Water Mirror Hall's Irregular -3
“My lady says the old ways are outdated, so allow me to provide an answer.”
“Hold on a sec!!!”
Crash.
Seokdo snatched the teacup I was about to sip from and smashed it on the floor.
My composure shattered right along with it.
“If you're that angry, then my words were shortsighted. I was completely wrong, and you're entirely right. So...”
“Hear me out, my lady. The teacup is broken now. What happened to the water inside?”
“It spilled.”
“This teacup is the change you speak of. The spilled water is the essence. Does the essence change just because the cup broke?”
“No, it doesn't.”
“That is the classics.”
...Haa.
I stared blankly at the teacup shards before slowly opening my mouth.
“Then, Seokdo, do you still see this as a teacup?”
“It's in pieces. What point are you trying to make?”
“Is it still a teacup like this?”
“No, it's not. How can you even say that?”
“Right? It's broken, so it's no longer a teacup. You broke it, Seokdo. So what do we call this now?”
“Teacup... pieces, I suppose.”
“Yeah? I'm gonna call it something else. It broke into five pieces, so Sebastian V it is.”
“My lady, what on earth prompts you to spout such sophistry?”
Late Han folks lack flexibility and are so stuffy.
It's cool sometimes, but other times it's so frustrating my guts feel like exploding.
“You said the water is the essence, right? Let me rephrase. Will you never consider the cup itself as the essence? Texts recorded by someone are infused with that person's thoughts. History is written in blood, and the world turns that way. That's what I think the classics are.”
To me, Seokdo, Confucius, Mencius—they're all the same.
“Hear me out more. Isn't this like the chicken-or-egg debate? I see the cup as the essence, you see the water. I understand that difference, so let me ask: who decided this is a teacup? If someone clueless saw this shard, wouldn't they call it a piece of pottery, not a teacup shard?”
Seokdo pondered deeply.
“Hmph...”
“See? To me, it's a piece of pottery. Yet the classics force you to see it only as a broken teacup shard. That's why I hate reading them.”
Not every Christian lives perfectly by Jesus's words.
They can try to emulate him.
I just wish they wouldn't force their thoughts on me.
I'm no superhuman; I can't live strictly by the classics word for word.
“Rest well. I'll ponder a proper response to my lady's words and return.”
“No need. We just see things differently. Understanding and embracing that difference—that's what makes a mature scholar, in my book.”
Let's respect our differences. Sure, I'm right and you're wrong, but still.
*
“Gwangwon. What're ya sayin'.”
Seokdo thought.
Objects have fixed names and uses; that's the principle of rectification of names.
Chen Soyoung denies that principle, leaving nothing stable in this world.
Through her eyes, everything is mere illusion. Empty. Fleeting.
Her world was lonely and desolate.
And she's only nine years old. I'd accept this from a teacher, but Chen Soyoung... she's far too young for such logic.
Pitiable.
“Fetch me a blanket. I spoke with Lady Soyoung and have much to mull over, so I'll step away for a bit.”
“...Ya alright?”
“I'm fine. Just surprised. Kongming's daughter lives up to her father.”
“That much? Haven't seen ya this shook in ages.”
I'd never met anyone making such claims in my life. It's no simple matter to brush off as “Kongming's daughter.”
Bold. Dangerous, but the idea itself is genius. Questioning essence itself isn't for ordinary minds.
The sun is always hot; the sun rises in the east.
Denying rectification of names denies these fundamentals.
‘I won't read the classics.’
Incredibly intriguing.
‘What would Kongming do?’
What answer would the enlightened Kongming give?
What upbringing made that child call him teacher and harbor such thoughts?
Does perfect enlightenment lead to that conclusion?
Is Kongming imparting such a mindset to her?
In a world without rectification of names, as Chen Soyoung says, chaos reigns.
Some would see the Son of Heaven as a mere peasant; others, traitors as heroes.
Perspectives shift with the viewer, a world without foundation. Fleeting and empty.
‘Understanding such differences makes a mature scholar...’
“Haa... It's tough.”
“What's eatin' ya?”
“Wanna grab drinks tonight, Jupyeong?”
“You? Drinkin'? With me? Hell yeah, let's do it.”
A world without rectification of names won't come.
Especially not if it's Chen Soyoung's idealism.
A world where emperor and beggar chat casually.
Her claim is absurd, something only from such a world.
“Jupyeong. Think a world where emperor and beggar play word games will come?”
“What nonsense ya spoutin'? Somethin' ya ate don't agree with ya? Yer actin' weird, man.”
*
Choi Jupyeong tossed me a blanket bundle.
I started to stand and thank him, but he zipped out.
Might as well open the bundle Grandma Huang packed.
Brush, paper... What's this? Looks useless, set it aside. Mom! Why's there a knife and sheath? I'll use it to peel fruit... Ah, found it.
Huang Yueying's handmade cushion.
The bundle was too small for a pillow, so I asked her to make one from leftover silk scraps.
A luxurious cushion of fluffy fur woven with silk, complete with a lopsided, pained cat shape—touching.
Time to sleep.
Haa... But sleeping in the morning means trouble at night.
Still, for Uncle Choi Jupyeong's gesture with the blanket, I laid the cushion as a pillow and stretched out.
Sleep crept in easier than back in Yongzhong—way more relaxing.
But... nah, probably not. Right?
Uncle Choi Jupyeong said something earlier. Precocious kid, so early marriage or whatever.
Is this it? That... husband-wife stuff?
My bad for not reading the room. Of course he'd be itching to send me to Water Mirror Hall for that reason.
Classic parent move—summer camp excuses to get alone time.
Sigh. If I'd known, I'd have dipped out tactfully.
Uncle Kongming's so straitlaced. We all get it. With a wife that gorgeous, boiling blood's natural. Totally.
Ah, sleepy.
Silly thoughts brought sleep rushing in.
How many years since I felt this carefree?
Sleep creeping in... zzZZ...
“—sir!”
zzzzzZ...
“Wake up! What are you doing sleeping here, my lady?!”
“Five more minutes...”
“I said wake up!”
A shrill chirp yanked me from sleep. I rolled over, then gave up and opened my eyes.
I sat up. Already past four o'clock?
“My lady! You can't sleep in a place like this! Understand?!”
“Who're you? Where's Dad?”
Some kid stared at me—scholar's son, probably.
That one's got general vibes.
“That's not the point! My lady, do you know what this place is? A sacred hall of learning where we hone ourselves through rigorous discipline to become great men!”
Is it? Awkward.
I flopped back onto the cushion.
“Got it. Sis needs five more minutes.”
“No sleeping! You're not my sis anyway! Get up!”
His hopping around chased sleep away.
Add “annoy people” to my list.
“Want me to find Dad? But Sis doesn't know the place well. Who should we ask together?”
“That's not it! I'm studying here to polish my scholarship. You're a guest?”
Haven't seen classical Chinese in a while. Kinda nice.
“Kinda like that. Let's introduce ourselves. I'm Chen Soyoung. You?”
“I'm Ma Su. You're a girl, but kinda unique.”
Ma Su? The Ma Su from “cut tongue” fame?
“Ma Su?”
“Yeah. Why?”
Whoa. Isn't he way too young?
“How old are you?”
“Seven.”
This can't be right...?
How old was Ma Su when he died? No clue.
Eh, probably same name, different guy. China's got billions. Too young anyway.
“And you?”
“Nine.”
“Fine. Age doesn't mean depth. Here at Water Mirror Hall, I guarantee no teacher's my equal—except maybe the masters.”
“Aww, cute.”
I pinched Ma Su's cheek; he yelped like an auto-reply bot.
“Stop! You have no manners!”
“Neither do you.”
“I'm a genius. No manners needed. Prove me wrong—quick.”
“Fine. You get a pass, so Sis is sleeping?”
“Hey!!!”
Ma Su jumped up and down in rage.