Chapter Forty-Two: Meeting Zhuge Liang Again

The next morning, Shen Chen rose early.

Very few students lived on campus at Xianshan Academy, and the houses were large and empty—he essentially lived alone. No one here would accommodate or care for him. Word had spread that a nine-year-old child had arrived, and the other students regarded him with curiosity but none wished to interact. After all, even the youngest of them were well into their teens, some even in their twenties or thirties. Spending time with a child might make them seem immature in the eyes of others.

Shen Chen, however, paid this no mind. After a simple wash, he made his way to see the academy’s headmaster, Song Zhong.

It was the start of summer, and Song Zhong had been busy airing out the academy’s books. Previously, he and Qi Wu Kai had been annotating the Five Classics—Poetry, History, Rites, Changes, and Spring and Autumn—writing commentaries collectively known as the “Chapters and Sentences of the Five Classics.” He’d had little leisure to teach, but now that summer had arrived, airing out the books meant he had more free time.

He’d told Shen Chen the day before to come straight to him in the morning.

When Shen Chen arrived at the main hall, he found Song Zhong and Wang Can rummaging through boxes, pulling out stacks of bamboo slips so thick with dust that it nearly obscured them. Wang Can opened a large chest; a cloud of dust billowed up, and after dispersing it with a wave of his hand, he pulled out a scroll. Before he could bring it outside, the cord binding it snapped, and the bamboo slips spilled to the floor with a clatter.

“Master Zhongzi, how many years has it been since you last opened this chest?” Wang Can asked as he gathered the slips. “This ‘Li Ju’ seems to have been gnawed by rats—several slips are ruined.”

Song Zhong looked a little embarrassed. “In my youth, I traveled and copied a great many texts from various households. I copied so much that I probably have tens of thousands of scrolls. There’s simply not enough time or energy to air them all out. Only recently, with the fine weather, did I bring some out.”

Shen Chen approached and bowed respectfully. “Sirs.”

“Shen Chen, you’ve arrived just in time,” Wang Can said, his eyes lighting up. “Tie up these bamboo slips for us. This little chore should be within your abilities.”

Shen Chen thought to himself that they were employing child labor, but in the Han dynasty, such distinctions did not exist. Ordinary children of eight or nine already worked the fields with their parents. Resigned, he replied, “I can do it.”

“Go to the back courtyard and fetch some cords.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Be sure to bring thin cords.”

“I understand.”

Shen Chen headed to the rear courtyard and asked the academy servants for some cords. By the time he returned, Song Zhong and Wang Can had already emptied several boxes.

As a renowned Confucian scholar, Song Zhong had amassed a vast collection of copied texts during his travels. The thought of it made Shen Chen’s heart ache—a lifetime’s work, amounting to millions of characters, tens of thousands of scrolls. In those days, such books were precious treasures. Yet in later ages, all these texts would fit easily into a single computer folder, leaving plenty of room to spare. So many classics, dismissed and unread by future generations—it was a kind of tragedy.

And yet, it was precisely because countless predecessors had labored ceaselessly over the ages, writing endlessly, that the splendor of Chinese civilization endured for thousands of years. However many files a computer folder might hold, nothing could compare to the weight and meaning the old books bore.

Shen Chen walked over, and Wang Can directed him to gather the scattered bamboo slips from the box. Song Zhong, meanwhile, dampened a hemp cloth and carefully wiped the slips clean.

The three of them worked busily through the entire morning—Song Zhong cleaning, Wang Can arranging the books, and Shen Chen re-stringing the slips in the order Wang Can laid out.

It took nearly four hours to finish just one box, and what was truly daunting was that Song Zhong and other esteemed scholars, not to mention the books Liu Biao had sent, had delivered dozens more boxes—countless volumes of Confucian and other classics.

Fortunately, neither Song Zhong nor Wang Can were so heartless as to overwork a child. After an hour, they arranged for breakfast, and during a lull, Song Zhong himself began instructing Shen Chen.

They knelt on mats facing each other beneath a great tree in the courtyard. Though the sun was fierce, the shade was cool, and Xianshan’s northern and eastern sides bordered the Han River, its southern side opened to the Jianghan Plain, and to the west lay the outlying ridges of the Qin Mountains—a breeze drifted through, keeping the air fresh.

“Today, I’ll teach you the Lesser Seal Script,” Song Zhong said, producing a scroll. “This is the ‘Shi Zhou Chapter,’ composed by the Grand Historian under King Xuan of Zhou. The text has over two thousand characters. Have you heard of it?”

Shen Chen scratched his head. “I could recite it by the time I was three,” he replied.

Though the book was lost to later generations, in the Han dynasty it was as renowned as the “Cangjie Chapter” among primers for children learning to read, holding a status much like the Thousand Character Classic or the Three Character Classic in later times.

Hearing that Shen Chen could recite it, Song Zhong’s interest was piqued. Stroking his beard, he said, “Then recite a few lines for me.”

Shen Chen obliged. His clan’s collection included only brief texts, and these primers for children naturally were among them. He had been tutored personally by his grandfather, who, before passing away, recommended him to his cousin Deng Mao. Deng Mao, amazed that a child of four could recognize so many characters, fetched other family classics to teach him. By age six, even Deng Mao and Deng Hong had nothing left to teach.

Song Zhong, hearing Shen Chen’s recitation, was astonished and asked, “Can you also recite the ‘Cangjie Chapter’?”

“I can,” Shen Chen replied, and proceeded to recite a few lines.

Wang Can, beside them, praised him: “Impressive. To know so many characters at nine years old—teaching you the Seal Scripts should be easy.”

Since he knew the “Shi Zhou Chapter” in clerical script, even if he didn’t know the Lesser Seal, he could deduce which character was which. It was as if someone could recite “Quiet Night Thoughts” by Li Bai—they would be able to read it in seal script too, since the characters, though styled differently, would appear in the same order and with the same phrasing.

Song Zhong, delighted, said, “That will certainly make things easier. Come, let me teach you the first character.”

He spread out the bamboo slips and began teaching the Lesser Seal Script.

With his foundation in the clerical-script version of the “Shi Zhou Chapter,” Shen Chen advanced rapidly, mastering the first section with ease.

Seeing his quick progress, Song Zhong was pleased and accelerated the pace of instruction.

Over the following days, Song Zhong was generous with his teaching. Every day, he and Shen Chen would rummage through boxes, air out books, and study the Seal Scripts together. In just a week or so, Shen Chen had nearly mastered both the Greater and Lesser Seal Scripts.

But after finishing the “Shi Zhou Chapter” and “Cangjie Chapter,” Song Zhong introduced no new texts. Instead, he had Shen Chen walk around the courtyard each day, fetching the aired books for him.

Another half month passed—Shen Chen had grown thoroughly familiar with the Seal Scripts and could read and write the books Song Zhong laid out to dry. His progress was remarkable.

One day, rain began to fall, giving him a rare bit of leisure.

To his surprise, a servant came to find him, saying he had a guest waiting in the central hall. He assumed it was his great-uncle Deng Hong, but when he arrived, he was elated to see it was Zhuge Liang.

“Brother!”

“My dear friend!”

The two embraced with joy.

When they separated, Shen Chen looked Zhuge Liang up and down. Zhuge Liang wore a long robe of blue silk, a Confucian cap on his head, his bearing as elegant and spirited as ever.

“You’ve grown taller since last year, brother,” Shen Chen remarked, measuring himself against Zhuge Liang, whose shoulders he barely reached—he was more than ten centimeters shorter.

Historical records stated Zhuge Liang was eight chi tall, nearly 1.9 meters—a true Shandong giant. Though not yet fully grown, he already stood over seven chi, at just fourteen taller than Wang Can.

Zhuge Liang laughed. “You’ve grown too, but you’ve gotten darker.”

Shen Chen rolled his eyes. “The master has had me out in the sun airing books for a month—I’m bound to get tanned.”

They sat together on the mats in the hall. Rain pattered softly outside.

Shen Chen asked, “Brother, what brings you here all of a sudden?”

Zhuge Liang replied, “At the start of the year, Zhu Hao came to Yuzhang. As you predicted, Yuan Shu did not come to the rescue, so my uncle brought us to Jingzhou. We hoped to go to Nanyang to find you, but as my uncle serves Liu of Jingzhou and could not travel, we had to give up. I heard you had come to Xiangyang and wanted to visit, but I thought you might be busy adjusting to the academy. Today’s rain gave me the chance to come.”

Noticing that Zhuge Liang’s clothing was damp in places, Shen Chen reproached him gently. “Next time, don’t come through the rain. What if you catch cold? Let me find you some dry clothes.”

Zhuge Liang smiled. “No harm done. I’ll be heading back soon—I only came to see you.”

Shen Chen thought for a moment. “The academy holds so many books—why not enroll here, brother? That way, we could study the classics together every day. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

Zhuge Liang replied, “My uncle does not get along with certain people here.”

“I see,” Shen Chen said, suddenly understanding. No wonder the histories never mention Zhuge Liang studying at Xianshan Academy—only that after his uncle’s death, he lived in seclusion at Longzhong, spending his days with Shi Tao, Xu Shu, Meng Jian, and others. So that’s the reason.

Zhuge Xuan had spent many years in Xiangyang and had many connections—thus, Zhuge Liang’s two sisters had married into the prominent Kuai and Pang families, proof of close ties. But making friends also meant making enemies—such was life. Because Zhuge Xuan was at odds with some at the academy, he would not allow Zhuge Liang to enroll.

Zhuge Liang did not wish to dwell on the matter, and changed the subject. “What have you been doing lately, dear friend?”

“Just airing books every day—it’s dreadfully dull. The master won’t teach me any other classics.”

“He teaches you nothing at all?”

“Well, not nothing—he’s taught me Greater and Lesser Seal.”

“That counts as teaching, doesn’t it?” Zhuge Liang chuckled. “Don’t you know, the ancient classics were all written in the Seal Scripts? By teaching you these, your master is preparing you to study the classics.”

“Is that so?” Shen Chen wondered aloud. “But airing books all day doesn’t seem to be teaching me anything useful.”

Zhuge Liang replied, “The Grand Historian said: ‘Peach and plum trees say nothing, yet a path grows beneath them.’ It may seem you’ve learned nothing, but you’ve found the path to knowledge. Once you master the characters, you can delve into learning. Isn’t that so?”

Shen Chen pouted. “But I’ve already learned the Seal Scripts, and still the master hasn’t taught me more.”

Zhuge Liang considered. “Perhaps your master is tempering your mind. No one learns profound knowledge right after grasping the basics.”

Standing in the snow at Master Cheng’s gate, the Monkey King kneeling on the mountain—these stories flashed through Shen Chen’s mind for some reason.

Perhaps Zhuge Liang was right. Song Zhong was testing him, and at the same time teaching him how to learn. Once he mastered the Seal Scripts, all future study would be much easier.

Thinking it through, Shen Chen suddenly understood. “I see now—my master must be testing me. I shouldn’t complain anymore. I should follow his instructions; one day he will teach me the classics.”

Zhuge Liang smiled approvingly, nodding his head.