Chapter 215: Catering to Their Tastes

Wu Mingjin paid him no mind. A servant soon entered bearing two porcelain cups. Wang Ci could not refuse. He accepted one, feeling the cool, slightly damp touch of the porcelain. Lifting the lid, he saw a faint green liquid, with fine, pearl-like bubbles rising from the bottom. Several pieces of crushed ice floated within, clinking softly.

“Come, drink this to cool yourself,” Wu Mingjin said, taking a sip with an air of profound satisfaction.

Wang Ci, a man who adhered to the principles of health and longevity, typically abstained from iced drinks. But he could not refuse a gift from his superior. He took a small sip.

The taste was at once sweet and sour, with a refreshing hint of mint. A peculiar tingling sensation followed, as if a thousand tiny things were bursting on his tongue. He swallowed, and a cool comfort spread through him. He could not resist a second sip.

“You must drink this kvass in one go,” Wu Mingjin instructed, a self-proclaimed connoisseur of Lingao’s high society. “Once the fizz is gone, it loses its soul.”

The weather was indeed sweltering, and Wang Ci quickly drained his cup. A bubble of gas rose in his stomach. He hastily covered his mouth with his sleeve and let out a few quiet burps. His body felt instantly cooler, refreshed. A magnificent thirst-quencher! Another Australian product, he thought.

Composing himself, Wang Ci reported on Xiong Buyou’s visit, mentioning the Australians’ proposal to repair the county school and the Jasmine Pavilion.

“This humble subordinate believes this is a matter of great import and requests the magistrate’s guidance.”

Wu Mingjin was already displeased with Wang Ci for unilaterally leasing the school lands to the “Tiandihui.” He had heard the education official was constantly bemoaning his poverty and soliciting donations, always lamenting how the county had neither money nor grain for him. While true, it was a great loss of face for the leadership. Besides, the county truly had no money.

Wu Mingjin snorted. “What can I do? The school lands are in their hands. It is only natural that they should repair the Confucian temple.” He took a cigarette from a turned wooden case. A nearby servant quickly lit it for him with a paper spill.

Wang Ci was mortified. His political instincts were not sharp, and he had not realized his complaints had offended his superior. He thought the magistrate was angry about the lease. He quickly rose to his feet. “It was my foolishness…”

“The county has no funds for this now. Since they wish to repair it, let them.” Wu Mingjin had adopted a completely hands-off approach to the bandits’ activities. They would do as they pleased regardless, and any resistance from him would be as futile as a praying mantis trying to stop a chariot.

Wang Ci received no guidance, but he did get a glimpse of the magistrate’s recent “Australian enjoyments.” He wished to see Master Wang, the advisor, but was told the advisor was napping and not receiving guests. Dejected, he returned to the county school.

As he passed through the Lingxing Gate, he saw the gatekeeper by a mud stove, seemingly preparing a meal. He was tearing pages from a book and feeding them to the flames. A half-burnt piece of paper fluttered out and landed on Wang Ci’s chest. He casually snatched it, about to toss it aside, when his eyes widened.

It was a page from the Analects!

He had ordered the bandits’ books burned, not the classics of the sages! While the Four Books and Five Classics were not priceless treasures, they were impossible to acquire in Lingao and had to be brought from the prefectural city. To use them as kindling—

Wang Ci nearly fainted from rage. He was about to rush over and throttle the man when he froze.

This copy of the Analects was printed horizontally.

In the Great Ming, apart from these bandits, no one printed books this way.

So the fifty books the bandits had sent were not their strange Literacy Primers, but proper works, the Four Books and Five Classics! At this thought, he mustered all his strength and roared:

“Stop!”

Wang Ci sat in the main hall, a rattan box at his feet. Inside were the books that had survived their trial by fire, rescued from the gatekeeper’s stove. In his attempt to boil water, the man had already consumed several volumes. The gatekeeper was utterly bewildered by Wang Ci’s behavior—first ordering him to burn the books, then rushing over like a madman to save them. He could only conclude that the heat had addled Master Wang’s mind.

Wang Ci paid him no heed and began to examine the books.

The box contained most of the “Thirteen Classics,” the canonical works of Confucianism: the Book of Documents, the Rites of Zhou, the Analects, Mencius, the Erya. These were the very foundation of the imperial examinations. Anyone who could master all thirteen was considered an intellectual of the highest order.

The box had once held a complete set, but the gatekeeper had already sent several volumes to heaven in smoke. This edition, apart from opening from the right and being printed horizontally, used no simplified characters and was exquisitely made. The lines that typically separated the columns of text were absent, yet the characters were perfectly aligned, both vertically and horizontally. The stark contrast of black ink on pure white paper was something Wang Ci had never seen, not even in the finest Song dynasty editions. He had no idea how the Australians had achieved it.

The only impropriety Wang Ci found was the addition of punctuation. It made reading much easier, of course, but he had no faith in the Australians’ scholarship. How could these overseas barbarians possibly grasp the subtleties of the sage’s meaning?

He picked a volume at random and saw that the punctuation was flawless. Wang Ci was astonished. The Australians were not so crude after all.

The more he thought, the more confused he became. He examined the other books and found a set of commentaries on the Thirteen Classics. It was, in fact, a pirated edition of the Zhonghua Book Company’s Collected Commentaries on the Thirteen Classics by Qing Scholars. Throughout history, countless scholars had written commentaries on the classics, but the Qing dynasty represented a new zenith in the field, particularly in exegesis and the study of names and institutions, surpassing all previous eras. When Zhou Dongtian chose what to pirate, he had two criteria: it had to be of high academic merit, and it could not be a work from a previous dynasty—that would not showcase the transmigrators’ own prowess. Thus, the research of the Qing dynasty was the first to be appropriated.

Wang Ci had read commentaries on the classics before, but he had never seen this particular work. He naturally assumed the commentary was penned by the Australians themselves. After a few pages, he couldn’t help but slam the table in admiration. The quality was in no way inferior to the great commentators of the Han, Tang, Song, and Yuan dynasties. Wang Ci was bewildered.

If the Australians were a band of crude and ignorant ruffians, their grasp of the classics was clearly profound. If they were so learned, why did they use simplified characters and write in such a vulgar style?

“What a strange people,” Wang Ci muttered, his confusion mounting. Could it be that their true scholars had remained in Australia? But if such great minds existed, how could they tolerate the chaotic behavior of these men? He had no idea who ruled the Australians.

As he browsed further, another shock awaited him: the Great Dictionary. This was, in fact, a proofread version of the Kangxi Dictionary, with the name Kangxi conveniently removed. The Kangxi Dictionary was based on two Ming dynasty works, the Zihui and the Zhengzitong. The latter, however, had not yet been completed in this era. The version pirated by the transmigrators was not only a later, collated edition but also included modern scholarly corrections. This grand compilation of ancient and modern learning left Wang Ci deeply shaken. After reading a few pages, he felt the Australians were truly unfathomable.

These books were not only meticulously proofread but so beautifully printed that he could not put them down. Scholars are, by nature, lovers of books. When Wang Ci had come to take up his post, despite the arduous journey, he had made his attendant carry a box of his own books. Now, seeing this new collection, his heart filled with a covetous desire. In any case, they were a gift to him. It was only natural that he should claim them.

At this thought, his wariness towards Xiong Buyou softened considerably. His mindset shifted to align with Wu Mingjin’s: since he couldn’t stop them, he might as well let them proceed. It was, after all, a benefit to Lingao.

With this in mind, when Xiong Buyou visited again the next day, Wang Ci’s attitude was far more cooperative. He was then presented with a second gift—a stipend.

When the transmigrators had first distributed stipends to the county yamen staff, they had overlooked Wang Ci—he did not work in the yamen, and most modern people were unaware that a county even had an education official. Fortunately, it was not too late to correct the oversight.

Wang Ci, as was proper, declined several times. But as Xiong Buyou had anticipated, officials of this era did not view such income as a sin. Furthermore, given the education official’s dire financial straits, he was in desperate need of the money.

The next day, a construction team from the Lingao Construction Company moved into the Jasmine Pavilion. This famous Song dynasty structure had been but a small thatched hut in the early Ming. It wasn’t until 1455 that it was rebuilt as the “Great Tiled Pavilion” and became a proper academy. The Jasmine Pavilion was not large, but its construction was not simple: stone pillars, glazed tiles, and carved beams showed that a great deal of effort had once been lavished upon it.

Though it had been repaired several times over the past two hundred years, it was an old building. An inspection revealed severe decay in the wooden structure. The walls and roof were damaged and leaked in many places. It was a ruin. The transmigrators had no specialists in ancient architecture, but the Lingao Construction Company had recruited many contemporary carpenters from the immigrant population. Repairing the building was not a problem.

Timber, bricks, tiles, and lime were trivial for the transmigrators to procure. With ample materials, available workers, and the on-site management of modern construction supervisors, the entire dismantling, replacement, and renovation of the Jasmine Pavilion was completed in less than five days. A week later, the main structure had been restored to its former glory, and the painters began their work.