Explore Chapter 7 of '彷徨' with the original Chinese text, English translation, detailed Chinese vocabulary explanations, and audio of the Chinese original. Listen and improve your reading skills.
That entire day, from morning till afternoon, he spent gazing into the mirror, studying the *Chinese History Textbook*, and consulting *Yuan Liaofan's Comprehensive Mirror*. It was a true case of 'once you learn to read, life's troubles begin'; he suddenly felt a profound sense of injustice towards the ways of the world, a feeling he had never experienced before.
His first thought was that his parents in the old days had truly neglected their children. When he was a boy, his favorite pastime had been climbing mulberry trees to steal the fruit, but they paid no heed. Once he even fell and split his head open, and they didn't provide proper care. To this day, a sharp, wedge-shaped scar remained on his left brow. Although he now grew his hair exceptionally long, parted it, and swept it down diagonally to barely conceal it, the tip of that wedge was still faintly visible. It was a flaw, and if discovered by the girl students, they would surely look down on him. He put down the mirror and sighed with resentment.
Next, he felt the compilers of the *Chinese History Textbook* were utterly inconsiderate of teachers. While the book had some points of agreement with *Liaofan's Comprehensive Mirror*, large sections were markedly different-neither fully aligned nor wholly separate-making it unclear how to weave them together in a lecture. But when his eye caught a slip of paper tucked between the textbook's pages, his resentment shifted to the history teacher who had resigned mid-term, for the slip read:
If that fellow had finished teaching the Three Kingdoms period, his preparation wouldn't have been so arduous. He was most familiar with the Three Kingdoms-stories like the Oath in the Peach Garden, Kongming Borrowing Arrows, Zhou Yu Thrice Outwitted, Huang Zhong Slaying Xiahou Yuan at Dingjun Mountain, and countless others filled his mind, perhaps enough for a whole semester. For the Tang Dynasty, he was also rather adept at tales like Qin Qiong Selling His Horse. And of all things, it had to be the Eastern Jin! He sighed with resentment once more and pulled *Liaofan's Comprehensive Mirror* closer.
A hand reached from behind him and tilted his chin. He didn't stir, for he recognized the voice and gesture as belonging to Huang San, an old gambling crony who had slipped in quietly. Though an old friend, with whom he had played cards, watched operas, drunk, and chased women just a week ago, ever since he had published that widely acclaimed essay "On the Duty of All Chinese Citizens to Systematize National History" in the *Great China Daily* and received the appointment letter from Virtuous Girls' School, he felt Huang San was a man of no substance and somewhat vulgar. Without turning his head, he replied stiffly and solemnly:
"We hereby respectfully invite Erchu Old Master Gao to serve as History Teacher of this school, delivering four hours of instruction weekly.
Remuneration is respectfully set at Three Silver Dollars per hour, precisely calculated per hour.
This agreement is made by He Wanshuzhen, Principal of Virtuous Girls' School, with utmost deference.
Established on an Auspicious Day in the Chrysanthemum Month of the Thirteenth Year of the Republic of China."
"'Erchu Old Master Gao'? Who's that? You? You changed your name?" Huang San asked impatiently as soon as he finished reading.
But Old Master Gao merely smiled haughtily. He had indeed changed his name. Yet Huang San only knew how to play cards and had paid no attention to new learning or new art. Since he didn't know of the great Russian writer Gorky, how could he grasp the profound significance of this name change? So Old Master Gao just smiled haughtily and offered no reply.
"Hey, Lao Gan, don't mess with these foolish games!" Huang San said, putting down the letter of appointment. "We already have a boys' school here, and the atmosphere has gotten bad enough. Now they want to open a girls' school too. Who knows what things will come to? Why bother getting involved? It's not worth it..."
"That's not necessarily so. Besides, Mrs. He insisted on inviting me, and I couldn't decline..." Because Huang San had slandered the school, and seeing it was already half past two-only half an hour until class-he felt somewhat indignant and showed clear signs of agitation.
"Alright! Let's leave that for now." Huang San, being shrewd, immediately changed tack. "Let's talk business: we have a game tonight. Mao Zifu's eldest son from Maojiatun is here, hiring a geomancer to inspect burial sites. He's carrying two hundred silver dollars on him. We've agreed to make up a table tonight-me, Lao Bo, and you. You must come, don't miss it. The three of us will clean him out!"
"You must come, absolutely! I still need to settle things with Lao Bo. The place is at my house, as usual. That silly lad is a 'greenhorn.' We can definitely clean him out! Hand me that set of tiles with the clearer bamboo pattern!"
Old Master Gao slowly stood up, fetched the mahjong box from beside the bed, and handed it over. A glance at his watch showed 2:40. He thought: Although Huang San is capable, knowing full well I've become a teacher, he still came to openly slander the school and disturb my lesson preparation. It really isn't right. So he said coldly:
As he spoke, he shot a resentful glance at *Liaofan's Comprehensive Mirror*, picked up the textbook, placed it in his new leather bag, carefully put on his new hat, and went out with Huang San. Once outside, he strode briskly, his shoulders swinging back and forth like a carpenter's drill, and soon Huang San couldn't even see his shadow.
Old Master Gao hurried to Virtuous Girls' School and handed his newly printed calling card to a hunchbacked old gatekeeper. Soon, he heard a "Please," and following the hunchback, he turned two corners and arrived at the teachers' preparation room, which also served as a parlor. Principal He was not in. He was greeted by the gray-bearded dean of studies, the famous Wan Yaopu, whose sobriquet was "Attendant of the Jade Emperor's Incense Table." He had recently been serializing his own poems and those exchanged with female immortals, titled *Immortal Altar Correspondence Collection*, in the *Great China Daily*.
"Aiya! Chu Weng! I have long admired you!..." Wan Yaopu repeatedly cupped his hands in salute, bending his knee and leg joints five or six times in succession, as if about to squat down.
"Aiya! Yao Weng! I have long admired you!..." Chu Weng, clutching his leather bag, mimicked the gesture and spoke.
They then sat down. A half-dead school attendant brought two cups of plain water. Old Master Gao glanced at the wall clock opposite-it was only 2:40, half an hour behind his watch.
"Aiya! Chu Weng's great work, yes, that one... Yes, that 'On the Duty of All Chinese Citizens to Systematize National History'-marvelously concise and profoundly insightful, a joy to read over and over! It is truly a motto for young people, a motto, a motto! I too have some fondness for literature, but merely as a pastime. How could I compare to Chu Weng?" He cupped his hands again and whispered, "Our Shengde Spirit-Altar invites immortals daily, and I often go to compose matching verses. Chu Weng must also grace us with your presence. The spirit is Rui Zhu, the Flower Goddess. From her tone, she seems to be a flower deity banished to the mortal realm. She loves exchanging verses with celebrities and also greatly approves of reformists. A scholar like Chu Weng would surely receive her high regard. Ha ha ha ha!"
But Old Master Gao was hardly in a state to offer any lofty discourse, for his preparation on "The Rise and Fall of the Eastern Jin" had been inadequate to begin with, and now even that meager grasp was fading. He felt agitated and troubled. From his chaotic thoughts, fragmented notions surged forth: his posture on the platform should be dignified; the scar on his forehead must be covered; the textbook should be read slowly; he must gaze at the students with composure. Yet vaguely, he could still hear Yao Pu speaking-
"... bestowed a water chestnut... 'Drunk, leaning on the azure phoenix, ascending the azure sky'-how transcendent!... That Deng Xiao Weng pleaded five times before receiving a quatrain... 'Red sleeves sweep the Milky Way, say not...' Rui Zhu, the Flower Goddess, said this was Chu Weng's first time... This is our school's botanical garden!"
"Oh! Oh!" Erchu suddenly saw him raise a hand and point, startling him from his scattered thoughts. Following the finger, he saw outside the window a small clearing with four or five trees, and directly opposite, three small, single-story rooms.
"Unfortunately, a few among them wish to learn poetry, but that won't do. Reform is one thing, but poetry is hardly suitable for well-bred young ladies. Rui Zhu, the Flower Goddess, doesn't much approve of girls' schools either, believing they confuse the dual principles of heaven and earth, displeasing the celestial court. I have discussed this with her several times..."
"No, no! Not busy at all! I believe promoting girls' education is in line with the global trend, but if mishandled, it easily leads to bias, hence the celestial court's displeasure-perhaps merely to nip problems in the bud. As long as it is managed properly, without bias, adhering to the golden mean, and guided by national essence, there will be no ill effects. Chu Weng, don't you agree? This is something Rui Zhu, the Flower Goddess, also finds 'not without merit.' Ha ha ha ha!"
"This is Teacher Gao, Gao Erchu. He is a renowned scholar. His famous essay, 'On the Duty of All Chinese Citizens to Systematize National History,' is known to all. The *Great China Daily* also stated that Teacher Gao, deeply admiring the Russian literary giant Gorky, changed his style name to Erchu to show his reverence. His emergence is truly a boon to Chinese letters! Now, after repeated and earnest invitations from Principal He, he has graciously agreed to come here and teach history..."
Teacher Gao suddenly felt terribly isolated. Yao Weng had vanished, leaving him alone standing by the lectern. He had no choice but to step onto the platform, bow, compose himself, and recall his resolution to maintain a dignified demeanor. Slowly, he opened the textbook to begin lecturing on "The Rise and Fall of the Eastern Jin."
Old Master Gao's face instantly flushed. He hurriedly looked at the book-his words weren't wrong. Printed clearly was: "The Partial Peace of the Eastern Jin." Opposite the book's spine, half the room was still filled with thick, unruly hair, with no other movement. He guessed it was his own suspicion, that no one had actually laughed. So he composed himself again, fixed his eyes on the book, and slowly continued. At first, he could hear his own mouth speaking, but gradually he grew muddled, no longer aware of what he was saying. By the time he was expounding on "Shi Le's Grand Ambition," he could only hear stifled snickers.
He couldn't help but glance below the lectern. The scene had changed greatly from before: half the room was filled with eyes, along with many neat little triangles, each containing two nostrils. These merged into a flowing, deep sea, shimmering and vast, assailing his gaze. But the moment he glimpsed it, it abruptly flashed and transformed back into half a room of thick, unruly hair.
He quickly averted his gaze, not daring to leave the textbook again. When necessary, he lifted his eyes to the ceiling. It was made of yellowish-white cement, with a raised circular ridge in the center. But this circle seemed to come alive, suddenly expanding, then contracting, making his eyes blurry. He anticipated that if he lowered his gaze, he would inevitably encounter that terrible sea of combined eyes and nostrils again, so he returned to the book. By now, he had reached the "Battle of Feishui," where Fu Jian was about to be terrified into seeing "every plant and tree as an enemy."
He kept suspecting many were secretly laughing, but he endured and lectured on. Clearly, a long time had passed, yet the bell hadn't rung. He couldn't check his watch, afraid the students would look down on him. But after a while, he reached "The Rise of the Tuoba Clan," followed by the "Chronological Table of the Six States." He hadn't expected to cover this today and was unprepared.
He was so startled that he even dropped the *Chinese History Textbook*, for something had suddenly struck his head. He stepped back two paces and looked closely: a slanting branch was right in front of him, its leaves trembling slightly from the impact. He quickly bent to pick up the book. Beside it stood a wooden sign that read: Moraceae.
Inside, the two cups of plain water remained, but the half-dead attendant was gone, and Yao Weng had vanished without a trace. Everything was dim, only his new leather bag and new hat shining in the gloom. Looking at the wall clock, it was only 3:40.
Old Master Gao returned to his own room. Long afterward, he would sometimes feel a sudden flush of heat all over, or an unaccountable anger. Finally, he concluded that schools indeed corrupted morals, and it would be better to shut them down, especially girls' schools-what was the point? It was mere vanity!
He still heard faint, distant laughter. This made him even angrier and strengthened his resolve to resign. That evening, he wrote to Principal He, simply saying he had developed a foot ailment. But what if they tried to persuade him to stay?-he wouldn't go anyway. Who knew how bad girls' schools would get? Why should he bother mingling with them? It wasn't worth it, he thought.
So, decisively, he moved *Liaofan's Comprehensive Mirror* aside, pushed the mirror away, and closed the letter of appointment. About to sit down, he found the letter's red hue utterly hateful, so he grabbed it and stuffed it into a drawer along with the *Chinese History Textbook*.
"I have no intention of continuing. Girls' schools are bound to turn into who-knows-what. We respectable people shouldn't get tangled up with them..."
"Aiya! Long admired!..." Hands throughout the room cupped in salute, knee and leg joints bending repeatedly, as if everyone were about to squat down.
"This is the previously mentioned Brother Gao Ganting." Lao Bo pointed at Old Master Gao and said to Mao's eldest son.
"Oh! Long admired!..." Mao's eldest son specially cupped his hands toward him repeatedly and nodded.
A slanting square table had already been set up on the left side of the room. Huang San greeted the guests while arranging seats and chips with a young maid. Before long, a slender candle was lit at each table corner, and the four of them took their seats.
All was silent. Only the sound of mahjong tiles hitting the red sandalwood tabletop rang clear in the stillness of the early night.
Old Master Gao's luck at the game wasn't bad, but he still harbored some indignation. He was usually quick to forget things, but this time, he couldn't shake the feeling that social morals were worrisome. Although the chips before him gradually increased, it didn't quite comfort him or make him optimistic. But as time passed and customs changed, he began to feel that social morals were improving after all. However, it was very late by then-already after the second round, when he was close to forming a "pure suit."