Seventeen Faces

The elderly Taoist appeared to be in his fifties, with bright, penetrating eyes. He wore the same clothes as yesterday. Upon entering the front courtyard, he cast his gaze around at the scattered students resting about. Master Sun soon appeared as well, but remained silent, standing quietly behind the Taoist as his eyes swept over the children.

Perhaps finding this insufficient or wanting a closer look, the Taoist began to stroll slowly through the front yard, continuously observing the students. Since there were not many children at the private school, it did not take long for him to reach Wei Guangde.

There was nothing unusual about him. Just as with the other children he had passed, the Taoist seemed to discern nothing remarkable. Yet, as he turned to walk toward Master Sun, he glanced back at Wei Guangde with a look full of deep meaning.

Before Master Sun, the Taoist said something quietly. Master Sun smiled softly and replied a few words. As their whispered conversation continued, both their gazes inevitably turned once again toward Wei Guangde.

At that moment, Wei Guangde had only glanced toward the elder as he approached, unaware that Master Sun stood nearby as well. He continued to lean against a corridor pillar, resting, oblivious to the two sharp eyes fixed upon him.

When the Taoist and Master Sun returned to the back courtyard, the front yard returned to its usual calm.

“Master Lin, you were right after all. Over a month ago, the boy went out with the patrol boat and accidentally fell into the water. He nearly lost his life. Could this be the calamity you spoke of?” Master Sun asked.

“You say so, but the old Taoist cannot see through it,” replied the elder.

Although they had moved to the back courtyard, their discussion did not cease.

“Looking at his visage, he indeed has the appearance of great wealth and honor, but logically...” The Taoist hesitated, unable to continue.

“Master Lin, we have known each other for many years. Just speak plainly if you see anything,” Master Sun urged.

An old friend’s visit, especially one who cultivated the Way, naturally prompted Master Sun to seek his insight into the fortunes of his students—whether any might rise to fame or high office. This was the last lingering hope of an aging scholar.

After lunch, having no way to refuse, Master Lin accompanied him on this visit.

“Your students are of average talent, nothing special. I can only say they are quite ordinary. Of course, if they work diligently in the future, there is still hope they might pass the provincial exams and gain some distinction.”

For common folk, having even one child become a scholar was a source of great satisfaction.

But in reality, among the upper echelons of society—especially in Jiangxi, a province famed for its imperial examinations—becoming a provincial graduate was merely a starting point.

During the Ming dynasty, Jiangxi, Huguang, and Southern Zhili were provinces rich in candidates for the imperial exams, producing many officials and noble families. Compared to these prestigious clans, those who achieved only the title of “shire scholar” were considered insignificant. Thus, the Taoist did not mention the shire scholar title, for it held little weight in Jiangxi.

Master Sun understood the elder’s implication, his face reddening slightly, then falling into a bit of disappointment. Yet he listened intently.

“Only that one—Wei...”

“Wei Guangde,” Master Sun interrupted, recognizing the name immediately. There was only one Wei in his school, naturally easy to guess. The Taoist had asked a few questions about him earlier in the front yard.

“Wei Guangde,” the Taoist nodded slightly. “Honestly, the boy has a good appearance, but he is destined for an early death. By rights...” He hesitated again. “You mentioned he once almost drowned. Whether that was his fated calamity, I cannot say. My knowledge is shallow, and I cannot see it clearly. However, if the child survives into adulthood, becoming a provincial graduate is within easy reach, and passing the metropolitan exam would not be difficult.”

At this, the Taoist cupped his hands and smiled at Master Sun. “Congratulations, Brother Sun, on having a promising disciple.”

Hearing the Taoist say that Wei Guangde might not live long saddened Master Sun, who had taught him for several years. Yet the elder’s following words filled him with a mixture of surprise and hope.

Having failed the provincial exams multiple times had left a deep wound in Master Sun’s heart, one he could not easily heal.

Once again, he pinned his hopes on his disciples.

Master Sun had no sons, only two daughters, both already married. He planned to bring his grandson to study under him when the boy grew a little older. Although aware of his own limited scholarship, he felt capable of educating a child at the introductory level.

If his grandson showed talent, he intended to leverage old connections to recommend him to more learned scholars.

Now, upon hearing that Wei Guangde might possess such a fate, Master Sun naturally grew more invested.

Though it concerned someone else, the teacher-student bond was significant in the Ming dynasty.

He imagined that if Wei Guangde truly succeeded in both the provincial and metropolitan exams, it would not only bring him honor but also support his grandson. Wei was only eleven years old, not much older than the boy.

“Is there any way to resolve his fate?” Master Sun asked cautiously.

“Hard to say. I cannot see clearly,” the Taoist shook his head. “By rights, he should have perished already. Alas, my skills are lacking; my cultivation is incomplete.”

Looking up at the sky, the Taoist added, “Brother Sun, I have some matters to attend to. But since I am here, I must visit an old friend. I won’t trouble you further. Let us part here. When you have time, do visit me at Mount Lu. We shall sit by candlelight and talk through the night.”

With that, the Taoist took his leave. Master Sun could do nothing but see him off.

The Taoist departed from the private school and took the eastern path through the town.

Wei Guangde was unaware that, just in the adjacent backyard, a conversation about him had taken place between Master Sun and the Taoist. Had he known, he might have broken out in a cold sweat.

Indeed, if not for the strange fate that brought his soul into this body, young Wei Guangde would truly be a dead man.

After school, he stayed to practice his calligraphy and received praise from Master Sun for his progress.

In truth, calligraphy improves with practice—writing diligently is far better than not writing at all. Of course, true mastery requires innate talent, which cannot be cultivated by practice alone. Yet without practice, no one can become a calligrapher.

Still, Wei Guangde sensed something odd in Master Sun’s gaze that afternoon. It was difficult to describe the feeling.