Chapter 32: The Butterfly Dream Is Zhuang Zhou's Path; When the Millet Is Cooked, the Green Mound Turns to Wormwood

"It is but tuition; it matters not if it is waived."

"But, sir..." Father Ruan hesitated, clearly disapproving of Cheng Heng's actions, even though this exception was made for his son. "This is truly improper, sir."

"Generations of toil were meant to ensure that descendants might become scholars and rise above their station. This path must not be severed simply because of an act of charity."

"Perhaps my son was never meant for this path to begin with..." Father Ruan did not want to disappoint the kind teacher before him, yet kind people do not always receive kind rewards. He preferred to shoulder his own burdens rather than involve this teacher for no reason.

"None can find fault with a waived tuition, unless they, too, have scattered their own wealth for the sake of charity." Before Father Ruan could protest further, Cheng Heng’s words seemed to seal the lips of any gossips. "Since they have not, they have no right to seek advantage at such a time."

To hold office brings respect. Father Ruan no longer hoped for the return of the money he had once lent out; he only wished for his child to have a better future—is that not the hope of every parent?

"Then, I thank you, sir."

"Just be sure not to speak of this yourself." Cheng Heng understood Father Ruan’s anxieties. A good man, as he was, always thought of others before himself. "If anyone asks, just say it is because I took a fancy to a treasure of yours."

"That will not do! That will not do at all!" Father Ruan adamantly refused the suggestion and moved to lead his child away. "Would that not tarnish your reputation, sir?"

Outside the window, a few scattered clouds drifted by, mirroring the turmoil in Cheng Heng’s heart. Sometimes, having a parent who is too reasonable is a headache in itself—why was Guan Yin not here? As a teacher, she would surely have had plenty of ways to handle this.

Yet, Cheng Heng did not realize that the student-teacher relationship of this era was not like that of his parents' generation, nor even like his own childhood, let alone comparable to the master-disciple bonds of centuries past.

"Furthermore..." Father Ruan’s repeated hesitation ultimately stemmed from the fact that the Ruan family now lacked standing. With no one in office, no great wealth, and no exceptional skills, they had no way to repay the immense kindness the teacher had shown them. "Furthermore, what treasure could I possibly have left at home? Anything of value was sold long ago."

Cheng Heng had overlooked this. Given the circumstances of Father Ruan and Ruan Bi, if there had been any spare treasure, would they not have used it to pay the tuition?

"A thing one cherishes is a treasure, regardless of its monetary value."

"My deepest thanks for your kindness, sir." With the matter settled, Father Ruan knew that to refuse further would be to show a lack of decorum. He accepted Cheng Heng’s goodwill, led his son to perform three bows, and silently departed from the lonely courtyard before the teacher could say another word.

Once seated, Cheng Heng’s heart slowly steadied.

Having taken a brave step, Cheng Heng felt that altering a known outcome was a noble feat. To extend the path they had originally chosen, rather than watching them forced by circumstance into a "success" defined by others, was truly gratifying.

Cheng Heng had often wondered: if he had not pursued his artistic path due to family conditions, but had instead chosen the path of a publicly funded student teacher—even if he had become a master of his craft, looking back, would he not still be filled with regret for his youthful dreams?

When directing students in a play, would he not have thought of the dreams he once chased? When teaching the dramas of Cao Yu, would he not have wished to hold a "Cao Yu Drama Award" himself, watching his own works bloom with brilliance, receiving both praise and criticism?

Putting himself in their shoes, Cheng Heng thought: if Father Ruan and Ruan Bi had been given a chance back then, perhaps history would not have remembered Ruan Bi as a Huizhou merchant, but as an incorruptible official.

"And why should change not be possible?"

"A dream of millet, a dream of gold; who knows whose dream is being told?" Cheng Heng hummed to himself, tracing lines on paper with his calligraphy, which seemed to be improving slightly.

"A butterfly's dream, a dream of a butterfly; who knows if Zhuang Zhou is really Zhuang Zhou?"

Perhaps the dream of the golden millet was reality, and the world outside the dream was the illusion. Since Zhuang Zhou could not distinguish between himself and the butterfly, Cheng Heng felt that what is "known" and what is "changed" might not have a clear order of precedence.

"Perhaps the next time-traveler will simply change what I have done."

"Besides, if this were not a journey through time, I would treat it as a dream... and in a dream, if I have the power to control, can I not ensure a measure of fairness?"

Cheng Heng had his own understanding of fairness. Good is good, evil is evil, black is black, white is white. It is like the white walls and dark tiles of this region; no one wants to see a wall where the colors are smeared together—that is not the ink-wash painting of Huizhou, but a lifeless slab of concrete.

"So, you finally decided you wanted to change things?"

Cheng Heng sometimes truly doubted that he had ended up in this strange situation without a system. Guan Yin was clearly one; she could provide help, yet she constantly tried to influence him through her own reflections.

"How do you know that this change isn't the path that was meant to be?"

"History was not supposed to be like this." Having just stepped out of the emotional shadows of Liu Jiaoan and the Liu family, Guan Yin could not fathom why she had sought out Cheng Heng at this hour—was it just to wake up tomorrow with dark circles under her eyes heavier than a panda’s?

"Is the history we see necessarily the truth?"

"A part of it is not..." Guan Yin stopped there, worried that Cheng Heng might misunderstand. Before he could let his thoughts wander further, she added, "There is always the 'Spring and Autumn' brushwork—you must have heard your teachers speak of it."

"Yes."

Cheng Heng was successfully diverted by Guan Yin. After a long moment, looking at the slanted moon outside the window, he finally gathered his wits. "That is not what I meant."

"I meant that since the time I am in is a point before everything has happened, why must I follow the so-called history? What if we did not have these memories? What if this were not a fixed history at all?"

"What if this was never the path they wanted to walk? What if..."

Guan Yin listened silently this time, saying nothing.

"If we cannot change anything, do you mean to say that this is what they call fate?"

"If I do everything I can, and things return to the original starting point, I might feel my choices were imperfect... but at least I tried, did I not?"

The more Cheng Heng spoke, the more agitated he became, as if he had found himself back on the university debate stage. At this very moment, Cheng Heng was still fighting for the justice in his heart.

"So, everything is just a hypothesis. Life does not allow for many hypotheses, does it?"

Guan Yin spoke with a hint of instruction, which Cheng Heng did not particularly enjoy hearing. "Is life not a great dream, a play where we cannot see the final curtain? To perform it in a way that pleases oneself is more important than performing it to please the audience."