Chapter Ten: The Final Disciple

“To learn and to practice what one has learned—is that not a pleasure? When friends come from afar, is it not a joy? If others do not understand me yet I do not feel resentment, is this not the mark of a gentleman?”
“To be filial and respectful to one’s elders and yet fond of defying superiors—such people are rare. Those who are not rebellious towards superiors and yet still inclined to cause chaos—there are none like that. A gentleman tends to the roots, and when the roots are established, the Way will flourish. Filial piety and fraternal respect are the roots of benevolence.”

From Su Shi’s dwelling came a persistent sound of voices reciting texts.
A dozen or so children, aged between seven and their early teens, were gathered there, reading and practicing calligraphy; among them was Li Sanjian.
After Su Shi was exiled to Qiongtai, Danzhou, he did not sink into despair. Instead, he treated Danzhou as his second home and established a school there, attracting many students who traveled great distances to study with him.

Li Sanjian was not Su Shi’s first pupil, but he was, in essence, Su Shi’s last disciple—the one to whom the door would close.
Su Shi was already advanced in years, and life in remote Qiongtai was harsh and unforgiving. His health had declined steadily in recent years, leaving him with the will but scarcely the strength.
Li Sanjian was clever in dealing with merchants and quick-witted in conversation with Su Shi, so before accepting him as a student, Su Shi had assumed Li Sanjian possessed at least a basic grounding in poetry, the Four Books and Five Classics, and so on.

But to Su Shi’s astonishment, after taking Li Sanjian as his last disciple, he discovered that the boy recognized few characters, understood nothing of poetry or the classics, and wrote with a shaky, unreadable hand. This left Su Shi both infuriated and bemused.

Li Sanjian was far from a scholar—he was a complete novice. At that time, Su Shi considered dismissing his newly admitted disciple. Yet, remembering that Li Sanjian had lost his father young and depended on his mother, and considering the boy’s native intelligence and the wild isolation of the region, Su Shi decided to keep him, starting from the very basics, teaching him to read and write.

Su Shi quietly entered the schoolroom and saw Li Sanjian poring over "The Analects," deep in thought.
Smiling, Su Shi approached and asked, “What are you thinking about?”
Though Li Sanjian lacked foundation, he was remarkably diligent, coming to the school first and leaving last every day, regardless of wind or rain. This had continued for over two months, and Su Shi took great comfort in it.

No one is born knowing how to read and write, Su Shi thought. With such diligence, perhaps Li Sanjian might yet amount to something.
“What does the Sage truly mean by these words?” Li Sanjian murmured, holding his book.

“What words?” Su Shi asked, stroking his beard.
Li Sanjian turned and, seeing Su Shi, hurriedly stood and bowed. “Master, I did not know you were here. Forgive my lack of manners.”

Though his scholarship had not improved much in recent months, his manners had—he bowed properly now, at least.
Su Shi waved a hand. “What is it in the Sage’s words that puzzles you, Li? Speak your mind.”

“Master,” Li Sanjian replied, “the Sage said, ‘Fine words and an ingratiating appearance are rarely found with true benevolence.’ I know the words well, but I struggle to understand—what are ‘fine words and an ingratiating appearance’?”

“To speak alluringly, to present oneself agreeably, to embellish outwardly for the sake of pleasing others—that is what is meant by fine words and ingratiating appearance. In other words, flattery and sycophancy,” Su Shi answered.

“And what then, Master, is benevolence?” Li Sanjian pressed.
Su Shi was silent for a moment before replying: “A benevolent person wishes for others what he wishes for himself. He seeks to help others as he helps himself. To treat others as you would be treated—that is the path of benevolence. Do not impose upon others what you yourself do not desire.”

Li Sanjian was left more confused than ever, so Su Shi laughed and added, “Simply put, benevolence is universal love for others.”

“I see,” Li Sanjian said, “so fine words and ingratiating appearance are forms of flattery, and flattery is naturally contemptible. But, Master, I think it depends on the situation. If the ruler is foolish and will not heed honest counsel, and someone uses pleasing words to guide him toward what benefits the country and the people, does that not count as benevolence?”

“Enough!” Su Shi snapped in anger. “Do you know what a ruler is? How dare you speak so recklessly about the sovereign?”

“I was wrong,” Li Sanjian said with lowered head, though he still looked unconvinced.

Su Shi sighed inwardly. Li Sanjian had grown up in Qiongtai, never venturing beyond its bounds. What did he know of lords or ministers? His understanding of such matters came only from books and was half-formed at best. He could hardly be blamed for that.

After a pause, Su Shi said, “The Sage’s words have three meanings. First, beware of being deceived by flowery speech—those clever with words are not always virtuous. Second, do not think that to practice benevolence you must resort to insincere flattery to please others. Third, do not assume that a person with a sincere and gentle appearance, who refrains from slander, is necessarily virtuous. What you have described is a courtier offering tactful advice, not flattery. Do not mistake the Sage’s meaning.”

“Your teaching, Master, I will remember,” Li Sanjian said, bowing.

Though he admitted his error, he remained somewhat unconvinced.
Does eloquence make one unkind or treacherous? Was not Zhuge Liang eloquent, besting all comers in debate—was he then a villain, devoid of virtue?

Yet in his heart, Li Sanjian understood: everyone interprets the words of the sages differently. Each sentence could be debated for days on end; hence, so many schools of thought exist in the world—merely the result of differing interpretations.

“How are your poems coming?” Su Shi asked after a while.

“Well…” Li Sanjian hesitated, “I know a little, Master. Please correct me.”

A little? Such confidence… Su Shi could not help but smile inwardly. Without years—decades—of study, who can compose poetry and verse?
Had Li Sanjian truly mastered the art with just a few lessons?

Pointing to the distant green hills, Su Shi said, “Take that mountain as your subject. Compose a poem.”

Compose a poem? Li Sanjian thought. He had his own methods for learning, unknown to anyone else—such as the Song Poetry Cipher…

Over the past months, he had pondered deeply, and at last recalled the secret. With it, composing poems was as easy as reaching into a bag.

Feigning contemplation, he took three steps and chanted:

“Upon these green hills I recall my former wanderings,
Who now remembers the fairyland’s rivers and mountains?
Golden grain and green wine greet the coming winter,
How is it, then, the waterway stretches three thousand miles?”

Su Shi was dumbstruck, gazing at Li Sanjian, unable to speak for a long time.

Just months earlier, Li Sanjian knew nothing of poetry, yet now he could craft such lines. Though the poem could not be called a true seven-character quatrain, it was respectable—a proper acrostic verse.

Most astonishing: the legendary Cao Zhi composed a poem in seven steps; Li Sanjian had done it in three.

“Take these flowers as your subject. Compose a five-character acrostic,” Su Shi said, now thoroughly suspicious, suspecting plagiarism. He pointed at some flowers in the courtyard at random.

“Delicate flowers hidden in the mist,
The market greets the river’s cargo.”
This time, Li Sanjian responded almost instantly.

“Now, with the river as your theme, a seven-character acrostic, ending rhyme,” Su Shi said.

“A lonely city encircled by the broad river,
I travel, following the water out from the cave…” Li Sanjian chanted.

Su Shi was completely astonished. Who was this boy? Had he not been slow-witted before? Had he truly been blessed by the Sea God after falling into the sea? Or was he a sage feigning ignorance?

“What does my esteemed teacher think?” Li Sanjian asked smugly, flicking his right hand as if he only lacked a folding fan.

“Your words lack sense and literary merit,” Su Shi said, sweeping his sleeves and departing in a huff.

…

“Third Brother, Third Brother, what are you doing?” One day, as Li Sanjian sat in his ramshackle home, swaying and chanting his books, Fu Linger ran in calling out.

“Hush… Quiet, your brother is studying,” said Fu Ernang, who was drying fish outside.

“Oh, all he does is read, he’s turning into a bookworm. He doesn’t even go fishing by the shore anymore,” Linger said, helping to hang the fish as she peered into the house.

“Aunt, what’s the point of studying? You can’t eat it, you can’t wear it,” Linger continued.

Fu Ernang wiped her hands on her apron and said with a smile, “How can you say that? Studying might offer a way out someday. Otherwise, you’ll spend your whole life fishing and catching shrimp.”

“Oh…” Linger asked in a low voice, “Aunt, will Third Brother leave us one day?”

“Well…” Fu Ernang glanced at her and said, “Are you reluctant for your brother to go?”

“Aunt…” Linger called out shyly.

…

“Sanjian, do you know why I refused your grandfather’s proposal?” After Linger left, Fu Ernang asked Li Sanjian.

“Grandfather’s proposal? Mother, you mean marrying Linger to me… Is it because Linger’s still young, or because she’s my sister, so you disagreed?”

“That’s not it,” Fu Ernang smiled. “Linger is a good girl, and very pretty. In my heart, I wouldn’t object. Besides, you’re not real siblings; marrying would only strengthen family ties and repay your uncle for caring for us all these years.”

“Then why not agree, Mother?” Li Sanjian asked in surprise.

She sighed. “You’re grown now, so I’ll tell you. Your father arranged your marriage long ago.”

“What? Father arranged a marriage for me?” Li Sanjian exclaimed.

Fu Ernang nodded. “Yes. Before we married, your father made a pact with a friend in Kaifeng. They agreed: if they each had a child, one boy and one girl, the two would be wed; if both had boys or both had girls, they’d be sworn siblings.”

A betrothal made before birth? Li Sanjian was disgruntled. Such things should be done after marriage, not before. He could hardly believe his father had made such a promise before even marrying.

“Oh, but it’s been so many years. Surely they’ve forgotten us by now?” Li Sanjian said lightly.

“On his deathbed, your father said a man must keep his word. He asked that you seek them out if you have the chance,” Fu Ernang said, her eyes brimming with tears at the memory.

“And their family name?” he asked.

“Their surname is Cai.”