Volume One, Chapter Thirty-Six: How Dare a Mere Bookboy Act So Arrogantly? Master Fang: Try Touching My Disciple!

Mr. Fang's brows furrowed even more tightly.

He knew perfectly well that Wu Zixu was nothing but a fox wishing the chicken happy New Year—absolutely up to no good! It was clear he wanted to make a fool of him in front of everyone.

But to refuse directly, in front of all these scholars, would make him seem timid and lacking in confidence, handing Wu Zixu the opportunity to mock him for years to come.

Suppressing his irritation, Mr. Fang coughed lightly, stood up slowly, and clasped his hands in front of Wu Zixu, striving for a calm tone. “Brother Wu, you jest. My young pupil is far too unruly and his studies are lacking; I only brought him today to broaden his horizons. To test him now would surely invite laughter.”

Wu Zixu, however, had no intention of letting this chance for humiliation slip away.

He laughed heartily, waved his hand, and said, “Brother Fang, don’t be so modest. With your guidance, I’m sure your esteemed pupil must possess remarkable qualities.”

“I have no wish to make things difficult. Let us merely ask a few simple principles from the ‘Three Character Classic’ or ‘Thousand Character Text.’ Surely, with your student’s intelligence, he’ll answer fluently and impress us all with the grace of a renowned teacher and his gifted pupil!”

Before Mr. Fang could reply, Wu Zixu turned directly to Zhang Jinbao, who was already looking lost and flustered, a trace of mocking contempt flickering in his eyes.

“Young friend, let me ask you: The ‘Three Character Classic’ says, ‘Spring and summer, autumn and winter; the four seasons move without cease.’ Aside from describing the cycle of the seasons, what profound truths about nature and humanity does this line contain?”

This question, drawn from the elementary classic, seemed simple but was in fact quite tricky. It tested not only recitation but understanding of the text, demanding explanation of both wording and meaning.

And these were precisely what Zhang Jinbao feared most.

His face flushed, he was tongue-tied, sweat beading and threatening to drip from his brow.

“I… I…” He stammered for ages, unable to utter a complete sentence.

The lecture hall fell silent. Many eyes watched the unfolding drama, glancing back and forth between Mr. Fang, Zhang Jinbao, and Wu Zixu.

Wu Zixu allowed himself a smug, cold smile, his eyes filled with disdain, about to deliver a cutting remark.

Just then, in the critical moment, Chen Pingchuan, seated behind Zhang Jinbao, leaned forward ever so slightly.

He quickly lowered his voice, whispering in a tone only Zhang Jinbao could hear: “The way of Heaven is cyclical, ever-renewing, as the seasons change unstopping; this is the order of nature. We must follow the times, cherish our days, work diligently without slackening, only then can we achieve something…”

Desperate like an ant on a hot pan, Zhang Jinbao suddenly heard this lifeline and his eyes lit up!

He hurriedly steadied himself and, stumbling, loudly repeated what Chen Pingchuan had just said: “It… it means… the way of Heaven… it cycles again and again! Just like… just like spring, summer, autumn, and winter—it never stops! That's… that's the law of nature!”

“And… and we people, we must follow the timing! Yes, cherish our days! And… and work hard, never be lazy!”

Though his words were broken, reversed, and sometimes unclear, he managed to convey the core ideas, even if roughly.

Wu Zixu’s smug smile froze instantly.

He stared at Zhang Jinbao in disbelief; he had not expected this notorious idler to offer such a meaningful explanation.

Unwilling to give up, he pressed on, asking several more difficult questions involving references and textual analysis.

“‘Gourd, earth, leather, wood, stone, metal. Silk and bamboo, these are the eight sounds.’ Tell me, why are gourd and earth placed first, and metal, stone, silk, bamboo after? What is the reasoning behind the order of the eight sounds?”

“‘Dogs guard at night, roosters announce the dawn. If you do not study, how can you be called human?’ Besides urging diligence, what deeper warning does this offer for a gentleman’s conduct?”

Each question was more demanding than the last, probing the very foundations of scholarship.

Each time, Zhang Jinbao was on the verge of humiliation, scratching his head anxiously.

Yet, at each critical moment, Chen Pingchuan behind him provided timely, clear hints.

Zhang Jinbao would then parrot the answers as best he could.

Though his responses remained awkward, he always hit the essential points, earning nods of approval from those listening.

Wu Zixu’s face shifted from pale to dark, then purple, finally settling into a livid flush—a spectacle in itself.

His carefully arranged series of challenges, meant to disgrace Fang Heming and Zhang Jinbao, had been defused one by one by the supposedly ignorant Zhang Jinbao!

Wu Zixu was so furious that his meticulously groomed moustache quivered uncontrollably.

Just then, he caught sight of Zhang Jinbao sneaking a triumphant grin at the small attendant seated behind him.

The boy also looked up, and the two exchanged smug glances.

Wu Zixu, shrewd as ever, suddenly understood!

So that was it!

He let out a heavy, cold snort, his gaze like a blade fixed on Mr. Fang, and said with a barely concealed sneer, “Brother Fang, your pupil’s performance today truly forces me to ‘see him in a new light’!”

He emphasized the words “see him in a new light,” dripping with sarcasm.

“But I wonder, does being guided by a ‘hidden master’ count as part of your daily teaching?”

Wu Zixu’s voice suddenly rose, his eyes fixed on Chen Pingchuan: “A mere attendant dares to whisper in the lecture hall of Wenshan Academy, disturbing the concentration of fellow scholars? What conduct is this!”

The rebuke thundered through the hall.

In an instant, every gaze snapped to Chen Pingchuan.

Those looks held curiosity and surprise, but far more disdain and contempt.

A mere attendant daring to speak out in such a setting?

Utterly audacious!

Zhang Jinbao was stunned, his face drained of color.

He spun around, bewildered and frightened, staring at Chen Pingchuan, “B-big brother!”

Mr. Fang, already displeased by Wu Zixu’s constant targeting of Zhang Jinbao, now saw him vent his anger on the eight-year-old Chen Pingchuan, and could no longer restrain his simmering fury.

He had always admired Chen Pingchuan’s intelligence and eagerness to learn, so now he was determined to shield the boy completely.

With a sudden movement, Mr. Fang stood up.

His face was grim, his voice cold as ice: “Brother Wu, your words are unjust!”

“Though Chen Pingchuan is an attendant, he is diligent and studious, often seeking instruction from me; I consider him a registered disciple.”

“He may have spoken a word or two out of concern for Jinbao, but what fault is there in that?”

“Brother Wu, must you be so aggressive, venting your anger on a mere child?”