Chapter Twenty-One: Mr. Li (Part Two)

Since all the students were children from different backgrounds—some rich, some poor—and this was an elementary school, writing materials such as brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones were considered quite expensive for the children. So, each child was given a small sand tray, which served as their paper for practicing calligraphy. The trays were about half a meter long and wide, filled with yellow sand. The children used discarded pen tubes as makeshift brushes, following Li Ji’s instructions as they wrote in the sand. If a mistake was made, a simple swipe of the hand erased it, allowing them to rewrite without waste or effort. The sand tray was an essential tool in the village school.

Yanqing felt that Li Ji had added something extra to his lessons on writing. Within his explanations, he seemed to incorporate the "Eight Principles of Yong," which, for most students, was a bit too profound. But for Zheng Yanqing, it was just right. Though he had learned by unconventional means and could produce calligraphy in the Yan style, he lacked knowledge of certain foundational aspects. The "Eight Principles of Yong" filled exactly these gaps. Though the main focus was clerical script, Yanqing benefited greatly.

As he was practicing, Li Ji quietly came up behind him. Watching him copy the Five Cangs stroke by stroke, Li Ji nodded approvingly. Suddenly, he reached out, grabbed Yanqing’s brush, and pulled it away. Caught off guard, Yanqing lost his grip. He turned to see Li Ji shaking his head gently, saying, “Zheng Yanqing, in calligraphy, one must seek method, but even more so, intent. Your writing has the proper form, but it lacks spirit. In the future, you must diligently practice conveying intent through your fingers, or else you’ll only have the form without ever achieving true mastery.”

The method referred to brush technique: the need for control, for tightness and weight; strokes that require restraint, valued for their tension and slowness. Such techniques have been summarized by the masters and can be studied with time. But the intent conveyed by the fingers requires talent, and even more, hard practice. Wang Xizhi wrote about the transmission of intent through the fingers, emphasizing this very point. Among the students in the school, Yanqing’s calligraphy was undoubtedly outstanding. But as Li Ji had said during the break: different starting points demand different expectations.

It was clear that Li Ji’s standards for Yanqing were much higher than for the others. That day, when lessons ended and evaluations were given, even the weakest students received a B, but Zheng Yanqing was given only a D. In the ranking of A, B, C, D, the D was the lowest. Normally, a teacher rarely gave a student such a grade, but Li Ji’s strictness with Yanqing was surprising even to him.

This seemed excessively harsh! But since the teacher had made his judgment, Yanqing could only accept it. After bowing in thanks with the other students, Yanqing, feeling somewhat dispirited, lowered his head and prepared to leave.

Li Ji called him back.

“Zheng Yanqing, are you dissatisfied?”

“Sir…”

Li Ji smiled, “I know you’re not satisfied, but I told you I’d be strict with you. For your age, your brush technique already has form—even Wang Youjun at your age was probably not as skilled as you.”

“What?” Yanqing’s eyes widened in surprise. If even Wang Xizhi couldn’t match him, why give him a D?

Li Ji continued, “But precisely because of this, your future achievements may not surpass Wang Youjun’s. At such a young age, your form is already fixed. To reach greatness, you must endure more refinement. I have here a treatise on brushwork. Take it home and study it carefully. When Wang Xizhi was twelve, he received such a treatise and later studied under Lady Wei. Only after copying stone inscriptions did he find his unique path and become a master. You, on the contrary, skipped the basics and dived into inscriptions before developing the necessary foundation, resulting in heavy form but shallow intent—a deviation. Therefore, I want you to read this treatise closely. By next month’s examination, you must write an essay on it. If I am satisfied, I will change your grade.”

It was clear Li Ji had high hopes for Yanqing. Still, as Yanqing accepted the treatise, he could only smile wryly to himself. Truly, it’s better to stay humble—being too outstanding only leads to trouble!

By the time he left the schoolroom, the sun was already slanting toward the horizon. Carrying his book bag, Yanqing walked toward the manor. The estate was some distance from the Dou family school. Originally, Zheng Shian wanted to send someone to fetch him, but Yanqing refused. The reason was simple: Zheng Shian was currently under scrutiny.

Though the trouble at Tianjin Bridge seemed to have subsided, in reality, it had only just begun. The ancients spoke of the right time, right place, and harmony among people. For Zheng Shian, the right time depended on Zheng Renji’s attitude, the right place on Lady Cui’s intentions, and as for harmony—at the moment, he only had the benefit of harmony among people. Zheng Renji might not say anything, but Cui Daolin still depended on Lady Cui’s support, so neither time nor place favored him. Soon, Zheng Shian might even lose the harmony he enjoyed. Then, the situation for him and his grandson would become awkward indeed. At such a time, Zheng Shian needed to be especially cautious. Yanqing was only the grandson of a household servant—if someone fetched him, people would talk. Besides, Yanqing was not a pampered child. Walking back and forth each day was good exercise and helped him grow strong.

“Maitreya has returned, and the world is at peace!”

Walking along the country path, Yanqing saw a group of people dressed in white coming toward him. They looked neither like monks nor laypeople, chanting Maitreya’s name as they walked. Many farmers in the fields, seeing them approach, dropped to their knees, bowing and praying. Yanqing frowned in distaste.

He knew where these white-robed people came from—they had even appeared at the Zheng family estate before. They seemed to be members of a religious group, worshipping Maitreya and seducing the masses. Their faith was neither Daoist nor Buddhist; to Yanqing, it looked much more like a cult. They preached in the countryside and had gathered quite a few followers.

Yanqing felt neither fondness nor hatred for religion. Whether Buddhism or Daoism, both arose and flourished in response to their times. During the chaos of the Five Barbarians, the north was ravaged by war, and the Han people were decimated. The common folk, powerless to stop the violence, could only seek spiritual comfort. Thus, Buddhism flourished, offering hope for the afterlife. Daoism, meanwhile, thrived in the south. The southern courts, unable to reclaim their lands, saw scholars take refuge in abstract philosophy, masking their sorrow with love of nature and eccentric behavior. Gradually, these mystical traditions became popular among the elite.

Every religion, in short, had its reasons to exist. But cults were different—more often, they were a cover for ambitious schemers. The Yellow Turban Rebellion and Sun En’s uprising were examples. In later times, cults became tools for extortion, which Yanqing despised. These white-robed Maitreya followers seemed much the same. Though they had yet to do anything drastic, Yanqing felt they would eventually bring disaster, and it was the common people who would suffer.

But what could he do? The white-robed Maitreya preached openly, and even the authorities ignored them. They had committed no crime, and if Yanqing rashly opposed them, he might end up in trouble himself. After returning home, he would have to warn his grandfather to keep an eye on things at the estate and not let these people take advantage—if something happened, the whole estate would be implicated, and that would be a serious crime.

With these thoughts, Yanqing stepped aside to let the white-robed Maitreya pass. Behind them, the simple men and women remained kneeling in the fields, bowing repeatedly and chanting after their backs.

“…When Maitreya appears, the fields yield sevenfold, rice grains grow seven inches, white as jade, dry and sweet as honey; at the dawn of tribulation, rice is four inches, clothing grows from trees, appearing naturally as needed…”

Yanqing only had a rudimentary understanding of Buddhist texts and could not fully grasp the meaning of these scriptures. Still, it was clear enough: if you believed in Maitreya, you would be rewarded without effort. Grain would grow unplanted, and clothes would sprout from trees. If these miracles did not occur, it meant your faith was not devout enough.

As long as you were devout… But what counted as true devotion? In the end, the white-robed Maitreya held the power to define it.

This was a serious matter, Yanqing thought as he made his way home, almost without realizing it.

Zheng Shian had already prepared the meal, waiting for Yanqing to return.

“Yanqing, how was school today?”

“I got a ‘D.’”

Zheng Shian was taken aback. “A D? How could it be a D? Surely your teacher must be a fraud—how could someone as clever as you get a D? Did he pick on you because you’re not from the Hedouling family?”

“Grandfather, it’s not like that. The teacher is doing it for my own good,” Yanqing quickly explained, finally reassuring Zheng Shian.

After dinner, Yanqing suddenly asked, “Grandfather, have you noticed that Maitreya worship seems to be spreading in the countryside lately?”

“You mean those white-robed Maitreya followers?” Zheng Shian seemed unconcerned. “I have seen them. They even came here to preach today. They say these white-robed Maitreya are very powerful, and many people believe in them. Even on our estate, plenty of people are followers.”

Yanqing’s heart grew heavier.

“Grandfather, don’t believe those people.”

If an ordinary person had said this, Zheng Shian might have dismissed it. But he had an inexplicable confidence in Yanqing, who had shown unusual talent since childhood. Yanqing would not speak without reason.

Still, Zheng Shian asked, “Why not?”

“Grandfather, our Zheng family has always valued the classics and history, focusing on self-cultivation, family management, and governing the country. Confucius himself said, ‘The Master did not speak of strange phenomena, force, disorder, or spirits.’ If even the Sage would not discuss such matters, how could we? Perhaps gods and immortals do exist, but they are not to be constantly invoked, nor treated as tools for personal gain, as the Maitreya cult does. Besides, as the saying goes, ‘There are spirits three feet above our heads.’ As long as we maintain respect in our hearts, the gods will protect us. If that is so, why heed the deceitful words of others?”

Before Yanqing could finish, someone outside clapped and exclaimed, “Well said!”

Both Yanqing and his grandfather were startled. They hurried outside and found a man standing in the courtyard, though the dim light made it impossible to see his face clearly.

Zheng Shian asked sternly, “Who are you, and what business do you have here?”

The man strolled to the doorway, looked Yanqing up and down, and asked in a deep voice, “So, you are Zheng Yanqing?”

Yanqing tugged at his grandfather’s sleeve and nodded. “Yes, I am Zheng Yanqing.”

“In that case, where did you hear such subversive talk about the Three Kingdoms?”

Yanqing was puzzled. “May I ask who you are, sir? And what do you mean by subversive talk about the Three Kingdoms?”

The man snorted coldly. “My name is Yan Zhou.”

—End of section—