novelSusiti Chapter 7 The Tumultuous Preparatory Course
Chapter 7 The Tumultuous Preparatory Course
In March of the ninth year of the Chongzhen reign (1636), in Qishui County.
New repair marks have appeared on the city wall, with dark red mud filling the gaps between the blue bricks—said to be a mixture of glutinous rice paste and animal blood, used to reinforce the city's defenses.
There were three times more soldiers at the city gates than in previous years, and they strictly checked people coming in and out, especially young and strong men, who were detained if they were even slightly suspicious.
Ma Changsheng followed behind Mr. Zhou, queuing to enter the city.
This was the first time he had ever left Majia Village so far—twenty miles, a journey that took him a whole day.
Three other classmates accompanied him: Ma Wencai, Ma Defu, and Ma Zhiyuan, all children from educated families in the village.
"Take good care of the travel permit," Mr. Zhou whispered, "In times of war and chaos, you can't move an inch without a travel permit."
Ma Changsheng touched the piece of paper in his pocket that bore the official seal of the county government.
His travel permit listed his place of origin, physical characteristics, and reason for travel: "Going to the county to take the exam."
These four simple words served as a protective charm—at least within the area still under the control of the government.
When it was their turn, the guards carefully checked their travel permits and looked each of the children over in detail.
Upon seeing Ma Changsheng, the soldier glanced at him a couple more times: "This child... isn't he too young?"
Mr. Zhou quickly cupped his hands in greeting: "Sir, this is my student, who is nine years old and has come to take the imperial examination."
"Nine years old?" The soldier clicked his tongue. "Tsk tsk, a child prodigy. Go in."
Only after passing through the city gate did Ma Changsheng truly see what a county town was like in this era.
The streets are lined with shops with blue-tiled roofs and wooden buildings, but most of them are deserted.
Long queues formed in front of the grain store, with occasional shouts of arguing; a sign reading "Cloth Sold Out" hung at the entrance of the cloth shop; the only bustling place was the blacksmith shop, where the clanging of hammers filled the air—everyone was forging weapons.
"That's just how the world is," Mr. Zhou sighed. "Let's go, let's find a place to stay at an inn first."
The inn was named "Yuelai," an auspicious name, but it was actually dilapidated.
The innkeeper was a thin old man. Seeing that Mr. Zhou had brought several children, he shook his head and said, "There are only two large dormitory rooms left. You'll have to squeeze in."
"It's alright, as long as I have a place to stay." Mr. Zhou paid the money—it was 30% more expensive than in previous years. The shopkeeper said, "During the chaos of war, everything has gone up in price."
Several people were already living in the dormitory; they were all students who had come to take the imperial examinations.
There were well-dressed rich kids, and there were also farm kids dressed in coarse cloth like Ma Changsheng and his friends.
The air was filled with the smells of sweat, mildew, and cheap incense.
Ma Changsheng chose a seat by the window and put down his bundle.
Outside the window was a narrow alley, where several beggars huddled in a corner. A woman held a child and begged softly. The child was neither crying nor making a sound, as if asleep—or perhaps fainted from hunger.
"Don't look," Mr. Zhou said, drawing the curtains. "Get some rest. We'll go check out the exam venue tomorrow."
But Ma Changsheng couldn't sleep.
He lay in bed, listening to the conversation of his roommates:
"I heard that the number of places for the children's examination has been halved this year, and the county will only select thirty people."
"That's not all! My uncle works in the county government office. He said there's an order from above to strictly investigate impersonation and gun-using, and we'll also have to take an additional test on 'current affairs'."
"Current Affairs Policy? Isn't that only tested in the Imperial Examination?"
"With things in such a mess now, the government wants to select some people who can actually get things done..."
Ma Changsheng listened silently.
The historical database in my mind retrieved relevant information: during the Chongzhen era, there were indeed several reforms to the imperial examination system in an attempt to select practical talents, but the problems were too deeply entrenched and the results were minimal.
The addition of current affairs policies to the exam is real, but it's probably more of a formality.
Late at night, he secretly got up, took out the book "New Book of Effective Tactics" from his bundle, and read it by the moonlight shining through the window.
The pages of the book were worn and frayed, covered with his annotations—written in his own coded language, which no one else could understand.
Qi Jiguang's battle formation: Mandarin Duck Formation, suitable for the terrain of the south, but requires rigorous training.
Current conditions: Can be simplified to a three-person team, with the bamboo spearman in front, the woodcutter on the side, and the archer in the back.
For village defense: Drills must be conducted in advance, defense zones must be divided, and early warning mechanisms must be established…
This isn't for the exam; it's for survival.
The examination for children was held in the Minglun Hall of the county school.
Before dawn, the candidates had already gathered outside the door.
Ma Changsheng saw a dark mass of heads, probably three or four hundred people, all teenagers, with a few as young as him standing out.
Mr. Zhou saw them to the door and gave them another piece of advice: "Keep calm and follow what you've learned. Pay attention to the verses in the classics, the rules of poetry, and the insights in policy essays—but don't write anything that might offend you."
"The student understands."
A body search will be conducted before entering the examination room.
Two bailiffs checked each person to prevent them from smuggling.
When it was Ma Changsheng's turn, the bailiffs saw his youthful face and searched him less thoroughly, but they still turned his bundle upside down.
"What is this?" The bailiff picked up "The New Book of Effective Law".
"Military treatises, which I read regularly," Ma Changsheng replied calmly.
The constable flipped through a few pages and saw the strange "annotations" on them. He frowned and said, "What is this? It looks like scribbles."
"The student is dull-witted and took these notes haphazardly."
The constable looked at him again and waved his hand: "Go in."
Inside the Minglun Hall, thirty examination papers were neatly arranged.
Ma Changsheng found his spot—number seven, in the corner.
The examination desk contained writing brushes, ink, paper, inkstones, and a blank examination paper.
At the exact hour of Chen (7-9 AM), the bell rang, and the exam began.
The first exam tested understanding of classical texts. The question came from the Analects, Yan Yuan: "Zigong asked about governance. Confucius said, 'Sufficient food, sufficient military strength, and the people's trust.' Zigong said, 'If one had to give up one of these three, which should be given up first?' Confucius said, 'Give up military strength.'..."
Ma Changsheng looked at the topic and a thought struck him. The topic was very appropriate—"sufficient food, sufficient military strength, and the people's trust"—precisely the three things that the Ming Dynasty was currently lacking most. Confucius said, "If one must abandon something, abandon the military first," which probably went against the court's current approach.
He picked up his pen and first wrote the "opening statement" as required: "The key to governing a country lies in having sufficient food, sufficient military strength, and gaining the trust of the people; none of these three can be neglected..."
He paused here.
Following the formulaic pattern of the eight-legged essay, the next step should be to explain the importance of the three elements, and then praise the words of the sage.
But he suddenly remembered Mr. Zhou's instructions: policy essays should be written, but they should not be too profound.
So, what about the interpretation of scriptures? Can we quote classic texts and use the past to satirize the present?
He hesitated for a moment, then continued writing: "However, times change and circumstances shift, so we must assess the situation carefully. If there is insufficient food and the army is not withdrawn, and the people do not trust us and our orders are not obeyed, then what use is an army? Therefore, the sage said to abolish the army, not because he did not value the army, but because he valued the people's trust..."
This is testing the limits of danger—implying that the court is currently "sufficiently fed and its troops are not leaving."
But Ma Changsheng had calculated the risks: most of the examiners were academic officials, many of whom were dissatisfied with the current situation. As long as they did not directly criticize the court, such tactful expressions might actually be appreciated.
By the time I finished writing the commentary, it was past noon.
The yamen runners brought a simple meal: a bowl of brown rice and a dish of pickled vegetables. Ma Changsheng quickly finished eating and began the second round of poetry recitation.
The topic of the poem is "Spring Rain," and it must be a five-character regulated verse. This topic seems simple, but it is not easy to write something original.
Ma Changsheng looked out the window—there was no rain, the spring sunshine was just right. But he thought of last year's severe drought, the famine, and the people who had starved to death.
He picked up his pen:
Spring Rain
The heavens have long withered the earth, and all people yearn for rain.
A timely rain falls, and the grass and trees flourish.
It nourishes things in due season, and quenches the thirst of the fields with its own water.
May the spring waters be plentiful, and may wars cease across the four seas.
The last line, "The wars have ceased across the four seas"—a hope that war would end in the world—was added intentionally by him.
Although risky, it aligns with the poetic logic that "spring rain nourishes all things and should also quell conflict."
By the time I finished writing the poem, it was already late afternoon.
The final question, "On Current Affairs," was indeed as rumored: "On strategies for suppressing bandits and pacifying the people."
Upon seeing this question, a slight commotion arose in the examination room.
This goes beyond the usual scope of the children's examination and involves specific political matters.
But Ma Changsheng was prepared—or rather, he had been thinking about this problem for a long time.
He didn't directly write about "suppressing the bandits," but instead started with "pacifying the people": "Where do bandits come from? From starving people; where does famine come from? From natural disasters and man-made calamities. Therefore, to suppress the bandits, we must first pacify the people; to pacify the people, we must first ensure they have enough to eat..."
He then put forward several specific suggestions: First, set up soup kitchens in the disaster area to provide emergency relief rather than long-term support; second, organize refugees to participate in work-for-relief programs, such as water conservancy and road construction; third, properly resettle surrendered bandits, distinguishing between leaders and followers; fourth, rectify officialdom, severely punish corruption, and reduce taxes and corvée labor...
Each point is supported by quotes from classic texts: "Guanzi said, 'When the granaries are full, people know etiquette.'" "Mencius said, 'The people are the most important; the state comes next.'" "Confucius said, 'I am not worried about scarcity, but about inequality.'"...
When writing about officialdom, he carefully chose his words: "Local officials are the eyes and ears of the court. If their eyes and ears are not clear, then government orders will not be implemented; if officialdom is not strict, then the people will be filled with resentment..." He only raised the issues, without naming names or blaming the court.
As I finished writing the last word, dusk fell. The bell rang again, and I closed the book.
Ma Changsheng put down his pen, his fingers stiff.
Six consecutive hours of testing was a huge burden on a nine-year-old's body.
But he was in high spirits—this was his first official “voice” in this era, albeit in the most subtle way.
As he walked out of the examination room, Mr. Zhou was waiting outside.
The old man didn't ask how the exam went, but simply patted him on the shoulder and said, "Come on, let's go eat."
There are ten days between the end of the exam and the release of the results.
Mr. Zhou originally planned to take his students around the county town, but the situation outside made him change his mind.
"Try to stay home these next few days," Mr. Zhou said gravely. "The city isn't safe."
Things are certainly not peaceful.
Ma Changsheng saw from the inn window that there were many more soldiers patrolling the streets.
As evening fell, a convoy of prison wagons passed by, carrying several disheveled men with signs that read "colluding with the enemy."
"Those are some local gentry from the neighboring county," the innkeeper said in a low voice. "They were reported for colluding with bandits. Actually... sigh, they probably offended someone."
Mr. Zhou shook his head: "Let's not gossip."
But at night, in the shared dormitory, the other candidates didn't care about any of that.
A wealthy young man named Zhao Ming spoke with great enthusiasm: "My father said there's a reward for reporting those who collude with the enemy! Ten taels of silver for every one caught!"
"What if it's a false accusation?" someone asked.
"Who cares if it's a false accusation? Once you're in the yamen, you'll have to confess whether you like it or not." Zhao Ming lowered his voice. "My father has already reported two people and received the reward money. If you know of any wealthy families without powerful connections..."
Ma Changsheng felt a chill run down his spine.
This isn't about suppressing bandits; it's about taking advantage of the chaos to amass wealth and eliminate dissidents.
Four words popped up in the consciousness database: apocalyptic chaos.
Worse news came on the seventh day: a band of bandits had broken into Huangzhou Prefecture and captured a town north of Qishui County.
The county town was immediately placed under martial law, with all four gates closed, allowing entry but not exit.
The inn was filled with unease.
Some test takers wanted to go home early, but they couldn't leave the city.
Mr. Zhou comforted the students, saying, "The county town has city walls and soldiers, so it's safer than the village."
But Ma Changsheng was worried about his parents.
Majia Village is located 20 li north of the county seat, which is precisely the direction that the bandits might pass through.
He tried to sneak out of the city several times, but Mr. Zhou stopped him each time.
"Going back now won't help you; you might even get yourself into danger," Mr. Zhou said. "Trust your father; he can handle it."
Ma Changsheng could only wait.
Every day, I would go to the county government office to look at the notices, hoping both for the announcement of the results and for news of the bandits' retreat.
On the ninth day, news finally arrived that the bandits had been defeated—reportedly by a passing local army, with the remnants fleeing to the mountains.
The state of emergency in the county town has been lifted, but the atmosphere remains tense.
On the tenth day, the results were released.
Before dawn, the area around the screen wall in front of the county government office was already crowded with people.
Ma Changsheng followed Mr. Zhou to the front and saw the big red notice.
There are thirty names on the list, arranged vertically from right to left.
Mr. Zhou started searching from the last name backwards: "Ma Zhiyuan... not found. Ma Defu... not found. Ma Wencai... not found."
With each "no" read, the student's face paled a little more. All three names were read, and none were correct.
Mr. Zhou took a deep breath and continued searching. Ma Changsheng was also looking—he started with the first name:
First place: Zhao Ming
Second place: Liu Wenbin
Third place: ...
I kept looking at the twenty-eighth place and still hadn't seen my name.
He remained calm—he hadn't held out much hope anyway, given his young age and the risky nature of the article.
But Mr. Zhou suddenly grabbed his shoulders, his voice trembling: "Chang Sheng...look!"
Ma Changsheng looked in the direction the man was pointing:
29th place: Ma Changsheng
I won. Although it was second to last, I still won.
Ma Wencai and his two companions gathered around, their expressions complex—a mixture of envy, disappointment, and genuine joy for their classmate.
Mr. Zhou was moved to tears and said "good" three times.
Ma Changsheng, however, did not feel much joy.
He looked at the names on the list, especially the first one, "Zhao Ming"—the rich kid who said he would get rich by reporting others.
Such a person became the top scholar; this imperial examination system, this world…
"Come on, let's go get the certificate." Mr. Zhou pulled him toward the county school.
The student's certificate was a wooden plaque engraved with their name, place of origin, and date of enrollment.
With this plaque, one officially becomes a "scholar," who is exempt from kneeling before officials, exempt from corvée labor, qualified to study at the county school, and can also participate in the next level of the provincial examination.
When Ma Changsheng received the certificate, he met the school official.
The old scholar, in his fifties, glanced at him and said, "You must be Ma Changsheng? You passed the imperial examination at the age of nine, a promising future indeed. However…" He paused, "I've seen your exam paper. The writing is good, but there are a few sentences… You should be more careful in the future."
Ma Changsheng bowed and said, "This student understands."
Only after leaving the county school did Mr. Zhou ask, "What did the school official say?"
"I need to be careful with my writing."
Mr. Zhou was silent for a moment: "Isn't your current affairs policy... written too bluntly?"
"The students simply wrote what they believed to be true."
"To be honest..." Mr. Zhou smiled wryly, "In this world, the truth is the most dangerous thing. But oh well, since I've won, I'll just have to be more careful in the future."
The atmosphere was oppressive on the way back to Majia Village.
Ma Wencai and his two companions failed the exam and were dejected, remaining silent the whole way. Mr. Zhou wanted to offer comfort, but didn't know where to begin.
What's even more unsettling is the scene on the road.
Just five miles from the county town, I saw burned-down houses by the roadside, their charred beams still emitting wisps of smoke. There were new graves in the fields, marked with simple wooden plaques.
"It was left behind by bandits passing through," said a fellow merchant. "Several villages to the north suffered greatly, with many dead and injured."
Ma Changsheng's heart was racing.
Majia Village is located to the north.
The further north you go, the more desolate the scene becomes.
A village was almost completely burned down, and the survivors squatted by the ruins, their eyes vacant.
Several children were crying around the corpse covered with a straw mat, its feet sticking out and swarming with flies.
Mr. Zhou told Ma Changsheng to close his eyes, but he insisted on watching. He wanted to remember everything—to remember what the chaotic world truly looked like.
When they were still three miles away from Majia Village, they met Ma Sanbao.
Ma Sanbao, along with several local militiamen, was setting up a checkpoint on the road to conduct inspections.
Upon seeing his son, he rushed over and hugged him tightly: "Changsheng! Are you alright?"
"Father, in the village..." Ma Changsheng's voice was strained.
"The village is fine." Ma Sanbao released him, but his face was pale. "The bandits bypassed us from the west and didn't enter the village. But the neighboring Wang Village suffered a disaster; more than twenty people died."
Ma Changsheng breathed a sigh of relief, but felt sad for Wang Village.
He suddenly remembered something: "Dad, the village militia in our village..."
"Three were injured, but not seriously," Ma Sanbao said. "It's all thanks to the formation you mentioned—three people in a group, spear in front, sword on the side, and bow behind. The bandits tested us once, but seeing that we were prepared, they didn't force their way in."
Ma Changsheng felt a warmth in his heart.
His annotations on the "New Book of Effective Tactics" were truly understood by his father, who even put them to use.
Back in the village, Li was already waiting at the village entrance.
Upon seeing her son, tears welled up in her eyes. Touching his face, she said, "You've lost weight, you've lost weight..."
"Mother, I passed." Ma Changsheng took out the wooden plaque.
Li took it, looked at it again and again, and cried and laughed at the same time.
The surrounding villagers gathered around, offering their congratulations. The fact that a nine-year-old had become a scholar in Majia Village was a momentous event.
But the celebration was quickly dampened by reality.
The clan chief called a meeting to report the situation: although the bandits had retreated, it was hard to guarantee they wouldn't come back.
Moreover, government troops might come to "cleanse the countryside"—ostensibly to suppress bandits, but in reality to plunder.
"What do we do next?" someone asked.
"Organize local militia and strengthen defenses," the clan chief said. "The elderly, weak, women, and children should be moved to the mountains ahead of time."
Ma Changsheng raised his hand: "Clan leader, I know a cave that is very secluded and can house twenty or thirty people."
Everyone looked at him.
This nine-year-old child, who just passed the imperial examination at the county level, is now planning to seek refuge.
Ma Sanbao said, "I've seen the cave that Changsheng mentioned. It's indeed well-hidden and has a water source."
The clan chief pondered, "Alright. Starting tomorrow, we'll transport grain and bedding into the cave in batches. The elderly and children will go first, while the able-bodied will stay behind to guard the village."
After the meeting, Mr. Zhou summoned Ma Changsheng to the ancestral hall.
An oil lamp was lit in the ancestral hall, casting flickering light and shadow on the old man's face.
"Chang Sheng," Mr. Zhou said, "you've passed the county-level imperial examination, and you should be going to the county school to prepare for the provincial-level examination. But given the current situation..."
"The student understands," Ma Changsheng said. "Studying isn't urgent; staying alive is the priority."
Mr. Zhou shook his head: "No, studying is more important. The more chaotic the times, the more we need to study."
He pulled a handwritten book from his pocket: "These are my notes compiled over the years, summarizing classics, histories, philosophical works, and literary collections. Take this and read it even in the cave."
Ma Changsheng accepted it solemnly.
The book is not thick, but the paper is yellowed and the handwriting is neat, clearly the result of many years of hard work by the author.
"Also," Mr. Zhou lowered his voice, "I had someone copy your article this time. There are a few things you need to remember."
"Please speak, sir."
"'Where do bandits come from? From starving people; where does famine come from? From natural disasters and man-made calamities.' This statement is correct, but too blunt. In the future, when writing articles, one must understand the 'Spring and Autumn Annals style'—seemingly discussing the past, but actually commenting on the present; seemingly praising the sages, but actually offering satire and advice."
Ma Changsheng nodded: "I will remember this."
"Furthermore, try to avoid talking about 'rectifying officialdom' in the future," Mr. Zhou sighed. "I know you care about the people, but right now... self-preservation is the priority."
It was already dark when we left the ancestral hall.
Ma Changsheng carried the book as he walked along the familiar village road.
When I passed by Tiezhu's house, I saw that the lights were on and I could hear a baby crying—Tiezhu's wife had given birth to a son.
He stood outside the window and heard Tie Zhu's silly laughter: "I have a son! His name is Gou Dan! Easy to raise!"
Ma Changsheng also smiled.
In times of chaos, new life always gives people hope.
Back home, Li had already packed her things: two quilts, a few changes of clothes, a small bag of grain, and Ma Changsheng's books and writing materials.
"We'll go to the cave tomorrow," Ma Sanbao said. "Your mother is weak, so we'll settle her there first. I'll stay in the village and come get you when things stabilize."
Ma Changsheng shook his head: "Father, I'll stay too."
"Nonsense! You're only nine years old..."
"A nine-year-old is still a boy," Ma Changsheng said. "Besides, I understand formations and can help."
Looking at him, Ma Sanbao suddenly realized that his son had really grown up.
It wasn't his height, it was his eyes—that calm and resolute look, unlike a child's.
In the end, the father and son reached a compromise: Li would go to the cave first, while Ma Changsheng would stay in the village for three days to teach the village militia formations, and then he would also go into the mountains.
The cave was larger than Ma Changsheng remembered.
The entrance is hidden behind vines, and once inside, there is a hidden world: the main cave is about three zhang square, and there are two small caves on the side wall, one leading to an underground river and the other for storage.
After Li and the elderly and children from the village moved in, the cave suddenly came alive.
The women laid out straw mats and set up stoves, while the children looked around curiously, and the old people sat in the corner, watching everything silently.
Ma Changsheng used charcoal to draw simple area divisions on the cave wall: living area, storage area, cooking area, and sanitation area. He also dug a small pit in the ground to use as a toilet and covered it with a stone slab.
"This child is so thoughtful," an old lady said.
Mrs. Li patted her son's head: "He has been meticulous since he was a child."
But Ma Changsheng knew that this was not "careful" but the result of long-term training.
At the Jupiter base, space utilization, resource allocation, and sanitation management are basic skills.
Three days later, he taught the local militia the basic three-person formation and then went into the mountains himself.
Mr. Zhou also came along—the old gentleman insisted on coming: "I'm old, I can't fight anymore, but I can still teach."
So, a temporary school was set up in the cave.
Every morning, Ma Changsheng teaches the children to recognize characters, while Mr. Zhou teaches a few children with a basic understanding of classical texts to read scriptures.
In the afternoon, Ma Changsheng took the older children to pick wild vegetables and set traps nearby, while Mr. Zhou told the old man a story.
Life seemed peaceful on the surface, but news kept coming in:
"When the government troops came, they requisitioned grain from the village, and if they didn't give it to them, they would rob them."
"The bandits have reappeared, thirty miles away."
"Martial law was declared in the county town, and prices skyrocketed."
Every time someone came from the village to deliver a message, the atmosphere in the cave became more tense.
Ma Sanbao comes every two days, bringing some food and news from the outside world.
In early April, Ma Sanbao brought bad news: most of the village's grain reserves had been confiscated by government troops, and the remaining grain would not last more than a few days.
"Can things be grown on the mountain?" Ma Changsheng asked.
Ma Sanbao shook his head: "The soil is too thin to grow grain. But... we can plant some sweet potatoes, they don't mind the soil."
Sweet potatoes are a new crop that was introduced from Fujian a few years ago. They are drought-resistant and high-yielding, and are already being grown in the Hubei and Hunan areas.
Ma Changsheng's eyes lit up: "Dad, do we have sweet potato seeds?"
"There's still some at home, but not much."
"Plant them first. Then look for any wild ones in the mountains."
In the days that followed, Ma Changsheng led several teenagers to cultivate a few small plots of land on the hillside and plant sweet potatoes.
They also searched for wild crops in the vicinity—ferns, bamboo shoots, fungi—and noted the locations of anything edible.
Looking at the group of elderly and children struggling to survive in the chaos of war, Mr. Zhou sighed, "The Book of Songs says, 'The people are weary, but they can at least enjoy a modest life.' How difficult it is for ordinary people to simply seek a peaceful life."
Ma Changsheng was sorting through the wild vegetables he had picked when he heard this and looked up: "Sir, when will this chaotic world ever end?"
Mr. Zhou remained silent for a long time before slowly saying, "I have read history. The end of each dynasty lasts for a period of ten years or more, or even several decades. But no matter how long it takes, it will always pass. Because people yearn for stability, and because civilization needs to continue."
He pointed to the characters Ma Changsheng had drawn on the cave wall—the characters he taught his children to write: "person," "mouth," "field," and "home": "Look, people need mouths to eat, fields to cultivate, and homes to live in. These are the most basic truths."
Whoever can ensure that the people have food to eat, land to cultivate, and homes to return to, will win the world.
Ma Changsheng seemed to be deep in thought. These words were simple, yet they revealed the essence of the cycle of order and chaos that had lasted for thousands of years.
In late April, Ma Changsheng received a secret mission from Mr. Zhou.
"An old friend of mine in the county town, surnamed Chen, is an instructor at the county school," Mr. Zhou said. "He asked someone to send a message saying that he had some books to give to me, that they were very important. But now the county town is under strict security, he can't get out, and I can't get in either."
"What you mean, sir..."
"You've just passed the imperial examination and become a scholar, so you have a certain status, which will make it easier for you to come and go from the county town," Mr. Zhou said, looking at him. "But this trip is risky. If you don't want to, I won't force you."
Ma Changsheng replied without hesitation: "The student is willing to go."
He wasn't acting impulsively.
Firstly, Mr. Zhou had been kind to him; secondly, he wanted to go to the county town to see the situation for himself; and thirdly... he needed to test his abilities—his ability to act independently in this chaotic world.
Early the next morning, he set off with his travel permit and scholar's plaque.
Li repeatedly urged him to go, but Ma Sanbao refused, saying, "Dad, the village needs you. I'll be a smaller target and safer if I go alone."
It took him four hours to walk twenty miles.
They encountered two groups of checkpoints along the way, one led by local militia and the other by government troops. After showing their scholar's identity, they were both allowed to pass smoothly—this identity was indeed useful.
As he entered the county town, the guards still remembered him: "Young scholar, you're back? I heard there are bandits in your village?"
"I've already withdrawn," Ma Changsheng replied calmly.
Following the address given by Mr. Zhou, he found Instructor Chen's home.
It was a small courtyard, the gate tightly shut. After knocking three times and waiting a long time, someone finally opened the door.
An old servant opened the door, looking at him warily.
Ma Changsheng presented Mr. Zhou's token—half a jade pendant. The old servant examined it carefully before letting him in.
Instructor Chen was a tall, thin old man who was organizing books in his study.
Upon seeing Ma Changsheng, he was taken aback: "Brother Zhou sent you? You...you're that nine-year-old scholar?"
"Student Ma Changsheng greets the Instructor."
Instructor Chen looked him up and down and nodded: "Indeed, a young talent. The things are in the inner room, come with me."
The inner room was piled with more than a dozen wooden crates. Instructor Chen opened one of them; it was full of books. "These are all rare books I rescued from the county school. Some are unique copies, some are manuscripts by ancient sages. The world is in chaos, I'm afraid..."
He didn't finish speaking, but Ma Changsheng understood.
In times of chaos, these books, if left unprotected, could very well be destroyed by war.
"Brother Zhou said you have a hiding place in the mountains," said Instructor Chen. "I would like to entrust these books to you for safekeeping. They will be returned to the county school once peace is restored."
Ma Changsheng looked at those books and was deeply moved.
Even when civilization is on the verge of destruction, there are still people who think about protecting ancient texts.
This reminded him of the mission of the Jupiter base: to preserve the spark of human civilization.
"The students will definitely do their best," he said solemnly.
But here's the problem: how to get more than a dozen large boxes out of the city? And how to get them safely back on roads teeming with bandits?
Instructor Chen had clearly thought of this as well: "I can hire a carriage, but it will be inspected when leaving the city. If the soldiers see so many books, they might become suspicious."
Ma Changsheng thought for a moment and said, "Instructor, could you divide the books into smaller portions? I'll take some with me, and you can hide the rest and come back for them later."
"That's all we can do," Instructor Chen sighed.
Finally, Ma Changsheng selected the three most important boxes: one box contained local chronicles, recording the history and geography of Qishui and the surrounding prefectures and counties; another box contained medical books, including several rare classics on plague prevention and control; and the third box contained agricultural books, including a handwritten copy of Xu Guangqi's "Complete Treatise on Agriculture".
He packed the books into burlap sacks, wrapped them in rags, and they looked like ordinary luggage.
Instructor Chen gave him another travel permit, which stated "County school books, transported to rural schools"—it had an official seal, so it should be enough to pass inspections.
As he was leaving, Instructor Chen saw him to the door and suddenly said, "Ma Changsheng, although you are young, I can see that you are capable of great things. These books, and Brother Zhou's scholarship, are the seeds of civilization. Protecting them is more important than passing the imperial examination."
Ma Changsheng bowed deeply: "Student understands."
The return journey was more difficult than the outward journey.
The three sacks of books were very heavy, so he walked a bit and then rested.
On the way, they encountered a group of defeated soldiers—officers who had retreated from the front lines, whose discipline was lax and who looted anyone they saw.
Ma Changsheng hid in the roadside bushes and held his breath.
The soldiers walked by cursing and snatched several pedestrians' bags, but fortunately they didn't notice him.
Once they were far away, Ma Changsheng came out and continued on his way.
As darkness fell, he dared not walk at night and found an abandoned local temple to spend the night.
The temple was dilapidated, and the statues of the gods had collapsed.
Ma Changsheng hid the book behind the altar, then hid in a corner with a short stick in his arms, not daring to sleep deeply all night.
In the middle of the night, he heard noises outside.
Peeking cautiously through the broken window, I saw several figures moving about, talking in hushed tones.
"...The village has grain..."
"...The soldiers just looted; there should still be some left..."
"...I'll go tomorrow..."
They were spies of the bandits. Ma Changsheng's heart tightened.
The "village" they mentioned is very likely Majia Village.
After those people left, he couldn't sleep anymore.
As soon as it was light, I picked up my books and quickened my pace to hurry back.
It was already afternoon when we returned to the cave.
When Li saw him return, she hugged him and cried and laughed at the same time.
Mr. Zhou's hands trembled with excitement when he saw the books: "These...these are all treasures!"
But Ma Changsheng couldn't care less about any of that.
He immediately found his father and told him what he had heard the previous night.
Ma Sanbao's expression was grave: "Some unfamiliar faces have come to the village these past two days, claiming to be refugees, but their behavior is suspicious. I'm planning to increase security."
"They might make their move tomorrow or the day after," Ma Changsheng said. "Dad, we need to be prepared."
That evening, an emergency meeting was held in the cave.
Finally, it was decided that all the elderly and weak would remain in the cave, while the able-bodied villagers would return to the village overnight to set up defenses.
Ma Changsheng stayed behind—he was too young, but Mr. Zhou said he "understood military strategy" and could serve as a strategist.
Ma Changsheng did not argue.
He knew that his nine-year-old body was indeed unsuitable for direct combat.
But he had other preparations.
After the meeting, he approached Mr. Zhou and said, "Sir, I would like to ask you to teach me something."
"What is it?"
"How to write a manifesto."
Mr. Zhou was taken aback: "A manifesto? That's a document used for denouncing and condemning. Why would you want to learn that?"
Looking at the deep night outside the cave, Ma Changsheng slowly said, "If... if our village can repel the bandits, I want to write a proclamation so that the surrounding villages know: Ma Family Village is not to be trifled with. That way, perhaps we can avoid some trouble."
Mr. Zhou looked at him intently for a long time before nodding: "Okay, I'll teach you."
That night, the cave was brightly lit with candles.
An old man and a young boy, one teaching and the other learning.
Outside the window, the mountain wind howled, as if foreshadowing an impending storm.
But Ma Changsheng knew in his heart that this was just the beginning.
In chaotic times, the paths to advancement in peaceful times—studying, taking exams, and becoming a scholar—must now give way to something more pressing: survival, protecting one's family, and preserving this small stronghold of civilization.
He touched the wooden plaque of a scholar in his pocket.
It was cold, but had a heavy, substantial feel to it.
That's a responsibility.
At the age of nine, the scholar officially stepped into the torrent of history in the spring of the ninth year of the Chongzhen Emperor's reign.
Not as a bystander.
Instead, they act as participants.