Chapter 36 Private School

Chapter 36: Private School

Meng Wan felt relieved after hearing him out. "You should wash up first; I'll go to the market to buy some meat."

His bowls and basins were still by the well. With only three families in the yard, there was no petty theft, so he wasn't worried about losing anything.

Seeing Meng Wan about to rush out in a flurry, Song Tingzhou quickly called out, "Did you bring your money pouch?"

Meng Wan felt his sleeve, where there was an inner pocket with his little red pouch. "Got it."

Song Tingzhou casually set his book box by the kitchen door and called inside, "Mother, I'm heading out with Wan Ge'er. Could you put my book box away?"

"Ah, Da Lang is back? Go on, I'll put it away."

Chang Jinhua slipped on her shoes and came out, delighted to see her son. She grabbed a vegetable basket from the kitchen. "Going to buy groceries? Take a basket."

Meng Wan slapped his forehead. "I forgot."

He took the basket from Chang Jinhua and walked with Song Tingzhou toward the meat stall.

The price of pork at the town stall was about the same as at the market, though there were fewer offal cuts. Walking along the street, Meng Wan said to Song Tingzhou, "What do you like to eat? Should we buy two catties of pork belly?"

"I'd prefer spare ribs," Song Tingzhou replied.

Meng Wan turned back to look at him, seeing his gentle expression as he said, "I'm fine with anything. Buy what you like."

"Oh." Meng Wan pretended to be calm as he carried the basket forward, but his steps somehow felt lighter.

Song Tingzhou walked behind him, neither too close nor too far apart.

Before they reached the meat stall, they spotted the Chang family. Aunt Chang was holding Yu Ge'er in her arms and carrying a basket, apparently just done buying meat.

As they were about to meet, Aunt Chang looked around nervously, seemingly recognizing them. Meng Wan spoke first to seize the initiative, "Aunt, it's been a while. Are you and Uncle in good health?"

Aunt Chang said with a fake smile, "Well, if it isn't Tingzhou and Xiao Ge'er. Why didn't you come by during the first month of the New Year? Your grandmother was thinking of you."

Meng Wan stepped forward to block Song Tingzhou and smiled even more sincerely than Aunt Chang. "We bought fruits for you and Uncle before the New Year to pay a visit. After the New Year, we wanted to bring more things to visit, but Cousin said you were living in straitened circumstances. If we came before the New Year and you had no food to entertain guests, wouldn't that make things difficult for you and Uncle? So we didn't come."

Aunt Chang's face stiffened. "Look at you, what are you saying? When you left in a hurry before the New Year, your uncle scolded me thoroughly for not keeping you for a meal. Do you think we invited you over just for your things?"

Meng Wan was deeply moved. "I was wrong to misunderstand you, Aunt. Aunt, are you here to buy meat? How about my cousin and I go visit Uncle right now?"

Aunt Chang held the child with one hand and used the other to hide the basket behind her back. "Your uncle isn't at home today, and I can't cook while taking care of the child. Another day, another day for sure."

Afraid Meng Wan would say more, Aunt Chang spoke while pushing herself away, carrying the child and walking briskly, impressive in her speed—truly admirable.

"Hmph," Meng Wan snorted lightly at her retreating figure. She was really stingy and annoying. When Song Tingzhou was a child living with her, Chang Jinhua had paid for his keep, yet she still treated him harshly in ways unknown.

Song Tingzhou found his snort and smirk at others endearing and natural, and couldn't help but break into a smile.

Meng Wan bought three catties of spare ribs and two marrow bones to take home. He cracked the marrow bones with an axe and stewed them with the ribs. The frozen tofu they had frozen before the New Year was still there, and he added it in, letting it soak up the rich meat broth—satisfying to eat and truly indulgent.

The three of them ate a whole pot of ribs and barely ate any plain rice, mainly because Song Tingzhou ate so much of it. Meng Wan felt he had grown a bit taller again.

That day, Song Tingzhou went to bed early, thinking about getting up early the next day to review his lessons first, then helping Meng Wan grind the raw soy milk. He felt for Meng Wan and his mother's hard work making breakfast and thought he should help out at home as much as he could, to make things a bit easier for them.

Before the rooster in the Lu family's coop crowed, the candle in the Song house had already lit up the room. Song Tingzhou was the first up, ground the soaked soybeans from the night before and carried them back to the yard. Meng Wan was already pushing open his door with a yawn.

Song Tingzhou felt both pity for Meng Wan and Chang Jinhua working hard on the breakfast stall and a sense of helplessness about their current situation. All he could do was study diligently and prepare earnestly for the exams, hoping to pass the scholar exam and improve their family's status.

Scholar He's private school was not far from the stall, a three-courtyard house of his own. The front hall had four classrooms on either side, and the inverted rooms served as dormitories. Song Tingzhou used to live in the corner room, the worst one.

As the only scholar in town, Scholar He was likely the most successful scholar in the entire Guyang County.

There were never starving scholars, but there were no silver-poor juren. The difference between the two levels was vast.

Passing the scholar exam meant entering the gentry class, leaving the commoner status. Scholars didn't have to kneel before officials, couldn't be tortured during trials, were exempt from corvée labor, and received annual grain from the county office. But these were mostly honorary. Being a scholar was higher than a commoner, but no one gave you money just for being one.

Once a scholar, many grew ambitious and aimed for the juren exam. The dream of scholars was to enter officialdom. They studied obsessively, and their families had to keep supporting them, often in poverty. The juren exam was even more expensive than the scholar exam, hence the term "poor scholar."

Other scholars, whether hopeful or lucky, still buried themselves in their studies for the imperial exams, neglecting productive work.

But Scholar He had seen his limits and given up on further study early. He returned to his hometown, used his scholar status to open a private school, and set aside his scholarly pride to curry favor with the local landlords.

He accepted gifts without hesitation, handling affairs for anyone with money. His ambition was so blatant it didn't match the image of a poor scholar who had studied hard in his youth.

His large house was a gift from a local country gentry, given so his children could have good seats and a good teacher at the school.

Scholar He ran four classrooms: Classes A, B, C, and D. Classes C and D were for young children learning basic literacy, with the most students. Families with some means in town sent their children there.

Classes A and B were for students aiming to advance. Class B was taught by Scholar He's son, a tongsheng, while Class A was taught by Scholar He himself.

Song Tingzhou studied hard and was at the top of his class. Logically, he should have been placed in Class A, and for a few years, he was. But after failing the scholar exam twice, Scholar He moved him to Class B, where he had to call a fellow tongsheng "teacher." The treatment was worlds apart, yet he still studied steadily without complaint.

"Brother Song, you're finally back." Zhang Jizu carried his book box and greeted Song Tingzhou excitedly.

Song Tingzhou gave a slight bow. "Brother Zhang."

"The scholar exam is coming up. Why did you take leave now? The teacher just covered a new biography yesterday and assigned an essay," Zhang Jizu said regretfully.

Song Tingzhou seemed to have good relations at the school. Behind Zhang Jizu stood a few scholars in coarse cotton robes, some with patches, suggesting they came from poor families.

Someone said, "Brother Zhang, why bother with someone like him?"

"Exactly. Failing three times proves Song Tingzhou is unmotivated."

"He's always looked down on us poor scholars. Brother Zhang's kindness is wasted."

Zhang Jizu said righteously, "Brother Song is just like that. He's not talkative with us, nor with those in Class A. Besides, failing is just bad luck. We've all failed, so how can we mock him? However..."

He changed his tone, "Brother Song, it's hard for us poor scholars' families to support us. We shouldn't waste time on household chores. We should focus on studying. I heard your mother and... ahem, your fiancé have opened a breakfast stall. How can you let down your family's hopes?"

Song Tingzhou had once befriended Zhang Jizu because of his own cold demeanor. Few people bothered with him since he gave little response, but Zhang Jizu tirelessly chatted with him. Now, he wondered how he had endured his nonsense for so long.

"I'll take care of my family. No need for your concern, Brother Zhang."

Song Tingzhou didn't want to argue. He silently carried his book box into Class B.

"What does he mean? Brother Zhang kindly advises him, and he doesn't even thank him!"

"This arrogant brat—I bet he'll fail again this time."

"Exactly!"

Zhang Jizu's face fell for a moment, but hearing the other scholars' words, he broke into a smile. Yes, no matter how arrogant Song Tingzhou was or how talented, he would make sure he failed every time.

Song Tingzhou didn't know what Zhang Jizu was thinking. Since the market day when Zhang Jizu had shown his true colors to Meng Wan, he had been cut out of his circle of friends.

He had no time to make friends at the school. Zhang Jizu was right about one thing: he couldn't let down the hopes of his beloved.

After checking in with Tongsheng He in Class B, Song Tingzhou had been pretty down for a while after his consecutive exam failures and demotion from Scholar He’s first class to the second, his spirit dampened.

Then he realized that, unlike his dad, Scholar He, the instructor Tongsheng He, though rigid and prone to rote memorization without flexibility, had actually been taught by Scholar He. All the ancient texts that could be found were gathered for him, but he just didn't have the brains for it—he could only memorize the form without grasping the meaning.

Scholar He himself had long given up on the imperial exams, yet he enjoyed the privileges his scholar status brought him.

Like all fathers, he hoped his eldest son would fulfill his own unachieved dream and advance further, so he was quite strict with Tongsheng He. But when his son failed even to become a scholar after over a dozen attempts, Scholar He slowly gave up on him, stopped bothering with him, and focused on amassing wealth.

Thus, Tongsheng He was a stiff guy but meant no harm. When students discussed essays with him, he was super patient and even got excited.

Song Tingzhou hardly ever asked to talk essays with him, he'd rather just borrow books. Tongsheng He cherished his books, so Song Tingzhou copied them in the school, taking the copies home to read. This saved him a ton on buying books, but classmates often made fun of him for copying during class.

They didn't laugh at him for copying, but for wasting tuition money just to copy books.

Nobody got it, and he didn't need anyone to. The exams were like crossing a one-plank bridge with a thousand soldiers—you either move forward or jump off.

Borrowing another annotated eight-part essay from Tongsheng He, Song Tingzhou quietly copied it.

For some reason, Tongsheng He wandered to his seat, quietly examining his handwriting, then said, “My dad said memorizing without getting it is worse than not memorizing.”

Song Tingzhou didn’t look up. “Did you memorize it, sir? And did you get it?”

Tongsheng He went quiet, then suddenly asked, “I heard your fiancé called off the engagement?”

Song Tingzhou’s brush paused. “Last winter, he got engaged to my distant cousin instead.”

Tongsheng He sighed, “That's too bad.”

He had a son who just turned sixteen, not yet betrothed, but his father wouldn’t let him meddle in the children’s marriages. Besides, Song Tingzhou was already re-engaged—guess it wasn't meant to be.

As the forced labor in nearby villages ended, more yamen runners appeared in town, and the Song family’s breakfast stall business thrived.

Meng Wan knew from his past life he was good-looking. He wasn’t blindly confident—this face had caused him plenty of trouble with unwanted suitors before. Now, as a xiaoge, his reputation was everything, so he had to be extra cautious.

Fang Yun stood at the window, staring at Meng Wan with a strange expression. “Spring's warming up after the Start of Spring, why are you still wearing that wool hat? And what’s on your face—so many black spots!”

Meng Wan pointed at the large black dots on his face and grinned. “Ink! I splashed it on while practicing calligraphy this morning.” Even a good-looking guy loses his charm with a dirty face, and Meng Wan’s was covered.

The Fang family’s young master loved his fried dough, always sending Fang Yun to buy it. Over time, Fang Yun and Meng Wan had become familiar.

Fang Yun, even though he was a xiaoge, was into good looks. Quick-tempered, he treated beauties and others very differently, and now he was speechless at Meng Wan’s appearance.

“Well… fine, I knew you were different from other xiaoge. Anyway, pack me five fried dough sticks. Remember to save more for me the day after tomorrow—we’re having guests, and the master wants to serve your fried dough as snacks.”

Meng Wan’s mind stirred. “I could fry them into finger-length pieces for easy plating.”

Fang Yun pondered. “That works. Can you make them into flower or bird shapes? Our pastry chef makes really pretty ones.”

“Fried dough can’t be shaped like that, but I know a kind of stuffed pastry. Interested?” With fried dough selling steadily and tofu pudding gaining popularity, it was time to add two more profitable items.

Fang Yun hesitated. “Should I ask my master?” He was the young master’s page, and the Fang family’s eldest master doted on his youngest son, often calling Fang Yun for updates, so he had some sway.

Meng Wan didn’t want to push too hard, but the opportunity was rare.

“How about this: I’ll make a few samples tomorrow, free of charge. Don’t mention anything else—just say it’s a gift to the Fang family’s eldest master.”

Fang Yun was stunned. “Won’t you lose out?”

Meng Wan smiled, his ink-spotted face barely passable. “Loss is fortune. Just come tomorrow.”

At noon, Sister Cui came as usual to buy fried dough. Meng Wan had guessed her intentions—she feared being seen by regulars and sullying the stall’s reputation.

A covert prostitute didn't dare show her face openly, lower than brothel girls, afraid her tainted body would disgust others, so she wouldn’t even use Meng Wan’s bowls.

Scholars prided themselves on purity, studying ritual governance, loyalty, filial piety, and respect for teachers.

They spoke endlessly of benevolence and righteousness, grandly discoursing on ritual and filial piety as the foundation of the state.

Standing on a moral high ground, they condemned others to display their own superior conduct, sinking deeper into self-deception.

Prostitutes, ignorant of court changes, earned their bread by entertaining others, yet still possessed a humble heart, knowing good from evil.

Thus, some well-read scholars were worse than prostitutes mired in the muck, showing they had fallen into an irredeemable abyss.