Chapter Twenty-Two: The Daily Life of a Scholar

The county magistrate was left exasperated by the “Umbrella of the People,” utterly at a loss, and hid away in the inner chambers to pen a letter to Chang’an city…

Meanwhile, at Weiyang Academy, Ma Dai and his fellow scholars brimmed with confidence, entirely oblivious to the fact that they had been maneuvered onto the very forefront of public opinion—or perhaps, they simply didn’t care.

“In the streets, it’s rumored that I, Ma Dai, slew a ghost beyond my station. There are two facts that have not been properly clarified,” Ma Dai said, holding a cup of fine tea as he sat upright upon a bamboo chair, speaking with composed eloquence.

“First, the wording is improper. As disciples of Confucian sages, when we subdue monsters and demons, it should be called ‘suppression,’ not the crude ‘slaying’ of mere warriors.

Second, the suppression of the three hundred and eighty-year-old ghost was achieved with the visible help of Li Yishan and secret support from a master. It was not my accomplishment alone. The ancients say, ‘A gentleman does not seize what others favor.’ How could I, Ma Dai, take credit for another’s merit? This matter must be made clear.”

The county constable listened in silence, eyes lowered to observe the newly stocked carp swimming in the pond.

He Chang’an gazed at Ma Dai, whose austere features and snow-white clothing exuded a quiet majesty, and felt a surge of admiration. This was a true scholar! Unyielding, calm, clear-headed, neither greedy for glory nor eager to shift blame—and so strikingly handsome, nearly a tenth as handsome as He Chang’an himself…

“Senior Ma Dai is full of learning, worthy of being Dean Zhao’s personal disciple. Truly admirable.”

“A scholar of the Great Tang must be thus.”

“Yes, the court is listless, but we scholars must not follow suit!”

“Indeed, we must not be weak—we must be strong…”

After a round of laughter, Ma Dai cleared his throat with a smile, “Such a fine, sunny day—how can we go without poetry? Why not indulge in a few lines of idle verse?”

“Absolutely!” the scholars chorused.

“To call poetry ‘idle complaint’ outright and still make it sound fresh and pleasant—this Ma Dai truly stands out…” He Chang’an looked forward to the poems and songs of Tang scholars. After all, everyone knew their reputation.

“I’ll start,” an elderly scholar gently waved his feather fan and paced slowly.

“Spring maiden falls for the tavern loft, unafraid to return late, never stays…”

He recited for some time, then accidentally plucked a white whisker from his beard, struggling to find the next line, caught in awkward silence.

The scholars burst out laughing, someone teased, “Li Changfu, when will your servant-girl poems be published? Don’t wait till your maids are all married, and you still haven’t finished the ending.”

He Chang’an listened in wonder, thinking, “Good thing I never planned to copy poems and show off like that fellow next door. In this Tang—damn, I really have no advantage.”

But these scholars certainly knew how to have fun…

Li Changfu, undeterred by the teasing, mused for a while before his eyes lit up, “Push that lady onto the bed, let her stay and wait for her hair to be combed.”

The laughter faded; silence settled.

“Is this poem any good? It doesn’t sound right—maidens, taverns, and now pushing someone over to comb her hair…”

He Chang’an, no scholar himself, was thoroughly confused, feeling it couldn’t compare to the likes of Du Fu or Li Bai, and quietly grumbled to himself. Yet the scholars seemed to appreciate it.

He Chang’an, uninterested in joining their games, casually slipped through the lecture hall into the rear library. His true purpose was to collect some books—history, literature, even science miscellany, anything to help him figure out what was happening in this Tang dynasty…

These past days since his arrival had been overwhelming—ghosts sponsoring him, corpse puppets causing trouble, scholar monks and nuns—he hadn’t had a moment’s peace.

Worst of all, both past and present “He Chang’an” were essentially illiterate…

A dire predicament.

While the scholars were busy with poetry and romance, it was the perfect chance to sneak into the library. The only worry was that the academy, neglected for years, might have few books left.

He Chang’an wandered to the library entrance, surprised to find the battered, mottled wooden doors open.

“Someone guarding it?”

He wondered, but didn’t dwell on it; as long as it wasn’t some ghost or monster, he could always concoct an excuse.

Stepping inside, he saw rows upon rows of bookshelves; most books were badly damaged, many chewed by mice into piles of waste paper and bamboo scraps.

A musty smell of mold filled the air, making He Chang’an sneeze.

“Who’s there?” A cough sounded from behind the racks as someone stood up.

In the dim light, He Chang’an immediately recognized the figure—it was Li Yishan.

The old man’s hair was white and wild, his face smeared with dust, looking quite comical.

“Oh, it’s Chief He.” Li Yishan blinked in surprise, then his face lit up with unexpected delight as he hurried over.

“What brings Chief He to take such interest in our scholarly affairs?”

He Chang’an smiled without answering, hands behind his back as he wandered among the shelves. Most of the books had become mere scraps, which he found regrettable.

“Ah, the Great Tang was founded on martial strength, yet ruled by poetry and prose. Who could have foreseen today… ha.” Li Yishan followed behind, running his slender fingers gently along the shelves.

“What was the founding emperor of Tang called?” He Chang’an asked casually.

“The founder? The Great Tang has no founder,” Li Yishan replied, a hint of disdain in his eyes.

“What about Taizong?” He Chang’an pressed.

He, being illiterate, only knew the most famous figures of each dynasty… though his knowledge of beauties like Diao Chan, Yang Guifei, and Wang Zhaojun was far greater.

“There’s no Emperor Taizong, only Emperor Taiwu.” If not for the debt of a dozen silver taels, Li Yishan wouldn’t even bother speaking to such an ignoramus.

“Chief He, mixing in the yamen, you ought to familiarize yourself with court affairs—especially those of past dynasties. Otherwise, when you rise in rank and fortune, you’ll run into trouble.”

With that, Li Yishan grinned, producing a small booklet from his sleeve. “This is my ‘Biographies of Famous Tang Figures.’ I sell it for fifty taels, but as a friend, you can have it for twenty. How about it?”

“Why don’t you just rob me!” He Chang’an glanced at the booklet—barely thirty or fifty pages. Was Li Yishan starving?

“Robbery? Scholarly business can hardly be called robbery.” Li Yishan’s eyes widened, once again regarding He Chang’an with contempt. “A gentleman loves wealth but acquires it properly. If one can swindle, cheat, and trick silver, why resort to theft? That’s the way of crude warriors. Pah!”

He Chang’an had to admit—Tang scholars’ shamelessness was terrifying…

To speak of swindling so candidly, with such freshness and lightness—Li Yishan was the first he’d met.

“Give it here,” He Chang’an reached out, “Let me look first.”

“No way—money first, then the book.” Li Yishan warily tucked the book away. “Don’t try anything—I won’t be fooled.”

“A scholar—even if I’m buying, shouldn’t I inspect the goods first?” He Chang’an noticed Li Yishan looked frail, his face pale, a scab of blood on his lips.

“Inspect? Who told you fair trade needs inspection? Crude!” Li Yishan sneered.

“Who doesn’t inspect? How can I deal with you otherwise?” He Chang’an grew annoyed.

“Then tell me—if you fancy some family’s daughter and go to propose, are you going to inspect her first?” Li Yishan retorted righteously, as if deeply disappointed in He Chang’an, leaving him speechless.

“Feudal, backward! In the Island Nations, the mother-in-law helps inspect…” He Chang’an muttered.

“A book isn’t the same as a girl…” He protested.

“Why not? Yes, perhaps not,” Li Yishan chuckled coldly, “But in books, there are golden mansions and beauties—what girl can grant you silver and let you sleep for free!”

“Well, there’s the ghost lady we conned together—not only did she give me silver, she took the initiative…”

“Do scholars have any shame?” He Chang’an fumed. “I won’t buy your book. With your lecherous look, you might as well write ‘Biographies of Tang Courtesans’…”

Li Yishan was stunned for a long moment before grabbing He Chang’an’s arm. “How—how did you know? Did you peek at my book?”