On a certain year, month, and day.

Bianjing City was tranquil and peaceful.

The crescent moon on the eastern horizon illuminated the vermillion doors of palaces and the dilapidated inns.

Some mumbled in gentle dreams.

Some stayed awake all night.

Cold moonlight sprinkled over the courtyard of Wutai, where a hunched figure with hands behind, looked up at the starry sky.

Eighty years in a lifetime, at this moment, countless memories gently flashed through his mind.

.....

Creak, creak—

A street vendor pushed a wheelbarrow, huffing and creaking as he walked forward.

He woke up half an hour earlier than yesterday, firmly believing he could get a good spot this time.

As soon as he reached the Ministry of Rites entrance, the vendor was surrounded by a bustling crowd.

"Do you have grilled meat in bread?"

"Do you have multi-grain pancakes?"

"Rice noodles, intestinal noodles, hot and sour noodles?"

"Pulled noodles, knife-cut noodles, hot dried noodles?"

"Do you have Sha County-style noodles?"

"You fool! Can't you see the sign for spicy soup?"

The relatively young vendor could not understand the diverse accents, but it did not hinder his skillful performance.

Facing the diners' angry looks, he awkwardly smiled and said:

"There's nothing else, just skilled hands."

The crowd, stomachs filled, squatted at the entrance, with lively chatter resonating.

The vendor lowered his head, cleaning tables and bowls, occasionally looking at them thoughtfully, a hint of decline passing through his eyes.

Years ago, I too was once this passionate and ambitious.

As the saying goes.

Whenever the sun rises, some are happy, and some are troubled.

The gates of the Ministry of Rites slowly opened, an official holding a list walked towards the bulletin board.

The crowd followed like magnets, as if drawn by an unseen force.

They had studied diligently for decades, honing their writing skills in their prime, their talents sparking between paper and pen, all to seek a name on the golden list one day.

Today, was the day the court released the examination results.

Among this group of scholars, there was a middle-aged man who, after reading the list, wordlessly squeezed out from the crowd.

The middle-aged man sat at the vendor's stall to rest, quietly observing the humanity before him, while the vendor did not rush him.

The national exam is like an army crossing a single-log bridge; any slack and you'll become a supporting role.

Only by making it into the officials' selection can one advance from laborious work to intellectual effort.

This person successfully advanced, while many other examinees put down their books to become the new generation of vendors.

Four years later.

He was born.

His father—the middle-aged man, relying on his writing skills, had climbed from a local 推官 to an Assistant Minister of the Ministry of Rites.

As his years of service increased, so did his income, and his house was filled with books.

But he seemed only to care about eating and growing, showing no signs of extraordinary talent.

Spending the whole day amidst piles of books, he could not manage to write a perfect essay.

Nor did he recite Tang poems at three, learn English at six, or excel in math competitions at nine...

He obviously couldn't keep up with the prodigies, and could only slog through word by word.

But perhaps diligence can compensate for clumsiness.

Any knowledge etched into his mind might be quickly mastered once comprehended.

His father patiently taught him progressively, and he persisted in reading three to five pages more daily.

Eighteen years passed in the blink of an eye, Bianjing City remained as splendid as ever.

That day.

He could not reach the Ministry of Rites entrance, blocked by the bustling crowd.

Seeing that the bulletin board had not yet been posted, he decided to find a small stall to eat first.

In the distance, an old man appeared to be in his fifties, selling spicy soup with a sign on his wheelbarrow reading "Century-Old Shop."

But before he got closer, he saw two scholars at the scene, fuming while another stood by watching.

Scholar A: "Why are your hands shaking like that?"

Old Man: "There's nothing else, just skilled hands."

Scholar B: "Skilled hands, my ass, there's only clear soup in the bowl!"

Old Man: "Hey, shame on you as a scholar, such offensive words."

Scholar B: "Offensive? Look at what you've done! Curse you, give me a refund!"

Scholar A: "Forget it, he's just an old man, life isn't easy for him."

Scholar B: "╭(╯^╰)╮, if I pass, I'll certainly deal with such shady merchants!"

The old man weighed the copper plate in his hand, quietly poured the spicy soup back into the bucket when no one was looking.

He: "..."

Just then.

A sound announced the list was posted.

He was swept towards the bulletin board by the crowd, finding his name on the list.

He looked repeatedly until he almost didn't recognize the two characters, finally managed to squeeze out of the crowd.

He sat at a vendor's stall to rest, quietly observing the scene before him.

While the two scholars who had fussed over spicy soup were nearby, bidding each other farewell.

"Congratulations, Brother Wang, I will recommend you to our teacher."

"This... Brother Zeng hasn't even passed the exam, yet you want to speak for me..."

"Ah, there's no need for more words between us. My teacher, Ouyang Xiu, will surely support you!"

"Then I thank you here, I wonder what plans Brother Zeng has?"

"I'll go back to the countryside and buy a few piglets to raise."

"No one but the teacher understands me..."

That year, he was 23, unaware that the scholar named Wang standing next to him would nearly destroy him in the future.

Three years later.

He was assigned as County Magistrate of Jiangning, with remarkable political achievements.

At that time, after Wang Tripod criticized Fan Zhongyan's new policy, he wrote in the evaluation column for him:

"Beyond my reach."

Two years later.

He was promoted and became Nanjing 推官.

A few years later, his father—the middle-aged man from before—passed away.

After the mourning period, he went back to the Capital City and was assigned to the Trial Hall for proofreading.

He became a librarian who managed mysterious powers, freely voyaging in the ocean of knowledge at any time.

He roamed for nine years, as if he might soon not be able to put food on the table at home, Records of the Grand Historian 'spent nine years under the library, supporting his grandmother and mother, and raising dozens of relatives, marrying off daughters-in-law as needed. His wife's food and clothing were often lacking, yet he handled it with ease.'

But as the saying goes.

Enough ordinary events when stacked together might give birth to something extraordinary.

After his father's passing, he didn't abandon his childhood habit, insisting on reading a few more pages each day.

Stacking over three thousand days and nights, he almost became a walking encyclopedia.

When Emperor Renzong wanted to revise the new pharmacopoeia, he spoke without notes.

Simply sorted the materials in his mind, and was immediately appointed as the chief engineer of the project.

Later, he led a team that took 3 years to compile the 21-volume "Illustrated Materia Medica."

This great work, surpassing the realm of medicine, gathered the natural wonders of the Eastern Land.

He later served as an envoy to Liao Kingdom, and was reassigned to various places, only to be called back to the Capital City to edit history many years later.

After twenty-five years, as he walked into the Royal Library once more, the young literature enthusiast had grayed hair, while the heavy tomes remained unchanged in appearance.

He compiled the insights from two trips and organized "Lu Wei's Record," with Emperor Shen Zong urging him for updates as he read, always staying at the top supporter rank, voting for the Monthly Pass every day.

But two years later, a sudden change occurred.

Imperial Doctor Chen Shiru's mother died, with rumors stating she was murdered by her son and daughter-in-law.

However, due to a lack of solid evidence, he did not convict Old Chen and his wife.

Nonetheless, under the influence of interested parties, the story became more and more bizarre, even alarming the Emperor in the deep palace.

Following significant articles from reformist leaders like Cai Que, he was imprisoned in the Imperial Censorate.

His cellmate next door was Su Shi, who upon first meeting him cheerfully asked:

"Hey, buddy, do you know what it means to have banned words blocked?"

Later, after a concerted rescue effort by the cultural community, Su Shi was demoted to Vice Military Commissioner of Huang Prefecture.

Disheartened, Su Shi composed poems to braised pork, and his "Ode to Pork" became more famous than his buddy.

He was sent to Cangzhou to become a Prefect and was called back to the Capital City three years later to take office.

This man, who had led a tumultuous life for half a century, finally witnessed the flourishing of the essence of life.

He devoted himself to his different roles, steadily rising in rank while achieving accomplishments.

In the same year, Emperor Shen Zong had his eleventh son.

Emperor Shen Zong held the chubby white baby and said sadly:

"Ji Er, you only have two brothers who are still alive..."

Zhao Ji, who would later become Emperor Huizong.

Later, he gathered Han Gonglian to build the Water Transporting Celestial Observation Platform. It took a hundred craftsmen seven years to flawlessly integrate disciplines such as calendar calculations, mechanics, and fluid dynamics, creating the world's first automated astronomical instrument.

Looking up at the three-story-high observation platform, the pointer's movements synchronized with the stars and moon.

Every hour, different puppets came out to strike gongs and drums.

Fearing that humanities students wouldn't understand, he wrote an instruction manual "New Astronomical Instrument Manual," which included the structure of over 150 parts and full diagrams of the mechanical transmissions.

Later, the research team also constructed the Celestial Sphere, with water flow alternating 14 star maps in cycles.

1,464 stars sparkled overhead, as if placing people in the ancient cosmos.

Now, years have passed again, and from Scholar A to Scholar B, nearly all his peers have died.

He faintly recalls the old man who sold spicy soup; one wonders if there are any successors to his ladle skills?

Over the years, the succession of partisan struggles hasn't stopped, with various forces continuing to exploit opportunities to attack.

Yet he chose no faction, gradually becoming a lonely high-ranking figure.

Three years ago.

He laid everything down and retired.

No longer burdened by court intrigues and heavy duties, he didn't need to guess the minds of leaders or flatter them.

He quietly gazed at the night sky alone, hearing the footsteps of time's passing.

The vast and profound infinite universe could soothe the unspeakable dissatisfaction of this life.

Feet on the earth, gazing at the stars.

He deeply understood that there was little time left, uncertain how people would judge him after a thousand years.

And just as the old man gazed up at the stars, his old servant suddenly rushed from the back hall:

"Master, it's not good, there's a water ghost in the well in the backyard!!!"

....

Note:

Please ask for a Monthly Pass.....

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.