Chapter Content
It was a day where the sky had become fully bright and clear before the red sun had risen to the middle. Two hours had passed since class had begun. The low table Wei Yuan was originally using had been switched out for an ordinary study table, and the empty book shelves that lined the side walls were now packed with bound books. The master and disciple were the ones who authored the books. One shelf belonged to Zhang Sheng, and the other Wei Yuan.
When the scholar was rescued, the only possessions he had owned were the clothes on his body. The Wei estate barely possessed any books either. In fact, they were all calendars and account books. Thus, Zhang Sheng was the one who had written the first real books at the beginning of the boy’s formal education.
Most of the books Wei Yuan had written were copies of his books. They served two functions: familiarizing him with the classics, and honing his calligraphy. Not all of them were copies, however. The boy had written a few books that contained his true thoughts and ideas.
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