Chapter Fifty-Seven: Consumed by Flames

After lunch, Zhou Zhi wrapped all the books in cloth, picked them up, and prepared to leave the house. His younger brother, Zhou Shaocheng, came running over, his young face bright with curiosity. “Brother, are you not studying anymore?”

Since recovering from his illness, the little brother had regained his former liveliness in just a few days, and seemed even sturdier than before, always eager to meddle in things.

Zhou Zhi smiled gently, ruffling the boy’s hair. “I’m just returning these books to borrow some new ones. Why? Do you want to study too, Shaocheng?”

The little brother was six this year, and at seven he would be old enough to attend the village school. As Zhou Zhi saw it, his father Zhou Tie was right—Zhou Zhi himself was a bit too old to join the community school, but Shaocheng could certainly give it a try. As long as the family scraped by, perhaps they could manage the tuition.

Unexpectedly, Zhou Shaocheng shook his head with all the seriousness of a little rattle drum, declaring, “I don’t want to study, and I don’t want to be an official. I just want to be a rich man all my life, like the Yue and Chen families—or even richer than them!”

This wasn’t the first time the boy had expressed such wishes, and Zhou Zhi couldn’t help but pause in surprise. In truth, there was nothing wrong with Shaocheng’s reluctance to study. He was quite good at arithmetic, and if he could learn some business, becoming a wealthy landowner would be a fine path.

After all, these were peaceful times—the flourishing era of Hongzhi, soon to be followed by the playful Emperor Zhu Houzhao, and then the long and stable reign of Jiajing. All in all, the Ming dynasty would remain prosperous and secure for years to come. To live a life of steady prosperity was hardly a bad fate.

But Zhou Zhi was different. As someone who had crossed over from another world, how could he resign himself to mediocrity? He was determined to seize his chance in Ming China and make his mark.

Perhaps fearing that his brother would insist he study after all, Zhou Shaocheng anxiously pushed him toward the door. “Then hurry, Brother! Go on, go!”

Zhou Zhi could only laugh and shake his head, stepping out into the street.

Today the village school should have been in session, but it was already afternoon and classes were long dismissed. Zhou Zhi made his way directly to Mr. Wang’s house.

It had been almost a month since his last visit. Nothing had changed at the Wang residence; standing outside the brushwood gate, he could hear the clamor of chickens and ducks within.

There was something enviable about Mr. Wang Ding’s rustic life—humble cottage, animals calling to each other, a world apart from the bustle of the village. Wang Ding seldom mingled with the people of Baiyue Village, living as if set apart from the world.

Zhou Zhi couldn’t help but sigh in admiration. Though Mr. Wang’s life was far from wealthy, it was almost like that of an immortal—surely a man who knew how to savor the joys of life.

He knocked gently on the wooden door, and an old woman’s voice called from within, “Who is it?”

“It’s me, Zhou Zhi!” he answered quickly, his voice clear.

No sooner had he spoken than the door creaked open. Wang’s elderly wife, Madam Zhang, glanced at him once, her expression darkening before she turned away without a word.

Zhou Zhi was taken aback. He remembered clearly that on his last visit, the old woman had treated him kindly—he had even helped her carry water. Why this sudden change?

“Is that Zhou Zhi? Come in!” came the aged voice from inside.

Though it had been less than a month, Mr. Wang Ding’s voice sounded far more hoarse and weary than before. Zhou Zhi, puzzled, flashed a smile at the old woman and stepped into the inner room.

There, Wang Ding lay propped up on the kang bed, a quilt pulled over him. The little writing desk was gone, and the old man looked much more haggard and aged than before, his face lined with exhaustion.

Last time, Wang Ding had been full of spirit, passionately discussing the Three Kingdoms and eager for conversation.

Suppressing his questions, Zhou Zhi bowed respectfully. “Your student pays his respects, sir.”

Wang Ding slowly pulled back the quilt and sat up, glancing listlessly at Zhou Zhi. “Sit where you like.”

But Zhou Zhi could not bring himself to sit. Remaining upright, he asked with concern, “Are you ill, sir? If so, you must see a doctor at once and not delay.”

“Who says I’m ill? I’m not sick at all,” Wang Ding replied sharply, his brows knitting.

“Then what is it, sir…” Zhou Zhi pressed gently.

“You’ve come to return books, haven’t you? There’s no need to return them—I’ve no use for them anymore,” Wang Ding interrupted, steering the conversation away.

With Mr. Wang’s curt manner, Zhou Zhi felt awkward about asking to borrow more books. Yet to leave like this would clearly be improper, especially seeing the old man so dispirited. Though he was frugal, Mr. Wang had always treated him well.

Perhaps guessing his thoughts, Wang Ding looked at Zhou Zhi with a blank expression. “Boy, I know what you’re thinking, but this time I can’t help you. Ah! Let me tell you: last time you came, I showed you my book chest, but now it’s gone. I have burned it all.”

“All I have left are a few primers for beginners—useless to you now.”

Zhou Zhi’s brow furrowed at once. Burned? Mr. Wang cherished his books above all; the chest held not just the Four Books and Five Classics, but also many rare commentaries and collections. He had always said he would take them to his grave. Why burn them? What on earth had happened?

Wang Ding had not intended to say more, but seeing Zhou Zhi’s troubled face, his heart softened. After all, he had gained new respect for the boy after their last lively discussion of the Three Kingdoms.

With a long, weary sigh, he began, “You don’t know, Zhou Zhi. Less than ten days after you last borrowed books, one night as I slept, I was startled awake by pounding at the door.

“These are peaceful times; there hasn’t been a bandit in Baiyue Village for years. Still, trembling, I got up to see.

“There were three men at the door—all stout fellows. I recognized one, but barely knew him. They hadn’t come to rob me; all they wanted was for me to burn every book I owned, save only those I used to teach at the school.

“You know how I cherish those books. I begged the three of them, but they threatened that if I refused, they would harm my little grandson.

“He’s my only grandchild—the apple of my eye. I had no choice but to destroy my books before their very eyes.

“I may be a scholar, but I knew I could not defy them. What else could I do but submit? Ah! Such is the world we live in—even in these so-called peaceful times.”

Saying this, Wang Ding gave a final, heavy sigh, as if he had lost all faith in the age.

A chill ran through Zhou Zhi. These three men hadn’t come for money, but only to burn books. Clearly, they weren’t targeting Mr. Wang, but rather him—Zhou Zhi.

Damn it, who was trying to stop him from studying?

There was no need to ask. It could only be that Chen Wenju. It was a clever move, but to go after Mr. Wang’s books—unforgivable.

Chen Wenju, I will not rest until we are enemies to the end.