Chapter 117: The Student Objects

“Lord Guo, you’ve heard of me before?” Xue Rui was somewhat surprised. Guo Guiyuan held a post in Nanjing and was said to have just arrived in the capital yesterday. Yet from his tone, he seemed quite familiar with Xue Rui, which was rather odd.

“Heh, your name, Xue Rui, is as familiar to me as thunder rolling through the skies,” Guo said.

If anyone else were present, they might have thought Guo was flattering him, but directed at Xue Rui, the words carried a subtle sting of sarcasm.

The supervising officials exchanged glances. Xue Rui’s performance in the observatory was commendable; he was even more valued than many other astronomical students. They wondered why Guo Gui would bear such ill will toward him.

Seeing the atmosphere grow chilly, Xu Dun quickly changed the subject. “Lord Guo, you may not be very familiar with the Northern Observatory. I happen to have some time and shall introduce you to its workings.”

“That would be much appreciated.”

Glancing at Xue Rui, Guo Gui refrained from pressing further and was led into the office by Xu Dun.

As everyone gradually settled in, Xue Yuanhao looked back at his son with a frown. “When did you offend Lord Guo? He doesn’t seem very friendly toward you.”

“How would I know? Maybe it’s because I stood up for his son, Guo Heng,” Xue Rui replied helplessly. Guo Heng had failed the annual exam last time, while Xue Rui, a newcomer of just a month, had passed.

It was likely that Guo Heng had badmouthed him to his father when Guo Gui arrived yesterday, causing the elder Guo’s disdain toward Xue Rui.

“Being too sharp isn’t always a blessing. You must tread carefully from now on and avoid offending Lord Guo again,” Xue Yuanhao sighed. He had worried once that his son might not achieve greatness, and now that he did, he fretted about him standing out too much—truly a vexing concern.

“I know. I’ll just keep my distance. Besides, he’s mostly on duty at the Astronomical Observatory, so chances to meet are few,” Xue Rui said readily. His greatest strength was not holding grudges; the earlier incident was not worth his worry.

Back in the office room, Xue Rui glanced at Guo Heng, who was still hunched over his desk studying as if nothing had happened. He thought to himself that he must find a chance to show Guo Heng the consequences of tattling.

After lunch in the common hall, Xue Rui returned to the duty room for a nap while the students studied.

Suddenly, a commotion arose outside.

Such a disturbance in the office likely meant a supervising official was arriving for inspection. As the person in charge of the office, Xue Rui naturally went out to listen to the leader’s instructions.

“Why is it him?” Xue Rui was a bit taken aback. His guess was correct: the official who had come was none other than Guo Gui, whom he had seen before.

When Xu Dun had guided Guo Gui around the Northern Astronomical Observatory, the students had secretly admired Guo Gui’s bearing. Seeing him arrive at the office, they all hurriedly saluted, curious about this scion of a renowned astronomical family.

Yet inside the office, two people remained indifferent—one was Xue Rui, just off duty, and surprisingly, the other was Guo Heng!

“That boy must be quite favored at home. His own father can’t even bother to stand up when he arrives. I wonder how he was raised,” Xue Rui thought with disdain.

He stepped forward with feigned courtesy, cupping his hands. “May I ask, Lord Guo, what brings you to the office? If there is any service a student can offer, please command me.”

“I’m not here for you,” Guo Gui said without so much as a glance at Xue Rui, going straight to Guo Heng in the back row.

“So he really came to see his son,” Xue Rui breathed a sigh of relief, chiding himself for being overly sensitive. A father inspecting his son’s studies was normal.

But everyone found it strange that Guo Heng seemed as if shielded by some barrier, not even raising his head to acknowledge his father, as though he utterly disregarded him.

“Hmm, this is interesting,” Xue Rui’s curiosity was piqued, and he began to speculate about the relationship between Guo Gui and his son.

Guo Gui, showing no interest in speaking to Guo Heng, frowned darkly and picked up a stack of used scrap papers from Guo Heng’s desk, flipping through them casually.

After a brief look, Guo Gui tore the papers in half with a loud snap and slammed them onto the table. He shouted angrily:

“There’s a perfectly good almanac available, yet you refuse to use it and insist on calculating everything yourself. Isn’t that like trying to catch fish by climbing a tree? With your limited knowledge, do you have any idea how long it would take to compute all the values in the Almanac? Judging by these drafts, I doubt you’ve even finished the first section!”

Only then did Guo Heng respond, looking up at his father calmly. “Then, Father, do you suggest that from now on I simply copy the almanac’s values? You know well the related constants change over time, and the accumulated errors will grow larger. How could that still be called ‘harmonizing with the heavens’?”

“This almanac has been in use for nearly a hundred years and still serves well enough,” Guo Gui retorted. “Besides, is this really something a lowly student should concern himself with?”

“What you should do now is pass the annual exam quickly and earn your astronomical student status. Don’t disgrace the Guo family name!” Guo Gui said angrily.

Guo Heng sneered. “Is it really so important to Father whether I become an astronomical student or not?”

“Of course it is!” Guo Gui’s face darkened. “You’ve studied astronomy and calendrical calculations since childhood. Across the Northern and Southern Observatories, very few your age surpass you. Yet after two years, you’ve repeatedly failed the annual exam. You can’t even outdo a newcomer like that scoundrel Xue Rui. You disgrace the family, and I’m ashamed to be your father!”

“I know, Father. But I aim to carry on the great ancestor’s legacy—to reform the calendar. If I can’t even calculate the almanac’s constants, then what’s the point of being an astronomical student? I disdain such a role.” Guo Heng’s face bore a trace of contempt.

“You…!” Guo Gui was left speechless, his face flushed and breath ragged, almost ready to strike.

The students exchanged glances, piecing together the reason for the quarrel. Guo Gui was angered by his son’s failure and losing face to Xue Rui, a newcomer. Guo Heng, however, believed that without mastering the almanac’s calculations, becoming an astronomical student was meaningless, hence his deliberate failure.

But what exactly was this almanac?

The students were very curious. If it truly had such an impact on calendar-making, it was worth understanding.

Xue Rui’s expression darkened. He hadn’t been wrong—Guo Gui’s prejudice stemmed from his son’s failure in the exam.

Still, Xue Rui gained some respect for Guo Heng. Apparently, the latter wasn’t just blindly toiling alone but was researching deeper calendrical calculation methods, explaining his constant scribbling.

According to Guo Gui, Guo Heng’s skills surpassed most peers, and his failure was a matter of choice. Becoming an astronomical student meant being assigned tedious tasks that would hinder his research, so he treated the office as a place for advanced study.

Xue Rui was indignant at Guo Gui’s contemptuous attitude. In other places, he might have tolerated it, but the office was his domain. Being branded a scoundrel in front of thirty students meant he had to assert himself—otherwise, how could he command respect?

Glancing at Fan Yan, who winked at him, Xue Rui strode over nearby and loudly declared, “Lord Guo’s assertion is one the student cannot accept!”

The father and son were embroiled in heated debate and turned hostile gazes toward Xue Rui at his interruption.

“This is between me and my son. What business is it of yours?” Guo Gui snapped, already fuming.

“Of course it is! Lord Guo calls me a scoundrel, and I don’t accept that!” Xue Rui met his glare without flinching.

“Here we go!” Fan Yan and the others grew excited, eyes fixed intently on the unfolding duel.

The scene was all too familiar—like the last spectacle over a month ago. Only this time, Xue Rui’s opponent was Guo Gui, the son of the chief supervisor, instead of Peng Ying.

Who would come out victorious?

The students returned to their seats, watching the verbal battle from the corner of their eyes.

Since the imperial court moved to Beijing, the Southern Astronomical Observatory’s status had waned, with fewer officials than the Northern Observatory.

Yet the responsibilities of the Southern Chief Astronomer remained undiminished. As Nanjing was the secondary capital with better equipment, the court decreed that observations there must be cross-checked with the Northern Observatory to prevent errors.

Since the Yongle era, the Astronomical Observatory sent representatives monthly between the two capitals for document transfers and other duties.

Zheng Debiao was often away escorting such personnel.

During these exchanges, Guo Gui naturally inquired about his son’s progress. Both Xue Rui and Guo Heng were prominent students in the office, so Guo Gui had heard their names. Perhaps due to jealousy, those who liaised with Guo Gui harbored biases, influencing his opinion.

“Not convinced?” Guo Gui narrowed his eyes, surprised at Xue Rui’s audacity. He had never encountered anyone bold enough to speak to him so directly.

“Of course not. Moreover, I think what Brother Guo said makes sense. Lord Guo’s remarks are somewhat biased!” Xue Rui replied.

“What do you know?” Guo Gui chuckled contemptuously. “You probably don’t even know what the almanac is, yet you speak so boldly before me. Aren’t you afraid of being laughed at?”

Feeling belittled, Xue Rui’s anger flared. “The ‘almanac’ Lord Guo refers to is formally called the ‘Datong Almanac Guide.’ Compiled in the early Hongwu era by Chief Supervisor Yuan Tong, it consists of six volumes: Calendar Guide, Solar Guide, Lunar Guide, Eclipse Guide, Almanac Guide, and Extra Degrees Guide.”

Guo Gui was slightly taken aback. Normally, students only learned the basics. The almanac was reserved for astronomical students assigned to specific offices, especially those handling complex calendrical calculations. Most had never even heard of it. Fan Yan and others stared wide-eyed and puzzled as Xue Rui recited the titles.

That a newcomer like Xue Rui could recite them was beyond Guo Gui’s expectations.

However, knowing the names was one thing; the book was accessible in well-equipped households.

Guo Gui had already investigated. Xue Rui’s grandfather was a longtime official in the observatory, and his father had served there for over a decade. It was no surprise he knew the almanac’s volumes.

Seeing that Xue Rui was undeterred, Guo Gui pressed further. “You say I’m biased. Then explain where I’m wrong.”

“First, Lord Guo said Guo Heng’s efforts were like ‘climbing a tree to fish,’ which I find inappropriate. If officials only copied the almanac’s final values, who would understand the calculation process? Secondly, the almanac has been used for almost a century but has accumulated significant errors. Without recalibration, these errors will only worsen.”

The ‘Datong Almanac Guide’ from early Ming was compiled using fixed formulas pre-calculated into tables, simplifying complex computations. Users merely looked up values in the tables, much like children reciting multiplication tables without knowing the underlying principles.

Astronomical officials used this method; only supervisors and a few skilled students understood the full computations.

While this saved time, it was a significant step backward for astronomy. Over time, experts in calendrical calculations would become scarce.

Furthermore, the almanac’s early origins meant many celestial patterns were not well understood, producing approximate values and inherent errors.

These accumulated inaccuracies caused frequent forecasting errors in the late Ming, eventually forcing the adoption of Western calendrical methods.

Xue Rui’s sharp analysis struck a chord. As a scion of an astronomical family, Guo Gui was well aware of these issues.

Yet revising the almanac was an enormous, complex task. Previous supervisors had proposed it, but few students mastered the calculations, and since the errors weren’t yet critical, only minor corrections were made.

The last major revision was ordered by Peng Deqing after eclipse predictions failed, tasking Liu Xin with recalculations that took two years for just that segment.

Xue Rui’s knowledge came from his previous life’s deep study and consultations with Hu Ying’er and Hu Zhong after transmigrating.

Guo Gui now realized he had been unfair toward Xue Rui.

However, the problems Xue Rui raised were thorny and daunting. Even Chief Supervisor Xu Dun lacked confidence to solve them. Guo Gui, a mere junior official, was even less capable.

“The issues exist, but I wasn’t speaking recklessly. Recalibrating the almanac requires the entire observatory’s effort and cannot be done overnight. Unless absolutely necessary, it’s hard to implement. Instead of wasting time on futile work like Guo Heng, it’s better to learn other things than chase empty dreams!” Guo Gui insisted.

Xue Rui had anticipated this reply. Hu Zhong had given him the same answer before.

He hadn’t objected then, but this incident strengthened his resolve to contribute to the era’s astronomy.

“Sir, if I could greatly simplify the almanac’s calculation process, might the observatory’s students learn to verify the computations themselves?”

—End of aside—

Thank you to the kind lady for the generous 100-coin tip to the young scholar!