Chapter 021: Starting from Scratch

Hu Ying’er hadn’t expected him to be so confident. She nodded. “Since you say so, let me test you first, and see just how much you know.”

“Of course.”

“Then let me ask you a simple question. Since you’ve already entered the Imperial Observatory, you should naturally understand the meaning behind those two words. What do they signify?” Hu Ying’er pondered for a moment before posing her question.

“…”

Xue Rui hadn’t anticipated this question, and was instantly stumped.

“What, you don’t know?” Hu Ying’er’s brows arched as she saw his awkward expression, and she pressed him.

As a son of a family whose profession was in the study of yin and yang, any legitimate male was destined to serve at the Imperial Observatory sooner or later. Even a young child, upon learning to read, was expected to know what those words meant.

She could hardly believe it—Xue Rui didn’t even grasp what any half-grown child ought to know. How could he boast of his studies?

Xue Rui bitterly regretted bragging now. If she’d asked him to explain concepts like “covering the moon” or “crossing the sun”—common ideas throughout history—he could have expounded at length. But the origin of the Imperial Observatory’s name? That was something he had never thought to investigate.

It was like the word “table”—it’s always been called that, yet how many carpenters have ever stopped to wonder why?

At that moment, Xue Rui realized once more that the knowledge of modern astronomy in his head was quite different from the astronomical thinking of this era. If he didn’t start from scratch, he might never fully master the astronomy of this time. And as for his idea to cross-reference the two systems—clearly impossible.

Having learned his lesson, Xue Rui admitted frankly, “I was boasting earlier. In truth, I’ve forgotten everything I learned. Please, Teacher, instruct me from the beginning!”

Hu Ying’er was just pondering how to admonish this braggart of a student, but before she could find the words, Xue Rui confessed of his own accord, leaving her with little room to press the matter.

After a moment’s thought, Hu Ying’er sighed, “Very well. I’ll teach you some common terms first. If you can recite them fluently, then I’ll teach you more.”

“Yes, Teacher!” Xue Rui nodded earnestly.

“The two words ‘Imperial Observatory’ originate from the Book of Documents, the ‘Canon of Yao’: ‘He commanded Xi and He to revere the exalted heavens, to observe the movements of the sun, moon, and stars, and to respectfully convey the seasons to the people.’ ‘Qin’ means to respect, and ‘Tian’ means heaven; together, they mean to revere and obey the heavens. Understand?”

“So that’s it!” Xue Rui suddenly saw the light.

…

In the study, the sound of questions and answers drifted out from time to time.

During their exchange, apart from Hu Ying’er’s feigned irritation as she scolded him, there was little true annoyance—quite the opposite of her earlier demeanor. The reason was simply Xue Rui’s sincerity in his studies. What’s more, with his modern foundation, he grasped these basic terms with ease.

On the surface, Hu Ying’er remained composed, but inwardly, she was astonished. When she’d learned these things herself, they had seemed utterly abstract, something to be memorized by rote. Only after repeated exposure did she slowly come to understand and master them.

In contrast, Xue Rui, just as her father had said, was quick to comprehend. He could even draw parallels and render abstract concepts into vivid images, making them easier to understand—even for her. She had to admit, his explanations sometimes surpassed the old ways.

In just half an hour, Xue Rui had learned what had once taken her several days to grasp. If it weren’t for the need to write standardized answers on the annual exam, Xue Rui could have paraphrased the definitions in his own words without memorizing them at all.

If she hadn’t known Xue Rui to be a notorious idler, Hu Ying’er might have suspected he was feigning ignorance simply to tease her.

“Miss, Master has asked me to invite you and the young master to the dining hall for a meal.” As they were still discussing, Jin’er’s voice came from outside.

Hu Ying’er, her throat dry from teaching, said, “We’ll stop here for today. Memorize these terms first—tomorrow, I’ll test you.”

“I shall obey, Teacher!” Xue Rui clasped his fists in an exaggerated salute.

“Hmph!” Hu Ying’er ignored his theatrics, swayed her waist, and gracefully departed.

A faint smile played at Xue Rui’s lips. His performance just now must have truly surprised her. Though she said nothing, the astonishment in her eyes was all the proof he needed.

…

In the dining hall, Hu Zhong and Xue Rui took their seats in turn.

Hu Ying’er directed the maids to set the dishes on the table.

As they talked, a round-faced, plump youth of about sixteen or seventeen dashed into the hall. In his left hand he held a bamboo pole, and in his right, a shiny black cicada.

Behind him trailed a maid, who was calling anxiously, “Young master, slow down! Don’t fall!”

“Grandfather, grandfather! Look at the big cicada I caught!” The little fatty ignored the maid and proudly held up his cicada for Hu Zhong to see.

But as he noticed a stranger in the room, he paused and asked, “Who are you?”

Xue Rui quickly realized—this must be Hu Ying’er’s elder brother, Hu Cheng’an. He rose and greeted him, “I am Xue Rui. It’s an honor to meet you.”

He had seen Hu Cheng’an a few years earlier, when he’d come to celebrate Hu Zhong’s birthday. In the time since, the boy had grown taller—and even plumper—making him look rather cheerful.

Hu Cheng’an stared at Xue Rui for a long moment before shaking his head. “Never seen you before. Why are you in my house?”

“I came to visit Grandmaster,” Xue Rui explained quickly.

“You’re sitting in my seat.” Hu Cheng’an pointed at the chair beneath Xue Rui, a touch of displeasure in his tone.

Xue Rui quickly stood aside. “Please, brother, take your seat. I’ll move elsewhere.”

“No manners,” Hu Zhong said, shaking his head with a trace of helplessness. He addressed the maid who had followed them in, “Xiaocui, take young master to wash up. He can’t eat in such a state.”

“Yes, Master.” Xiaocui, fearful of being scolded, hurried forward to lead Hu Cheng’an away.

But Hu Cheng’an, clutching his black cicada, threatened to throw it at her. The little maid jumped three feet in fright and dashed out the door.

“Hahaha, useless! Afraid of a little cicada,” Hu Cheng’an laughed gleefully, hands on his hips.

Hu Ying’er couldn’t bear to watch. “Brother, throw the cicada away. It’s time to eat.”

“No way! I worked hard to catch this one. Why don’t you hold it for me, little sister?”

He tried to hand the black cicada to his sister.

Hu Ying’er quickly stepped back, showing her own fear. “If you want to eat, throw the cicada away—or you’re not allowed to join us.” She spoke as if scolding a child.

Xue Rui recalled his mother’s words—she’d been right. Hu Cheng’an had suffered a high fever as a child that had left him mentally impaired. Though he was already sixteen, his mind remained that of a seven- or eight-year-old. No wonder Hu Zhong had said he worried about the siblings.

Seeing that the siblings were at an impasse, Xue Rui stepped forward. “Brother, why don’t I hold the cicada for you while you eat? How about it?”

“Oh?” Hu Cheng’an eyed him suspiciously. “Are you sure you’re not going to let it go?”

“I’m an expert at catching cicadas—you can rest assured.”

Without a trace of fear, Xue Rui carefully took the black cicada from him.