Chapter Forty-One: Wang Can

In the height of midsummer, sunlight filtered through the dense forest canopy, scattering dappled shadows along the shaded path. Xiangyang city rested against Mount Xian, though there was still a stretch of fields and villages between the city and the distant foothills. Following the winding path into the mountains to the south, one could vaguely make out a wooden archway ahead on the mountain road, inscribed with the words "Mount Xian Academy."

It was several years ago that Liu Biao established academies throughout Jingzhou, recruiting renowned scholars and Confucian students. Now, the academy boasted more than three hundred members, gathering a fair number of talented individuals.

The donkey cart slowly entered the mountain, halting at the foot of the academy’s gate. The guide sent by Liu Biao led them up the stone steps. Climbing over a hundred steps, a vast manor appeared ahead, its grounds enclosed by walls and the main gate left open, with faint glimpses of people moving within.

Deng Hong and Shen Chen stepped into the academy. The first sight was a sprawling courtyard, where the summer cicadas sang and a lush canopy of greenery shielded the yard from the sun. The surrounding buildings rose with ornate eaves and brackets, pavilions and covered walkways intertwined, and at the heart stood a centuries-old banyan tree, its branches trailing elegantly down.

After passing through the courtyard, they reached a classroom. As they walked by, they glimpsed shadows of people inside—students ranging from their teens to their thirties, all nodding as they recited the classics with clear, ringing voices.

Further in were several more classrooms. Yet, the total number of students appeared modest; each class held only a handful to a dozen pupils, seemingly at odds with Liu Biao’s claim of over three hundred attendees.

But Shen Chen understood well that in the Han dynasty, schooling was neither compulsory nor enforced with attendance checks. Students came and went as they pleased, driven entirely by their own will.

In fact, many affluent aristocratic families never sent their offspring to academies, for they had private tutors and family libraries. For example, Zhuge Xuan did not send Zhuge Liang here, preferring to keep him home and instruct him personally after work. Likewise, Pang Degong’s sons and nephews, like Pang Tong and Pang Shanmin, studied directly under their esteemed ancestor. Other prominent clans also possessed their own treasured collections.

Such collections were priceless, many being annotated by eminent scholars of the Western Han, such as the "Meng Family's Book of Changes" or the "Ouyang's Book of Documents," and some were even rare originals rather than mere hand-copied manuscripts.

Therefore, most students at the academies were either commoners, minor gentry without family tutors, or sons of wealthy rural landlords who lacked other avenues of learning. Importantly, here the term "commoner" or "humble family" did not mean poor, but rather those who had means yet no access to private education—merchants, prosperous farmers, or petty landlords in Xiangyang city, for instance.

As for the truly impoverished, even those with aspirations could scarcely attend. Not because Liu Biao refused them, but because life’s hardships made it impossible. Children as young as four or five were already grazing cattle and sheep, gathering pigweed, digging wild herbs, fishing in rivers, or doing household chores. As they grew older, they joined their parents in the fields. There was no time for study, not even a moment’s leisure.

Shen Chen could attend only because his family belonged to the wealthy farmer class, owning some land, and his clan possessed a few books and elders who could guide him. Otherwise, unless one specialized in Confucian classics, even someone transported to the Han dynasty with only limited knowledge would find it nearly impossible to acquire anything truly useful.

Passing several courtyards, they arrived at the central courtyard—a vast, open square roughly the size of two basketball courts, densely covered with bamboo slips laid out to dry. Bamboo slips, if left unused, would attract bugs and had to be regularly aired in the sun.

Standing at the entrance, the sight of the ground paved with bamboo slips was truly impressive—a veritable ocean of knowledge. But who would guess that, despite their combined weight of several hundred or even a thousand kilograms, these slips might contain less text than a dozen modern books? Such was the difficulty of acquiring knowledge in Han times.

Two people stood among the slips. One was a middle-aged man, perhaps about forty, kneeling on a mat and meticulously inspecting each bamboo slip. The other, a short young man in his early twenties, was carefully arranging the reviewed slips on the ground.

The guide—Liu Biao’s servant from the governor’s office—called respectfully across the ocean of slips, “Master Zhongzi!”

Song Zhong looked up, eyes narrowed—a result of years spent reading, which had left him somewhat near-sighted. “Who is it?” he asked.

“I am Cheng Zhi, a servant from Governor Liu’s office.”

“Oh? What brings you here?”

“The Governor has sent a young lad to study at the academy. He mentioned this to you last year.”

“Is that so?” Song Zhong turned to the young man beside him.

The young man pondered and replied, “Yes, I recall something of the sort. He said the child was very clever and hoped you would accept him as a student.”

Song Zhong nodded. “Very well, let him come in.”

Deng Hong nudged Shen Chen forward. Shen Chen, somewhat reluctant, glanced at the sea of bamboo slips and carefully picked his way through the gaps.

Both Song Zhong and the young man watched him intently, as though fearing he might step on the precious slips. Fortunately, despite the density of bamboo slips, Shen Chen was only nine and quite small. He tiptoed delicately through the maze, reaching the other side safely.

Before Song Zhong, he cupped his hands and said, “Shen Chen of Xiangben, greets Master Zhongzi.”

Song Zhong sized him up without comment, but the young man beside him smiled. “Congratulations, Master Zhongzi—now I’ll have less to do.”

“A child knows nothing; he must be taught,” Song Zhong replied. “You’ll have to endure a few more days, Zhongxuan, until he’s settled in.”

The young man, Zhongxuan, forced a wry smile, a hint of resignation in his eyes. But what choice did he have? Among them, he was the shortest, and these bamboo slips were indeed treasures, demanding careful handling.

He beckoned Shen Chen over. “Have you read before?”

Shen Chen answered earnestly, “A few books.”

“Which ones?”

“The Analects, the Book of Changes, and parts of the Zuo Commentary and the Spring and Autumn Annals.”

“Do you know characters?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Go fetch that scroll over there.”

Shen Chen walked over, carefully rolled up the book, and brought it to the young man.

“Can you read it?” the young man asked.

Shen Chen opened the scroll. In the Han dynasty, clerical script was the norm, but many ancient texts were written in Qin dynasty seal script—large or small—which was much harder to decipher. The scroll Shen Chen picked up was written in small seal script, its characters resembling oracle bone script. He shook his head, “I can’t read it. I know clerical script and regular script.”

The young man looked even more helplessly at Song Zhong.

Song Zhong smiled. “Today is your first day. You’ll have to start from the basics. Go to the rear courtyard to find a place to stay—Wenze! Wenze!”

At his call, a Confucian scholar in his thirties emerged from an inner room. “What is it, Master Zhongzi?”

“Take this child to the back and settle him in.”

“Very well.” The man named Wenze beckoned Shen Chen, “Come.”

Shen Chen glanced back at Deng Hong, who waved him on before turning away. After he left, Deng Hong bowed to Song Zhong and departed as well.

Setting aside his bamboo slips, Song Zhong asked the young man, “Zhongxuan, what do you make of this child?”

The young man smiled. “He’s rather odd. Knowing clerical script is normal, but regular script? There aren’t any books written in it—how would he know it?”

Regular script existed in late Han times, but it wouldn’t become popular until the Wei and Jin dynasties. At present—195 AD—most surviving texts were written in large or small seal script, clerical script, or, in rare cases, scripts from the Six Kingdoms period. Although regular script was indeed easier to read, there were no books in circulation using it. It was as if someone today could read oracle bone script even though no one used it.

Song Zhong mused, “Governor Liu says the child is clever, a prodigy. Perhaps he’s seen regular script somewhere before.”

“Maybe so,” the young man nodded. “But to claim he’s read the Analects and the Book of Changes thoroughly at only nine—I’m not sure I believe it.”

Song Zhong laughed. “Whether you believe it or not, we’ll see tomorrow. For now, let’s get these books dried.”

“Alright,” the young man replied with a hint of bitterness, returning to his work. These books were priceless; should they be ruined by insects, even Master Song would be distraught for days.

Meanwhile, Shen Chen followed Wenze into the rear courtyard, passing through several corridors and archways and into a long gallery.

Curious, Shen Chen asked, “My name is Shen Chen. May I ask, are you Mr. Wen?”

Yu Jin, after all, was known by the courtesy name Wenze.

The man replied, “My surname isn’t Wen; I am Pan Fan, courtesy name Wenze. Just call me Mr. Pan.”

“Mr. Pan,” Shen Chen answered, then asked, “The two gentlemen in the courtyard just now—one was Master Zhongzi. Who was the other?”

Pan Fan smiled, “That was Wang Can. Have you heard of the Wang family of Shanyang?”

He’s Wang Can, one of the Seven Scholars of Jian’an?

Shen Chen was quite astonished. The Seven Scholars of Jian’an were renowned for their literary achievements, among whom Wang Can’s poetry was exceptional. Liu Xie, in his "The Literary Mind and the Carving of Dragons," regarded Wang Can as the crown of the Seven, attesting to his learning.

Though they were not as celebrated as Zhuge Liang or Sima Yi, their literary accomplishments were universally acknowledged. Thus, for Shen Chen, entering Mount Xian Academy and studying under the likes of Wang Can and Song Zhong was a tremendous opportunity.