Chapter Thirty-Nine: Liu Yinian’s Harsh Interrogation

After tricking all the students of the Imperial Academy, Mo Dun finally made a name for himself there! Every teacher, during their lectures, would specifically call on Mo Dun, making him feel like a giant panda in a zoo.

“Hmm! Not bad! Mo Dun, you may sit down!” The scholar of national studies nodded in satisfaction.

Mo Dun wiped the cold sweat from his brow and took his seat. When faced with the scholar’s sudden questioning, Mo Dun used a touch of advanced ideas from later generations, which dazzled the scholar and filled him with delight, his gaze toward Mo Dun now markedly different.

“Shameless!” The other students watched Mo Dun flatter each of the teachers, and couldn’t help but despise him in their hearts.

“Brother, you are my real brother! Teach us a few tricks!” Qin Huaiyu and his two companions eagerly came over to ask for guidance. The stern old scholar, who was always fierce with them, was suddenly amiable with Mo Dun. If they could learn a bit, their studies would become much easier.

“Once you win over the teachers, it means your coursework must always be excellent. Are you sure you can do that?” Mo Dun raised an eyebrow and countered.

“Sigh!” The three sighed in disappointment and left.

Mo Dun could only smile wryly. He wasn’t some bookish fool; he had already offended countless students at the academy. If he didn’t win the favor of the teachers, he’d likely be packing his bags before long.

Ignoring the opinions of others, Mo Dun continued his campaign to curry favor with the scholars.

“The Mo family boy is truly remarkable! I assigned him arithmetic problems and he finished them all in a quarter of an hour, without a single error!” Shen Hongcai, the arithmetic scholar, returned to his office full of amazement and praise.

After one class,

The scholar of national studies also sighed in satisfaction, “The Mo family boy truly has a unique understanding.”

Yet another class,

The legal scholar was full of admiration: “The Mo family boy is so well-versed in legalist thought; some of his views are strikingly similar to my own, and some I hadn’t even considered!”

One by one, the scholars were conquered by Mo Dun, returning with unceasing praise. Though they held some Confucian-Mohist prejudices, their love for talent was universal. Faced with such an outstanding student, how could they not be delighted?

“Gentlemen, don’t be mistaken! Mo Dun is a Mo family descendant—how can you be so partial to him?” Liu Yinian, the calligraphy scholar, said with displeasure.

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“What does it matter? Even Master Kong sought knowledge from Laozi; teaching a Mo family descendant is nothing unusual,” the national studies scholar said indifferently.

“Kongzi advocated teaching without discrimination! Why can’t a Mo family boy be taught?” Shen Hongcai argued fiercely.

Since Liu Yinian had established that calligraphy surpassed the Mo family boy, he had been insufferably arrogant, much to the other scholars’ annoyance. With each of them offering rebuttals, Liu Yinian was left speechless.

He attended his class with a belly full of frustration.

“Mo Dun, this is your submitted calligraphy!” Liu Yinian, face full of anger, unfurled a sheet of rice paper. On it, several crooked, oversized characters stood out glaringly.

“Hahaha!” All the students in the academy burst into laughter, with Xiong Maocai’s laughter ringing the loudest.

“Mo Dun, your handwriting…”

Qin Huaiyu and his companions were dumbfounded. They knew the Mo family boy’s calligraphy was poor, but hadn’t expected it to be this bad—worse than a seven-year-old child’s scrawl.

“As the student with the worst handwriting in academy history, what have you to say?” Liu Yinian demanded angrily.

“Students can learn to write well; it’s just that I’m not used to the brush!” Mo Dun defended himself. In his later life, he’d never written with a brush. To even form recognizable characters was already the result of great effort.

“What did you use before then? Carving bamboo slips, writing in sand?” Liu Yinian sneered.

“The Mo family village was poor—they probably couldn’t afford brush and paper!” Xiong Maocai deliberately mocked loudly.

“Hahaha!” The academy students erupted again, finally finding a flaw in the Mo family boy and basking in a sense of superiority.

“Remember, I don’t care how well you write on bamboo slips or sand; those methods are obsolete! The academy trains officials who can draft and review documents. I don’t care what method or pen you use—you must produce neat handwriting on paper!” Liu Yinian shouted.

“Crack! Crack! Crack!”

Ten strokes of the ruler left Mo Dun’s palm red and swollen.

“From now on, as long as your writing isn’t neat, I’ll keep using the ruler—until you write well!” Liu Yinian said viciously before leaving.

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He knew how hard it was to master calligraphy. His aim was to force Mo Dun out; should Mo Dun drop out because he couldn’t bear the punishment, even the emperor couldn’t blame him.

“Hiss!” Mo Dun looked at his swollen hand and drew a sharp breath—he hadn’t expected Liu Yinian to be so ruthless!

“Old Liu is ruthless! He’ll stop at nothing!” Qin Huaiyu grumbled.

“Hmph! If you can’t endure it, just quit the academy—don’t tarry here and ruin its reputation!” Xiong Maocai sneered coldly.

Now, he felt utterly superior to Mo Dun, always seizing opportunities to target him.

“It’s just calligraphy. If Mo Dun practices long enough, he’ll surely improve!” Qin Huaiyu spoke in Mo Dun’s defense.

“Practice long enough and you’ll get better?” Xiong Maocai burst out laughing.

“You sons of military families don’t understand—do you know that everyone here has practiced through the bitter cold of winter and the sweltering heat of summer, starting at seven and continuing until now, just to achieve their present handwriting? You might say there are prodigies in scholarship, but there are none in calligraphy!” Xiong Maocai declared proudly.

The other academy students nodded silently. Calligraphy was indeed the hardest and slowest skill to master. Every one of them had put in tremendous effort to reach their current level.

“What now? Is there no way to pass Old Liu’s test?” Qin Huaiyu asked anxiously.

“Don’t worry, I have a way to write neatly!” Mo Dun said.

“Hmph! Bragging again. If you can write well in a short time, I, Xiong Maocai, will yield three steps every time I see you. If you can’t, don’t force it—just drop out and save yourself the embarrassment!” Xiong Maocai mocked.

“It’s a deal!” Mo Dun stared intently at Xiong Maocai, enunciating each word.

Seeing Mo Dun’s confident gaze, Xiong Maocai felt a jolt of unease, but recalling his own experience, he couldn’t imagine losing. He nodded heavily, “It’s a deal.”

Mo Dun had managed to trick yet another person. Indeed, he couldn’t write well with a brush, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t write neatly with something else. In his previous life, he was skilled in pen calligraphy. Though the village couldn’t produce fountain pens anytime soon, he knew the predecessor of hard-tipped pens very well, having made them himself in craft class.

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