Chapter 11:
The Rustle of Fallen Leaves
THE COLDEST DAYS HAD PASSED, and the weather gradually warmed. Bursts of chirping filled the air from time to time. In the mood for some entertainment, Dai Shengyan took Xie Jinglan and Xiahou Lian all over the city. One day, he held his class at a Confucian temple; another day, at Stone City; and the next, in Wuyi Alley.
Xie Jinglan had rarely left the house over the course of his short life. At most, he’d gone on rare outings to the city outskirts during the Qingming Festival. He’d never participated in the lantern releases on the river during the Mid-Autumn Festival. With Dai Shengyan’s help, however, he now had the opportunity to explore Jinling’s scenic beauty over just a few days. The gloom in his heart lifted, giving way to something much brighter.
With the protective Dai Shengyan and the unwaveringly cheerful Xiahou Lian as his companions, Xie Jinglan became much more outgoing. That transformation didn’t escape Dai Shengyan’s notice, and it left him quite pleased.
That said, Xiahou Lian was truly a bad influence. A few days earlier, Xie Jinglan had suddenly realized that he’d begun shaking his leg while reading and writing. Startled, he quickly corrected the habit, then began paying closer attention to his posture and movements. The thought of becoming as lax as Xiahou Lian terrified him.
As for Xiahou Lian, Dai Shengyan’s approach suited him just fine. He had a natural aversion to sitting still and could never stay in one place for long. The moment he sat down, he’d urgently need to use the restroom or suddenly find himself thirsty. Before long, he’d vanish without a trace.
Even amiable Dai Shengyan couldn’t take it any longer. Sighing helplessly, he said, “Xiao-Lian, you have to help me save face. I’ve already praised you to those around me. Over the past few days, I’ve received countless letters from friends congratulating me on finding such a promising disciple. They’re even asking to read your essays. What am I supposed to tell them?”
“No one would want to read my chicken scratch. Why not just send them the young master’s essays and claim they’re mine? Then, after a while, you can just say, ‘Not all child prodigies grow up to be exceptional,’ and write an essay mourning my failings. That way, I can stop pretending to be a prodigy.”
Dai Shengyan laughed and shook his head. “Well, since you’ve already come up with a plan, I might as well use it.”
One day, Dai Shengyan took them to Zhuiyue Tower. The building was very tall, and from the top, they saw the city’s streets and houses spread out like a game board, surrounded by towering walls. In the distance loomed mist-shrouded mountains. Although Xie Jinglan had never been to Mount Tai, he now felt the same awe he would have felt standing atop it, gazing down on the world below.
However, Zhuiyue Tower was situated in the bustling heart of the city and faced the street. The crowds were deafening, peddlers and laborers jostling shoulder to shoulder.
Xie Jinglan frowned. “It’s so loud here. How am I supposed to concentrate on studying?”
“Today’s lesson is on our nation’s culture,” replied Dai Shengyan. “How can we understand that culture if we don’t mingle with the people?”
Xie Jinglan was expressionless. Was the old man just looking for an excuse to go have some fun, but feeling too embarrassed to leave his disciple behind?
Still, he reluctantly accepted Dai Shengyan’s logic. Just as he was about to ask Xiahou Lian to prepare his ink and brush, he turned to find the boy’s stool empty.
Haaah… Whatever. He considered Xiahou Lian hopeless anyway.
By noon, Dai Shengyan had finished his lecture. For a while, the pair sat polishing off a pot of tea, but they still saw no sign of Xiahou Lian.
Dai Shengyan shook his head. “It seems Xiao-Lian has lost interest in my horror stories.”
Xie Jinglan gritted his teeth and defended Xiahou Lian. “He’s just restless, and he loves to play. Please don’t take umbrage with him, sir.”
“Ha ha ha! Of course not. It’s a shame, though. The story I was going to tell today is a hundred times more exciting than the others. Not hearing it will be his loss.”
Xie Jinglan perked up. “Oh?”
Dai Shengyan stroked his beard, but he didn’t begin his story just yet.
Instead he asked, “Jinglan, have you ever heard of Qiye Garden?”