Bearing the blue sky

Chapter 313 The Story of an Old Man Fishing in the Sea

When Sun Chuan returned to his residence, it was already completely dark.

He pushed open the door, groped his way to sit on the straw mat in the darkness, and sat against the wall for a while before reaching into his pocket to take out the half-eaten cake.

The pancake had cooled completely, and the edges were harder than they had been in the morning. He broke off a small piece and put it in his mouth, chewing slowly.

He didn't light a lamp; in the darkness, only the faint sound of chewing could be heard, like a field mouse quietly eating.

He didn't really have a home, but it seemed like everyone else here had died a long time ago.

He helped carry the family's body outside the city for burial, and then moved in.

"Click-clack—"

He finished the small piece of biscuit, wrapped the remaining half up again, put it back in his pocket, then lay down, closed his eyes, his mind still replaying the story he had heard that afternoon.

The names of Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai kept appearing in his mind, like two stones being repeatedly polished, their surfaces becoming smoother and clearer.

He wasn't quite sure why he cared so much about those two names.

But he could sense that the story had left a subtle gap in his heart, as if someone had chiseled a small hole in the wall, through which light was shining.

"Never mind, let's go to sleep."

"I wonder if there will be similar stories tomorrow."

So the next afternoon, he appeared in the backyard of the teahouse on time.

Old Liu was already sitting in his usual spot, with the same cup of tea in his hand and the same old book on his lap.

When he saw Sun Chuan come in, he didn't look up, but just pointed to the wooden stool next to him.

Sun Chuan sat down on the wooden stool and waited for a while before Old Man Liu spoke: "Do you still remember how to write those three characters from yesterday?"

Sun Chuan nodded. He picked up the wooden board and charcoal sticks he had used yesterday and wrote the three characters "人" (person), "山" (mountain), and "水" (water) on the board.

The strokes are more stable than yesterday, and the characters are much more upright. Although they are not exactly beautiful, at least each stroke is in the right place.

Old Liu looked at it for a moment and said, "It's alright."

"Today I'll teach you four characters—'sky,' 'earth,' 'wind,' and 'cloud.'"

He picked up the charcoal stick and wrote the four characters on the wooden board one by one. The strokes were slightly more complicated than the three characters from yesterday, but the structure was still clear.

Sun Chuan watched carefully, memorizing the order and direction of each stroke, then picked up the charcoal stick and began to imitate it next to the four characters.

He wrote it several times until the characters were roughly legible before he stopped.

Old Liu didn't say anything more, but as usual, he told him to come back tomorrow afternoon.

When Sun Chuan walked out of the teahouse's backyard, he stood at the alley entrance for a while. A few people were gathered together talking in front of the general store across the street.

The voice was neither too loud nor too soft, and he vaguely heard the words "Liang Zhu".

He didn't go over; he just stood at the alley entrance for a moment, waiting for the sound to dissipate before turning back.

For the next few days, he arrived at the teahouse backyard on time every day.

Old Liu taught him a few new characters every day, sometimes more, sometimes fewer, sometimes a single character, sometimes a short phrase of two or three characters.

Sun Chuan studied very diligently, and after each new character was taught, he would practice it repeatedly on the wooden board.

Until the strokes of those words were as clearly reflected on the wooden board as dough baked by the sun, as if through sweat and repeated carving, they were slowly embedding themselves deep into the wood grain.

Meanwhile, stories from the newspapers were also appearing one after another in the teahouse.

Someone started reading the second and third articles.

On the afternoon of the fifth day, Sun Chuan was practicing calligraphy in the backyard when the tea drinkers in the front hall suddenly became lively.

Someone was reading from the latest newspaper: "This issue has a new story called 'The Fisherman and the Koi' —"

Sun Chuan put down the charcoal sticks and didn't go out; he just listened through the wall.

The story is about a goldfish that was caught by a fisherman and made a wish to repay his kindness. The fisherman's wife kept asking for more and more, but in the end she got nothing.

The person reading the newspaper didn't use much embellishment; they simply read the story verbatim.

It has a profound meaning.

After listening, Sun Chuan compared the story with the previous Liang Zhu story.

The two stories are different; one is about love, and the other is about greed.

He felt they weren't talking about the same thing, but he could sense a thin thread connecting them, like two fruits growing from the same vine.

A few days later, the third story appeared, this time called "Sleeping Beauty".

Sun Chuan overheard this at the entrance of the teahouse.

The person reading the newspaper said that there was a princess who was cursed to sleep forever, and only a sincere kiss could wake her.

Sun Chuan's understanding of this story was somewhat vague. He didn't know what a "kiss" meant, nor did he understand why a kiss could awaken someone who had been asleep for a hundred years.

But he could sense that there seemed to be some kind of subtle connection between that story and Liang Zhu.

Like two stars in the night sky gazing at each other across the vast expanse of the heavens, they are separated by an immense distance, yet they still leave behind almost symmetrical light in the same field of vision.

The fourth story appeared half a month later.

That day, Sun Chuan was practicing writing his name in the backyard when Old Liu suddenly walked in from the front hall, holding a new issue of the newspaper: "Today's article is called 'Zilu and the Ox'."

""

Sun Chuan put down his pen and looked up at Old Man Liu.

"In ancient times, there was a great man named Zilu. Zilu saved a man who had fallen into the water, and the man gave him an ox, which he accepted."

"Some people said he was greedy, but Zilu's teacher praised him for doing a good job, because accepting the reward would encourage more people to do good deeds."

After listening, Sun Chuan remained silent for a while, then looked down at the character "Sun" he had just written.

He recalled the stories he had heard at the entrance of the teahouse.

Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai, The Fisherman and the Goldfish, Sleeping Beauty, and this one.

They are talking about different things.

He didn't know who wrote these stories, but he could sense that the words were like carefully polished stones being piled up one by one, extending in directions he had never noticed before.

He put down the charcoal and asked Old Liu, "Do you know who wrote these stories?"

Old Liu didn't answer directly: "You should learn all the characters first, then go find them in the newspaper yourself."

Sun Chuan then continued practicing calligraphy with his head down.

When he finished writing the last stroke of the character "孙", he saw that the character stood steadily on the wooden board, as if it were the destination he had finally reached after walking a long way.

By this time, he was quite a distance away from where he had taken his first step.

He put down the charcoal stick, rubbed his aching fingers, and examined his name on the wooden board, finding it clearer than ever before.

The next afternoon, after finishing his calligraphy practice, Sun Chuan didn't rush to leave. Instead, he went to the newspapers in the front hall, stood on tiptoe, and looked up at the printed words.

He recognized some of the characters: heaven, earth, man, mountain, water, wind, and cloud.

They also recognized the characters "梁", "祝", "渔", "金", "睡", and "牛".

He tried to read them together, and although he read them intermittently and still couldn't recognize many parts, he felt much better than he had a few days ago.

It's like a road that was originally covered by thick fog, which is gradually being revealed on the surface.

He stood in front of the wooden plank for longer than before.

A breeze blew in from the alleyway, rustling the edges of the newspaper.

He reached out and gently pressed down on the corner of the newspaper, reading the words again from beginning to end. Only after confirming that he recognized more words than before did he release his hand and turn to walk towards the door.

That night, he returned to his lodgings but did not lie down immediately.

Instead, he sat in the dark for a while, then stretched out his finger and wrote down the few words he had newly memorized that day on the muddy ground beside the bed.

He didn't light a lamp; he simply wrote those words stroke by stroke, relying on his memory and the feel of his fingertips.

After writing the last stroke, he did not immediately retract his finger, but let his fingertip linger at the end of the last stroke for a while.

He withdrew his finger, lay down, closed his eyes, and carefully felt, experienced, and recalled.

The moonlight streaming in through the window cast a narrow band of light on the ground, illuminating the patch of mud where he had just written, making the words faintly visible.

He turned his head and looked at the strokes illuminated by the moonlight, staring at them in the darkness for a while before closing his eyes.

The words are still there.

He will learn new characters tomorrow, and he will also recognize more characters hidden in the stories that he doesn't know yet, and hear more stories.

The more he thought about it, the more he felt a vague sense of happiness and joy.

"It's a strange feeling. I'm clearly not full, so why do I feel satisfied? It's so wonderful—"

"I wonder what stories will unfold tomorrow —"

With inexplicable feelings in his heart, Sun Chuan drifted off to sleep.

Zhu Ge was quite encouraged after receiving feedback from various regions.

The effect is great!

Whether it's the fable "The Fisherman and the Koi," the fairy tale "Sleeping Beauty," or the short story "The Butterfly Lovers," all have received positive responses.

Many people haven't noticed the implications of this.

For example, the fable "The Fisherman and the Koi" may seem to be a warning to children against greed, but the moral of the story itself is not the most important thing.

Most importantly—enlighten the people!

Can koi fish grant other people's wishes?

No.

However, this fable, like the Mona Lisa, can spark people's imagination and curiosity.

Today I encountered a lucky koi fish, tomorrow I might encounter a weasel or a rooster that starts talking.

Today we warn others against greed, but tomorrow can we warn them against arrogance?

Moisturizing is silent.

Zhu Ge didn't want to go all out with a big move, because he knew that it would take time for the human race to accept all things.

It's not that if he goes out today and says that everyone should become stronger and more united, we can become stronger and more united.

The first step is to control the mouthpiece of public opinion.

The second step is to open the eyes of humanity and let them see the world.

They were not looking at other races, nor at humans from other places, but at all things in the world.

Therefore, Zhu Ge wrote "Sleeping Beauty" and made revisions to it.

Moreover, it's not Sleeping Beauty in the traditional sense, but rather the movie version that Zhu Ge had seen.

In that movie, Sleeping Beauty and the fairy who cursed her got along better, and in the end, the fairy even went to great lengths to save Sleeping Beauty.

This story contains a powerful message: Don't judge a book by its cover!

At the same time, there is also dialectics involved.

A person is neither absolutely bad nor absolutely good; we must look at it dialectically.

Does an old man with a dignified appearance, white hair and beard, and flowing robes necessarily have to be a good person, an immortal, or a master?

not necessarily.

Does wearing a black robe, having black spiritual energy, and using a black sword necessarily mean someone is a bad person on the opposite side?

Not necessarily.

Therefore, Zhu Ge wrote these two simple and easy-to-understand short stories in order to first plant a seed in everyone's hearts.

Major productions like "Journey to the West," "Water Margin," and "Romance of the Three Kingdoms" will have to wait until later.

Otherwise, if some old scholars were to step forward, he would indeed find it difficult to deal with them.

That's why he specifically wrote the story of Zilu receiving an ox, which is full of Confucian core values.

This was also his plan; at least one of the three stories had to be related to Confucianism and Taoism.

Meanwhile, the other two stories are similar to fairy tales and fables, which seem to be just "children's books".

"What should I write about next?"

"Perhaps that story is good."

The academy, the dining hall.

Groups of students were coming in from outside, chatting as they ate their meals.

"Hey, did you read today's paper? That story was really good!"

"I didn't pay attention to the story; I only saw how difficult life is for ordinary people. Sigh."

"Huh? Bro, what are you pretending for? I can clearly see you looking at the West Street widow's job posting, can't you?"

"Hehe, hehe, a gentleman's nature is to eat and have sex; food is his nature."

"But that story is about an old man fishing in the sea. That old man was really brave, not afraid of catching a monster."

"That's right, today is only the first round. I wonder if that old man will be able to catch any fish in the next round."

"Speaking of which, for an old man to dare to fight against a demon beast truly embodies the essence of righteousness!"

"Absolutely! Absolutely!"

Everyone chatted amongst themselves, in high spirits.

The canteen was large, but it was still incredibly noisy and chaotic.

Until a middle-aged man with a long beard and a white robe walked into the dining hall.

"A gentleman does not speak while eating or sleeping; what kind of decorum is this, with you all making such a racket?!"

The middle-aged man had a stern face. After entering, he coldly reprimanded everyone, and his voice echoed throughout the entire dining hall.

In just a few seconds, the canteen fell silent.

Everyone froze, like quails in a thunderstorm.

"Who is this person?"

"It looks familiar, but I don't know."

"Hurry up and hide! What if some old gentleman has emerged from seclusion?"

The palpable pressure of Confucian and Taoist authority, combined with the middle-aged man's own dignity, silenced the dining hall in just a few seconds.

When the young people saw the middle-aged man, they immediately hid the newspapers in their hands.

But how could such a small trick be kept secret from a great scholar?

"What is that?!"

The middle-aged man waved his hand, and the newspapers from the hands of two young men flew into his hands.

After acquiring it, he frowned at the words on the newspaper before beginning to read.

Just then, a voice entered the dining hall.

"Brother Huai'an, you have been in seclusion for many years and are unaware of the changes. Please come to my hall for a chat."