Chapter 271.1 Hello Chang'an
Chapter 271.1: How Did It Turn into Singing!
Unfolding the letter, the first thing he saw were two short lines—four characters in all.
Peace attained.
Abide by the Way.
Was this her response to his question?
“Are you well?” — Peace attained.
“What do you seek, where do you go?” — Abide by the Way.
Abide by the Way...!
Within Grand Tutor Zhu’s heart, at the sight of those two familiar words, a storm suddenly surged up from the depths of his soul.
He still had one more question... the most important one... Why?
At a glance, the letter held no third line of reply—only a neat signature.
It was a five-character signature:
Peace attained.
Abide by the Way.
Student, Chang Suining.
“…”
Student?
Student!
The old man’s gaze suddenly blurred.
As his trembling eyelids blinked, the handwriting on the letter also seemed to tremble, as if it had come from beyond the heavens—so unreal.
Staring at those nine trembling characters, Grand Tutor Zhu uttered a hoarse murmur:
“...Nine characters from the teacher, yet the student cannot write even one more? Seeking a beating, truly seeking a beating...”
Indeed, still as infuriating as ever!
His dim eyes lingered long upon the two characters for “student,” unwilling to part from them.
His aged fingers quivered as they stroked those words, as if to ascertain whether this was truly real—or but a delusion born of longing before death.
After a long while, his hand slowly moved upward, pausing upon the words “Abide by the Way.”
He had once heard these very words from his student’s lips.
That was before she departed for Northern Di to marry in alliance.
He had tried to stop her, lost his appetite for days; when she came to see him, she was calm and untroubled, even teasing him in return:
“Teacher, as the model of all scholars under Heaven, you should place the welfare of the world above all else.”
At that time, such words pierced his heart like needles.
Why must he put the world above all else? Who decreed that he must?
If he could not even protect his own student, what right had he to speak of protecting the people of the world!
In all his life, he had scarcely ever favored anyone; after so many years, he had finally found a student worthy of admiration—knowing full well how arduous and hard-won her path had been. How could he simply watch as she marched alone into a living hell?
Had she not already done enough for the world?
And what had the world ever given back to her?
This world was full of ignorance, malice, and selfishness beyond cure—why must it be his student who bore the burden of saving such a filthy world?
If such injustice was what the world called “reason,” then let the world rot with it! Why care for it any longer!
In a sense, those who are too intelligent and too clear-headed often stand beyond the world’s conventional notions of “right” and “wrong.”
He taught others to read the classics and follow the rites of sages, yet oftentimes he scoffed at those same pedantic doctrines—disdaining them, never allowing himself to be shackled by them.
He had once said he was no sage himself—only an old fool who wielded his brush to scold the world.
That day, he had said many reckless, angry words.
But his student had remained calm throughout, even sighing softly to remind him:
“Teacher must ever be a model to others... if such words spread, your good name will be ruined.”
He had been so enraged that he could not speak.
Pacing back and forth behind the desk, he finally demanded of the student who sat serenely drinking tea:
“Then answer me—what are you going to do? To die?”
The student’s expression finally turned serious. She answered solemnly,
“To abide by the Way.”
He pressed on, “What Way? Whose Way are you abiding by?”
“The Way of the student herself.”
The Way of her own choosing.
What Way that was—only she herself could decide.
No one could dissuade her. No one could persuade her otherwise.
He fixed his gaze upon her, speaking each word with force:
“You will die—it will be a thousand times more terrifying than death!”
“Each time I step onto the battlefield, I could die as well,” she replied. “To the student, both are the same—to abide by the Way. There is no difference.”
At last, his fury fell into silence.
He faintly remembered turning away from her, no longer wishing to look, turning his back as he faced the window lattice behind the desk.
“Since you are so obstinate, so hopelessly foolish... then go.” After a long pause, he said quietly,
“I shall pretend I never taught you.”
He had not seen her expression then—had no idea what her face looked like at that moment.
Was she disappointed? Sad?
He supposed she would not be.
After a time, he heard the faint sound of her setting down her teacup.
Her voice was still as infuriatingly composed as ever, without a hint of sorrow. She even said shamelessly,
“Teacher, don’t be angry. The student must live and return to care for you in your old age.”
He did not reply, his face still taut with anger.
Then, she likely gave her final bow, and said,
“Teacher, your student is leaving.”
Go, then!
Go and abide by your Way!
Until she departed, closing the door behind her, he never once turned back to look.
That night—had his words been spoken in anger?
Of course they had.
And soon enough, he regretted them deeply.
Later, he often wondered: if he had not been so stubborn, if he had simply said one sentence—
“Take care. Live well, and come back to look after me”—
would that have given her one more reason to survive?
Would she… perhaps not have died in a foreign land?
That thought pierced his heart like a blade each time it arose, so much that he dared not dwell upon it, burying it deep within himself.
So he could only curse her again and again as a liar.
That deceitful student… and yet, now, she had returned.
Before they could even reunite, she had once again gone off to abide by her Way.
Looking at those words, Grand Tutor Zhu let out a low, complex laugh mingled with a sigh.
He too, was a liar.
In truth, he had never blamed her—never thought her wrong, never thought she had disappointed him, never once thought she had wasted his teaching.
On the contrary, as a teacher, having such a student was his greatest pride.
He was only—heartbroken. Utterly heartbroken.
These simple words, “Abide by the Way,” were written at the cost of her blood, her life, and her pride.
As her teacher—almost a father—how could he not ache to the core?
That heart-rending pain had fermented into a lifetime of irreconcilable grief and resentment toward the world, leaving him at odds with every “principle” under Heaven.
Yet his foolish student—her resolve to abide by her Way was as eternal as Heaven and Earth.
Even after death, upon her return, that resolve had not dimmed.
She still told him, so naturally, that she sought to abide by the Way—that she was abiding by it.
Grand Tutor Zhu took a deep breath, and tears fell upon the letter.
“…It’s enough that you’ve come back.”
He gazed at the letter, smiling through tears as he whispered,
“It’s enough that you’ve come back.”
If you wish to abide by your Way—then do so.
So long as you have returned.
He looked toward the tightly shut study door, as though seeing, fifteen years past, the young girl turning to leave and closing it behind her.
That door had been shut for fifteen years.
Now, at last, he could see that girl once again push it open—
walking through fifteen years of time—
returning once more before his eyes.
Slowly rising from his chair, the old man put the letter away and took out a painting.
With careful, deliberate motions, he hung the painting—
the one he had retrieved from Dayun Temple that winter month—
on the wall before his desk, where he could see it with a single glance.
Before, he had not dared to hang it—
afraid of false hope.
But now, he was no longer afraid.
Outside the study, the night deepened, spreading across heaven and earth.
A boy of twelve or thirteen came running up, only to be stopped by an old servant at the door.
“I want to invite Grandfather to go see the lanterns with us!” the boy said brightly, eyes shining.
The old servant was startled and quickly blocked him, trembling as he spoke:
“Eighteenth Young Master, you mustn’t make such mischief…”
To invite the old master to watch lanterns?
Was he trying to court death!
The old master was not one to join such lively festivities—
let alone go out together with the whole family!
Translator's note:
My heart is full of distress and exhaustion, yet somehow, working on this translation brings me peace. I’ve been away for so long, but my love for novels has never faded. To think I’ve been reading since I was twelve — it’s amazing how that passion still burns within me. I may be a little drunk, here in the middle of a party, yet I still find comfort and joy in taking the time to read and work on a few chapters.
.png)
No comments: