Doctor Liu watched the carriage depart, standing rooted to the spot, utterly dejected and motionless.
"Uncle Liu, what's wrong?" asked a little boy, his face smeared with snot and tears, as he walked up to Doctor Liu.
His grandfather had told him to fetch Doctor Liu back to watch over his father.
Doctor Liu shook his head and pressed a hand to his chest. "I've studied medicine for most of my life, yet in the end, I couldn't compare to a teenage girl. It pains my heart, boy."
The little boy pressed his lips together. He had been right there when that person was stitching up his father's wound. She did indeed look more skilled than Doctor Liu.
"If her medical skills are better than yours, you could become her apprentice. Then your skills would become that good too."
Doctor Liu shook his head vehemently, his voice a hoarse exclamation. "That's impossible! I'm so much older than her, goodness knows by how many years. If my late master knew I'd become the apprentice of a teenage girl, he'd surely climb out of his coffin just to knock me on the head."
In the carriage, Song Shixue was still replaying the entire process of suturing the wound in her mind.
Song Jinzhao glanced sideways at her. "That bloody wound, the needle and thread going in and out of the flesh... Weren't you scared?"
Song Shixue shook her head, her eyes wide open, pupils dilated with excitement.
"Not scared at all. It was just like sewing clothes. I want to try it."
Song Jinzhao's hands on the reins paused for a moment. After some thought, she said, "Tomorrow, your elder sister will take you up the mountain to gather herbs. We'll catch a rabbit for you to practice on."
Song Shixue tilted her head, her round eyes shining with anticipation. "No stall tomorrow?"
"People get tired of eating the same thing too much. Starting tomorrow, we'll halve the portions. I'll sell out and come back early."
Business had declined slightly in the last couple of days. The laborers at the canal docks were a fixed group; they couldn't eat cold skin noodles and cold noodles every single day.
Earning eight hundred copper coins a day for just a morning's work was already quite substantial.
Zheng Family Private School, Classics Hall.
Song Qiming was called upon by Scholar Zheng to answer a question for the third time.
During the break, Song Gaoli leaned close to his ear and whispered, "What's going on today? Why does the teacher keep calling on you?"
Song Qiming wasn't the youngest in the Classics Hall, but he had been there for the shortest time. To his other classmates, he was still a newcomer.
"I don't know either. Teacher kept looking at me during lunch."
When school let out in the evening, Scholar Zheng walked to Song Qiming's desk and tapped it with his ruler. "Stay behind and come see me in the main hall."
Song Qiming slowly put down his book bag, nervously biting the inside of his lip as he followed Scholar Zheng out.
In the opposite Children's Hall, Song Yaozu, who was being punished by standing and reciting, craned his neck.
"Gaoli says the assignments in the Classics Hall are many and difficult every day. Brother Qiming probably didn't finish his. He's about to get scolded."
Song Yongnian, his hands stained with ink, looked up. "You'd better focus on your recitation. The teacher said you can't go home until you finish. My father is surely already waiting for us outside."
In the main hall before the desk, Song Qiming stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his heart pounding so loudly in the extreme quiet that it felt like it might leap out of his chest.
Scholar Zheng picked up the previous day's assignment and looked it over once more, then placed it before Song Qiming. "Did you write this?"
Song Qiming took a step forward, glanced at the characters on the paper, and nodded. "Yes, sir."
Scholar Zheng's finger traced several lines. "You shouldn't have studied these parts yet. Did you learn them on your own at home?"
Hearing this, Song Qiming's eyelids relaxed, and his tone became confident and calm.
"I have thoroughly read and memorized most of the Four Books and Five Classics you gifted me, sir. In another half month, I should be able to recite them all."
Scholar Zheng unconsciously tugged at his goatee with his right hand, pulling it so hard his chin ached.
"How far have you memorized? Recite for me."
"Revere it, revere it! Heaven's way is clear to see, the mandate is not easily held..."
A quarter of an hour later, Scholar Zheng's mind was no longer as composed as it had been at the start.
He had given those books to the boy less than two months ago, and Song Qiming had already memorized them flawlessly.
He took a deep breath, as if making a decision.
"Originally, I intended for you to take the county-level examination in three years. But now it seems you might attempt it next February."
Seeing Song Qiming's nostrils flare, clearly nervous,
Scholar Zheng took a handwritten booklet from a drawer beneath the desk and handed it to him.
"I believe you can pass the county and prefectural examinations. The difficult one is the academy examination."
"These are past years' academy examination questions, along with the eight-part essays and policy discussions written by the top ten candidates. Take it back and study it carefully. Come ask me if you don't understand anything."
At the doorway, Song Yaozu cautiously peeked half his head in. "Teacher, I can recite it now."
Scholar Zheng waved for Song Qiming to leave first, then leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowed. "Come in and recite."
Song Yaozu stopped before the desk and began reciting slowly and deliberately.
He started off smoothly enough but began to falter midway.
Scholar Zheng frowned, enduring patiently, quietly waiting for him to remember.
Outside the school by the carriage, Oldest Song paced back and forth under a tree, his expression tense.
"You say Qiming was also kept behind by Scholar Zheng?"
Song Yongnian nodded slightly. "Brother Qiming was called over alone by the teacher. I'm in the Children's Hall, so I don't know why."
Oldest Song sighed. It was one thing for Yaozu to be kept after school repeatedly, but now even Qiming was too. Over ten taels of silver a year wasn't meant to be squandered like this.
He turned and grasped Song Yongnian's shoulders, his eyes full of seriousness. "Son, you must study hard. Don't let your mother and me down."
As they were talking, Song Qiming walked out with his book bag.
Oldest Song looked past him. "Yaozu didn't come out?"
Song Qiming placed his book bag on the cart. "The teacher is having him recite. He should be out soon."
Seeing Song Qiming acting as if nothing was wrong, Oldest Song couldn't help but ask, "Why did the teacher keep you? Was your assignment poorly done, or did you fail to recite?"
Song Qiming thought for a moment. Yongnian and Yaozu were both in the Children's Hall. Telling them now that he would take the examinations next year didn't seem quite appropriate.
He shook his head. "Neither. The teacher gave me some advice, urging me to catch up with the other students' progress in the Classics Hall as soon as possible."
Hearing this, Oldest Song finally relaxed. "It's normal that you can't keep up, having gone straight to the Classics Hall so soon after starting your studies. If you find it truly too difficult, have your elder sister tell Scholar Zheng to move you back to the Children's Hall."
The three of them chatted by the gate, but Song Yaozu still hadn't emerged.
Song Qiming frowned in puzzlement. By all logic, he should have finished reciting long ago.
In the main hall, it had taken Song Yaozu a quarter of an hour to recite just over five hundred characters, and he had nearly forgotten the last four lines.
Seeing the look of narrow escape on Song Yaozu's face after he finished, Scholar Zheng's expression darkened further.
"Copy it three times at home and hand it in to me tomorrow."
Song Yaozu whined unwillingly, "But Teacher, I recited it."
Scholar Zheng glared. A quarter of an hour for five hundred characters had worn away half his patience.
"Recited like that? You'll forget it in a few days without review. If it weren't so late, I'd make you stay another half hour."
When Song Yaozu finally emerged carrying his book bag, his face was the picture of gloom.
Oldest Song, long accustomed to this, took the bag and urged him to hurry onto the cart.
Seven out of ten times he was kept after school, he came out looking like this, as if he were on his way to a funeral.
