Volume One, Chapter 35: The Good-for-Nothing Young Master Transforms into a Genius Overnight? The Mysterious Master Behind the Scenes Revealed!

Early the next morning, the sky was just tinged with pale light. The Zhang household’s carriage was already prepared, its wheels rolling through the dawn with a creaking sound. Inside, Master Fang sat with his eyes closed, resting. Zhang Jinbao, on the other hand, was visibly excited; after all, they were heading to Wenshan Academy, the grandest institution in Luzhou Prefecture—a sacred place in the hearts of scholars.

Chen Pingchuan sat quietly in the corner, his expression serene. He discreetly lifted a corner of the carriage curtain and peered outside. This was his first truly intimate encounter with the cultural forum of this era since arriving in this world.

Wenshan Academy was nestled in a tranquil area to the east of the Luzhou city. Its walls, built of blue bricks and dark tiles, exuded an air of antiquity and solemnity. Before the gates stood several towering ancient locust trees, their lush branches casting cool, dense shade. Occasionally, a gentle breeze would pass by, carrying a faint fragrance of ink that lingered in the air, refreshing the mind. Even before entering, the atmosphere was steeped in the essence of scholarly pursuits.

The carriage slowly approached. At the academy gates, shadows flitted to and fro—mostly students in blue robes, strolling in groups and engaging in animated discussions. Some walked alone, clutching books, their steps hurried, brows furrowed in contemplation. These, then, were the scholars of the Daye Dynasty.

Chen Pingchuan observed quietly, noting their speech, mannerisms, and expressions. In contrast, Zhang Jinbao was a picture of childlike wonder, nearly hanging out the carriage window, his round eyes wide with curiosity at everything he saw.

"Pingchuan, look at that man—his beard is trailing on the ground!"

"Wow! That man's hat is so strange, round like a pot!"

His exclamations were brimming with childish curiosity. At last, Master Fang could not restrain himself and coughed heavily. Zhang Jinbao shrank his neck, hurriedly withdrew his head, and sat meekly in his seat, not daring to move again.

The carriage stopped at a discreet side entrance of the academy, where attendants were already waiting.

Master Fang was the first to alight, then led Zhang Jinbao and Chen Pingchuan through a moon gate and into the academy’s interior.

The lecture hall for this scholarly exchange was set in Minglun Hall, the largest chamber within the academy. At this moment, it was already bustling, every seat filled. As far as the eye could see, there was a sea of blue-robed scholars.

The rich scent of ink mingled with the subtle aroma of burning sandalwood from the hall, invigorating the spirit. Master Fang was clearly a regular here; as soon as he entered, several familiar faces greeted him with respectful bows.

“Heming, it’s been so long! You’re as distinguished as ever!” A sprightly old man with grizzled hair approached with a warm smile.

“Yunlai, you flatter me. I am ashamed,” Master Fang replied, bowing in return with his usual reserved manner.

After a few polite exchanges, guided by the old man, Master Fang and Zhang Jinbao took seats near the front. Chen Pingchuan, true to his role as a page, quietly found a small stool behind Zhang Jinbao and sat.

He looked around, taking in the faces of the scholars. Some wore expressions of anticipation, their eyes bright, clearly full of hope for today’s exchange. Others appeared grave, brows knitted, as if pondering some profound scholarly question.

Soon, a thin-faced supervisor with a goatee ascended the platform. Clearing his throat, he announced in a resonant voice, “Fellow scholars, the Wenshan Academy Exchange is now officially underway!”

At his words, the brief commotion in the hall faded into silence. Several young scholars soon took the stage, referencing the classics to share their unique interpretations, expounding on their experiences and scholarly insights. The atmosphere gradually grew more lively.

Chen Pingchuan listened with keen interest. Though some perspectives seemed old-fashioned or even laughable to someone with a modern soul, the meticulous seriousness with which the ancients approached learning, and their reverence for the classics, inspired genuine respect in his heart.

The ancients were not foolish. Often, it was the limitations of their era and technology that made their ideas appear awkward to later generations. In another time, their wisdom would be no less than that of modern men.

Compared to Chen Pingchuan’s focused attention, Zhang Jinbao grew increasingly restless. He was still a child, and these dry scholarly discussions bored him. He fidgeted, picking at his fingers, sneaking glances at birds outside the window.

At this moment, a middle-aged scholar dressed in dark purple silk stood up from the side of the hall. He looked to be around forty, with a thin face and pointed chin, meticulously groomed mustache, and narrow eyes that gleamed with shrewdness and undisguised arrogance.

His voice was sharp, and as he spoke, the hall quieted noticeably.

“The remarks of the previous gentlemen had merit, yet upon closer examination, they seem somewhat superficial, failing to truly grasp the essence of the sages’ teachings.”

This was Wu Zixu, the renowned scholar of Luzhou Prefecture.

The atmosphere in the hall immediately shifted; many faces showed surprise. Chen Pingchuan noticed that Master Fang’s brows, previously relaxed, now faintly furrowed.

Wu Zixu continued, his gaze drifting toward Master Fang, “Today’s gathering brings together distinguished scholars. Heming, did you bring your favored pupil to observe?”

Wu Zixu and Master Fang had studied together at Wenshan Academy in their youth, but their academic views had always clashed. Wu’s temperament was acerbic and narrow-minded, prone to flaunting his knowledge, which Master Fang deeply disliked. Their relationship had soured over time.

Now, Wu Zixu’s lips curled in a cold smile, his voice rising so all could hear, “Fang, how has your pupil progressed in his studies? Might we examine him, so all present may witness the fruits of your teaching?”

With those words, several gazes converged on Master Fang and Zhang Jinbao.

Zhang Jinbao’s face, which had been rosy, instantly turned pale at the prospect of being tested before so many. He dreaded nothing more than being questioned in front of a crowd, especially on subjects he scarcely understood. His small hands clenched into fists, and beads of sweat formed on his brow—he was clearly thrown into panic.