Chapter 64: Helping Oneself

"No, Brother Tong, let's talk this through. Whatever you wish to learn, I can teach you; there is simply no need to become my formal master and disciple," Jia Ping'an said. Yet the more he tried to clarify his position, the more determined he was not to accept this bow of respect.

To be honest, no one knew Jia Ping'an's actual capabilities better than himself.

When it came to understanding the Four Books and the Five Classics, although he was somewhat better versed than many people from his past life, that was only due to professional necessity and the personal preferences of his superiors, which had forced him to study quite a bit. But to claim he was truly profound and masterly in them would be absolute nonsense.

With just these meager skills of his, how could he possibly presume to be the teacher of a top-scoring imperial scholar? If this continued for long, wouldn't his facade crumble, leading to an awkward end rather than a pleasant one?

Jia Ping'an was fully aware of his own limitations, which was why he had no desire to take on students. In Tong Weixing's eyes, however, the situation was interpreted entirely differently. He simply assumed that Jia Ping'an thought him too old and too slow at learning, and therefore was reluctant to teach him.

"Teacher, although I am somewhat advanced in years, my memory remains reliable. Why don't you try teaching me first? If it proves unfeasible, this student will naturally depart of his own accord," Tong Weixing said, misinterpreting the situation and offering repeated assurances under the assumption that Jia Ping'an looked down upon him.

"That's not it," Jia Ping'an protested.

"Teacher, you may test my memory," Tong Weixing said, giving Jia Ping'an no opportunity to explain further as he piled on more guarantees.

Some scholars possessed an inherent stubbornness, a spirit of relentless perseverance, and occasionally a tendency to be fiercely single-minded. Without such traits, one could hardly hope to achieve world-shaking scholarly greatness.

"Ah." Seeing that Tong Weixing would not rest until he achieved his goal and refused to listen to any explanations, Jia Ping'an realized that he would have to pull out some heavy artillery. "Very well. You claim your memory is exceptional. I shall compose a poem. If you can recite it word for word after I have read it aloud just twice, I will acknowledge your superior memory and accept you as my student. But if you fail to recite it, you must banish all thoughts of apprenticeship. How does that sound?"

Driven to his wits' end, Jia Ping'an had no alternative but to retreat to a second line of defense, hoping to make the other man recognize the difficulty and give up.

Sometimes, the only way to defeat magic was with more magic.

Finally given the chance to prove his talent and memory, Tong Weixing agreed almost without hesitation. "Very well, Teacher, I accept your terms."

"Do not rush to address me as Teacher; you must pass the test first. But let us be clear: if you cannot recite it, you are to trouble me no further." Jia Ping'an was genuinely apprehensive. Dealing with someone whom he could neither scold nor strike was a truly aggravating headache.

"Please proceed, Teacher. This student is all ears." Tong Weixing looked at him with burning gaze, as if he hadn't heard a word of Jia Ping'an's warning.

"Alright, the classical piece I am about to recite is titled *The Song of the Pipa*. I shall read it only twice, so listen closely and commit it to memory." Jia Ping'an pondered for a moment. There were plenty of difficult classical texts, among which *Li Sao*, *The First Red Cliff Ode*, *The Pavilion of Prince Teng*, and *The Song of Everlasting Regret* were particularly notorious for being hard to memorize.

Yet Jia Ping'an saw no need to raise the difficulty that high; *The Song of the Pipa* alone was already more than enough to test a person's memory.

With his hands clasped behind his back, Jia Ping'an quickly summoned all the memories of *The Song of the Pipa* from his mind: "By Xunyang River bank at night, I bid a guest farewell; the maple leaves and reed-flowers rustle in autumn's chill. The host has left his saddle, the guest is in the boat; we raise cups to drink, but there are no flutes or strings. Drunk, our joy turns to sorrow as we face a bitter parting; at the hour of farewell, the vast river is immersed in moonlight. Suddenly, a pipa sounds from across the water; the host forgets to return, the guest delays his departure. Following the sound, we secretly ask who is playing; the pipa falls silent, the player hesitant to speak. We move the boats close, inviting her to show herself; more wine is added, lanterns relit, and the banquet begins anew..."

As Jia Ping'an spoke, he vividly described the pipa maiden's superb musicianship and her unfortunate past. The text exposed the corruption of officialdom, the impoverishment of the common people, and the neglect of talent in feudal society, expressing the poet's deep sympathy for the pipa maiden while venting his own bitter resentment over being unjustly demoted.

Spanning a full eight hundred and seventy-one characters, it took Jia Ping'an a little while to recite it once right before Tong Weixing.

Tong Weixing listened in total, enchanted fascination.

He possessed his own method of memorization: first grasping the meaning of the article, and then relying on comprehension to retain it. Then...

He had understood a portion of the classical text's meaning, but to claim he fully grasped it after hearing it just once? How could that possibly happen? Consequently, he found himself bewildered, yet at the same time profoundly awed.

For such a magnificent piece of writing, it would be no exaggeration to say it could be passed down through the ages; yet Jia Ping'an had conjured it as effortlessly as plucking a flower, which alone was more than enough to prove his extraordinary caliber.

If the hundred classical poems from earlier had already struck him as dazzlingly brilliant, then the appearance of this *Song of the Pipa* thoroughly convinced him. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to drop to his knees before Jia Ping'an and become his true disciple.

"Teacher, I cannot recite it." After giving Tong Weixing some time to digest the recitation, Jia Ping'an repeated it once more, only to receive this exact response.

Tong Weixing was indeed exceptionally intelligent; having listened to *The Song of the Pipa* merely twice, he had already retained well over a third of it.

Yet even at half, or two-thirds, it still fell short of Jia Ping'an's requirement for complete recitation, and thus... he had lost.

Despite his defeat, Tong Weixing's desire to become a student had not shifted in the slightest; he wanted to break his promise just this once.

Yes, Tong Weixing intended to go back on his word. As a scholar and a student of the teachings of Sage Confucius, he held such behavior in deep contempt. But at this moment, he desperately wanted to act despicably for once.

"Ah, do not call me teacher. Since you acknowledge your defeat, you cannot be considered my student. At best, should you encounter matters you do not understand in the future, if I have the time, I may offer you a pointer or two." Jia Ping'an did not slam the door shut entirely; he spoke only of offering pointers, and even that was conditioned upon having free time.

This way, his own margin for maneuver became much broader.

For instance, if the other party asked a question that he himself did not understand, he could simply decline on the grounds of being busy.

"By the way, you should know that I am a very busy man." As if fearing that Tong Weixing might constantly pester him over trivial matters in the future, Jia Ping'an thought for a moment and added this stipulation.

Upon hearing that he was forbidden to address him as teacher, Tong Weixing felt a pang of utter disappointment. To be fair, he was also a proud man, especially after placing first in the imperial examination; very few people could command his admiration in academic pursuits, and even the high-ranking ministers of the imperial court could not compel his sincere submission.

Now, having finally encountered someone whom he believed far surpassed him in literary attainment, that person refused to take him on as a student—it was profoundly disheartening. Yet just at the moment of his deepest despair, Jia Ping'an softened his stance, stating that he could seek guidance regarding future questions.

What did this imply?

Naturally, it meant that Jia Ping'an did not wish to accept Tong Weixing too easily; sometimes, things obtained with too little effort were not cherished.

Tong Weixing failed to perceive these nuances. He was still thinking that since Jia Ping'an had said these words, it must mean he was still willing to teach him, only that due to their previous circumstances, he could not officially become the man's disciple.

It did not matter. Not being a disciple still allowed for seeking instruction; this was clearly a manifestation of Jia Ping'an's modesty, an attempt to prevent others from realizing his true genius.

Presumably, this was the best possible outcome. "Yes! Thank you, Teacher, for granting this student's request. Rest assured, when outsiders are present, this student will not address you as teacher."

That Tong Weixing could interpret his words in such a manner was acceptable enough; as long as the man didn't come buzzing around to annoy him constantly, Jia Ping'an was content. "As you please."

With a casual "As you please" leaving Jia Ping'an's lips, Tong Weixing took it as outright consent. Flushing bright red with excitement, he immediately wanted to express his gratitude while also seeking instruction on the aforementioned *Song of the Pipa*.

Before Tong Weixing could utter those words, however, Jia Ping'an anticipated him and directly interrupted, "I will write down the article for you shortly, and you can take it back to study at your leisure. Right now, there is a far more important issue we must discuss."

"Please speak, Teacher." Tong Weixing looked at Jia Ping'an with an attitude of utmost devotion.

"Would you... like to return to Changdu?"

Jia Ping'an asked with a serious expression, his tone carrying a pointed implication.

A man like Tong Weixing would accomplish nothing if he remained cooped up in Ningguta.

There was no platform here for him to display his abilities, so he might as well return to Changdu. With the status of a top-scoring imperial scholar, provided it was managed properly, he could easily climb to higher positions. Only once he wielded sufficient power could he turn around and assist him; otherwise, why would Jia Ping'an waste his time and effort on such a person?

After all, when it came to composing essays, the current Jia Ping'an feared no one—or rather, he surpassed everyone. He did not lack ability or talent in that regard; what he needed were people capable of helping and assisting him.

Tong Weixing could not fathom why Jia Ping'an had abruptly posed such a question. Weren't they right in the middle of discussing an apprenticeship?

Yet in his eyes, Jia Ping'an had already transcended mortal standing. Since his teacher asked, he naturally dared not play any clever tricks. Feeling somewhat abashed, he replied, "This student dares not hide it from Teacher: I do wish to return to Changdu."

"Very well. Then I shall lend you a helping hand to get you back to Changdu." Jia Ping'an had been waiting precisely for these words.

"Ah? Teacher can help me?" Tong Weixing raised his head, his face a mask of utter disbelief.

Had anyone uttered such words to him a few days prior, he would have scoffed and dismissed them with a sneer: a mere youth, and the descendant of a disgraced official to boot, speaking so boldly without fear of biting his tongue.

Things were different now. As Jia Ping'an's image grew increasingly towering in his heart, Tong Weixing found himself—for reasons unknown—believing that statement with absolute conviction.

"It is not I helping you, but you helping yourself." Jia Ping'an shook his head. While he possessed a mysterious spatial dimension and a vast reservoir of knowledge, none of those things could be laid out openly on the table for discussion at the moment.

"Helping myself?" Tong Weixing pointed at himself, wearing a puzzled expression.

"Precisely, you helping yourself. The current Xuan State governs through literature, and the reigning emperor styles himself Xuan Wenzong. Just think: if you can demonstrate your profound scholarship, and once word of it reaches Changdu and the ears of the Emperor, will he not re-employ you?"

Tong Weixing was an exceedingly sharp man; previously, he had simply channeled all that intelligence into his studies while rarely pondering other matters.