Chapter 36: A Thousand Miles Beneath the Feet, Thorns Turn to Roads; A Grand Dream, Was It Real or Unreal?

Ruan Bi did not come to visit his old tutor during the height of his triumphal parade through the capital. Of course, this was not out of arrogance, as if his current achievements had long surpassed those of his teacher.

"Teacher." When Ruan Bi arrived, Cheng Heng was resting lazily beneath the osmanthus tree, breathing in the lingering, intense sweetness born from the blend of lingering rain and falling blossoms.

Thus, Ruan Bi found his elderly teacher acting almost like a child, one leg bent and resting over the other, sprawled completely at the base of the tree.

"Teacher." Ruan Bi called out once more, bowing respectfully without a trace of surprise as Cheng Heng scrambled to his feet.

"You're here."

Cheng Heng had not yet fully gathered his wits. Having just seen Guan Yin off, the scenery before him had not shifted back as he had imagined; instead, the newly minted imperial scholar Ruan Bi stood right there in his returning glory—it seemed this was no longer a dream.

"If the teacher is currently indisposed, this student can always return another day."

In truth, Ruan Bi was now considered a favored disciple of the Son of Heaven, yet he still addressed Cheng Heng with such enduring affection as "teacher" and referred to himself humbly as "student," which gave the older man more than enough face.

Hurriedly rising to his feet, Cheng Heng realized that the body he had transmigrated into was already aged, and movements such as walking, sitting, or lying down were no longer as effortless as they once were. "I am quite well, just didn't expect you to come."

"Teacher, please be careful."

Ruan Bi reached out a hand to steady Cheng Heng, while Cheng Heng stubbornly tried to spring up on his own, much like someone attempting to cover up an embarrassing blunder in front of a friend. In that fleeting moment, Cheng Heng always forgot that he was supposed to act like an elderly scholar.

"I am fine."

"Since you are here, come in and sit for a while." Struggling to push the door open, Cheng Heng looked at the dust-covered desk and felt a momentary sense of helplessness.

"There is no need, Teacher." Ruan Bi did not wish to put his tutor in a difficult position. His gaze lingered with nostalgia over the seat where he had spent so much time, sweeping past the brushes, ink, paper, and inkstone, before finally returning to the teacher standing before him.

"Teacher, the reason I came today is to bid you farewell."

"Farewell? Are you leaving to take up your post?" Cheng Heng knew that once one thing succeeded, everything else would follow suit. It was simply that this time, he had chosen fairness for kind people, allowing them to walk the path they were meant to take. "Where are you headed?"

Following a brief, speechless pause came Ruan Bi's slightly self-deprecating words, though he tried hard not to let his teacher catch a glimpse of his underlying apprehension toward the future: "It is a remote little town. This student does not know if the local customs there will be as honest and simple as those of our hometown, nor whether I will be able to perform my duties well."

"Believe in yourself. If even you do not believe in yourself, then nothing you set out to achieve will ever be accomplished." This phrase had inspired Cheng Heng time and time again, and so during his very first and second years as a schoolteacher, Cheng Heng had always found countless ways to explain these words to his students.

"Yes, Teacher."

"I believe you can do it." Closing the study door with a touch of regret, Cheng Heng looked solemnly at Ruan Bi before him. "No matter what you set out to do, you are capable of it."

"Since the teacher has placed such high hopes on this student, I will naturally strive to do my utmost, so as to live up to the teacher's..."

"What you must live up to is yourself, not me," Cheng Heng corrected him.

He could never shoulder the weight of whether someone destined for the history books lived up to his expectations or not.

"Yes, Teacher is right."

"Since you have become a magistrate serving the people, even if you fail yourself, your parents, your brothers, or your wife and children, you must never fail the common folk of your jurisdiction." Cheng Heng recited the familiar tropes from theatrical scripts, speaking them one by one to Ruan Bi, even though he knew full well that the young man already understood these principles.

"This student will certainly do his utmost."

"Hmm..." Cheng Heng no longer knew what else to say. He nodded, gazing at the osmanthus blossoms crowning the tree branches, and recalled the conversation he had shared with Guan Yin not long ago.

"Teacher..."

Ruan Bi began tentatively, and Cheng Heng could not fathom what could possibly be so difficult for the former to ask at this juncture.

"Teacher, there is a matter that has troubled this student for a long time, and I have always wished to seek an answer from you."

"Go ahead."

"As long as it is within my knowledge."

"Why did the teacher exempt me from tuition fees in the past? And why did you show me more care and attention than the other students? Did you feel that I was particularly suited for studying? Clearly, my fellow classmates attained their degrees earlier than I did."

There were many questions Cheng Heng could have answered. He had expected this question to revolve around some obscure and difficult ancient text, or perhaps why one should take the imperial examinations, or why he himself had never chosen an official career... He simply had not expected—or rather, had subconsciously avoided the most likely possibility—a question he could not answer.

Could he say it was because he had transmigrated, holding the script of the future in his hands, and simply wanted to grant a bit of "fairness" to a kind person?

Or was it because he had seen how Ruan Bi later brought prosperity through commerce and believed that if he became an official, he could also spare a region from suffering?

"I'm sorry." This was Cheng Heng's final answer.

Ruan Bi did not display any disappointment at this answer. Instead, just like every other time he had taken his leave of his teacher, he bowed, bid farewell, turned around, and gently pulled the door closed behind him.

Gazing at the closed wooden door, Ruan Bi actually had many things he wished to say to Cheng Heng.

For instance: *Yet, Teacher, I have walked this path for a very long time. So long that I have realized no matter how much one believes in oneself, certain matters simply do not bend to one's will.*

In the end, however, Ruan Bi said nothing at all. He merely cast a single, simple glance back at the ajar wooden door. Once again, a woman seemed to have appeared by the teacher's side, holding something as she conversed with him.

Without dwelling on it, Ruan Bi strode away from the courtyard where he had spent so much time...

"Naturally, he will never forget your kindness."

"If you were to go look right now, he is probably still standing outside the door, waiting for you to tell him something more..."

Guan Yin's guess was spot on, yet just as Guan Yin raised the book in her hand, Ruan Bi finally decided to depart: "Is it really just that you happen to know what his future holds?"

"He doesn't believe in his own capacity for success nearly as much as you think. While there are indeed quite a few people throughout history who achieved greatness in remote places, earning a plaque bestowed by the imperial court to hang proudly upon the city gates is not something that can be accomplished simply by being an ordinary official."

Guan Yin rattled off a lengthy speech, yet Cheng Heng offered not a single expected response, keeping his gaze fixed instead upon the osmanthus tree: "My family once had a very, very small osmanthus tree as well."

"What a coincidence. Our family once kept a few koi fish."

"My parents and I each had a fish representing us, taking care of them individually, eager to see who could raise theirs the better." Knowing that Cheng Heng was purposely dodging her question, Guan Yin simply followed his train of thought and began talking about something else: "As soon as I got home, I worried about it going hungry, and so did my parents... I would feed it pellets, and my parents would share whatever they had with that fish."

"What happened to those fish in the end?" Cheng Heng's interest was piqued, and a spark of inquisitive curiosity colored his gaze as he looked at Guan Yin. "Who won?"

"They were all fed to death."

Cheng Heng was dumbfounded, suddenly realizing that this sounded precisely like a teacher attempting to impart a moral lesson to a student, and he braced himself for the grand philosophical takeaway Guan Yin was sure to deliver next.

However, Guan Yin did nothing of the sort. Instead, she reached up and snapped off a branch of osmanthus, shaking it gently so that a cascade of golden blossoms rained all over Cheng Heng.