Chapter Twenty-One: Was It a Help or a Harm?

In just half a day, Zhou Zhi had managed to strike up a close friendship with Wang Ding, the old scholar, almost as if they were friends despite the age gap, and this pleased Zhou Zhi immensely. He had not yet learned what Wang Ding intended to give him, yet already wore an excited smile as he said, "Thank you so much, Master!"

"Hmph!" Wang Ding replied with a smile.

Wang Ding casually took a wooden box from the Eight Immortals table and handed it to Zhou Zhi. "Here, boy, this is for you. Open it and see."

The wooden box was light and crudely made. Zhou Zhi, filled with curiosity, opened it, and his eyes immediately lit up.

In his previous life, Zhou Zhi had been an amateur calligraphy enthusiast, especially fond of the small script of Zhao Mengfu and Guan Daosheng. Of course, he was only a hobbyist; his own small script paled in comparison to the great masters, both past and present.

Now that he had crossed over into the Ming dynasty, he always dreamed of someday owning brush and ink. But for a poor boy like Zhou Zhi, that was nothing short of wishful thinking. His family was so impoverished that even daily meals and basic necessities were a struggle, let alone having spare money for writing tools.

But things were different now. Inside the box Wang Ding had given him were a stone ink slab, a brush, and a small piece of ink.

The ink slab was made from an irregular stone, clearly not a precious item. The brush was a small script brush, its bristles evidently made of sheep hair and somewhat worn, likely discarded by Wang Ding because it was no longer convenient for him. The ink stick was small and nearly used up, but with careful use, it could last for some time.

Even so, Zhou Zhi was thrilled. He thanked Wang Ding profusely.

Wait, he thought, if I want to write at home, I still need paper. But there was none at home. At this realization, Zhou Zhi’s excitement dimmed suddenly.

Wang Ding, of course, saw through Zhou Zhi’s thoughts. Though he had taken a liking to the boy, especially after their lively discussion about "Romance of the Three Kingdoms," he would never give him paper for free just because of it.

At his age, Wang Ding had become indifferent to many things, but he valued gold and silver all the more. What do people live for, if not for comfort and abundance? Enjoying life, especially a flavorful, peaceful old age, was the true purpose—more important than anything else.

To enjoy retirement and live comfortably, one needed money; there was no escaping it. Paper cost silver, and there was no reason to give it away freely.

Wang Ding smiled gently. "Zhou, my boy, the ink slab and brush are not good ones, just what I used in my youth when my family was poor. Although they're not as useful now, you can make do with them. Knowing your family's poverty, I gave them to you. Well then, if you have nothing else, you may go home."

Clearly, he was dismissing Zhou Zhi.

Zhou Zhi hesitated slightly, carefully tucking the copies of "The Great Learning" and "The Analects" into his chest, then picked up the wooden box. He grinned and said to Wang Ding, "Master, you know my family is dirt poor. You've given me brush and ink, but I still can't write—there's no paper at home. Since you've already helped me, why not finish the good deed and give me some paper as well? I've already seen, in the corner there, some of your practice papers. They're of no use to you anymore. Why not let me take them? I can practice writing on the reverse side. And since I have no model to copy, let me trace your script and learn from your authentic writing."

With a playful, smiling face, he refused to leave.

Wang Ding could only laugh and shake his head. He scowled and said, "Hmph, you rascal, you’re going to wear me out! Fine, take them—all those scrap papers, take them too. They're useless to me now. Even as toilet paper, they wouldn't be clean!"

Zhou Zhi was overjoyed, bowed deeply to Wang Ding, and thanked him repeatedly.

Wang Ding waved his hand impatiently. "Take them and go, quickly!"

In the corner, there was a stack of waste paper about two feet thick. One side was written on, but the other was still clean and smooth. Zhou Zhi made a small bundle of the papers, tied them with straw rope, thanked Wang Ding once more, and finally left the study.

The old woman, Zhang, looked at Zhou Zhi in astonishment. She couldn't understand how her stingy husband could be so generous today.

Zhou Zhi bowed to her, then walked to the door.

He had lingered in Wang Ding's house for nearly two hours; his wet clothes had already dried. Outside, the autumn rain still drizzled. Concerned that the papers might get wet, Zhou Zhi took off his ragged coat, wrapped the papers in it, and carried them as he left.

He had barely taken a few steps out the door when Wang Ding called loudly from inside, "Zhou, come back, I have something else for you."

Zhou Zhi hurried back. This time, Wang Ding was holding a small cloth bundle. He handed it to Zhou Zhi with a stern face. "Zhou, reading must begin with the basics. You’re not yet familiar with the primary texts—this won’t do. I’ll lend you all these elementary textbooks. I have several sets at home anyway."

The elementary textbooks for the local school were distributed by the government, free of charge. As a teacher, it was normal for Wang Ding to have a few sets at home.

Zhou Zhi’s heart was even more joyful now. The old miser Wang Ding was treating him well; he must find a way to repay him in the future.

With a delighted face, Zhou Zhi took the bundle from Wang Ding. Just as he was about to thank him and leave, Wang Ding suddenly said, "Zhou, though I don’t concern myself with farming, yesterday I was walking in the fields and some farmers asked me: Your family’s eight acres were plowed and sown with wheat by the third young master of the Chen family. Why did you leave half an acre uncultivated? Do you think leaving it will stop you from offending the Chen family? Let me tell you frankly, I suspect you’ve already angered them. Whether you leave half an acre or not makes no difference."

Zhou Zhi looked embarrassed and stammered.

Then he put on a mischievous smile and said, "Master, forgive me for keeping it a secret. I just want to try something. I’m off!"

With that, he dashed into the rain, heading home.

Inside, Wang Ding shook his head helplessly, but a hint of pleasure appeared on his face. He thought, This Zhou boy is steady but also sly—ha! For some reason, after just half a day, I’ve grown quite fond of him.

The old woman Zhang couldn't help but ask softly, "You lent that boy your books—do you really believe he can pass the imperial examination? I don't know if you're helping him or harming him."

In her view, if Zhou Zhi, a poor boy, took up the scholar's path, his family would only become more destitute, perhaps even ruined.

Wang Ding sighed. "Ah! I don't know whether I'm helping him or harming him."

***

Zhou Zhi's mood was soaring; he whistled and hurried home through the rain. As he reached his courtyard, he saw the door wide open, smoke billowing from the kitchen in thick clouds. He was startled—was there a fire?