Chapter Ninety-Four: Breaking Apart

Zhang Xuan also recalled the process of answering Zhao Ding’s questions and tilted his head as he asked, “Although I’ve explained some things to Brother Zhao Ding, what does that have to do with me being illiterate?”

The others thought about it and realized there didn’t seem to be a connection. But then again, if Zhang Xuan didn’t read, how did he know so much? Even someone who read regularly had to consult Zhang Xuan; wasn’t that rather odd?

“Brother Zhang Xuan, are you really illiterate?” Zhao Ding pressed, wanting to confirm once more. Zhang Xuan nodded.

“But didn’t you teach Zhao Yun two phrases the day before yesterday? You even mentioned where those phrases came from. If you hadn’t read books, how could you know the sources?” Zhao Ding continued.

Zhang Xuan wanted to say that in his own era, knowing those two sayings and their origins was no difficult matter—if nothing else, he could just look it up online. But he knew no one present would believe that story, so he had to invent a different explanation. “You mean those two sayings? Well, I was born in the north, and soldiers often passed through our village. Sometimes they’d rest there or hold drills. I’d watch them practice out of boredom, and the two phrases they said most often were those two. Curious, I asked where they came from. But you know, a lot of the soldiers didn’t even know. Eventually, I learned the origin from a general. That general praised my thirst for knowledge, told me to keep it up, and encouraged me to read more, practice martial arts, and aspire to make my mark on the battlefield like him. But you all know how it is up north, so close to the front lines—we’re always worried about raids, and sometimes we barely get enough to eat, let alone find time for books. Besides, even if I wanted to read, someone would have to teach me first!”

After listening, Zhao Ding couldn’t find any holes in his story. Yang Zaixing and Yuwen Chengdu turned to Zhao Yun to ask what exactly Zhang Xuan had taught him. When they heard it was “strict obedience to orders” and “when a commander is in the field, he may disregard orders from above,” they saw nothing amiss. After all, Yang Zaixing had heard from Old Man Tong that Zhang Xuan was brought from the north, and at the time, his parents had likely perished in the war, with the rest of the villagers missing as well.

“Let’s not dwell on my background any longer,” Zhang Xuan interrupted. “It’s out of my hands—let’s keep looking forward, shall we? To be honest, the main reason I suggested studying was for myself, so I could learn more characters. Otherwise, if one day my big brothers decide to sell me off and make me sign something, I might happily help them count the money without realizing what’s happening!”

Everyone burst out laughing, and Yang Zaixing swore solemnly that he’d never betray a brother, urging Zhang Xuan not to worry.

“Enough of that. Let’s get on with the lesson. Next, someone else can start reading. While you read, I’ll follow along. With my intelligence, after you’ve read it once, I’ll probably have grasped the gist. After all, this is the mind of a genius.”

“I’ve seen shameless people before, but never anyone as shameless as this. Don’t be surprised—my third brother has the thickest skin!” Yang Zaixing said to the others, flipping a middle finger at Zhang Xuan for good measure.

“All right, let’s continue as planned. Zhang Xuan, do your best—there’s still a gap between you and the others. But I truly believe in your intelligence. You’ll catch up in no time.” With that, Zhao Ding signaled Yang Zaixing to begin reading aloud.

Following along with what the others read, Zhang Xuan checked each character and, using a small knife he’d prepared in advance, annotated the pronunciation beside each one, making it easier for himself to memorize later. As for whether to promote this phonetic system, Zhang Xuan thought it over and decided against it. The conditions weren’t right, there weren’t enough teachers, and besides, it wasn’t something that could be accomplished overnight—especially in an age where news traveled so slowly and cultural exchanges were so limited. He figured he’d be better off spending that time chasing girls.

Although the class was briefly interrupted by Zhang Xuan’s illiteracy, the session was still quite productive—especially for Zhang Xuan. Even if he’d only added phonetic notes to the text, and even if he’d probably made mistakes with certain sounds, he could always review it later. Learning to read was, for him, a breeze.

Afterward, Yang Zaixing and the others offered Zhao Ding a few suggestions, though only for reference.

As the lesson was drawing to a close, Zhao Ding asked, “Do you all know who came up with the idea of making these bamboo slips this way?”

Everyone looked at Zhang Xuan. Although they didn’t know why Zhao Ding was asking, they pointed at him. “I did,” Zhang Xuan admitted. “Pretty efficient, isn’t it? Just look at how many copies we’ve already made.”