2 : The Eldest Son Of A Criminal Official Passed The Imperial Examination And Entered Officialdom

Chapter 2

Back in the modern world, Zhuo Siheng had never been particularly gifted at Chinese literature.

Fortunately, he was smart.

As long as he memorized the required texts, mastered the standard approaches to answering questions and writing essays, he could still earn excellent scores.

Choosing the science track had been his own decision, one made out of genuine interest.

Even when reading outside of school, he preferred books about prehistoric dinosaurs or the mysteries of the universe.

As for the famous literary classics everyone recommended...

He simply memorized the synopsis and the central theme, and called it a day.

Now, however, he had to study the literary curriculum all over again.

Although he had a father who had once ranked tenth in the nation in the palace examination's second class—a true examination prodigy—their circumstances were so limited that learning was inevitably difficult.

Thankfully, Zhuo Siheng was quick-witted.

During the previous year, he had already finished the basic primers—the Three Character Classic, Hundred Family Surnames, and Thousand Character Classic.

This year, he had begun studying Enlightenment Through Tonal Patterns, and was finally ready to move on to Erya, the introductory text for classical Chinese philology.

Seeing that his son could remain so focused on studying despite living in such harsh conditions, Zhuo Yan couldn't help but admire his intelligence and natural talent.

Huiheng, who had just turned six, was also exceptionally clever and clearly possessed the family's scholarly aptitude.

The more he saw their potential, the more his heart ached that both children had become registered criminals.

Because of that, he became even more devoted to teaching them.

Even while performing hard labor each day, he would spend most of the time thinking about what passage he should teach that evening, and how he could explain it in a way that would help his son better understand its profound meanings.

In the end, everything had to be taught orally.

They didn't even own a brush or paper.

Afraid that simply listening every day would bore his son and daughter—and not caring to follow the rigid methods of formal academies—Zhuo Yan would often tell them the more story-driven and entertaining passages from the Zuo Commentary, Gongyang Commentary, and Guliang Commentary.

From time to time, he would also explain the famous anecdotes and historical allusions found in Dragon Whip Shadow.

Although the stories contained in the Three Commentaries on the Spring and Autumn Annals were said to be important material for the imperial examinations, they were genuinely far more interesting than the dry Four Books.

To Zhuo Siheng, they were much more engaging.

Even while leading his younger siblings to collect their meals, he was still recalling what his father had taught the previous night.

"Attack only those who have committed no crime; once they submit, show them mercy. Judge others according to their virtue, act within your own strength, seize the proper opportunity, and leave no troubles for future generations. Only then can one truly be said to understand propriety..."

"Big Brother, are you reciting the Zuo Commentary story Father taught yesterday? What's it about?" Huiheng asked.

Although only five years old, her health was poor.

She usually had to rest halfway through their lessons.

Still, her memory was no worse than Zhuo Siheng's.

While she couldn't recite passages word for word like he could, she could at least recognize where they came from.

Anything deeper than that, however, was beyond her.

Zhuo Siheng found all of his younger siblings incredibly adorable.

He was never annoyed when they interrupted his train of thought.

Softening his voice, he explained, "It means that people should do only what they're capable of doing. Even when something ought to be done, you still have to wait for the right opportunity. You can't act recklessly."

"Don't... be... weckless... no weckless..."

Xiheng, now around two years old, had recently learned to speak and loved chiming into every conversation.

Curled up on Zhuo Siheng's back, he repeated the words after him.

His pronunciation was still unclear, making him both adorable and unintentionally hilarious.

Seeing her older brother slow down, Ciheng immediately expressed her complete dissatisfaction with the scholarly discussion between her siblings.

"Big Brother, I'm hungry!"

Each of his three younger siblings had a completely different personality.

Yet every single one of them was lovable.

Huiheng was quiet, gentle, and refined.

Ciheng was energetic, straightforward, and constantly on the move.

As for Xiheng, although he was still too young for his personality to be fully apparent, he had already begun coming up with little mischievous ideas.

He would probably grow into quite the troublesome little demon king.

Still...

Given their family's current circumstances, perhaps having a little personality was for the best.

Only by living as themselves could they truly endure the bitterness life had in store.

Ciheng urged him to hurry again.

Letting go of his hand, she skipped ahead on her own.

Zhuo Siheng hurried after her.

It was still early spring.

April in Shuozhou was only slightly warmer than the depths of winter.

Snow still covered the roads.

Not a trace of green could be found across the wilderness or among the forests.

Afraid that Ciheng might slip while running and jumping, Zhuo Siheng stayed close behind her all the way until they reached the food distribution area.

Only then did he finally catch hold of his little sister, who bounced around like a lively little rabbit.

Annoying.

The records in this ledger were unbelievably tedious and fragmented.

That was because the camp kitchen didn't distribute each person's share of flatbread and soup on a daily basis.

Instead, it first listed the camp's total food expenditures for the entire month, then simply crossed off however many portions were collected each day.

The elderly, the weak, women, and children frequently fell ill during the bitter northern winters.

If someone was sick and didn't come to collect their meal, that portion would be left over.

After all, according to camp regulations, collecting one's food also served as a form of roll call, making it easier to determine whether any criminal households had attempted to escape.

Only those suffering from extremely serious illnesses—and who had obtained written approval from the camp physician—were permitted to have their meals taken home.

As a result, if fewer people came to collect food on certain days, the missing portions would simply be added to the final days of the month.

Whatever amount had been issued at the beginning of the month was treated as fixed, the accounts were balanced on paper, and no adjustments or reimbursements were ever made.

As for the surplus food that remained...

It quietly found its way into the pockets of each labor camp's overseers.

The profit might have been insignificant on its own, but just as plucking a feather from every passing goose eventually fills a quilt, countless tiny gains accumulated into something substantial.

As the two of them talked, Zhuo Siheng couldn't understand a single historical allusion they mentioned due to his limited knowledge of classical Chinese.

Still, the atmosphere was so warm that he couldn't help chiming in.

"Father and Mother are both right!"

Zhuo Yan and Song Liangyu had been gazing affectionately into each other's eyes.

Hearing that, they both laughed, teasing him for knowing only how to sweet-talk people.

Then they coaxed him into trying to write a few characters himself.

Zhuo Siheng felt rather troubled.

Fortunately, his own name was written the same way in both Simplified and Traditional Chinese.

Steeling himself, he imitated the posture of classmates he had once seen practicing calligraphy and carefully wrote it down.

The three characters in his name contained far too many strokes, especially Zhuo (卓), whose perfectly straight horizontal and vertical lines were notoriously difficult to write.

Having absolutely no foundation in brush calligraphy, even he knew his handwriting looked terrible.

To his surprise, however, Zhuo Yan looked extremely pleased.

He held the paper up for his wife to admire, and the two of them commented on it together.

"Although the character 'Zhuo' looks like a dead snake hanging from a tree, and 'Si' resembles a toad being crushed beneath a stone, you can already tell that if our son keeps practicing, who knows? One day his strokes may possess the strength of long spears and great halberds, with bold sweeping brushstrokes. Perhaps he'll even develop a style where seeming clumsiness triumphs over cleverness."

Zhuo Siheng could hear the laughter and affection in his father's words.

He could also hear the pride and praise behind them.

For the first time, he found himself strangely filled with confidence and determination about learning ancient Chinese calligraphy.

He had no idea what expressions like "the strength of long spears and great halberds," "long sweeping brushstrokes," or "clumsiness triumphing over cleverness" actually meant.

But he decided that as long as he had the opportunity, he would work hard toward exactly that.

While he was secretly making that vow, Zhuo Yan and Song Liangyu handed the brush to Huiheng and encouraged her to try writing a few strokes as well.

Huiheng was thin and physically weak, and her hands lacked strength.

She tried several times before finally managing to hold the brush steady.

Even then, she barely succeeded in drawing a single shaky horizontal line.

Seeing this, Zhuo Yan gently wrapped his hand around hers, patiently guiding her as they wrote the character "Zhuo (卓)" together.

He had intended to continue helping her write more, but when he noticed beads of sweat forming on her forehead and her fingertips trembling slightly, his heart immediately ached.

He hurriedly urged her to stop and rest.

Unexpectedly, Huiheng was stubbornly determined and refused to give up.

She insisted on writing her own name.

Unable to persuade her otherwise, Zhuo Yan once again held her small hand, carefully supporting and protecting her as he accompanied her through writing every character of her name to the very end.

In the end, even four-year-old Ciheng clumsily grabbed the brush and scribbled a pattern that looked more like a funny little face than actual writing, making the entire family burst into laughter.

Except for two-year-old Xiheng, who had already fallen asleep, the tiny, worn goat-hair brush was passed from one member of the family to another. At that moment, warm peals of laughter drifted out from the shabby hut whose walls let the cold wind seep in from every direction.

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