Main Text Preface Eight A Sudden Glimpse of Immortal Traces, Ancient Tomes Conceal Sutras (Part Two)

Fang Zheng had no idea how much time had passed; he only realized, when he came to himself, that the tea in his hand had long since lost all warmth. His mind was still buzzing, a jumble of chaotic thoughts. Thankfully, he remembered the exam scheduled for the afternoon and understood it was already late—there was no time to dwell on these tangled matters, nor did he even know where to begin unraveling them.

Though there was no time to get to the bottom of things, the pile of ash on the bed certainly had to be dealt with, and he would still need to explain to Zhang Meng and the others how the black-clad man had disappeared. The thought made his head ache again. That man had died with alarming decisiveness, but left him with a heap of trouble. No one would believe that a living, breathing man had simply vanished into a puff of dust. While it was the truth, who would accept such an explanation? The man’s very appearance had been strange enough to begin with.

This line of thinking gave Fang Zheng an idea. He might as well say the man disappeared for no apparent reason—at least that would be easier for others to accept than the truth of his death. Given the bizarre circumstances of the man’s arrival, his sudden disappearance would seem less miraculous.

Collecting himself, Fang Zheng found a cloth and carefully gathered the ashes from the bed, wrapping them up. It seemed he no longer needed to consider where to go or what to do next; the “person” in this bundle had already made arrangements for him. His journey now led to Mount Qingyun.

Of course, Fang Zheng could have chosen not to go—after all, he had never promised the black-clad man anything. But first, he truly had nowhere else in mind; he had only planned to wander, taking things step by step, and heading to Mount Qingyun was not contrary to that intent. Secondly, though there was no kinship or obligation, Fang Zheng was willing to fulfill the last wish of a dying man—regardless of the promised rewards.

Thinking of those rewards, Fang Zheng recalled the ring. At the time, overwhelmed by the situation, he had not paid it any mind. The ring had fallen before him, rolled into the corner of the desk, and now lay quietly there. Fang Zheng glanced over and saw that it was noticeably larger than an ordinary ring—more like a thumb ring. It was a bluish-green, seemingly made of jade. Picking it up, he found it warm to the touch, not cold like ordinary stone, and surprisingly heavy. Seven cloud-like patterns, both real and illusory, were carved into it with exquisite workmanship, clearly not an ordinary item. With a sigh, Fang Zheng quietly put it away. He felt little curiosity and did not try to test the unlocking method the black-clad man had described. Though he was prepared to visit Qingyun, he had never intended to claim the man’s promised benefits. No matter its value, the ring was, in his eyes, a relic that should be returned to the man’s family. According to the man’s instructions, his family would be found at Mount Qingyun’s Tianxin Sect.

Just as Fang Zheng finished tidying up, he heard Zhang Meng’s voice outside. “Brother Fang, it’s about time—we should head to the examination hall.”

“Please, come in, Brother Zhang. I was just about to find you,” Fang Zheng replied from inside.

Zhang Meng pushed open the door and entered, glancing around. Noticing the absence of the black-clad man on the bed, he looked mildly puzzled and asked, “That gentleman...?” He wasn’t sure how to address the man.

“Oh, you mean the man I rescued. The physician had barely left when he woke up. He said he had urgent business and left in a hurry. He didn’t say anything else—not even willing to wait for Doctor Chen’s medicine. Truly a strange fellow.”

As Fang Zheng spoke, he shook his head and sighed, feigning confusion. Zhang Meng, unsuspecting, simply echoed, “Strange,” and thought no more of it. For him, the children’s entrance exams were far more important than such trivialities. In fact, he was glad the stranger was gone—it meant fewer complications.

“If you’re ready, Brother Fang, let’s be off. The children are set, though they’re a bit nervous. They’ll need you to steady them.” He laughed as he spoke.

“Let’s go and see,” Fang Zheng replied. It was only natural for the children to be nervous; after all, they’d come all the way from little Qingniu Village, and this was the first examination of their lives. Fang Zheng remembered how nervous and uneasy he’d been during his own college entrance exams—not just because of anxiety over success or failure, but also the sorrow of parting, and the fear of leaving home for university. They say “A true man’s ambition lies far and wide,” but how many can truly be free of attachments? Even as an orphan with no relatives, the orphanage where he’d lived for over ten years was still his home.

Lost in such thoughts, Fang Zheng followed Zhang Meng next door, where the children had already packed their things and were huddled together, discussing something in hushed voices, lacking their usual cheer and animation. Few even noticed his entrance.

Fang Zheng gently cleared his throat to get their attention, then asked, “Is everyone ready?”

A few scattered voices replied, “Good morning, Teacher,” lacking the usual unity and vigor.

Fang Zheng smiled slightly. “Do you all remember the first lesson I ever taught you?” At this, a few of the children’s faces grew thoughtful, while the quicker ones couldn’t help but laugh outright. They remembered how nervous they’d been three years ago on the first day, but after Fang Zheng’s witty self-introduction and a string of jokes and embarrassing stories, their first lesson had ended in laughter. From then on, their nerves disappeared, and they looked forward to his classes each day. A child’s world is always simple—gloom one moment, joy the next.

“Today’s test is easy—it’s just reading and arithmetic. These are things you all know well. Whether or not you have confidence in me, I have confidence in you. Now let’s go and show the townsfolk what the children of Qingniu Village can do.”

The children’s spirits visibly lifted, and Fang Zheng, together with Zhang Meng, led them straight to South City Square, where the exam was being held. The square was already packed with examinees, parents, and onlookers. Fortunately, the square was large enough to accommodate the crowd.

Registration, receiving exam cards, dividing into zones, and passing through entry checks—one by one, the children entered and took their seats at their designated desks. The entire exam area was set up with over a thousand low tables, each three feet long and one wide, covering two-thirds of the square. The desks were spaced five feet apart in neat rows, but the children’s entry was still chaotic. After all, Daliang’s education system was only just beginning; the ages of the children varied widely, and none had seen such a grand scene before. Some of the younger ones began to cry, others refused to take their seats and clamored to go home. The scene was a mess, until a refined middle-aged man in scholar’s robes, about forty years old, stepped onto the stage at the front and declared in a clear, ringing voice, “Silence! Anyone who makes a disturbance will be disqualified. All examinees not seated must take their seats within ten breaths. All others, stand back twenty paces!”

His voice alone silenced thousands, as if ringing in everyone’s ears. Fang Zheng was no longer surprised—having witnessed the black-clad man’s strange abilities, nothing seemed beyond belief anymore. This world, it seemed, held wonders beyond count.

The square fell instantly silent; clearly, this scholar had special status. After ten breaths, the exam began. Onlookers retreated beyond the exam area. Fang Zheng noticed a few children still refused to enter and had to be led away by their elders.

Fang Zheng couldn’t help but marvel. The scene was rough around the edges but deeply impressive—certainly nothing like the examinations back on Earth.

It was nightfall by the time Fang Zheng returned to the inn, only Zhang Meng with him; the children had all been settled into the newly built academy beside South City Square. The new school’s grandeur awed Fang Zheng once again. Bin County governed forty-eight villages; apart from those who didn’t attend, a total of 1,642 children had enrolled. By Fang Zheng’s estimate, the academy covered at least eight hundred mu—almost as large as the university he’d attended on Earth, which had housed over twelve thousand students. The academy’s facilities were complete: dormitories (six to a room), a dining hall—every necessity. With thirty-six children from Qingniu Village, they filled exactly six dorm rooms.

Now Fang Zheng understood more about the entrance process. The scholar he’d seen presiding over the exam was in fact the academy’s new headmaster, previously an adjutant in the Tianzheng Province government—merely a seventh-rank official, but favored by the chief governor. Now a direct appointee, perhaps it was his influence that kept the county magistrate from causing trouble. So Fang Zheng thought, unaware that the real benefactor was someone else entirely.

The entrance exam, too, was not what Fang Zheng had thought—a weeding-out process—but rather, every child who participated was admitted. The exam was merely for placement, to sort students into different levels for future instruction. Fang Zheng was numb with surprise; this was almost exactly the nine-year compulsory education system from China on Earth, though here it was less refined and comprehensive. Village schools were akin to kindergartens, run privately; the county academy functioned as a primary school, officially recognized. The exam’s purpose was simply to divide the new students into first, second, and third years. Only now did Fang Zheng realize he’d been a kindergarten teacher for three years—a thought that made him chuckle. Results would be posted in three days, with rankings by village, but that didn’t matter to Fang Zheng. All that mattered was that the children had entered; his mission was complete.

He thought back to his parting with the children and grew a little melancholic. For them, this was a final farewell—mountains and distances now separated them, and they might never meet again. This was the sum of Fang Zheng’s three years in this world, and its abrupt ending left him sorrowful.

Collecting himself, Fang Zheng took out the ring left by the black-clad man and the mysterious ancient book. The ring he set aside, as it belonged to someone else; the book, though a gift, was now his own. He was not so pedantic as to return it to the old village chief in Qingshui, especially given its strange powers.

Now the book’s cover was thoroughly ruined, little more than scrap paper. The first page was blank, and no matter how he studied it, Fang Zheng could make nothing of it. Water had no effect, nor fire—he’d tried both, unwittingly. Each of the three pages was extremely thin, so there was little chance of something hidden within.

At that moment, a thought struck him. On Earth, he had read many cultivation novels and watched countless dramas in which rare treasures required a drop of blood to awaken. “Could it really need blood?” It was easy enough; he wasn’t afraid of pain. Without hesitation, Fang Zheng found a knife, pricked his finger, and squeezed out a few drops onto the page. The blood rolled across the paper as if there were a layer of wax, with no other reaction. Fang Zheng was not surprised—he hadn’t really expected anything. It was just a whim.

He was about to stanch the bleeding when the page suddenly sizzled, the drops of blood steaming as if boiling away, filling the room with the stench of blood. As the blood vanished completely, a line of ancient script appeared on the page...