7 Anxiety

The fleet of the Jiujiang Guard sailed grandly down the river, causing quite a commotion along the way.

Merchant ships on the Yangtze River hurriedly gave way; no one dared provoke such a formidable force, not even those merchant vessels with powerful backing. Had they not seen the flags flying atop the lead ship?

Ships traveling the Yangtze were nothing unusual. But a fleet this massive was a rarity—something not seen for decades. Perhaps only the elders had witnessed the likes of it, back when Prince Ning rebelled and fleets even larger than this patrolled Poyang Lake and the Yangtze.

Well, since hearing tales from his mother the night before, Wei Guangde couldn’t help but recall that sky-darkening, earth-shading fleet she had described.

Naturally, such a spectacle stirred the curiosity of people on both banks of the river. Villagers along the shore dropped their work, flocking to the riverbank to watch the procession.

Even many from the military fort came out, standing at a distance along the shore to observe.

By the time the fleet had passed and disappeared from sight, the crowd began to disperse. Only about ten sturdy men remained at the fort, watching the now-vanished fleet. These were the young men left behind to guard the fort, as most had gone with Wei Guangde’s father on the expedition. Among them, Wei Wencai took the lead.

After withdrawing his gaze, Wei Wencai turned and saw Wei Guangde and the others approaching from afar.

As they drew near, the two brothers exchanged a glance but said nothing. Then the two groups merged and returned to the fort together.

After dinner, Wei Guangde, feeling restless, left his calligraphy practice and went to his elder brother’s room.

“Brother, we should send someone to the guard post now and then to gather news. They left in such a hurry—I’m afraid the fighting up north has grown fierce,” Wei Guangde said, scratching his head as he sat down.

“I know. But don’t talk about such things at home anymore. It only worries mother without reason,” Wei Wencai replied. He, too, was deeply affected by the afternoon’s sight and was in low spirits.

Since last night, Wei Wencai had been anxious and fearful. He didn’t want to send anyone out to inquire—he dreaded hearing bad news. Yet he knew fear alone was useless; this family depended on him now. Though Wei Guangde was clever, he was still only eleven.

“Focus on your studies. I’m not cut out for them myself. If anyone in this family is to rise, it has to be you,” Wei Wencai said.

Wei Guangde merely nodded slightly in response. The brothers then talked a little more.

Wei Wencai was quite pleased with Wei Guangde’s conduct in recent days, especially the past two. It felt as though his little brother was finally growing up.

Perhaps the Wei family shared a good memory. Wei Wencai had studied for several years and recognized many characters but could never produce elegant calligraphy. His writing was always crooked and twisted, often earning him slaps from the private schoolmaster. Over time, he grew weary and unwilling to continue.

As for the Four Books and Five Classics, his studies were even more chaotic—not because he couldn’t grasp them, but because he simply didn’t want to learn. Eventually, their father gave up on him, resigning himself to the fact that Wei Wencai was destined only to inherit the minor official post.

Wei Guangde’s handwriting used to be a bit better—passable at best, somewhat better than Wei Wencai’s scrawl, but just barely. Now, however, Wei Guangde’s skills had regressed to his brother’s level.

Since both had matters to attend to the next day, Wei Guangde sat briefly, spoke a little, then left to rest in his own room.

Before he left, Wei Wencai urged him to practice calligraphy seriously. He knew all too well how he had faltered and feared his brother might repeat the same mistakes. After all, the family had only this one official position to pass down.

Indeed, Wei Wencai had given up studying early and had returned home to assist their father in managing the hundred-household post. But Wei Guangde had no such luxury. Although he could idle away his days in the fort, life wouldn’t be easy.

As an elder brother, Wei Wencai naturally wished his younger brother a bright future—even if it was just becoming a scholar.

Their father had saved a fair amount of silver over the years, and Wei Wencai knew it was intended to help Wei Guangde establish himself—perhaps by purchasing some farmland to sustain a living.

If fortune smiled and he became a successful candidate in the provincial exams, it would be even better. At least in Madang, he could walk with authority and secure a government post, becoming a civil official.

Back in his room, Wei Guangde was naturally reluctant to practice calligraphy. To be honest, he worried about his father’s expedition. If the guard post’s campaign dragged on leisurely, he wouldn’t mind—but the display that afternoon...

Lying on his bed, Wei Guangde’s thoughts ran wild until he fell asleep.

The next day, Wei Guangde resumed his usual routine: rising early, eating breakfast, attending the private school in the morning, then practicing calligraphy and enduring reprimands in the afternoon.

Days passed in this manner. Perhaps the schoolmaster grew weary of discipline, observing that Wei Guangde didn’t seem cut out for studying.

Their schoolmaster, surnamed Sun and named Sun Zikang, was in his fifties and had only achieved the title of xiucai (licentiate). He had been Wei Wencai’s teacher in his youth.

At first, Sun appreciated Wei Guangde’s quick memory and grasp of the lessons. When calligraphy practice began, he taught diligently, and though Wei Guangde’s handwriting was not outstanding, it was passable.

However, in recent days, Wei Guangde’s writing had deteriorated sharply. Sun almost thought his elder brother was the author—had it not been for witnessing Wei Guangde’s own handwriting.

Sun had heard about the events of the past few days; after all, Wei Guangde had stayed home for two days and had asked for leave from the school. Yet...

During the first few days, Sun was patient, thinking perhaps Wei Guangde was still unsettled—after all, calligraphy required a calm mind, and agitation hindered good writing.

But after several days, his patience wore thin. He resorted to using the school’s deterrent—the ruler—to discipline Wei Guangde properly.

The ruler seemed to be the ultimate weapon in an ancient teacher’s arsenal. Sun himself had likely been disciplined the same way by his own mentor, which explained his ease in wielding it—a tradition passed down through generations.

For Sun, after years of six failed provincial exam attempts, his ambition had been thoroughly crushed. He no longer considered anything else but hoping some talented student under his tutelage might bring him honor.

He took great care in teaching the dozens of children under him, searching carefully for one who could rise and make a name for himself.

Wei Guangde was one of those promising candidates, but alas, it seemed he was failing again.

Wei Wencai had been Sun’s student as well, but after declaring his intention to forgo studies and return home to inherit the post, Sun had given up on him completely.

Fortunately, the Wei family sent Wei Guangde. After some time, Sun discovered the boy’s talent was no less than Wei Wencai’s.

But alas!

Sun knew that excellent calligraphy only shone in the palace examinations. Yet who wanted to train a scholar whose writing resembled a dog’s crawl? That was a disgrace no one wanted to bear!