Horse-head Wall Reflects the Qing Dynasty

Chapter 87 The majestic mountains and rivers inspire self-satisfaction; accumulated literary talent has long been evident.

As dusk turns to dawn and autumn turns to winter, the green mountains change color in an ordinary way, but the human heart remains constant.

After the incident, Liu Qingxian didn't have much free time to keep harping on Guan Yin—if he were truly a worthless poor boy, it would be easy for Liu's father to take action against him.

Guan Yin was quite skilled at teaching. When he stopped distinguishing between the real society in his mind and this mountain village, Guan Yin's behavior as a teacher came naturally, without any need for acting.

Students and parents are Guan Yin's strongest support in being able to be a good teacher.

"Sir, what do you think of that newly famous poet in the capital?"

"You can tell his name is really strange. What does 'near Huangshan and far Hengshan' mean? Who would give themselves such a long and weird name?"

Huangshan is near, Hengshan is far? Guan Yin knew that this was most likely Cheng Heng. He had seen the tunes that the latter had written in his scripts, and they were very beautiful, without that jarring modern feel—but in this era, could they really compare to the ancients?

Guan Yin did not advocate "restoring the past" or believe that the past was better than the present. He simply believed that in terms of writing, most of his predecessors had already reached the pinnacle, and it was extremely difficult for later dynasties to surpass their works.

"Stop gossiping about others. Instead of wasting time on idle talk, you should read books. In the future, the words you write will be the ones that are sung throughout the surrounding villages."

Students will certainly listen to their teacher's words, but how much they put into practice depends not only on the teacher's guidance but also on the student's own efforts. Good teachers are common, and good students are common, but those who truly achieve success are rare…

"See, I told you long ago that there was no need to trouble you with this kind of thing, sir."

"The master's words were clearly giving that person face. If he were truly good, would the master have prevented us from learning from him?"

The boy who had been quiet all along couldn't stand it anymore. He put down his brush and spoke up: "Alright, you two, shut up. The teacher clearly wants you to study hard."

The private school was filled with the same birdsong, the sound of reading, the clear sky, and the full moon as always... Time passed quickly. Just like a typical semester, what seemed like an unbearable few months turned into a week-to-week repetition, and time slipped away in this repetition.

Winter has passed and spring has come again. With the imperial examinations drawing near, the name of this poet, who used the pseudonym Huangshan Jin Hengshan Yuan, has spread even further. Everyone knows him only as a candidate in this year's examinations, which has aroused great anticipation among young men and women.

Amidst the commotion, Cheng Heng, the protagonist surrounded by all of this, still felt quite uncertain.

Practicing calligraphy is certainly not something that can be accomplished overnight, and Cheng Heng even regretted it under such torment. He regretted not having put in the effort when he had the chance, after all, it's always good to have more skills.

However, Cheng Heng was good at comforting himself—no one would expect that the bizarre event of "time travel," which only happens in novels, would fall into their own hands. Moreover, forcing oneself to do something when one has no interest in it will not end well.

Cheng Heng had seen classmates who graduated from his school with little passion for opera, who drifted through the best years of their lives, unable to find their ideals or see their future, and whose days dragged on endlessly.

Such worries accompanied Cheng Heng all the way to the examination hall in the spring. It was as if he had returned to the college entrance examination hall. Cheng Heng could only cheer himself up in his heart. However, when he actually saw the test questions, the sense of alienation from this era surged into Cheng Heng's heart again.

A young man raised in the new era would naturally be unable to see things from a perspective that served the needs of the feudal dynasty. Even though, through his role as a student, Cheng Heng saw many of the political views of that second-rank official in the capital, he still found it difficult to separate himself from the Confucian doctrines of "the people are more important than the ruler," the texts that those in power wanted to see, and the distinction between "the people being the masters of the country."

Cheng Heng was really having a headache.

I didn't sleep well last night, and now that I've seen the question, I'm in an even worse mood. My temples are throbbing, and one side of my head feels like it's being pounded by a cone.

Cheng Heng rested his chin on his hand, frowned, and stared at the empty space in front of him.

Cheng Heng wished he could see right through the ground in front of him and make the most of his pen.

But clearly all of this was just Cheng Heng's wishful thinking. The ground in front of him had just been moistened by a spring rain, and not a speck of dust could be stirred up. The pen in his hand was one of the few of the best quality that the official's wife's family had selected after a long period of purchasing from Huizhou and Huzhou.

"If this were someone taking the civil service exam, they might have a chance of winning, but I'm just a storyteller... Aren't storytellers human? Do I deserve to be tortured like this?" Cheng Heng muttered to himself, but dared not show it too obviously, for fear of being dragged out of the exam room as a cheater.

His handwriting was bad, and he couldn't answer the questions. Cheng Heng really couldn't think of any other way. Teaching is one thing, and answering exam questions is another. One is about knowledge points, and the other is about practice—just like even if you understand the teacher's lectures, not everyone can get a perfect score.

"Of course, it's people who write stories. Believe in yourself."

The person in front of him handed him a cup of tea. Cheng Heng took a sip and knew it couldn't compare to the packet of tea that the high-ranking official's wife had given him. Or rather, this comparison was almost an insult to that packet of fine tea.

"The tea doesn't taste good, does it?"

"Hmm." Did the person on the other end know what he was thinking? Cheng Heng responded, involuntarily beginning to ponder the other person's identity.

The clouds and mist outside the window looked familiar; it was probably somewhere on Huangshan Mountain.

That leaves only one explanation: he fell asleep in the imperial examination hall. Thinking this, Cheng Heng decisively asked, "Are you my dream?"

"I am not your dream."

The conversation was polite and the questions were answered. Cheng Heng decided not to dwell on who the person sitting opposite him was until he saw the other person's face clearly: "Are you Cheng Jianwei?"

"What are you thinking? You are Cheng Jianwei now." This time, the other party did not explicitly admit it, but neither did he deny Cheng Heng's words.

Do you know where this is?

"Huangshan".

This time, it was the other person who was taken aback. After a moment of stunned silence, they smiled and said, "What? Do you come to this mountain often?"

"Often in my dreams." It's just a dream, and it can't do anything to me. The other party is telling the truth, so Cheng Heng naturally has no reason to hide it. "I don't usually have much time, even though my home isn't far from Huangshan."

Cheng Heng was referring to family in the real world.

The person opposite, "Cheng Jianwei," didn't say anything more. He glanced at Cheng Heng's teacup, saw that it was still more than half full, and then ignored it. Instead, he stood up, turned around, and started rummaging through the shelf.

"What are you looking for?" After a while, Cheng Heng knew that he was still deep in thought outside the dream.

Unable to figure it out, I had this strange dream. "Do you think Huangshan is magical, that's why it always reminds you at crucial moments?" "Cheng Jianwei," who had turned her back, didn't turn around and continued searching at her own pace.

After flipping through the pages and searching, they finally received a positive answer from Cheng Heng, who had been silent for a long time.

Setting down the cup he had been caressing for so long, Cheng Heng nodded to the figure in front of him. Realizing the inappropriateness of his response, he organized his thoughts before finally speaking: "That's right, once or twice is one thing, but every time, even if I don't believe it, I have to believe it."

"That's true." It was another ambiguous reply without a definite conclusion. The person who had turned away seemed to have finally found what they were looking for. They took it in their hands, turned around, and sat down opposite Cheng Heng. They placed the thing in their hands on the table and handed it to Cheng Heng.

"Compared to the Yellow River basin, Huizhou Prefecture doesn't experience many floods and dike breaches. My concern about this issue is mainly due to Tongtong and her husband."

By saying this, the person in front of him was practically admitting his identity.

Cheng Heng didn't know how the other party appeared in front of him during his exam. It just so happened that Cheng Heng needed Cheng Jianwei's help. If it weren't for these coincidences, the child prodigy back then would probably be a fourth-rank official now.

"It's quite a coincidence, it seems that the imperial examination was specifically designed to clear the name of the teacher, the godfather, and Tongtong from this injustice."

When Cheng Jianwei brought up the past, Cheng Heng didn't know what to say. He felt that listening was the best response at this moment.

"It's a pity it wasn't me personally... but I'm also glad it was you."

What's there to be thankful for? Thankful that I can't even answer the questions? If it weren't for this dream, I probably would have handed in a blank paper!

Before Cheng Heng could consider the matter from Cheng Jianwei's perspective, the latter laughed as if he had heard Cheng Heng's thoughts: "If I saw such a problem, I would definitely be flustered."

"Even though I've tried to appear unfazed by all this over the years, I still can't do it."

"How old am I anyway?"

"Wouldn't I still be considered a child where you live?"

Cheng Jianwei hadn't expected a yes or no answer from Cheng Heng, and continued, "It's like this: if you're standing in the college entrance exam hall and you see that the final essay is about the thing that's most relevant to you."

"You have your own insights and experiences, but you dare not write them down, yet you desperately want to write them down... Naturally, this will cause you pain."

“You’ll understand when you meet him.” Cheng Jianwei saw through the confusion in Cheng Heng’s eyes, but she wasn’t annoyed. She calmly explained to Cheng Heng, word by word.

Cheng Jianwei's words seemed to carry a divine mandate. When Cheng Heng looked at the examination questions again, he was surprised to see a question about the management of brothels and theaters, as well as the performances on stages in temples and Taoist monasteries—any gathering of people carries risks.

If brawls and fights can occur even in theaters, it's even more unthinkable in the streets. These forms of entertainment clearly cannot be banned, but handing them all over to the government is also impossible.

The impact of Cheng Jianwei's words on Cheng Heng had not yet subsided when Cheng Heng recalled Guan Yin's initial attitude towards the development of all people and events—some history cannot be changed by one person alone. He recklessly believed that his own time travel should bring about sweeping changes to history, and he should also consider whether the background of productivity and other factors could be achieved!
Only now, when he sees something that is truly relevant to him, does Cheng Heng realize the true value of Guan Yin's words.

It's not about being passively pushed along by everything, nor is it about lacking the courage and drive that young people should have.

Changxi Tanhuang, born in a no-man's-land, has evolved from a small-scale opera to the Xiju opera of today. Originating from tea-picking opera in the fields, and later Peking Opera after the Anhui troupes entered Beijing and the Anhui and Han operas merged, Peking Opera cannot be separated from free development, nor can it be separated from the changes of the times—order amidst chaos, and change amidst chaos. Obviously, the attitude towards them cannot be one-size-fits-all.

Would those self-proclaimed refined and cultured Confucian scholars want to directly ban these folk forms of entertainment?
What would be the attitude of those candidates who are promiscuous but also have talent?

What are my own thoughts?
As the sun rises and sets, and the stars move, time slips away, and there is still much left to write. To ensure his handwriting doesn't look bad, Cheng Heng writes each stroke carefully…

He worried that when his inspiration flowed freely, all that remained were his personal emotions, and he also worried that if he wrote too slowly, he might not even finish answering the questions. Under the dim moonlight, Cheng Heng felt somewhat lost, but more than that, he was numb.

"numbness……"

"Will you become numb by then?"

"When you stand in that position, will you still think about what you need to do? Go home or have more power?"

Cheng Heng had seen all the extravagance in the home of a second-rank official. There was ambergris, the same kind of fragrance that gave off the male protagonist in the novel, carved lacquer cabinets, gold and jade treasures... Even that cup of tea, which he would only buy to give to his opera teacher or his family members, even if he returned to the modern world.

What did I say at that time?
Mobile phone.

In truth, both Guan Yin and Cheng Heng knew that the real reason wasn't just the cell phone. Here, imperial power could arbitrarily decide life and death; only back home could they truly be in control of their own lives.

Instead of having to climb the social ladder or visit celebrities.

Suddenly, the pen in his hand seemed to be held by someone else, and a breeze arose inexplicably. Cheng Heng didn't know whether Cheng Jianwei was moved by his thoughts and was writing for him in a way he couldn't have imagined.

It was still the muscle memory originally left to this body that was at work. When his consciousness of writing was not so clear and his hand was already numb from writing, the muscle memory took over Cheng Heng's memory of writing.

Or perhaps it really is the saying, "The examination hall is full of gods, and the three examination rooms of the literary academy are haunted by ghosts." These seemingly unscientific beings lend a helping hand because of their own desires.

Time was of the essence, and Cheng Heng had no time to think further. He could only hope that his pen would strike the heavens and earth, and that thunder would rise from the ground. After handing in the exam paper, all that remained was to wait for the results to be released.

"Thank you."

As Cheng Heng walked out of the examination room, he murmured a thank you, not even knowing who he was saying it to.

Should he face those beings who might have helped him? Should he face the seemingly sentient Huangshan Mountain? Or should he face himself, who hadn't given up halfway? Cheng Heng didn't know.

"how?"

"It's difficult, it's difficult. Where I am, there has never been a flood. It's more like a drought."

Just like when I walked out of the college entrance examination hall, the words that came out of my mouth were a mix of truth and falsehood, but only the blue sky above my head and the lush greenery in the distance could not lie.