Kays Translations

Chapter 38: The Teacher’s Curiosity

The sky cleared, the sun rose in the east, and Zhu Ping’an once again climbed onto the back of the cow, beginning a new day of grazing cattle and wooing little girls.

At breakfast, Eldest Aunt had coaxed Jun’er to go to school and study hard so that he might someday become the top scholar. Chen had watched with obvious envy. As Zhu Ping’an rode out on the old yellow cow, the loneliness and disappointment on his mother’s face kept surfacing in his mind.

He had to work hard and win scholarly honors for his mother.

Autumn was the season when the crops most needed water. They had to be watered at least three times to ensure a good harvest. Yet at this crucial time the heavens had refused to cooperate, and it had not rained for nearly a month. Riding along the village path, Zhu Ping’an could see that the crops on both sides were plainly short of water. When he crossed the bridge, even the stream level was visibly lower: the day before the water had reached the bridge piers, but now an inch of them stood exposed.

On the hillside, the scheming little girl seemed to have been waiting for a long time, riding her little red horse with a disdainful expression.

“Why did you come so late? Didn’t you know I’ve been waiting for a long time?!” The scheming little girl, Li Shu, opened with an accusation.

Zhu Ping’an, sitting atop the yellow cow, looked down at the scheming little girl with helplessness. It’s not that I came late; you clearly arrived too early. Speaking of which, didn’t you used to come much later? Why are you so early today? And this brat has changed her clothes again; that’s too excessive. Changing every day must cost a fortune—who could afford to marry you?

“Hey, are you mute?!” The scheming little girl, Li Shu, saw Zhu Ping’an looking down at her, appearing calm and collected, which made her a little angry. She raised her small whip, pretending to strike.

What a spoiled young-lady temper. She became angry over the slightest thing, as though everyone in the world were her servant.

“I usually come at this time,” Zhu Ping’an said lightly, then leaned down to pat the old yellow cow’s head and said, “Old Huang, I’m getting off.”

Old Huang bent down slightly, and Zhu Ping’an rolled off its back, leading the old cow up the hillside.

The little girl was a bit envious that Zhu Ping’an had trained the old cow to be so obedient, but she also remembered why she had come early: what had happened after Guo Jing shot two eagles with one arrow yesterday? Would the Mongolian barbarian Khan really marry Huazheng to that useless person? I want to know the story that’s coming! Last night, I tossed and turned and couldn’t sleep well; my heart felt like a kitten scratching inside, so I hurried over early.

But if this little pauper refused to tell her the story, how could that possibly be allowed?

So, the scheming little girl rode her horse to catch up with Zhu Ping’an, blocking his way and threatening, “Hey, Zhu Ping’an, you didn’t forget something, did you? Do you believe I’ll go tell the teacher right now?”

The same old trick—just like those elementary-school girls who were always threatening to report someone to the teacher.

“The teacher didn’t continue The Legend of the Condor Heroes yesterday. He taught the Three Character Classic and calligraphy instead, so there was no story. I’m going up to see whether he tells any more today. If he does, I’ll come back and tell you,” Zhu Ping’an said, spreading his hands helplessly.

“You’re lying! I don’t care; I want you to tell me!” The scheming little girl began to be unreasonable, demanding Zhu Ping’an tell her immediately.

“If the teacher doesn’t tell, I can’t tell you either,” Zhu Ping’an shook his head in refusal.

“You, hmph! If you tell me, I’ll let you eat this.” The scheming little girl took a small box from her saddle, opened it, and inside was fragrant braised pork.

Zhu Ping’an’s mouth immediately began to water. He had eaten a filling breakfast because of Grandfather’s words the night before, but it had still consisted only of plain vegetables and coarse-grain flatbreads. Now a box of fragrant braised pork was sitting before him, still steaming. Could this little box be some kind of ancient insulated food container?!

“I had the cook make this especially for you. Just eat it,” the scheming little girl explained. She seemed to remember how, the day before, she had compared the little brat to a dog only to have him mock her in return, so for once she suppressed her pride enough to clarify her meaning.

Zhu Ping’an licked his lips and shook his head with difficulty.

“You!” The scheming little girl exploded.

“I’m going to class now. If the teacher continues The Legend of the Condor Heroes, I’ll tell you afterward.” Zhu Ping’an did not want to provoke the scheming girl. Who knew what she might do when she became angry?

The scheming little girl fell silent for a moment and said, “Then you better hurry; it won’t taste good once it cools down.”

Zhu Ping’an nodded and led the old yellow ox up the hillside.

The scheming little girl watched Zhu Ping’an disappear uphill and cracked her whip twice in frustration.

Carrying his black wooden board and brush, Zhu Ping’an reached his usual place outside the classroom just as the teacher finished checking the children’s homework. Zhu Pingjun had once again been punished with the ruler.

After checking the homework, the teacher began the day’s lesson, continuing with the Thousand Character Classic. Today’s lines were: “Clouds rise and bring rain; dew congeals into frost. Gold comes from Lishui; jade comes from Kunlun.” He led the children through several recitations before explaining the passage.

While explaining, the teacher again noticed the mischievous child outside the classroom sitting upright as though listening seriously. He felt a flicker of curiosity but did not pay much attention to it.

After the explanation, the teacher began teaching the children how to write these characters.

The teacher wrote out the characters as a model and hung the sheet at the front of the classroom. Then he walked among the students, explaining the key points of the strokes and correcting their mistakes.

When he reached the doorway, the teacher saw the mischievous child once again playing with water and stones. He shook his head with an amused smile, deciding he had been overthinking it; the child clearly had not been listening to the lecture at all.

So, the teacher focused all his attention back on teaching the children inside the classroom.

Outside the window, Zhu Ping’an had no idea what the teacher was thinking. He poured a little water into the groove in the stone, glanced at the large model characters hanging at the front of the classroom, listened to the explanation of the brushwork, and began writing rapidly on his black wooden board.

The teacher walked around the classroom, correcting every child’s mistakes. When passing the doorway again, he saw the mischievous child once more.

From the teacher’s perspective, the mischievous child was no longer merely playing with water and stones. Now he seemed to have found a new game—scratching at the stone with a thin bamboo stick.

Curiosity finally got the better of the teacher. He told the children to copy the characters three times, then stepped outside and walked toward the mischievous child.

The mischievous child seemed engrossed in play and didn’t notice the teacher approaching.

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