Chapter 5: The First Lesson of My Career

“What’s the matter?”
At supper, as she held a steaming bowl of porridge in her hands, Aunt Zhang looked puzzled at Old Liu’s sullen face, then turned curiously to ask Zihou.
Madam Tao also spared a glance at Old Liu before looking to Zihou; it was rare indeed to see Old Liu in such a state.
“Aunt, it’s nothing—just that my teacher’s words upset Old Liu.”
Zihou forced a bitter smile as he explained.
Seeing Old Liu unable to eat, Zihou was at a loss for how to comfort him. While it was true that Old Liu was angered by Teacher Liu Zhiyuan’s attitude, Zihou knew all too well that were it not for his teacher’s reservations, things would never have ended with just a few sharp retorts that left Old Liu speechless.
If his memory served, he recalled that Liu Zhiyuan, his current teacher, would, a few months from now, out of dissatisfaction, compose a poem that would nearly get him caught—and later, when he saw Li Yuan and found him wanting, he would even consider raising troops once more...
So many signs pointed to the same truth: the teacher he’d chosen today was a man whose pride far outstripped his caution.
Looking at Old Liu, Zihou could only suppress his thoughts for now. In another year or two, when his teacher Liu Zhiyuan’s name had spread across the land and his true identity was revealed, Old Liu would likely no longer be angry about this incident; he might even sip a little wine and boast about it to others.
“Hmph! If you ask me, why bother learning all that nonsense? Wouldn’t it be better to train in martial arts with Old Liu?”
Aunt Zhang spoke with open exasperation.
But to everyone’s surprise, it was not Zihou’s mother Madam Tao who retorted, but Old Liu himself, who had been seething with quiet anger.
“No!”
Old Liu, his beard tousled and bristling with indignation, actually shook his head first after hearing Aunt Zhang’s words.
This move brought looks of surprise to Madam Tao, Aunt Zhang, Cousin Zhi, and even the old patriarch, who turned to Old Liu with curiosity.
“That man has a sharp tongue and some knowledge in his head. Compared to others in this village, he’s not bad!”
Old Liu, though angry, made a distinction in his mind between his personal dislike of Liu Zhiyuan and Zihou’s studying under him.
“If Old Liu himself sings his praises, then he must be remarkable indeed!”
Seeing Old Liu’s expression, Madam Tao broke into a smile. For someone respected like Old Liu to think well of the man, this Liu Zhiyuan could hardly be as bad as the rumors.
Aunt Zhang, seeing this, held her tongue.
Meanwhile, on an old straw-stuffed bed not far away, Fu Hong and Fu Rui sat counting the family’s money. Most of it was to be taken by Fu Hong, but some was set aside as travel funds for the family’s journey to Qiao County.
Compared to Hong’s excitement, Rui’s brow was knit with concern. He would occasionally glance at his son Zihou inside, eating, still clearly opposed to the marriage alliance with the Li family.
But he could not resist when his son begged him in person, speaking with such earnestness: in this life, he would marry none but the sixth daughter of the Li family.
His son had made his words final; as a father, he could only acquiesce.
“Brother, when your business is done, do not forget Zihou!”
Fu Rui looked to his brother, hoping he would keep his promise and, once settled, send word to Qiao County for Zihou to join them, at which time he would leave trade behind.
“You don’t trust your brother?”
Fu Hong replied with impatience, glancing at Zihou near Tao, then back at his younger brother.
Fu Rui simply nodded and said no more; the money earned through humiliation and insult no longer felt so painful.
The two brothers ate a quick supper and returned to their calculations, counting coins far into the night.
The next day.
At dawn, after martial practice, Zihou hurried out with his sword and made his way to Teacher Liu Zhiyuan’s hut.
“Hmm!”
Liu Zhiyuan, seeing Zihou arrive, nodded and motioned him to sit.
“Can you read?”
Liu Zhiyuan’s complexion was better than the day before—even his short beard had been tidied.
Seeing Zihou nod earnestly, Liu Zhiyuan allowed a rare hint of satisfaction to show. He picked up a small stick and sat cross-legged before Zihou, but before he could speak, there was a commotion outside.
Soon, several villagers gathered at the door, pointing and whispering about the scene inside.
“Look! He really got himself a disciple.”
“Whose family is so foolish as to send their child here? Must be a stepmother—no real mother would turn her child over to a young man like that!”
“That’s right! Those old men by the village gate know so much more at their age. This one’s barely grown a beard—aren’t they afraid he’ll ruin the child?”
“Exactly! Shameful, really. How can someone claim to be a scholar and a teacher with no sense of shame? Raising disciples, indeed. Bah!”

The villagers’ voices were not loud, but in the silence of the hut, they rang out all the more clearly. Zihou, at a loss, shot a furtive glance at his teacher, then looked down, then glanced again...
At first, Liu Zhiyuan remained unmoved, but the harsh words began to grate on him, his breath coming quicker, his face growing darker—his anger plain for all to see.
A gentleman cannot abide insult!
Hearing himself branded a corrupting influence and spat upon by the villagers, Liu Zhiyuan’s proud nature could not endure it; he rose to his feet at once.
“Wait here!”
With a face like thunder, Liu Zhiyuan strode toward the door.
Zihou sat on the floor, heart pounding—afraid his teacher might lose his temper and go out to brawl with the villagers.
He knew better than anyone: his teacher was a man who would lead a charge on the battlefield.
Fortunately, the villagers, realizing their words had been overheard and seeing Liu Zhiyuan’s murderous glare, soon scattered.
Inside, once the door was shut and peace restored, Liu Zhiyuan returned to his place, closed his eyes, and let the silence settle.
Zihou waited some time before seeing his teacher’s mood calm and his eyes open, serene once more. With the stick, he gestured to the ground.
“Two months is too short a time. The ancient classics and the wisdom of sages require three to five years to grasp a single volume, and the art of governing takes decades of contemplation and experience to master—these are not what you need now.”
He looked at Zihou, indicating he should pay attention.
“Since you do not wish to be looked down upon, I will begin with the officials of the current Sui dynasty. This will give you material to speak of when you visit the Tai’an family. If you can discuss the deeds of renowned generals and their illustrious clans, you will not be slighted; as for the means to secure your place in the world...”
Liu Zhiyuan’s eyes lingered on Zihou. “That is a matter of high or low ambition—each finds his own way. We will speak of it later.”
At first, he had intended to teach from the classics, to explain those points most admired in the world, since Zihou’s aim was to avoid being belittled by the Tai’an family.
The best way to achieve this was to broaden his horizons and make others take notice.
The ancient books and classics, all had their place, and Liu Zhiyuan had planned to guide him through them.
But now, his anger still simmering, he decided to take another approach—one that would also broaden Zihou’s knowledge.
He would teach him about the great scholars and illustrious families of their time—the high officials and noble houses of the Sui dynasty.
Knowledge, after all, was the best armor.
“Yes, sir!”
Zihou raised his hand at once and bowed with deep respect.
Liu Zhiyuan nodded. Then, in that shabby hut, stick in hand, he began to impart to Zihou all he knew of the Sui bureaucracy and those in power.
“In days past, the Sui had the ‘Five Exalted Ones’: Minister Su Wei, Grand General of the Left Yu Wen Shu, Chamberlain Pei Ju, Censor-in-Chief Pei Yun, and Secretary Yu Shiji. Of these, Su Wei was the most upright...”
From dawn until noon, and then until dusk—sitting, walking, then sitting again, over and over—Liu Zhiyuan, for the first time as a teacher, patiently recounted the high officials of the Sui court, including many famous generals, summarizing their achievements and failures and offering his own insights.
Of course, he omitted anything too sensitive or secret.
As dusk approached, the lesson drew to a close.
“How much of today’s teaching do you remember?”
Seeing the hour was late, Liu Zhiyuan stopped and asked softly, his proud gaze sizing Zihou up.
He had discovered that Zihou was much steadier in character than others his age.
As his first disciple, Liu Zhiyuan, though he would not admit it, felt a subtle, hidden sense of expectation and curiosity—a feeling he himself had not yet recognized.
Like a mother with her child, or a father instructing his son, especially for the first time, with only a single pupil at his knee, the bond between teacher and student quietly became something special.
And when there was no second object to share it with, all of a teacher’s attention and pride naturally flowed toward that one disciple.
Liu Zhiyuan didn’t even notice. He had never taken a disciple before, nor taught anyone; all day long, he found himself questioning his own methods, wondering if he had done well, recalling how his own mentor, Master Bao, had taught him and his fellow students.
“Teacher, I remember almost all—eight or nine parts out of ten.”
Zihou, legs and backside numb, looked up at his teacher, bowed low, and answered.
But when he saw Liu Zhiyuan’s frown, he grew uneasy, unsure if he had answered wrongly.
In truth, he had not exaggerated: though his teacher had spoken a great deal, Zihou had remembered nearly everything, with little omission.
To claim “eight or nine” was, in fact, rather modest.

“Who did I say was the Chamberlain today? Who is the Censor-in-Chief? How many ministries are there at court, and who holds office in each?”
Liu Zhiyuan looked at Zihou intently, testing whether his claim was real.
He was not merely dissatisfied; indeed, a subtle disappointment crept into his gaze.
After all, he had spoken all day while Zihou listened. If the boy remembered five or six parts, that would already be impressive—seven or eight was almost unthinkable.
But now, Zihou claimed “eight or nine”!
He was sure the boy was boasting, making a show of himself.
The goodwill he’d developed for his first disciple throughout the day now began to turn to disappointment.
He gazed out the broken window, recalling his own student days with Master Bao. At their first lesson, Master Bao had listed many classical names and their sources, asking all the students to remember them; after half a day, Liu himself and his peers could recall only seven or eight.
And the classics, with their dates and meanings, were easier to remember than the officials of court, whose names were short and unfamiliar.
Even then, he had been praised for his slightly superior recall.

“Teacher!”
Zihou’s voice interrupted his thoughts. Liu Zhiyuan did not turn, his face expressionless, having already guessed the outcome.
“Today, you mentioned Chamberlain Pei Ju, Censor-in-Chief Pei Yun. The current court has five ministries—originally four: the Ministry of State, the Chancellery, the Secretariat, and the Archives; later the Palace Ministry was added...”
Zihou, raising his hand, recited as he recalled, word by word.
His clarity of memory owed much to his deep familiarity with the institutions of this era. He would not claim to be a historical expert, but compared to those who could recite the names and epitaphs of every figure in every dynasty, he was still quite learned.
He remembered well the first time he heard Li Mi called “the overlord at the end of Sui”—a hero denied his time—it was from those same historical enthusiasts, who never ceased praising him.
Most of the names his teacher mentioned today were famous even in later ages, so Zihou answered fluently and effortlessly, afraid only of mentioning details his teacher had not covered.
Within the hut, Liu Zhiyuan stood with his hands behind his back. As he listened, his disappointment gave way to a frown, which then faded as the boy’s orderly recitation continued.
Bit by bit, as the names and offices and even the minor anecdotes he had barely mentioned came forth, Liu Zhiyuan’s eyes widened in surprise, and then, slowly, in awe.
He turned at last to look upon the young man, sitting respectfully on the floor, and his gaze had utterly changed.
Time slipped by unnoticed as Zihou finished and made to bow again.
Just then, a noise came from outside.
“Young master! It’s getting late—time to come home!”
Liu Zhiyuan recognized the voice—it was the old retainer with the sword from yesterday. He urged Zihou to go home and return the next day.
He watched as the boy bowed and took his leave, opening the door and stepping out.
When all was quiet again, Liu Zhiyuan finally let out a long breath and unclasped his hands, only then realizing his palms were damp with sweat.
“He really remembered everything!”
He muttered to himself, his face and eyes full of disbelief and a lingering sense of amazement.
Staring at the open door, he sighed with a sense of melancholy, wondering if perhaps his teaching had been especially memorable.
But reason told him otherwise—even in his youth, he had sometimes forgotten details in conversation, let alone a whole day spent listening.
This disciple of his truly had an extraordinary memory—he could not forget a thing he saw or heard!
“A true piece of uncut jade, just waiting to be shaped!”
Liu Zhiyuan shook his head with a wry smile. He could not imagine how excited his own teacher, Master Bao, would have been to meet such a boy.
To think—the very first disciple of his life would bring him such a surprise!