Chapter Seventeen: Right and Wrong, Success and Failure, All Turn to Nothing in the Blink of an Eye

Wang Ding's icy tone made Zhou Zhi's heart sink with a dull thud. He thought to himself, borrowing this book would not be easy. Still, he had to try; there was no point in giving up without making an effort. The book must be read, and the imperial examination must be taken. With this resolve, Zhou Zhi straightened his back and stepped into the inner room.

Inside, by the window, stood an earthen kang with a low square table placed atop it. On the table sat a pot of tea and a rolled book. Wang Ding was seated cross-legged before the table, reading while savoring his tea with evident pleasure.

This old man had sent his aged wife out into the rain to fetch water, yet he himself enjoyed leisure and contentment, living a comfortable life. There was nothing to be done about it—he was a scholar and a proponent of Cheng-Zhu Neo-Confucianism, believing firmly in the division of roles: men handle external affairs, women manage the household, and men do not enter the kitchen. Such rules were not to be broken.

Zhou Zhi bowed deeply to Wang Ding and said, “I greet you, Master.”

“No need for ceremony. Speak your mind,” Wang Ding replied coldly, his face stern.

With Wang Ding keeping such distance, Zhou Zhi found it difficult to broach the subject of borrowing a book. He smiled slightly and said, “Master, I have no particular reason for coming here today—just idly passing by and thought to pay a visit.”

To be fair, Wang Ding had a decent impression of Zhou Zhi, especially after that day in the fields when Zhou Zhi wagered with Chen Wenju. While others merely saw that Zhou Zhi could recognize characters, Wang Ding noticed Zhou Zhi’s cunning—setting traps, provoking, leveraging situations. Such strategic thinking and comprehensive planning were rare in Baiyue Village; Zhou Zhi was indeed a talent.

Wang Ding’s regard for Zhou Zhi was high, and his assessment was favorable—“The boy is teachable.” Yet, Wang Ding was not one to cherish talent to the point of teaching Zhou Zhi for free. Having lived nearly sixty years and seen much, he knew well that, so long as it did not violate moral boundaries, gold and silver were the most precious things. Supporting the family and survival were paramount.

Zhou Zhi, coming from a poor household, could hardly afford the traditional offering for instruction. Without it, all discussion at Wang Ding’s house was pointless.

Nevertheless, Wang Ding treated rich and poor alike, never currying favor with the wealthy nor looking down on the impoverished. This was a rare virtue.

Wang Ding and Zhou Zhi belonged to different strata; Wang Ding’s status as a scholar far outstripped that of Zhou Zhi, the poor farm boy. Thus, Zhou Zhi had never visited his home before.

Today, Zhou Zhi’s sudden arrival made Wang Ding suspect he surely had something to request. Yet when Zhou Zhi claimed he had no purpose but to visit idly, Wang Ding was momentarily taken aback.

Still, knowing Zhou Zhi was shrewd, Wang Ding quickly regained composure and thought to himself, “Let’s see what trick this boy will play before me today.”

With this in mind, Wang Ding scrutinized Zhou Zhi. He saw Zhou Zhi dressed in coarse cloth, patched in places, his whole body damp, but overall tidy. Standing there, Zhou Zhi showed no sign of nervousness and appeared remarkably calm, which earned Wang Ding a touch of appreciation.

“Master is in high spirits today, reading, I see?” Zhou Zhi’s clear eyes were fixed on the book upon the table as he asked with a smile—a question he already knew the answer to. Wang Ding snorted from his nose, “Hmm!”

Zhou Zhi had already recognized the book on the table—“The Popular Romance of the Three Kingdoms.” Written by Luo Guanzhong at the end of the Yuan and beginning of the Ming, the book had been circulating among scholars of Ming for over a century.

As a time traveler from the future and a graduate of a renowned university, Zhou Zhi was naturally very familiar with “Romance of the Three Kingdoms.” Moreover, many stories from the Three Kingdoms era had been widely spread long before Luo Guanzhong compiled his work. Storytellers and performers often recited tales of the Three Kingdoms, and even common farmers knew many of its figures and stories.

Zhou Zhi knew that the “Popular Romance of the Three Kingdoms” at this time differed somewhat from the version popular in later generations. The most widely circulated edition in the Qing dynasty was revised and expanded by Mao Zonggang and his father during the Kangxi era, based on Luo Guanzhong’s original. For example, the opening poem “Rippling waters of the Yangtze” by Yang Shen was placed at the beginning by them.

Right—Yang Shen, the great talent, should also have been born by now. Might fate allow Zhou Zhi to cross paths with him in this life?

As these thoughts wandered, Zhou Zhi’s gaze never left the book on the table.

Wang Ding noticed Zhou Zhi’s persistent stare at the book and asked curiously, “What is it, boy from the Zhou family? Have you seen this book before?”

Even as he spoke, Wang Ding realized the question was pointless. Zhou Zhi, a poor farm boy, could hardly have laid eyes on such a book—worth four taels of silver.

Indeed, Zhou Zhi thought for a moment and replied softly, “I have not seen it before.”

But then he added, “Yet I do know some of its stories. Success and failure turn to nothing in the end.”

At this moment, Zhou Zhi knew he must find a way to make Wang Ding take him seriously; otherwise, with that perpetual coldness, how could he broach the topic of borrowing the book?

Wang Ding knew Zhou Zhi could read, so it was not surprising he recognized the title. The stories of the Three Kingdoms were widely known, and even a poor farm boy like Zhou Zhi would be familiar with some. Storytellers and villagers often chatted about the Three Kingdoms after meals.

But this phrase, “Success and failure turn to nothing in the end,” was the first he’d heard, and coming from the mouth of a poor farm boy, it took Wang Ding completely by surprise, leaving him momentarily stunned.

After a pause, Wang Ding’s eyes suddenly shone with intense interest as he fixed his gaze on Zhou Zhi, slapping the table heavily. “What a line, ‘Success and failure turn to nothing in the end.’ Today, I shall test how much you know of this book’s contents.”

Zhou Zhi had learned a thousand characters merely by listening outside the community school, and possessed such cunning. Now, he uttered a remarkable phrase, and Wang Ding’s interest in him surged.

This was precisely the effect Zhou Zhi desired. He rejoiced inwardly, but kept his composure and replied, “Master, I only know a little. If you quiz me on the book, I may not be able to answer one or two points.”

“One or two I cannot answer?” That meant he knew most of it! What arrogance from the boy of the Zhou family. Even after reading the “Popular Romance of the Three Kingdoms” several times, Wang Ding himself still found parts unclear, and would not dare make such claims.

With this thought, Wang Ding’s face, which had been flushed with excitement and showed some warmth, turned cold again. He closed the book on the table, narrowed his eyes, thought for a moment, and said, “Listen well, boy from the Zhou family. I am about to ask.”

“Please ask, Master. I will answer what I know and speak without reservation,” Zhou Zhi answered respectfully.