Chapter Fifty-Eight: Consigned to Flames

Wang Ding always maintained such an attitude, making it difficult for Zhou Zhi to bring up the matter of borrowing more books after returning the previous ones. But to leave like this was clearly unsatisfactory, and seeing Mr. Wang's demeanor, it seemed impolite to simply depart. After all, though the old scholar was stingy, he had always treated Zhou Zhi quite well.

Wang Ding seemed to have guessed Zhou Zhi’s thoughts; he glanced at Zhou Zhi with his usual expressionless face and said, “Zhou Zhi, I know what’s on your mind, but I can’t help you this time. Ah, when you last visited my home, I showed you my book cabinet, but now it’s gone—I’ve burned it to ashes.

All I have left are a few elementary reading books, and those are of no use to you anymore.”

Zhou Zhi’s brows furrowed instantly. Burned to ashes? Mr. Wang cherished his books as his life; that chest contained not only the Four Books and Five Classics, but also many annotated works and collections. He had once said he’d take them to the grave. Why would he burn them? What could have happened?

Wang Ding didn’t wish to discuss the matter further, but seeing Zhou Zhi’s troubled face, he relented. The truth was, Zhou Zhi’s eloquent discourse on the Three Kingdoms last time had left Wang Ding deeply impressed and appreciative.

He sighed heavily, then spoke slowly, “Zhou Zhi, you don’t know. Less than ten days after you borrowed books from me, one night as I slept, there came a loud banging at the door. I was startled and frightened.

These are peaceful times; there hasn’t been bandit trouble in Baiyue Village for years. Still, trembling, I opened the door.

Three men stood outside, all robust. I recognized one, though not well. They hadn’t come for money; they wanted only one thing: for me to burn all my books, leaving only those I use for teaching at the community school.

You know how dearly I treasure those books. I tried to plead with them, but they threatened my little grandson if I didn’t comply.

Ah! I have only one grandson, the apple of my eye. Helpless, I burned all those books before their eyes.

Though I am a scholar, I knew I was no match for them, so I had to submit quietly. Such is the world today, so-called peaceful times.”

Wang Ding finished, unable to hold back another long sigh, as if he had lost faith in the world.

Zhou Zhi’s heart skipped a beat. These three men weren’t after money, but sought only to destroy books. It seemed they weren’t targeting Mr. Wang, but rather Zhou Zhi himself.

Who was it, then, seeking to hinder his studies?

No need to ask—it must be Chen Wenju. This move was clever, but he shouldn’t have gone after Mr. Wang.

Chen Wenju, I will never stand with you.

Zhou Zhi’s rage soared, his star-like eyes flashed with ferocity, his face turned icy cold. He glanced at Wang Ding, then bowed deeply and said, “I have brought trouble upon you, sir. Forgive me!”

With those words, he placed the small cloth bundle on the kang and turned to leave.

He had not yet reached the door when Wang Ding hastily called out, “Zhou Zhi, stop. I have more to say.”

Wang Ding could see Zhou Zhi’s anger burning and understood his thoughts—clearly, Zhou Zhi was seeking vengeance. Wang Ding valued Zhou Zhi greatly and could not bear to see him rush headlong into disaster.

Zhou Zhi was truly enraged now. If Chen Wenju sought to harm him, so be it, but to drag Mr. Wang into it was unforgivable. He was resolved, so long as he had breath, to fight Chen Wenju to the bitter end.

“Don’t concern yourself with me anymore, sir!” Zhou Zhi replied, without pausing, glancing back at Wang Ding before heading for the door.

“Do you mean to anger me to death, boy? Listen: the men who came that night were not from the Chen family; this has nothing to do with them.” Forced by circumstances, Wang Ding revealed the truth.

This statement gave Zhou Zhi pause. He had been certain Chen Wenju was behind it, but Wang Ding insisted otherwise. If not Chen Wenju, then who? Zhou Zhi had offended no one else.

“Zhou Zhi, come back inside,” Wang Ding said, his tone much softer.

Determined to find out who was behind it, Zhou Zhi returned to the room.

Wang Ding had already stepped off the kang, his face anxious. Seeing Zhou Zhi return, he relaxed slightly and spoke in a low voice, “I hold you in such high regard, yet you would act so rashly?

Zhou Zhi, though these are peaceful times, it’s common for powerful families to bully ordinary folk. What storm do you, a young farmer, intend to stir up?”

Wang Ding advised him, but refused to reveal the origins of the three men, making Zhou Zhi even more restless.

Zhou Zhi forced himself to calm down and bowed again, saying, “Please, sir, tell me who sent those men.”

“Hmph! I do not know who sent them, but I can assure you it was not the Chen family. I have seen one of those men before; he holds a grudge against the Chen family. How could he aid them?” Wang Ding narrowed his eyes, speaking gravely.

Zhou Zhi’s gaze never left Wang Ding’s aged face. Seeing his seriousness, Zhou Zhi believed him and grew more puzzled.

“Staring at me is useless; I truly do not know. But you must understand, the Chen family is not the only one scheming against you.

Whoever your enemy is, their goal is simple: to prevent you from studying. Zhou Zhi, heed my advice—stop reading, abandon any ambition for official honors.”

As Wang Ding spoke, his old eyes bore into Zhou Zhi, as if trying to see through him.

Zhou Zhi was stifled and uncomfortable—someone was plotting against him while he remained clueless as to their identity.

The feeling was abominable.

Upon hearing Wang Ding’s words, Zhou Zhi scarcely paused before retorting, “My studies are none of their concern! These people meddle with empty leisure. Hmph! The more they try to stop me, the more determined I am. If they don’t want me to study, I’ll earn a scholar’s honor just to spite them.”