Chapter 46: The Gift

That day, returning from the Great Wild Goose Pagoda and witnessing the spontaneous brushwork of Yuan Canglan, the top scholar, Wang Mingyuan’s fighting spirit was truly ignited.

Previously, during his early education in the county, he considered himself a standout among men.

But upon arriving at the prefectural capital and entering the prefectural academy—especially after seeing and hearing a talent like Yuan Canglan, who spoke with eloquence and brilliance—he truly understood the saying: there are always people better than you, and there are heavens beyond heavens.

For seven or eight consecutive nights, he dreamt of Yuan Canglan reciting texts with hands behind his back, and that phrase, “Plucking laurels in the Moon Palace, awaiting today’s glory,” buzzed incessantly in his mind.

From then on, he worked even harder every day.

The academy’s workload was already heavy, and with Instructor Liu’s strict demands, Wang not only completed everything meticulously but also pushed himself further.

Before dawn each day, he would rise early, practicing the Five Animal Frolics in the courtyard with vigorous energy to loosen his muscles and awaken his mind.

Then he would recite, transcribe, and ponder the classics, often continuing until Wang Daniu had reheated his breakfast several times before he finally put down his brush.

As the prefectural examination drew near, the atmosphere in the academy grew tenser by the day.

Once, classmates would chat idly after class; now, they buried their heads in study, with only the rustling of pages and the scratching of inkstones breaking the silence in the corridors.

Instructor Liu’s lessons became deeper and faster.

He no longer stuck to rote teaching but often threw out a question to provoke debate and deeper exploration.

Sometimes, during lectures, he would casually remark, “The Prefect has always detested empty talk and flowery words, placing great emphasis on practical policy discussions,” or, “It is said the Prefect holds unique insights on the ‘Great Unity’ chapter of the Book of Rites.”

Such remarks might have seemed ordinary to other students, but to Wang Mingyuan, they struck like thunder.

He finally realized how great a favor it was for Master Zhao to push him into auditing the prefectural academy.

Here, he could learn genuine knowledge and access “secrets” that were simply unattainable outside.

It was like the difference between taking the imperial exam in the capital and in some remote county—information gaps could be chasms.

Wang Mingyuan had truly caught a lucky break.

In return, he could only study more diligently and shine brighter in class.

Whether in analyzing classical texts or offering policy insights, he often hit the mark, earning frequent nods from Instructor Liu.

Even Chen the Fatty, who usually looked askance at others, no longer viewed him with disdain but with a more complex gaze.

One day, after Instructor Liu finished a lecture on poetry and prose, the students were left to discuss on their own.

Wang Mingyuan habitually took out his treasured notebook—The Mingyuan Collection of Poetry and Annotated Vocabulary—to jot down the striking words just taught.

He was bent over the book, unaware that Instructor Liu had quietly approached.

“What are you looking at?” Liu’s voice was low but made Wang startle.

He instinctively tried to hide the thick volume in his bosom, but it was too late.

Liu’s finger reached out, lightly pinched, and pulled the book away—as if confiscating a phone at school.

Wang’s heart shot up into his throat.

This was it! To a true scholar, wasn’t this “cheating” by relying on a crutch?

Would Instructor Liu think him insincere or deceitful?

Liu flipped through the pages slowly, brow furrowed.

The book was densely packed, neatly categorized, filled with words describing scenery, characters, moods, all annotated with sources and usage.

Time ticked by; the classroom was deathly silent except for the rustling pages.

Wang kept his head low, palms sweaty, feeling his back drenched.

He could almost imagine Liu’s disappointed, even contemptuous gaze.

Finally, Liu closed the book.

He said nothing at first, only raising his eyes to look sharply into Wang’s face, as if to see through him.

“Wang Mingyuan,” Liu’s voice held no anger or pleasure, “is this the ‘crutch’ you rely on for your poetry?”

Wang’s face flushed red, throat dry, and he struggled to answer:

“Student… student knows his talent and learning are shallow, especially in poetry and prose. Fearing a lack of words in the moment, he resorted to this lowly measure—collecting phrases for emergencies… Please, Master, punish me.”

He dared not raise his head, bracing for a severe reprimand.

Liu was silent for a while; the weight of that silence nearly suffocated Wang.

After a long moment came a barely audible sigh.

“Taking shortcuts is never the true path.”

Liu’s voice remained calm but softened.

“The way of poetry lies in genuine feeling and heartfelt expression. Relying on piling up flowery words may win momentary cleverness but ultimately results in mediocrity, incapable of greatness.”

The words hit Wang like cold water, chilling his heart.

Sure enough, he was still looked down upon.

Yet, Liu’s tone then shifted, becoming gentler:

“However… your effort is rare. To conceive such a method and persistently record and organize shows that you are not entirely lazy or careless in your studies.”

Wang shot up his head, scarcely believing his ears.

Liu said no more, simply returning the annotated vocabulary book to him with a faint remark:

“Keep it safe. In the future, strive to deepen your understanding and do not over-rely on this.”

“Yes! Student will heed Master’s teachings!”

Wang felt as if pardoned from a grave sentence, hurriedly receiving the book with both hands, clutching it tightly as if saved from death.

He thought that would be the end of it.

Yet the next morning, just as Wang settled into his seat, Instructor Liu came over and casually placed a neat stack of papers on his desk.

Curious, Wang opened them and his eyes widened instantly.

The pages were densely filled with words—not essays, but vocabulary!

Similar to his own annotated collection but richer and more exquisite.

There were majestic terms describing mountains and weather, vivid phrases capturing character and spirit, impassioned expressions of inner feelings…

Beside each word, in delicate small script, were clear notes: the situations they suited, what they described, their metaphorical meanings.

Some words even had tiny circles drawn next to them with the note, “Praised by the Prefect.”

This thin pile of papers weighed heavier than a thousand pounds.

This was no ordinary vocabulary list.

It was the essence of decades of scholarship accumulated by Instructor Liu—and more importantly, a solemn expectation.

Wang’s heart burned fiercely, yet he was at a loss for words.

He suddenly stood, bowed deeply toward Liu’s departing back, and remained bowed for a long while.

This kindness and trust he would never forget.