Chapter 19: A Single Drop of Ink Stains a Thousand Scrolls; A Half-Unfurled Fragrance Grinds Ten Thousand Miles of Inkstone

The end of the long street was obscured by heavy, gloomy clouds, as if a fresh inkstone had been overturned and splattered across the sky. Where the horizon was blocked by the silhouettes of eaves and ridgepoles, a vertical expanse of stark white stood out—the plastered walls reflecting the last fading glow of the setting sun.

"Why is it going to rain again?" Cheng Heng’s gaze swept across the street. The retreating light made the once-distinct textures of the paving stones look weathered. He prepared to return to his study for a nap. "Once the rain starts, the children likely won't come. I can finally get some rest."

Deep down, he knew that the gloomier the weather, the more eager his students were to attend, but Cheng Heng was merely looking for an excuse to slack off.

"Master, may I ask if we are practicing calligraphy today?"

"When did you get in?" Cheng Heng stared at the young boy standing beside him, momentarily stunned, wondering why his reactions had become so sluggish.

The boy carried a faint scent of medicinal herbs. Fearing he might reveal his ignorance, Cheng Heng had never dared to ask if the boy’s family ran an apothecary.

Seeing his master lost in thought, the boy remained patient, his gentle temperament seemingly forgiving of his teacher's distraction. "I arrived when you were outside waiting for the rain, Master."

"Oh, it’s cold out there. Go ahead and take your seat." Whenever the weather turned damp, Cheng Heng felt as if his mind couldn't function properly.

It was also at such times that he often dreamt of Guan Yin. After several bitter partings in those dreams, he would wake up, only to realize they were inescapable visions of a reality he couldn't grasp.

Another rainy day, and with no sign of Guan Yin, Cheng Heng felt a strange sense of unease.

"The Master obviously likes me best, just think about me..."

"The Master certainly likes me the most."

"Look at yourself, you look just like a little charcoal ball. Do you really think the Master would like you?"

As Cheng Heng walked into the room, he caught this very exchange. His eyes followed the sound and landed on the first boy, who stood tall and straight like a fresh bamboo shoot sprouting in spring—a sight that was, naturally, quite pleasing.

"Waaaah! Why wouldn't the Master like me? If he didn't, why would he let me sit in the front row?"

"Sitting in the front is only because you’re short, we..."

The boys seemed not to notice their teacher had entered. Those hunched over their desks continued their work in silence, and the two bickering children showed no signs of stopping.

"Ahem!" Cheng Heng mimicked the dry cough of the masters in stage plays, standing at the doorway and making his presence known.

"The Master is here! We shall have him judge who is right!"

"Judge away! Who’s afraid of you?"

The two were tugging at each other. "Tugging and pulling, only to end up in court," Cheng Heng hummed unconsciously. The two boys, who had eyes only for each other, turned their gazes toward him in perfect unison.

Realizing what he had just done, Cheng Heng felt a twinge of guilt. He rubbed his nose, clasped his hands behind his back, and adopted the stern demeanor of a teacher. "Well? Do you two intend to take this matter to the magistrate’s office to argue your case?"

Ever since that hurried parting with Guan Yin and the subsequent absence of those dreams, Cheng Heng had worried he wouldn't be a good teacher. But to his surprise, practice had made him comfortable; by letting go of his internal "distractions," he found he could actually command the respect of these children.

"The Master says..."

"Thump!"

"Sigh... why are they sleeping again?" Cheng Heng walked helplessly toward the source of the sound, curious to see which student had succumbed to his "chanting."

Step by step, he remembered the embarrassment of being woken up by his own teachers when he dozed off, so he slowed his pace, giving the sleeping boy’s neighbor a chance to nudge him awake.

Step by step... just as Cheng Heng reached out to gently rouse the student, his eyes fell upon the desk in astonishment. Someone had thrown a piece of ink-stick, worn down by a third, across the room. It had landed on the rice paper, splashing wet ink in a dark, floral pattern—like ten thousand plum blossoms blooming in ink.

"If you are here to attend class, then stop the horseplay."

Recalling the argument before the lesson, Cheng Heng surmised what had happened. He remembered doing much the same as a child, and knew that punishing both sides equally was pointless. It was better to let the children resolve it themselves. "If there is any more noise, you can go home this instant!"

After this warning, he returned to his desk, pondering how to resolve this conflict in a better way.

How he had wished for an impartial teacher to lecture them on reason when he was a child! Yet such opportunities were rare.

Now that he was the master, Cheng Heng did not want his students to suffer the same frustrations he once had. A good role model teaches others to follow suit, while the longing for light in the midst of unfairness can sometimes lead to a stubborn pursuit of "fairness." At that moment, Cheng Heng fell into his own brand of "stubbornness."

"Very well, let us continue our reading."

"Here it says that one cannot speak of ice to summer insects. In 'Wandering Beyond,' it is similarly..."

Before Cheng Heng could finish, he was interrupted by a young boy who stood up and spoke in a rigid, formal manner. "But Master, didn't you say just a few days ago that one must unify knowledge and action? Why are we now reading these dry, dusty 'Analects'?"

Although the boy had interrupted, he bowed to his teacher first, leaving no room for criticism.

"If the Master himself has not achieved the unity of knowledge and action, why should we be expected to?"

Stunned by the question, Cheng Heng was left speechless. The inextricable link between leading by example and the unity of knowledge and action prevented him from simply dismissing the student.

Indeed, one cannot speak of ice to summer insects. Why was he so obsessed with preaching grand principles to children who had barely touched the world? Why not try to figure out what he himself should do? What he *could* do?

For instance, he could start by figuring out what his predecessor actually did for a living, or by studying his predecessor's words to see if he could fulfill his wishes—could he help the merchants of Huizhou achieve something meaningful for the prosperity of the nation and the protection of its people?

"You... make a fair point." After a few seconds of stunned silence, Cheng Heng stammered out these words. The students below turned their eyes toward him in unison.

The collective gaze made Cheng Heng feel even more flustered, and he felt the urge to escape. "In that case, let us end the lesson here. Another day..."

"Is the Master going to say 'another day' again?"

"Tomorrow and tomorrow, how many tomorrows there are—is that not what you taught us, Master?"

"Another day... tomorrow..." Cheng Heng knew his "another day" had always been a way to put things off. It was the same when he was a student, the same when he wrote scripts or staged plays over the years, and even when he had to demand payment from the middlemen of the garden festivals!

From his reluctance to press for payment, to delaying it until tomorrow, he had only ever invited the explosive conflicts that eventually arose.

"Today?"

But what could he actually do today? A scent of herbs drifted to his nose, and Cheng Heng felt his head grow even dizzier. He instinctively reached out to steady himself against the desk, leaning into his chair to catch his breath.