Chapter Three: Known as Invincible East

Second Day.

In the study, Liu Ping was reviewing his books. Yet, after just a short while, his head spun and he felt as if he were reading the heavens’ script. He knew what each character meant, but when strung together, they became unintelligible. He could only force a bitter smile.

"The children's examination is already so difficult, but compared to the scholar's exam, it is merely child's play. The gap between a scholar and a licentiate, and then again with the presented scholar, is vast as heaven and earth. That is truly a case of armies and horses crossing a single-plank bridge."

Thinking of his current predicament, Liu Ping couldn’t help but feel a little disheartened. Gazing out the window at the clear sky, he muttered in a low voice:

"The children's exam only requires familiarity with the Four Books and Five Classics. The questions are simply fill-in-the-blanks. As long as your handwriting is beautiful, free of mistakes, and you fill them all correctly, you can pass. But the scholar's exam is different. The autumn examination lasts three days. The first day is the 'Classics Stick,' again a fill-in-the-blank; the second day is 'Moyi,' which is explanation questions, demanding even more from one's memory. The hardest is the third day’s argument on the classics, where one must discuss a passage at length."

"Fortunately, this world has no essay format restrictions to bind the modern mind. Without that one advantage, blending in here would be far harder."

Possessing the foresight and mindset of a modern man was Liu Ping’s greatest trump card. Yet a trump card is still no substitute for the fundamentals—and those, he sorely lacked, much to his frustration.

As for handwriting, Liu Ping did not worry. In his previous life, he had been a minor painter, highly skilled at controlling the brush. Coupled with the decent penmanship of this body’s original owner, the two styles blended into a unique one. Whenever Liu’s father glimpsed his son’s writing, he could not help but praise him, marveling at how, without notice, his child had grown so accomplished.

Knock, knock.

The door to the study was tapped, followed by his sister’s delicate, oriole-like voice from outside: “Brother, it’s time to eat.”

“I know.” After a morning of studying the classics, Liu Ping stretched and walked out.

People of ancient times valued silence at meals and rest, and the same held true in this world. Although etiquette was simpler in the countryside, the Liu family prided themselves on their scholarly roots and observed such customs.

Seated at the dining table were a young woman and a dignified middle-aged man—Liu Ping’s birth parents. Beside him sat his sister, Liu Ping.

There was also a servant in the household, known as Aunt Wu, who helped with chores. Although Liu’s parents usually treated her with equality, she had never sat at this table. Simply put, a servant was a servant—such was the rule.

On the table were two plates of vegetables, a carp, and a pot of wild pheasant stewed with mushrooms.

Although the dishes lacked modern seasonings, they were exceedingly delicious, no less tasty than those of Liu Ping’s former world; especially the wild pheasant with mushrooms, a rare delicacy back on Earth, where such an animal was protected and never eaten. Here, because the village lay by the mountains, it was common enough, and since the Liu family had some standing—as the village private tutor—it was not unusual for hunters to bring them such game.

Liu’s mother piled his bowl with food, her doting love clear as day. Liu Ping protested he could not eat so much and placed some of it into his sister’s bowl.

He had never done this before; his sister’s cheeks flushed slightly, and a sweet warmth filled her heart. In this family, having a brother and the prevailing preference for sons had left her starved for affection. Such a small act—sharing food—was something she had never experienced before.

That the first time came from her brother made her heart ache with gratitude and warmth, not grievance.

Seeing this, Liu’s parents exchanged glances—was their son finally growing up, learning to care for others?

After the meal and a bowl of soup, Liu Ping announced, “I’m going out for a walk.”

Having diligently studied all morning, his parents did not object, merely warning him not to stray too far into the dangerous mountains. As for yesterday’s torn clothes, his clever sister had advised keeping it secret; otherwise, he might be grounded. This incident made Liu Ping all the more appreciative of his obedient, intelligent sister.

A capable sister is truly a blessing.

※※※※※※

Strolling along the mountain stream, Liu Ping admired the crystal-clear waters, marveling at the beauty of this world. Compared to the neon-lit bustle of his past life, it might seem dull, but this picturesque landscape was beyond anything Earth could offer.

More importantly, in this world, there were fox spirits and immortals. Hadn’t that little white fox promised to become a beautiful bride for him?

With that thought, Liu Ping eagerly headed into the woods, hoping to find the white fox to play with, but was disappointed—she was nowhere to be found.

Though disheartened, his spirits soon recovered. Yesterday, he had only just crossed over and was still unsettled; now, a day later, he had no choice but to adapt, to step into this new life and search for opportunity and enjoyment.

He wandered and admired the scenery. Before long, he returned to the stream. Suddenly, he drove a stick into the water and speared a crucian carp over half a foot long, which thrashed on his stick.

“Live by the mountain, live by the water. With both at its side, no wonder Liu Village is free of poverty. As long as one is not lazy, there is always enough to eat.” Liu Ping looked at the fish, not with excitement, but with a sigh. “But how could my ambition ever settle for mere subsistence?”

Fond of poetry, he knew many verses. Yesterday, he had pored over numerous classics and discovered that the poems of his former world did not exist here. If he were to copy them, he could gain fame—one path to success. But to only write poems without even the title of scholar would not do; to possess such literary talent, yet fail the exams and remain a mere youth, was asking for trouble.

He also knew techniques for compressed food, salt extraction from seawater, and much else—but in this world, such skills were considered middling. Even if he could start a business and make money, in a society ruled by imperial law, he would remain rootless, manipulated by others, his future precarious.

Even if he wished to try, his parents would immediately object, for once one went into commerce, one could never sit for the civil service exams.

“All pursuits are low, only study is esteemed. In the end, it comes down to the imperial examinations.”

“Ah! Exams, exams, exams—enough already!”

Liu Ping sighed and cursed aloud.

It was early autumn now, the weather turning cool, and the autumn exams were imminent. A sense of oppression weighed on him. Thinking of his previous life filled him with even greater longing.

From now on, he would have to part with that life. Though this world was not bad, nostalgia was inevitable.

“In late autumn, we bid farewell; cold winds stir, and leaves fill the brook.
Boundless feelings rise within my breast; I turn to speak, but tears soak my robe.
Green hills endure and rivers flow; the moon still shines as stars grow sparse.
Heaven and earth may end, but this longing is endless.”

Bai Juyi’s “Parting” slipped from his lips. But with no one around, was it not a case of solitary appreciation?

“Fine poem!”

Just then, a voice of admiration sounded behind him, startling Liu Ping so much he nearly jumped. Who was it, so silent and stealthy?

He turned to see—it was the old Taoist from yesterday! Instantly irritated, he snapped, “A fine poem it may be, but have you ever heard of ‘all rights reserved, reproduction prohibited’? Without my permission, don’t go spreading it around!”

The Taoist’s admiring face turned sullen. He glared and asked, “Do I look like that kind of man?”

“Yes!” Liu Ping replied without hesitation.

“…Not just ‘look like,’ but exactly that!” The Taoist’s eyes widened, his twin mustaches twitching in helpless frustration.

“Enough, I won’t argue with a child. For one so young to compose such a poem, you have some talent indeed. I came uninvited and overheard, which was rude—let me offer you some tea.”

“Tea?” Liu Ping curled his lip in disdain. “What would you know about tea?”

The Taoist stiffened, glaring again. “You really know how to speak unpleasantly!”

With a wave of his hand, a tea table suddenly appeared on a nearby flat rock, complete with a small stove, teapot, and two cups.

Seeing the Taoist conjure a tea set from thin air, Liu Ping’s eyes widened in disbelief. Was this world’s magic really so profound? Or—could this be the legendary art of Daoist magic?

“Is that magic?” Liu Ping swallowed, his voice dry.

“It is. To hold Mount Sumeru within a mustard seed—a mere trifle.” The Taoist spoke offhandedly, but his expression betrayed a touch of pride. After all, this was no ordinary feat.

“You want to take me as your disciple?” Liu Ping asked suddenly.

The old man nodded.

He was just about to lecture Liu Ping for his shortsightedness and arrogance, for failing to recognize greatness, when Liu Ping dropped to his knees with a thud!

What did it mean to seize an opportunity without hesitation? This was it!

Bang, bang, bang! He kowtowed three times without a scrap of dignity, crying, “Your disciple Liu Ping greets you, Master! May you live as long as heaven, share fortune with the earth, possess boundless power, and rise with the sun, undefeated—truly, the Undefeated of the East!”

The old Taoist stared at Liu Ping’s sudden change of attitude and the audacious blessing, his mustache bristling as he was struck speechless.

This child is no simple one! What a blessing! What powerful words!

"Rise with the sun, undefeated—Undefeated of the East?! What an excellent phrase! Wonderful! Marvelous!"