The last impression Xie Yan had was from when he was fourteen, when his father had disciplined him.
He couldn’t remember exactly why—perhaps he hadn’t done his homework and wrote something else instead. His father thought him too arrogant.
At first, Xie Yan wrote with a sense of grievance, but when he reached the word “arrogant,” his thoughts shifted, and his tone became lighter.
“I didn’t think I was arrogant before, and I even thought my father was being deliberately difficult. Now I realize that in any field, when a person has no real rivals for a long time, arrogance can arise unconsciously. I was too stubborn back then, disliking the rigid teaching of the instructors. Looking back now, if they hadn’t rigorously built my foundation, I wouldn’t be who I am today.”
Back then, being bound and disciplined had turned him into a bookish child.
Life held surprises—no one could have foreseen them.
He wrote that first comes discipline, then comes mastery.
The following pages of the letter described Xie Yan observing the discussions among the students at the prefectural school, many of whom debated government affairs, analyzing the effects of certain imperial policies.
Having never been exposed to this before, he mostly listened in. When he attended these discussions, other students would ask him what he had read or learned. He couldn’t answer—they had been discussing what they had heard, not the original sources. He asked classmates where they found their information, and thinking he was trying to show off, they would willingly tell him.
Through this, he found shortcuts and was able to locate what he wanted without much effort. For materials the prefectural school didn’t have, he consulted friends, who showed him sources from elsewhere.
In reality, many of these were just government notices posted publicly, excerpted by others.
These notices contained information about local regulations—some time-sensitive, like special measures during disaster relief or annual changes in conscription rules. Xie Yan had never paid attention to such notices before; he realized there was much to learn from them.
It was the result of multiple layers of negotiation—resolving issues without harming one’s own interests too much, balancing different sides. It was walking within rules while finding the loopholes.
He even studied some documents from the docks, gaining insight into the history and development of the prefectural port.
Small players had powerful backers, and the relationships were complicated—ranked by size, proximity, and actual authority. These backers could have connections with each other, friendly or hostile, constrained by years of negotiation, so that no one could act freely. When everyone had a backer, in a way, no one really did.
Lu Yang was amazed. He read the passages several times, confirming from the handwriting that it was truly Xie Yan’s. Only now did he understand the sense of his heart drumming that Xie Yan had described.
His prodigy son had made incredible progress.
Judging by the dates, Xie Yan had only been in the prefectural city for about twenty days. Twenty days—and he had these insights? Could the prefectural school really have such an effect?
Lu Yang calmed himself and carefully marked the opening paragraph.
Xie Yan had first listened to the debates among the students, absorbing many different viewpoints. They said collective wisdom mattered, and these ideas represented different positions and attitudes, broadening his thinking and training him in perspective-taking. Combined with his research into texts and official documents, he could form his own conclusions.
Lu Yang wrote marginal notes in the letter, intending to discuss this matter thoroughly with Xie Yan later. He didn’t know if the outcomes were entirely correct, but he hoped Xie Yan could be more cautious.
At least in matters of writing, he could keep his innocent heart, without needing to be so polished.
After finishing, Lu Yang remembered something: sometimes, imperial essay contests posed real national problems, seeking solutions from talented individuals across the empire. A well-written essay might catch the emperor’s attention, but a lack of finesse could turn one’s words into a weapon against oneself. Some degree of tact was necessary.
Lu Yang read on: first comes discipline, then mastery. He chuckled—his prodigy son was shaping himself.
In the blank space above, he wrote: “A stone from another mountain can polish jade.”
Xie Yan had explained this meant that a stone from another mountain can be used to refine jade. Lu Yang had heard another saying: “Jade must be polished to become useful.” He once asked Xie Yan the difference between the two.
Xie Yan had replied: “I asked my father about it too. Many people use the word ‘jade’ in children’s names because it sounds better than ‘stone.’ My father said that naming me with ‘jade’ meant he would carve and polish me. He hoped I could use others as a mirror to refine myself.”
Sitting for a long time, Lu Yang felt cold. He got up and paced, holding the small book, rereading this section several times.
There was no expression of longing or missing someone, yet he read carefully and was deeply moved. Nothing compared to a child’s growth could touch the heart so profoundly. He felt happy for Xie Yan.
He set down the letter and picked up a stone on the desk. The small gray stone he had given Xie Yan had been taken, leaving a jade-colored stone behind. Lu Yang held it—he would carry this one with him from now on, always ready to hold it and turn it over in his hands.
Two pages of letters remained. Lu Yang laid out the bedding, sat on the kang, and read the rest, leaning against the kang cabinet.
Xie Yan drew his dormitory—a small, cramped room. He didn’t like sleeping on a bed; the old bed had seen many senior students and was very worn. Sitting on it made it creak, and turning at night while wrapped in a quilt made it feel like it might fall apart. He felt uneasy.
A roommate told him he could pay for a new bed and register with the dorm supervisor. The supervisor would assign a carpenter, who would deliver and assemble it the same day—he could sleep comfortably that night.
Xie Yan had never heard of such a thing. At the county school, all these expenses were covered by the school. He told Lu Yang, “No wonder the county school teachers are so poor. They are too honest, saving every coin for teaching and running the school.”
This scene had not been written about before. Lu Yang guessed more drawings would follow—and indeed, they did.
Xie Yan had cheekily drawn Lu Yang on the bed, asleep together. The broken bed became cozy and sweet.
He kept it tasteful—just the two of them sharing a bed and pillow, sleeping soundly under a quilt. No embracing, no kissing, not even eye contact. Lu Yang reached out, touching Xie Yan in the drawing, then himself.
It was strange—yet somehow the world truly allowed for couples like this. One glance and they seemed inseparable.
This time, Li Feng came home but was too busy to stay long.
Preparations were needed for the drying yard. The brothers had unexpectedly come into some wealth and made a name at the docks. The business was promising, and they were willing to invest silver to build the drying yard in one go, ensuring future profits.
The next day, he delivered festival greetings, visited his eldest uncle, and brought news of Jiu’s pregnancy. Wang Meng had just returned home, and Li Feng helped carry the holiday gifts, asking the elders to bear with him.
He also visited his father-in-law’s house, planning to bring Lu Liu back the following noon, before heading to the county.
Once in the county, he met Lu Yang and gave a detailed account of the prefectural city.
The capture of the river bandits had surprised Lu Yang at first, but he soon calmed down.
“This road is long. I expected to meet land bandits first,” he said.
Lu Yang advised him: “For this delivery, take some men from the village, more than usual. On this route, you can’t hesitate—otherwise, it won’t be safe later.”
Li Feng understood. When he learned that the river bandits had backing, he had anticipated the risks.
He had another matter to discuss with Lu Yang.
“I plan to talk to the village chief about partnering. We’ll set aside a share for his family, and handling the drying yard will be easier.”
The profit split would change, so he wanted to inform Lu Yang.
