Chapter Three: Are You Using Magic?

He glanced at the attribute panel.

Name: Chen Yushu
Age: Twelve
Skills:
Reading: Literacy (22/100), Calligraphy: Self-Recognition (27/100)
...

Seeing that the "Literacy" entry under "Reading" had indeed progressed by one point, he felt quite satisfied.

"This must be the function of the attribute panel. I can see the progress of any skill at any given moment. Once something is recorded, it will never be forgotten. What I’ve learned is truly mine; once mastered, it won’t slip away or regress. I can clearly feel that today, I am stronger than I was yesterday. Moreover, as long as I read attentively—even if I already know every character—the reading skill still increases, even if only by a little. There’s a sense that every bit of effort is rewarded, no matter how small.

In other words, even if I have no other books, just with this 'Three Character Classic,' I could max out my literacy skill to a hundred percent?"

Chen Yushu had already figured out the way the attribute panel marked incremental progress. Every time he read through a book earnestly, his reading skill advanced by one point. Of course, a cursory glance wouldn’t do; it wouldn’t grant any experience at all. And the further he progressed, the slower the gains—unlike at the beginning, when three or four points could be gained at once.

Clearly, the book could no longer fully meet his learning needs.

Yet, he didn’t set the book aside. Instead, he picked up a wooden stick from the ground and, stroke by stroke, began to write characters in the earth.

He had started to practice calligraphy.

To read is to write.

Given his limited conditions, he could only use the stick as a brush and the earth as his paper.

Each stroke was made with careful intent.

In his previous life, he’d gone over a decade without properly writing characters, often forgetting how even to start a word. As for brush calligraphy, he didn’t even know how to hold the brush.

Thus, his current skill level in calligraphy was “Self-Recognition”—he could only recognize what he wrote himself.

He didn’t mind; stroke by stroke, he wrote with concentration.

After a little less than half an hour, he had finished writing out the Three Character Classic.

Reading +1
Calligraphy +3

Reading: Literacy (23/100), Calligraphy: Self-Recognition (30/100).

Each time he wrote, it deepened the reading process, so both skills improved.

The increase wasn’t much, but he was content.

Especially as he gazed at the characters traced on the ground, he noticed they seemed a bit neater than before.

While he’d been reading and writing, his parents had actually risen even earlier. Together, they went down to the fields to tend to farm work. Only when the sun was halfway up did his mother, Zhao Hehua, return. She didn’t rest after coming home but went straight to the kitchen to light the stove and start cooking.

Naturally, she wasn’t preparing breakfast. For most people in Beijiao Village, breakfast wasn’t a concept; there were only two meals—morning and evening. The first meal was usually eaten between nine and eleven in the morning.

They had decided the day before to host Uncle Zhong for a meal. Though the Chen family wasn’t well-off, they wouldn’t go back on their word.

As wisps of smoke rose from the kitchen, Chen Yushu returned to his room and took out a second book: "Hundred Family Surnames."

After another half hour, he had finished reading and copying it as well.

Meanwhile, the food at home was ready.

Chen Baihe also returned home. Seeing Chen Yushu, he called out, "Yushu, go to the east end of the village and invite Uncle Zhong over."

Chen Yushu acknowledged and went straight out of the yard.

Beijiao Village wasn’t large. The houses were scattered along both banks of a river, stretching from east to north, with only a bridge in the middle connecting them.

The bridge was an old wooden structure—sturdy, but every time he crossed it, he felt uneasy. Looking down from the bridge, there was a huge boulder upstream that resembled a fish’s gaping mouth, slanting downward. Near the edge was a groove that looked like a fish’s eye; the lower half was buried in silt, so it wasn’t too obvious.

According to the elders, most of the boulder used to be exposed, making its fish-like shape even clearer. Beneath the “mouth,” more stones were connected, as if a giant fish were leaping from the water. Its open jaws looked ready to devour.

It was during that time that strange things happened here: though the river wasn’t deep, someone drowned under the bridge nearly every year.

Crossing the bridge, he soon arrived at Uncle Zhong’s house.

It seemed someone else had come to ask Uncle Zhong for help; just as Chen Yushu arrived, he overheard, “October eighth—you must come.”

“I understand. I won’t be late,” came Uncle Zhong’s reply.

The man nodded and left the courtyard. Chen Yushu glanced at him: an old man of forty or fifty, plainly dressed, who passed him by without a word.

“Uncle Zhong, please come to our house for a meal,” Chen Yushu called.

He stepped into the yard.

Uncle Zhong’s courtyard was small; from the entrance, the main hall was in full view. At the center of the hall stood a shrine, bearing the image of an old man. Chen Yushu knew this was the local Earth God—three centuries ago, a famously virtuous man, commemorated after death and revered as a deity.

Unexpectedly, Uncle Zhong had invited this spirit into his home and honored it with incense.

On the altar, Chen Yushu also saw the bell Uncle Zhong had rung the previous day, along with a willow whip. There was also a wooden sword and a pair of rusty scissors.

According to what Uncle Zhong had said, the bell was an “old implement.” Could the wooden sword and scissors be the same? But what exactly were these “old implements”?

“It’s you, Yushu. Your father is too polite,” Uncle Zhong greeted him with a smile, then asked, “You’re all right now, aren’t you?”

“I’m fine,” Chen Yushu replied quickly.

Aside from feeling a bit weak, he truly was in no serious danger.

“That’s good,” Uncle Zhong nodded, not refusing the invitation. He walked out with Chen Yushu and casually asked, “I hear you hardly leave home these days, always reading?”

When Chen Yushu nodded, Uncle Zhong smiled. “That’s good. With knowledge, you’ll understand reason and find a good path in life. If you earn a scholarly degree, your family’s name will shine. And those ghosts and spirits won’t trouble you either.”

“Reading can keep ghosts away?” Chen Yushu, intrigued, asked eagerly.

“Reading can’t ward off ghosts, but a learned person carries righteousness, which ghosts fear. Like the little ghost you encountered—it wouldn’t dare approach. If it did, it would be scattered by your presence. And once you’ve earned official recognition, the authorities’ protection follows. Many envy that.”

Uncle Zhong was in good spirits and didn’t mind sharing these things.

“What about your skills, Uncle Zhong? Are they magic?” Chen Yushu asked, curiosity piqued.