Chapter 44: Those Who Achieve Greatness

The dishes at the inn were far from exquisite, but they made up for it with generous portions and affordable prices. The wine, in particular, was peerless—crisp and clear as it passed the lips, yet once it reached the stomach, it felt like a thread of pure warmth permeating the chest and limbs.

Throughout the evening, a succession of travelers braving the wind and snow arrived at the inn, some stopping just for a meal, others seeking lodgings for the night.

In a brief span, this modest little inn became a gathering place for wanderers from the four corners of the land. Most of them were loquacious folk, inviting one another to drink, playing finger-guessing drinking games, and swapping little-known, fascinating anecdotes.

Fan Jin did not disturb them, nor did he check Monk Hui and Old Man Hu. With a wine flask in one hand, his waistband half-tied, and a piece of spiced meat clamped in his teeth, he went forward to converse freely with the patrons.

After finishing his meal, Fan Jin returned to his room. First, he washed up with hot water. Once the inn servant carried away the dirty water, he sat cross-legged directly upon the platform bed, wrapped himself in a cotton quilt, and leaning over the desk by the flicker of an oil lamp, he pored over his books late into the night.

Living a second life, even with the Eight-Legged Essay foundation inherited from his original self, Fan Jin still lacked absolute certainty of a guaranteed success in the metropolitan examination.

His original self had not been a person of transcendent genius; the foundation sufficient to amaze a grand master of literature had been built entirely through decades of unremitting, daily diligence.

Fan Jin understood better than anyone that men of talent and beauty in this world were as numerous as carp crossing a river, and countless brilliant and stunning minds had been buried by the passage of time, forever hidden from view. Those who achieved greatness throughout the ages were invariably only those possessed of supreme wisdom and immense perseverance.

Though this body was already past fifty, it was far from time to lie flat. The changing dynasties and boundless mountains and rivers were not yet the stage for a mere provincial graduate to roam unhindered.

Furthermore, Fan Jin wished to see what heaven-shaking changes would occur to the flow of destiny when he successfully passed the metropolitan examination, placed high on the golden roll, and returned to Baimiao Village in Nanhai County for the ancestral sacrifices.

Having already tasted the sweetness of success, Fan Jin was naturally unwilling to squander his life away merely as a provincial graduate. To do so would betray the vast learning inherited from his predecessor and waste the very miracle of crossing over through transmigration.

As a traveler from another world, leaving no imprint of his own upon the mighty and surging tide of the era was simply not what his heart desired.

The lamp was dim, and the candle flame flickered.

Fan Jin read on without putting down his book, losing all track of time. It was only when dawn arrived that he suddenly realized he had fallen asleep at some point during the night.

Fortunately, the wind and snow had ceased, and most of the accumulated snow had melted.

Fan Jin tucked in his lapels just as a servant arrived carrying a basin of hot water, tapping gently on the door. "Honored guest, do you require hot water to wash your face?"

Speaking through the door, Fan Jin bade him enter, then retrieved the long outer robe hanging from the rack and told the servant to set the basin upon the washstand.

"Honored guest, if you have no further instructions, I shall head down to attend to my chores," the servant said slowly, hanging a clean towel over the edge of the basin and lingering for a moment.

Fan Jin offered a word of thanks and paid him no further mind.

Understanding the cue, the servant immediately pulled the door shut and withdrew quietly.

After washing his face and tidying up the curling pages of the books on the desk, Fan Jin put away his inkstone, brushes, and ink. He stepped in front of the bronze mirror to inspect himself, and feeling that his appearance was entirely proper, he finally pushed open the door and walked slowly down the stairs to partake of breakfast.

"Did everyone rest well last night?" Fan Jin asked casually as he seated himself at the Eight Immortals table.

Everyone replied that all was well, except for Butcher Hu, who rubbed his temples with an expression of profound gloom. "The wine at this inn has some strange trick to it. It felt exhilarating while drinking it, but now my head feels like it's splitting. Most vexing indeed."

A passing servant, adjusting the towel slung over his shoulder, paused to explain, "If it please the honored guest, the wine in our establishment is brewed right here by the proprietor's family. We have varieties that are strong and others that are milder. But in this bitter cold weather, the strong wine is the best for warming the body."

To this, Butcher Hu did not object and gave a rare nod of agreement.

The reason his head was splitting at the moment was entirely because he had engaged in a drinking contest with other travelers the night before, imbibing to excess. After a night of heavy intoxication accompanied by thunderous snoring, he had finally sobered up only when the urge to urinate struck him at dawn.

"Let us partake of some breakfast first," Fan Jin said, gesturing toward the steaming bowls of mutton offal soup, sesame flatbreads, and a small dish of pickles set upon the table.

Hearing this, the others complied obediently. Old Man Hu stood on no ceremony with his learned son-in-law; after finishing a bowl of the mutton offal soup, he proudly displayed the bottom of his bowl and beckoned the inn servant to ladle out another large portion.

Once breakfast was over and the warmth settled in his stomach, Fan Jin looked at the group and said, "Since the skies have cleared and most of the snow has melted, and considering we traveled laboriously for a full day yesterday, everyone may take the morning to rest or go out for a stroll. We shall set off once more at high noon."

He was no heartless taskmaster who only knew how to exploit without showing consideration for his subordinates. He well understood the principle that sharpening the axe does not delay the work of woodcutting.

With his permission, everyone was delighted.

Given the choice, who would willingly travel through rain and snow?

Fan Jin naturally guessed what they were thinking, but the art of managing subordinates required a balance of looseness and firmness. Neither blind leniency nor unyielding severity was advisable.

Leniency of the wrong sort resembled the Rongguo Mansion in *Dream of the Red Chamber*, where the servants climbed over the heads of their masters, perfectly exemplifying the adage of giving an inch and taking a mile.

Of course, the approach of certain transmigrators who swept away all their servants at once—selling some and beating others to death with clubs—was equally unacceptable.

In a great household like the Rongguo Mansion, there must have been no fewer than one or two thousand servants in total. Could they really all be disposed of?

Even in the households of dukes and marquises, executing one or two disloyal servants might pass, but directly putting a thousand people to death would surely earn one the charge of slaughtering the innocent!

Selling them off was even less feasible. Those who dared to embezzle and were capable of it were the old guard of the Rongguo Mansion, hereditary servants who had served generation after generation and knew countless sordid secrets of the household. They could never be driven out to seek livelihoods elsewhere.

To step back ten thousand paces, even if a batch were sold off, wouldn't a new batch have to be recruited just to maintain the normal operations of the Rongguo Mansion?

The ones driven out were well-fed fat ducks, but the newly recruited ones would be starving lean ducks.

At the very least, the fat ducks were hereditary servants whose entire families' lives were held in the hands of the Rongguo Mansion. By contrast, the newly recruited lean ducks, though seemingly possessing clean backgrounds, who could truly say whose hidden agents they might be?

The illness of the Rongguo Mansion, after all, lay rooted in its very foundation.

After finishing breakfast, Fan Jin walked upstairs to his room to review his studies.

Following a full night of reading Eight-Legged Essays until dawn, Fan Jin intended to spend the morning practicing policy treatises.

Although Eight-Legged Essays constituted the core of the Ming dynasty's imperial examinations, it was not the sole subject tested.

When the imperial court opened examinations to select officials, it had always placed exceptional importance on the "policy treatise." The Eight-Legged Essay was merely a literary form, not the substance of thought.

In truth, while examiners favored brilliantly written Eight-Legged Essays, they never rejected fine essays that possessed genuine substance and unique insights.

Especially in the palace examination stage, the policy treatise was the absolute core. Generally touching upon contemporary politics, agriculture, ritual teachings, popular customs, and various other aspects, the topics were set by the emperor or Grand Secretaries, and the candidates would compose their responses.

If one merely piled up ornate phrasing and crafted flowery prose, while it might not lead to outright failure, it would hardly catch the approving eyes of the emperor and the Grand Secretaries, and thus one could never pluck the osmanthus branch in the toad palace.