Du Heng watched Qin Xiaoman from the window. The colt had already been tamed after a few laps, lowering its head obediently for patting, and Du Heng felt a sense of satisfaction.
He thought that once he learned to ride, getting to the academy would be much faster. He wouldn’t have to lead a horse on foot as he had today. No cart needed—he could ride directly, halving the travel time. Moreover, the academy had stables, so the horse would have a place to stay.
His hands itched again, and with the help of his family, Du Heng mounted the horse. What seemed straightforward at first quickly proved more challenging than expected.
With large animals, if they feel no fear or threat, riding slowly for a few laps allows one to get used to them. But if they are nervous, being on the horse’s back is like sitting on a bundle of spikes.
Animals are living beings, unlike inanimate carts. No matter how docile, they cannot maintain the same temperament constantly. A horse might spot a blade of grass and try to nibble, or jerk its head suddenly—any tiny movement could startle the rider.
Du Heng rode two laps around the yard, sweat forming across his back.
He dismounted, waving his hands. “Riding to the academy right away is impossible. Better to use the cart for now.”
Qin Xiaoman chuckled, tossing the horse’s reins to Da Zhuang. “I wouldn’t have trusted you to ride all the way to the academy. What if you fell into a ditch in the dark?”
Du Heng sighed. He thought of Mu Ti’s enthusiastic invitation for him to join the Six Arts Hall. With his limited riding skills, a ride there might end in wailing and panic, and he’d likely embarrass Mu Ti as well. Truly a headache.
He returned inside, washed, and changed into dry clothes, then sat by little Chengyi’s cradle. One hand flipped through his notes from today’s lessons, the other gently shook the cradle and brushed away mosquitoes.
The small cradle was covered with a fine mesh canopy. Mosquitoes couldn’t enter, so dozens would cling to the net if no one came by for an incense stick’s time, black and hovering atop.
In the countryside, mosquitoes were vicious; a bite could leave a red welt on an adult for a day or two. On an infant’s tender skin, it could turn entire limbs red.
Du Heng gently rocked the cradle, like a boat on water, startling the mosquitoes into flight.
Meanwhile, Qin Xiaoman used a bamboo ring to trap several spider webs, bringing them indoors to catch mosquitoes. The webs’ stickiness ensured that once a mosquito touched it, it could no longer fly. In just a short while, dozens were stuck on the bamboo ring.
“We have many animals, and the house is close to the pens. That’s where mosquitoes breed,” Qin Xiaoman explained. “Even if you clean the pens seven or eight times a day, the breeding grounds remain, so the mosquitoes persist. A child should stay in a clean, sunlit room to grow well. Since we have free time, I plan to find some timber and build a separate animal shed, moving the livestock outside.”
This way, the cows and horses could be raised further from the living quarters, keeping the house cleaner.
With more people now living at home, and Huzi the dog guarding the yard, there was no fear of thieves stealing the animals.
“True. Living here is a bit cramped now. Summer’s fine, but come winter, Da Zhuang can’t sleep in the wood shed—it’s too drafty and cold.”
Du Heng accepted Qin Xiaoman’s plan and marked out a design for a new animal shed beside their small house. The shed was simple—sheltered from rain and partially from winter wind. More importantly, it had a manure pit beneath: half accessible under the eaves, half inside the pens. Animals could relieve themselves directly into the pit, and the collected fertilizer could later be used in the fields.
Qin Xiaoman took the blueprint and quickly got to work. When Du Heng returned from the academy the next day, he saw the pit already dug a few yards from the house, and the timber had been hauled over.
In summer, villagers typically rested at midday. That day, two hired farmhands came to help build the shed, so Du Heng didn’t need to lift a finger.
Qin Xiaoman supervised while keeping an eye on Xiaoman, ensuring everything was tidy during her confinement.
After about half a month, the new animal shed was complete, roughly the size of their main hall, divided into four pens: one each for pigs, horses, cattle, and poultry.
Villagers came by to see the new shed. Having a separate, well-built pen was rare, but the real envy was the number of animals inside. With Du Heng studying at Bai Rong Academy and enjoying Qin Zhiyan’s favor, even a young colt had been gifted—they dared not speak ill.
Those who grumbled about the hired hands doing the work quietly accepted that the family’s wealth came first; as long as they could rent land and eat, they cared little about curses or insults.
Once the shed was finished, Qin Xiaoman moved all the livestock inside. The old pens were cleaned and repurposed for firewood. The former wood shed’s drafty gaps were patched with mud, giving Da Zhuang a more comfortable place to sleep.
Since the family had moved the animal shed, the nights had become noticeably quieter, and best of all, the mosquitoes had visibly decreased.
By lamp light, Du Heng noticed that the mosquitoes that usually swarmed around the lampshade were now fewer by more than half.
The insects around the house were under control, but near the animal shed, as the livestock spent more time there, the mosquitoes naturally increased. Qin Xiaoman would light plates of homemade mosquito repellent daily, helping to keep the animals free from bites.
With the autumn harvest still some time away, it remained a busy season. As summer approached, the constant sounds of insects and birds stirred restlessness, and even the academy wasn’t particularly cool or comfortable. Du Heng longed for the harvest period, when the academy would take a short recess for nearly half a month.
That day, after lunch, feeling stifled in the classroom, Du Heng decided to leave the academy for a while. He went to a cloth shop to buy scraps and cotton.
Little Chengyi was still tiny, only able to kick his legs while lying in his cradle. He slept frequently, but thanks to consistent breastfeeding, he had grown a little stronger and had more energy than when he was first born.
With a father’s tender heart, Du Heng often noticed street vendors selling small toys for children on his way back from the county. Common items like rattle drums or small carved wooden birds and rabbits always caught his eye. He could never pass without picking them up, occasionally buying two that he particularly liked for his littleson.
Yet he realized these wooden toys were hard and could hurt the child if dropped, so he thought it better to make a cloth toy himself—a more heartfelt gesture from a devoted father.
He had seen colorful tiger-headed dolls and small embroidered balls in the market, thinking his son would enjoy them. When Chengyi grew a bit and could crawl, he would surely appreciate such soft toys.
During the midday break, the classroom was mostly empty. Du Heng had already completed most of the assigned writing and planned to polish it later in the afternoon. With free time, he focused on crafting the small toy. He used bright cloth, sewing it into shape, and stuffing it with cotton.
As he worked, a light voice suddenly asked, “Du Heng, junior brother, what are you making?”
Startled, Du Heng looked up to see someone smiling, eyes curved with amusement. “Senior You, Senior Fu,” he replied, clearing his throat.
“Ah, a colorful embroidered ball? You made this yourself?”
Senior Fu picked up the half-finished ball, inspecting it. Clearly, it was handmade.
“Du Heng, I didn’t expect you to have such skill. Why don’t you join our Limin Hall?”
Though Fu was vice director and couldn’t bend the rules, having skill made a difference.
“I heard from the hall members who prepare the tests that this year’s evaluations include a craft category. Junior brother, did you make this to apply to Limin Hall?”
Du Heng smiled awkwardly. “No, it’s a small toy for my child.”
Fu’s eyes widened slightly. “Junior brother is already a father?”
Du Heng nodded.
“You truly have a father’s heart. This toy is exquisitely made; your child will surely like it.”
Du Heng smiled modestly. “You flatter me, senior.”
Senior You then added, “Junior brother, I hear our Master said you come from a farming-and-studying household. You must know a thing or two about agriculture. Why not come to the Agricultural Hall?”
Du Heng’s lips twitched. “May I ask, Senior You, what is your role in the Agricultural Hall?”
Fu quickly interjected, “Even the hall director cannot give favors. Our Master detests that. It’s all fair competition. The Agricultural Hall is less popular. Better join Limin Hall—after all, you already received the Master’s praise for your performance at the book stall.”
Du Heng maintained a polite, slightly detached smile. Clearly, the hall leaders had already cornered the students from his classroom.
“You are all distinguished talents; I could never hope to compete,” he said.
“Just a pastime in your spare time,” You said. “Senior Fang is focused on poetry gatherings, Senior Yu… and Senior Bai…”
Du Heng continued to smile. Though he considered himself the least accomplished in the class, he was now the only one completely unentangled in these extracurricular pursuits.
After some time, You added, “Junior brother, don’t listen too much to Senior Fu. Come to the Agricultural Hall. Even if you don’t want to join as a member, you can participate in the events. The prizes are quite generous!”
Du Heng had initially been indifferent. With daily commutes to the academy and childcare duties at home, his days were already full. The fanciful promises of young elites barely tempted him.
But when he heard “generous prizes,” his interest was piqued.
“What kind of rewards?”
You’s smile widened as he fanned himself, speaking persuasively: “First place receives twenty taels of silver! Plus rice, well salt, lamb—varied and substantial rewards.”
Du Heng’s eyebrows shot up, and he quickly reached out to grasp You Huo’s wrist. “Senior brother, rest assured, as a member of the Agricultural Hall, I will not waver. I’m here for nothing else but to support your hall.”
You Huo and Fu Youxue both laughed.
“This year, your Agricultural Hall really went all out,” Fu Youxue remarked, noticing how Du Heng’s mood had instantly shifted at the mention of prizes. “No, I’ll have to talk to Brother Xu and arrange some rewards myself. This year, we must also prepare prizes.”
You Huo watched Fu Youxue stride off. “Old Fu, don’t copy everything the Agricultural Hall does!”
“Why enjoy something alone when everyone can benefit?” Fu Youxue called back.
Listening to their voices fade, You Huo shook his head. “It wasn’t easy to come up with a good idea this year. Let’s hope people don’t all flock to the Six Arts or Limin Hall again.”
“Junior brother, you promised me—you must come!” You Huo said.
Du Heng nodded repeatedly in assurance. Who could resist such practical prizes?
The sixth day of the sixth month was set for new recruits to be welcomed into the different halls. Each year, the halls of Bairong Academy held a recruitment day, a tradition going back decades. Students, both new and returning, were free from lessons and could participate, choosing whichever hall or society interested them—be it the poetry society or some other small group.
The academy’s masters served as judges, and even the academy director and the county’s local gentry and officials were invited to watch. It was both a lively spectacle and a display of the academy’s culture, giving students a chance to show their skills and gain recognition. In past years, outstanding students had caught the eye of officials and even arranged marriages, while those favored by masters enjoyed extra guidance and attention.
Though most students came from ordinary or modest families, many were from farming-and-studying households. Earning recognition from the county’s elite was an important matter.
On the morning of the sixth, the academy buzzed with activity. Students did not have morning readings and gathered in classrooms or around the academy to chat, speculating about who would appear and last year’s exam questions.
Du Heng peeked into the neighboring classroom. Unlike others, it was empty—its hall leaders had gone to set up for the day, leaving him with nothing to do. By the end of the third watch, everyone began heading toward the three halls.
The liveliest was the Six Arts Hall, covering the most subjects and each with its own overseer. Du Heng scanned the rules: the scoring system was cumulative. From the start until noon, students could move between halls to complete tasks and earn points. At noon, scores were tallied, and the top twenty advanced to the finals. Students then chose which hall’s final to enter—Agricultural Hall, Six Arts Hall, or Limin Hall—but could not enter multiple finals.
Du Heng rubbed his chin, thinking the system was clever. He could experience all the halls before choosing the one that most interested him.
He noticed Six Arts Hall was the most crowded, so he entered to take a look. The contests had already begun—some were riding horses, others practicing archery.
Watching, Du Heng was shocked. His normally studious, mild-mannered classmates suddenly looked heroic on horseback. Whipping the reins as they raced, vaulting onto the horses’ sides, even hanging from the horses’ bellies—it was breathtaking.
Du Heng’s palms almost went red from clapping, his whole body filled with awe.
The Six Arts Hall was clearly a display of family background. Ordinary students, especially from farming families, would never have had the chance to touch a horse, much less learn riding from a young age like these well-born students.
Du Heng shrank his shoulders. Yes, he was making excuses for himself. Practically, he could barely handle walking a horse, let alone performing stunts.
He spotted Mu Ti on a sleek black steed, shooting an arrow straight to the target. Silently, he thought, “Senior brother, truly impressive,” then quickly slipped away, afraid of being caught staring.
“Last year, when we saw Master Mu’s young lord ride, both his archery and horsemanship were astonishing. I wonder how he’ll be this year…”
Just as Du Heng exited Six Arts Hall, he ran straight into his uncle Qin Zhiyan, who was entering with the elder Mr. Zhou.
Despite his personal dislike for the old man, Du Heng politely bowed. “Uncle, Elder Zhou.”
Elder Zhou gave him a glance, already aware of Du Heng’s accomplishments. Normally, Du Heng would have earned his respect as a scholar. But knowing that Qin Zhiyan had used his connections, Zhou felt proud of Du Heng’s status—though a bit haughty in the process.
“Where are you headed? The Six Arts Hall is the most exciting. As a new student, are you not competing?”
Du Heng replied frankly, “I’m ashamed, but I’m not skilled in the Six Arts. Best not to embarrass myself here.”
Elder Zhou snorted lightly. “This is the disadvantage of a farming-and-studying household, just like your uncle in his youth. Even though Zhi Feng has studied the Six Arts since childhood, he hasn’t necessarily shown off his skills at academy recruitment events.” Saying this, he shook his head and walked in.
Qin Zhiyan watched the elder leave, brow slightly furrowed.
“Uncle, I’ll head to Agricultural Hall first.”
Qin Zhiyan nodded. “Go ahead.”
Du Heng couldn’t help thinking how unlucky he was—running into that old fellow just now had completely spoiled his morning.
However, the moment he entered the Nong Sang Hall, his mood lifted considerably.
Before the recruitment event, the heads of the first few sections had been busy pulling people in, making him think the other two sections really had few participants—but that wasn’t the case. People still came and went in a lively flow.
Most importantly, this section not only had prizes, but the commission points were easy for Du Heng to earn.
The events at the Nong Sang Hall were quite interesting: they tested loosening soil, chopping firewood, correctly using farming tools to shell beans, husking different crops…
Du Heng immediately jumped in to show his skills. These were all routine tasks in the village, and for a scholar from a family of farming and study, they were basically free points.
Even for scholars, earning commission points here wasn’t especially difficult. Even if someone hadn’t eaten pork, they had seen pigs running around, so everyone could usually get some points.
There were quite a few people in line just to get points, and Du Heng realized he could only earn two points this round. So he decided to answer the questions instead—each correct answer could earn five points, plus a small prize.
“One household raises silkworms for a living, producing silk with a bright, lustrous sheen, highly sought after by silk merchants. It is known that the wife is skilled in sericulture; on rainy days, she hangs freshly picked mulberry leaves at a ventilated spot, shaking the ropes to air-dry them before feeding them to the silkworms. Neighbors observe that silkworms avoid eating wet leaves, so they dry the leaves either by shaking or pressing with their hands. If all other conditions are the same, why would the silk produced be less lustrous than that of the neighbors?”[1]
Du Heng answered, “Leaves pressed by hand are no longer fresh; their moisture is much lower than that of leaves dried by shaking. When silkworms eat these leaves, their nutrition is insufficient, so naturally the silk they produce lacks sheen.”
The examiner furrowed his brows, then handed Du Heng a two-point card.
Other examinees looked on enviously. Compared to chopping thirty jin of firewood for points, answering questions was much quicker. But without experience raising silkworms, most could only scratch their heads.
“Next question: one day, the wife feeds freshly picked wet mulberry leaves to the silkworms during heavy fog. Later, on sunny days, she continues feeding wet leaves. When the silk is produced, it is extremely lustrous and sought after. The wife knows silkworms avoid wet leaves—why does she do this? Neighbors are baffled.”[2]
Du Heng replied, “Silkworms cannot eat wet leaves before entering deep sleep; after deep sleep, they can eat directly. The key point is whether the silkworms have reached deep sleep!”
The examiner’s face brightened again. “Congratulations.”
Another three-point card was given.
Du Heng scored five points in one go, and because of his consecutive correct answers, he also received a prize.
The prize was wrapped tightly, and Du Heng didn’t know what was inside, but he had heard his senior mention it before, so he guessed it must be something practical.
It was a bit like opening a blind box, which fueled his enthusiasm to earn more prizes.
Seeing him earn points so smoothly, other scholars had thought about joining in, but after hearing the questions, they all backed off.
A lucky guess might get one correct, but most couldn’t answer. Seeing Du Heng answer with such energy drew cheers, and the number of prizes he carried kept growing.