifting his robe. Gently pulling out a copy of Mozi, he brushed away the dust from the spine before beginning to read intently. “Killing one person is considered unjust, and it warrants a death penalty. By this logic, killing ten people involves ten times more injustice, thus ten death penalties; killing a hundred people involves a hundred times more injustice, thus a hundred death penalties. In such cases, all gentlemen in the world recognize it as unjust. But when it comes to using extreme injustice to attack a country, people fail to see it as unjust and instead praise it as just. They don’t realize its injustice, so they record its words for future generations. If they did realize its injustice, why would they record such unjust actions for future generations?” As he was engrossed in reading, he suddenly noticed that this famous passage was marked with ink annotations, making it unreadable, and he frowned. “With a knife at your throat, where’s there room for morality? Killing one person is still killing, and killing a hundred is still killing. If you don’t want to be killed, you have to kill others.” A boy with a round head and round body emerged from a pile of books, stretched lazily, yawned at Li Kuo, and said carelessly.