Chapter 15: A Handful of Earth Recalls the Homeland, A Heart Full of Sun and Moon Reflects the River’s Clarity

“You must understand, those forward-looking writings were never composed by time travelers.”

“Exactly, since they weren’t written by time travelers, shouldn’t you be more careful about imposing your own ideas on these children?” The vivid emotions that seemed so close at hand flashed through his mind, yet Guan Yin still shook his head slightly, trying to dispel the tangled thoughts.

One must realize that many things which seem unreasonable from a future perspective were actually vital supports for survival in that environment—what Chinese person did not wish to change the humiliations of the modern era? What Chinese person did not long to keep the Eight-Nation Alliance out of China?

Seeing that Cheng Heng remained silent, Guan Yin’s tone involuntarily took on a lecturing edge: “To forget history is to betray it. To think one can, by one’s own effort, push forward or even reverse the course of history—is that truly respecting history?”

“Then should I just watch them remain ignorant of what love is, wasting their lives and those of the girls they might marry?”

“If you read more plays from the Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties, you’d know the ancients were far from the stuffy figures portrayed in your history books!”

“Who told you the ancients in history books were stuffy?”

A knock interrupted Guan Yin’s words. Cheng Heng did not rush to the door but stood up, fixing his gaze on Guan Yin: “Alright, I would like to hear how you think students should be taught.”

“You should teach them to respect women, not show them ‘The Romance of the Western Chamber’ and have them imitate Zhang Sheng jumping into someone else’s courtyard, chanting about the matchmaker and dreaming of Ying Ying.” The very book that should never have appeared in a school of this era still lay prominently on the desk. Guan Yin’s brow twitched, aware of the trouble this copy of *The Romance of the Western Chamber* might bring to Cheng Heng at this moment.

“That would never happen—”

“Knock, knock, knock!”

A messenger’s voice followed the knocking, passing through the courtyard directly into Cheng Heng’s study: “Is the master at home? My lord wishes to speak with him.”

“First, think about how to play your role well,” Guan Yin said, unsure how much Cheng Heng had taken in, yet he tapped meaningfully on the *Western Chamber* on the desk. “Then find a way to do those things you want to do—those that don’t fit your status!”

“Knock, knock, knock! Knock, knock, knock... Master, San Heng has arrived.”

Opening his eyes, San Heng’s face was again innocent. Guan Yin felt both troubled and grateful that San Heng had rescued him from the tension with Cheng Heng.

Dreams always cling stubbornly to their own views; now awake, Guan Yin understood that he and Cheng Heng were merely seeing the matter from their respective perspectives.

---

Between ideals and reality lies a thick wall. Many things are not as easily done as Cheng Heng might imagine—a legacy built by generations cannot be accelerated by a single “time traveler.”

“Husband is daydreaming again... Won’t you accompany the lady to visit the village or the town?” San Heng placed the tea on the desk, her gaze tinged with worry. “If you feel unwell anywhere, please don’t keep it inside.”

“I’ll go help you set up the room.” Guan Yin did not want to explain his thoughts, so he rose, passed San Heng, then turned back to urge her on: “Let’s go!”

“Hey... hey hey hey!”

“Why are you rifling through someone else’s things?” As the visitor approached the desk, Cheng Heng recalled Guan Yin’s recent words and quickly stepped in front of the desk, reaching out to cover the book with the felt mat.

Suddenly realizing he might be giving himself away, Cheng Heng lightly tapped his index and middle fingers together repeatedly on that spot.

Acting is acting; it’s best to relax and immerse oneself in the role. But reality is reality, and Cheng Heng’s stiff movements looked awkward no matter how one viewed them.

The visitor’s face showed some surprise as his gaze inadvertently glanced at where Cheng Heng’s hand covered. He explained, “It’s a gift for the master.”

“I have been out trading tea lately. After completing the deal, I planned to stay a while to savor the local customs, but my wife wrote saying the master has been unwell, and the children at home are worried. So I hurried with local specialties to visit the master.”

There was nothing wrong with these words; if not for Guan Yin’s earlier comment stirring Cheng Heng’s guilt, he might not have sensed the hidden meaning.

“Thank you for your concern. I am generally well now.” Cheng Heng was now immensely grateful that he had once seriously studied history through these few plays, to the point that he spoke with a “classical style” and was teased by friends as having “gone mad writing plays.” This knowledge saved him from outright exposure.

“How about your son these days...”

Ah, child, forgive me. Though it seems I’m the villain blaming you first, if I don’t get ahead, your father won’t spare me! Cheng Heng silently muttered to himself, realizing he had become precisely what he never wanted to be.

Sure enough, once children’s schooling was mentioned, parents easily shifted their attention.

The visitor’s focus returned sharply to his own child. Frowning, he shot a glance at the waiting scribe boy, then sincerely looked at Cheng Heng: “Please speak freely, master.”

“If the boy is naughty, master need not go easy on him.”

---

Cheng Heng nearly laughed aloud at that moment.

Oh, his own parents had said the same when he was young, and later at specialized art exam training classes, his parents still said so—though some teachers deserved the title “teacher” or “sir,” others failed even to lead by example.

“Children’s mischief during breaks is natural, but when it comes to studies... your son seems to think that inheriting the family business means he can neglect his lessons.”

With a “Thank you, master. We shall speak again another day,” the parent hurried home to discipline the child.

The wind swept away the dark clouds; warm tea sat before a human face. How many meetings and partings in these times? Only the gentle curling smoke can be asked. As Cheng Heng put down his teacup, he suddenly realized his greatest problem was not that he did not know how to teach.

It was that he had never truly regarded himself as the master of these children.

Sitting back at the desk, he took out the *Western Chamber*. He had no chance to tell Guan Yin that this book originally belonged to this very master.

The book was twice as thick, clearly read more than once by the master. Judging by the handwriting, it seemed to have been personally transcribed.

That letter had also been taken from this *Western Chamber*.

The visitor left, Guan Yin was gone. Cheng Heng silently opened the *Western Chamber*, staring at the neatly folded thin rice paper inside. The ink shone through the sheet in the sunlight.

The letter bore only a few words, now so familiar Cheng Heng could almost recite them by heart:

A clod of yellow earth recalls the old home’s view,
With many feelings for sun, moon, and clear rivers.
Pine trees honor the people, the people command,
Why should I care for my posthumous fame?

The fate of the people may well rest on the name of an honest official,
The reputation of Huizhou merchants,
The changes of heaven and earth may arise between heaven and earth, before all people.

Putting the letter away, Cheng Heng thought perhaps he should first try to play the role of “master” well.