Mud beads

On Friday afternoon, Yu Zhu first went to the old arts building for a small meeting about the drama festival.

The classroom was filled with all sorts of people; some asked about costumes, some about lines, and some were leaning against the window editing notes for the newly created group chat. Teacher Meng said there was no rush for rehearsals; today they would only finalize the roles and divide the scenes, and the specific rehearsal time would be announced in the group chat later.

The meeting lasted for twenty minutes before it ended.

Yu Zhu took a thin translation and stuffed it into her bag. The edge of the paper brushed against the seventh-grade history timeline she had organized the night before. On one side was Asteria's escape from Zeus, and on the other side were the Xia, Shang, Zhou, Qin, and Han dynasties. They were two completely unrelated things crammed into the same canvas bag.

After leaving the old arts building, she went to the print shop to reprint a copy of the materials.

The printer made a dry, hissing sound as it ejected paper, the hot paper smelling of ink. She tucked the timeline into her black leather notebook and sat on a plastic stool by the shop entrance, flipping through it twice.

From the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties to the Qin and Han dynasties, she wrote the dynasties in black ink and circled the key points in red ink, with several sticky notes attached next to them. She went through the table of contents of the seventh-grade textbook three times, and listed several frequently tested knowledge points. Fearing that her first trial lesson might be disorganized, she even arranged the material into ten-minute segments.

It's not that she's never explained problems to others. She's explained the chicken-and-rabbit problem to Liao Jie's son, the classical Chinese texts Liu Zhengyang asked about, and the messy job contracts on Liang Xia's phone. But going to the family compound to give a two-hour, 300-yuan history lesson to a kid from a political family is different from casually explaining problems at a bubble tea shop counter.

If you have too much money, you're more likely to lose your footing.

Yu Zhu returned to her rented apartment, took off her T-shirt and jeans, and changed her clothes. The person in front of the mirror wore a thin white long-sleeved shirt and linen trousers, with no patterns on her clothes. Her hair had grown a little long, which she tied low with a black hair tie, giving her a clean and composed appearance. Before leaving, she tied the small kitchen trash bag tightly, thinking she would take it with her downstairs.

As she reached the stairwell, she remembered she hadn't taken her notebook. She left the trash by the door, turned around, and went back inside to get it. When she returned with her things, the bag of trash in the corner was gone.

Footsteps echoed down the stairs, nimble and light, mingling with the rustling of plastic bags. Yu Zhu paused for a second, not peering down. The musty, dusty smell of the old stairwell had faded, replaced by a faint, pleasant scent of soapberry.

Moth

The Hepingmen residential compound is located at the other end of the old city, and it's not easy to get there from the school. Yu Zhu first took the subway and transferred twice, then walked for about ten minutes along a road lined with old locust trees. When she arrived at the gate, it was just past six o'clock.

The gate to the courtyard was small, with gray iron railings. Inside the gatehouse sat a middle-aged man in uniform, with a registration book and a chipped enamel mug spread out in front of him.

This place is neither like the Ziwei No. 9 residence where Zhou Qiyu lives, nor like Yueyuan.

There were no fountains, no artificial hills or pavilions, and no security guards with walkie-talkies leading the way. The buildings in the courtyard were not tall, their exteriors painted white, but over the years, black and gray water stains had appeared under the window sills. Several old locust trees stood in front of the buildings, their trunks thick and their branches drooping low. When the wind blew, the leaves rustled, like someone turning the pages of a newspaper in the distance.

But this is not an ordinary old neighborhood.

The security guard checked very thoroughly. Yu Zhu gave her name as "Mrs. Su from Building 6" and filled in her name, mobile phone number, and the last four digits of her ID card. The guard made an internal call to confirm before handing over the visitor's pass.

"Building 6, Unit 2, third floor," he said. "Don't wander around inside."

Yu Zhu took the card: "Thank you."

The hallway was clean; the cement floor had been mopped, and there was no clutter in the corners. A pot of orchids sat by the third-floor entrance, its leaves polished to a shine. Yu Zhu rang the doorbell, and someone quickly opened the door.

The housekeeper opened the door; she was in her fifties, wearing a dark blue apron, and her hair was neatly combed.

"Are you Teacher Yu?" Her voice was soft but polite. "Your wife is waiting for you in the living room."

Yu Zhu put on shoe covers and went inside.

The house wasn't large, with four bedrooms and a living room. The living room had old wooden floors that made no sound when walked on. The furniture was all dark wood, polished to a high shine, almost to the point of being hard. There were many calligraphy and paintings hanging on the walls, along with several group photos. Yu Zhu didn't look closely, only noticing that the man standing in the middle was wearing a dark jacket, and everyone around him was smiling politely.

The day's newspapers were neatly stacked on the coffee table. The television was off, and the room was quiet enough to hear the gentle steam rising from the clay pot in the kitchen.

Mrs. Su sat on the sofa.

She was in her early forties, wearing a beige short-sleeved knit top, her hair pulled back, and she wore no jewelry except for a thin watch on her wrist. Her makeup was very light, with a few dark circles under her eyes that she couldn't quite conceal, and she smiled very politely.

"Teacher Yu," she stood up, "I'd like to trouble you to make this trip."

"It's no trouble at all, it's nothing," Yu Zhu said.

Mrs. Su led her inside: "Liu Zhengyang's mother told me that you are a top student in the Chinese Department of Chang'an University, with good grades and patience. Our Su Yan isn't bad at academics, it's just... a bit unsociable."

She spoke these words without complaint, even with a slightly weary but dignified tone.

"It's alright, the child is still young," Yu Zhu said. "Let me check the situation first."

Hearing this, Mrs. Su relaxed a bit: "You don't need to feel pressured. If he doesn't listen, you can sit with him for two hours. Our main goal is to help him gradually get used to communicating with people."

These words stirred the unease in Yu Zhu's heart once more.

Two hours for 300, I'd even sit with him if I had to.

No wonder Liu Zhengyang said that people with low moral standards make a lot of money.

Su Yan's room is next to the study.

Mrs. Su knocked twice and pushed the door open. The air conditioning was set low, and cold air seeped out from under the door. The room was neatly arranged, with a desk, a bookcase, and a single bed. The bookcase held sets of encyclopedias and history books, as well as several model kits. On the top shelf was a row of small terracotta warriors, their terracotta faces all facing outwards.

The boy sat at his desk.

He looked about twelve or thirteen years old, not short, with fair skin and delicate features. Seeing Mrs. Su and Yu Zhu enter, he placed his phone horizontally on the table, stood up, and politely greeted, "Hello, teachers."

After calling out, he sat down again, his finger landing on the phone screen once more.

Mrs. Su looked a little embarrassed: "Yan Yan."

The boy ignored him, continuing to sit upright and play on his phone. His back was straight, his eyes were downcast, as if he had given the proper courtesy and the rest was none of anyone else's business.

Mrs. Su stood at the door, her brows furrowed, as if she wanted to say something.

Yu Zhu looked up first and smiled at her: "It's okay, I'll talk to Su Yan."

Mrs. Su smiled apologetically, closed the door, and left.

The door closed, and the only sound in the room was the air conditioner blowing air.

"My name is Yu Zhu, you can call me Teacher Yu." Yu Zhu put her bag down next to the chair, took out her textbooks and notebook, and said, "We're about to start studying the first semester of seventh grade, right? Should we begin with the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties, or have you already read other parts?"

Su Yan didn't answer, her gaze fixed intently on her phone. A cartoon was playing on the screen, the volume low, the animation gorgeous—it wasn't just a simple children's film.

Seeing that he didn't speak, Yu Zhu pulled out a chair and sat down, waiting quietly for a while. Her notebook lay open on the table, the first page a timeline she had organized, the sticky notes slightly curled at the edges by the air conditioning.

"Then you watch, I'll go through it in order, and you listen carefully?" Yu Zhu said again.

She spoke for ten minutes.

She talked about everything from prehistoric sites to the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties, the feudal system, bronze artifacts, and oracle bone inscriptions. She spoke in great detail, but Su Yan kept her head down, looking at the animation on her phone, her face expressionless.

Yu Zhu stopped: "Su Yan."

Su Yan did not react.

Yu Zhu then said, "You don't want to hear this, do you?"

Su Yan's fingertip paused on the screen for a moment, and she adjusted the brightness.

Yu Zhu frowned.

It would be a lie to say she wasn't annoyed. She had seen many disobedient children—Sister Liao's son couldn't sit still, and would pick at his eraser halfway through his homework; the kid downstairs wouldn't do his homework, but would lie by the counter staring at the fried skewers. Those children were distracted, their eyes darting around, their bodies fidgeting, but they could listen to what she was told.

Su Yan is not.

He sat steadily, his shoulders upright, and the things on his desk were neatly arranged. It wasn't that he couldn't understand, nor that he couldn't sit still; he simply didn't want to bother with it. It was as if he had retreated into an invisible shell, on which were written four words: "Don't bother me."

Yu Zhu looked down at her full-page notebook, then looked around the room before closing the notebook.

Seeing that she had started packing her things, Su Yan's focused expression finally relaxed, and he quickly glanced at her.

Yu Zhu packed her backpack and stood up.

She didn't leave, but looked closely at the row of tiny terracotta warrior figures on the bookshelf and said, "People will laugh at you for keeping this in the house."

The boy finally looked up at her.

His gaze was indifferent, yet held a hint of scrutiny.

Yu Zhu turned her head and smiled: "The terracotta warriors are funerary objects. Funerary objects are burial items. Anyone with a little historical knowledge wouldn't put burial items by their bedside."

Su Yan remained silent, but her gaze shifted from the animation on her phone to the small row of terracotta figures.

Yu Zhu turned around and looked at the Gundam model on the bookshelf again.

"The ancients had different views than modern people, especially those from the pre-Qin and Qin dynasties. In their view, death was merely a change of space, and the human soul was immortal." She continued, her tone calm, "Therefore, for the ancients, death was just as important as life, which gave rise to a concept called 'treating the dead as if they were alive.'"

"Dead is dead," Su Yan finally said.

"Yes, you're right." Yu Zhu smiled and nodded. "What you're saying is a materialist viewpoint."

Su Yan glanced at her, then looked back at his phone screen. But Yu Zhu could tell that his gaze had become somewhat unfocused.

"Everyone has different ideas. For example, we Chinese people value inclusiveness." Yu Zhu sat back in her chair. "Let's take the matter of death as an example. There was a man in ancient times named Ruan Ji. After his mother passed away, he did not observe the traditional mourning period. Instead, he continued to drink wine and eat meat as usual."

Su Yan's eyelids twitched.

"Do you think he's cold-blooded or not?" Yu Zhu asked.

Su Yan did not answer.

Yu Zhu didn't urge him and continued, "Officials who strictly adhered to etiquette impeached him, but some people understood him. In Ruan Ji's view, people express their emotions in countless ways, and one set of etiquette should not be used to govern everyone."

Su Yan suddenly said, "This is 'A New Account of Tales of the World,' not a history textbook."

After saying that, he quickly lowered his head, as if he hadn't said those words.

Yu Zhu looked at him and nodded: "Yes, you know a lot."

She pulled over a piece of draft paper from the table and wrote a few words.

A New Account of Tales of the World, Southern Song Dynasty.

Ruan Ji, Cao Wei.

"The man lived during the Wei and Jin dynasties, and the book was compiled by people from the Southern Song dynasty, more than two hundred years ago." Yu Zhu put down her pen. "The fact that someone still wrote down his story after such a long time shows that the vast majority of people recognized him."

Su Yan looked at the paper: "Acknowledge what?"

"I acknowledge the true nature of humanity," Yu Zhu said.

Su Yan's phone screen went dark.

He didn't put his phone away; he just held it in his palm, the screen black, revealing a glimpse of his chin.

Yu Zhu saw it, but didn't point it out.

She continued speaking.

She talked about the scholars of the late Eastern Han Dynasty, how reputation became something that could circulate, and why a single sentence could be recorded and read again and again by later generations. When she talked about Ji Kang forging iron and ignoring everyone, she laughed and said, "Look, isn't that just like us? You are Ji Kang, and I am Zhong Hui."

Su Yan lowered her head and smiled briefly.

In the study next door, teacups clinked softly. Yu Zhu was so engrossed in her speech that she didn't hear it.