Being born into poverty does not preclude success.

Yu Yanzhi's gaze fell on Liang Shanbo, his expression complex.

Gu Jun knelt quietly to the side, his eyes filled with admiration.

Sun Yuangui was overjoyed, both for seeing Liang Shanbo defeat Wang Shu in the debate and for making Liang Shanbo his friend.

Zhu Yingtai's gaze lingered on Liang Shanbo's profile for a long time. Liang Shanbo remained composed, showing neither pride in his victory over Wang Shu nor feigned humility.

In her heart, there was reverence, joy, and something else that was hard to explain.

At this moment, Jia Boyang suddenly spoke. A smile played on his lips as he said to Liang Shanbo, "Brother Liang, you are truly talented. If you had been born into a prominent family, you would surely have achieved great things in the future."

The atmosphere in the hall suddenly turned cold.

At first glance, this statement seemed like a compliment. However, apart from Sun Yuangui and two or three others, everyone else present immediately sensed the barb hidden in the words.

"If you were born into a prominent family," the implication is that you, Liang Shanbo, are nothing more than a poor scholar. What good is your talent, no matter how much you possess? In the Eastern Jin Dynasty, where "the upper class has no poor families and the lower class has no powerful clans," your talent, your insight, your understanding of the unity of substance and function, the indistinguishability of the manifest and the subtle, and your inspiration from Qu Yuan's fiery passion and Song Yu's tranquil autumn waters will ultimately be in vain.

You are ultimately from a poor family.

When Jia Boyang said those words, he felt a sense of satisfaction.

He himself was not from a prominent family. His family was of average means, better off than poor scholars like Yu Yanzhi in the Jia Zhai school, but far worse off than prominent families like Wang Shu and Gu Jun. He was caught in the middle, neither here nor there, in an awkward position.

In yesterday's debate, he was rendered speechless by Liang Shanbo's rebuttal. He was already resentful. Today, seeing Liang Shanbo defeat Wang Shu again, that resentment intensified.

He couldn't resist the urge to provoke Liang Shanbo. He wanted to see what kind of expression this talented Liang Shanbo would have when someone exposed his "humble background."

Is it embarrassment? Is it anger? Or is it dejection?

Zhu Yingtai's heart suddenly clenched. Looking at Jia Boyang's face, a surge of anger welled up within her. This man was clearly humiliating Brother Liang! She almost wanted to say a few words in Brother Liang's defense.

But before she could speak, Liang Shanbo spoke first.

Liang Shanbo showed no embarrassment, anger, or dejection. He simply smiled faintly and said, "Being born into a poor family doesn't necessarily preclude one from achieving great things."

The voice was calm, as if it were about something ordinary.

Looking at his profile and the faint smile on his lips, Zhu Yingtai felt a surge of respect for him.

This admiration doesn't stem from his talent, nor from his victory in the debate. It's because he remained calm and composed, neither arrogant nor humble, even when his most sensitive spot was struck.

It was as if Jia Boyang's satire was nothing more than a gust of wind, which blew over and then dissipated.

Gu Jun looked at Liang Shanbo with a newfound respect.

Gu Jun, being from a prominent family, already knew what his background meant. He also knew how difficult it was for someone from a humble background to stand on the same level as those from prominent families in this world. Yet Liang Shanbo, having his "humble origins" exposed in public, remained so composed and indifferent. This kind of magnanimity is not something ordinary people possess.

Wang Shu then spoke up, saying, "Brother Liang, you have great ambition. A man should have this kind of ambition."

After saying this, he glanced at Jia Boyang.

The way he said those words, along with that glance, seemed like a rebuttal to Jia Boyang's statement.

Jia Boyang's expression changed.

Looking at Liang Shanbo's composed demeanor, he suddenly felt as if his punch had landed on cotton. No, it was even more painful than hitting cotton. Cotton at least leaves a dent, but Liang Shanbo didn't even leave a dent.

He shut his mouth in frustration and stopped talking.

The sound of the pine trees outside the window surged in wave after wave, as if playing the final music for this debate.

Dusk was falling.

……

……

Another day passed.

This was the fifth day since Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai arrived at Wansong Academy.

This day was also a day off.

Wansong Academy followed the ancient system of having a five-day rest day. On these days, students who lived nearby could go home to bathe and visit their families, while those who lived far away would stay at the academy to study, do laundry, or go out and play together. The academy was suddenly much less crowded, and even the smoke from the canteen's cooking fires seemed lighter than usual.

Yesterday evening, Zhu Yingtai and Liang Shanbo made an appointment to take a day off today and go shopping in Qiantang County to buy some daily necessities.

In the morning, Liang Shanbo, Zhu Yingtai, and Yin Xin left the school and walked along the blue stone path.

Stepping out of the school gate, there is another path paved with bluestone. On both sides of the path are dense pine forests, with pine needles covering the ground.

Zhu Yingtai walked beside Liang Shanbo, in high spirits, her clothes fluttering slightly in the morning breeze.

Yin Xin followed behind, carrying a bag on her back, her pace matching that of the two in front of her.

After walking for about fifteen minutes, the pine forest disappeared, and farmland began to appear on both sides of the road. In the distance, two water buffalo lay on the edge of a field, lazily swishing their tails. Farmers were working in the fields, their straw hats swaying in the morning sunlight.

Further on, the farmland disappeared, and scattered houses began to appear on both sides of the road, with earthen walls and thatched roofs, and mulberry or elm trees planted in front of the doors. Women sat on the doorsteps spinning thread, children chased and played at the alley entrance, and old men sat with bamboo canes against the walls.

Finally, we arrived at Qiantang County.

The city wall was built of rammed earth, and over the years, wind and rain have eroded it, leaving the surface somewhat mottled and revealing the rammed earth patterns. The gate tower above the city gate was not tall, with gray tiles and wooden pillars, and a few tiles were missing from the eaves, revealing the blackened wooden rafters underneath.

Compared to Liang Shanbo's hometown of Shanyin County, the city walls of Qiantang County were shorter, and the gate towers were much simpler. As for the capital, Jiankang, the difference was like heaven and earth. Jiankang's city walls were rammed earth reinforced with bricks and stones, over three zhang high, with imposing gates and gate towers with flying eaves and brackets, exuding the solemn atmosphere of an imperial capital from afar. However, Liang Shanbo hadn't been there; he'd only heard about it from Zhu Yingtai, who had been.

Even so, Qiantang County was still bustling with activity.

Passing through the city gate, you enter a main street running north to south. The street surface is made of rammed earth, hardened by the footsteps of vehicles and pedestrians.

The houses on both sides of the street are lined up one after another, some with earthen walls and thatched roofs, and some with blue bricks and gray tiles, with varying heights and styles.

Each shop had a signboard hanging in front of it: blue cloth signs for cloth shops, wooden signs for pharmacies, wine flags for taverns, and bamboo curtains for teahouses. The signs fluttered slightly in the morning breeze, like many hands beckoning to passersby.

Pedestrians came and went on the street.

There were noble young men dressed in fine clothes, wearing lacquered gauze hats or headscarves, long robes with wide sleeves, jade belt hooks around their waists, and black leather shoes, walking with a leisurely gait. They were often followed by one or two pageboys or servants, carrying boxes or bags, following closely behind.

There were impoverished scholars, their heads wrapped in turbans, wearing plain short or long robes, the fabric rough and the colors dull, some even with patches on their knees. Occasionally, they would stop in front of bookstores or paper and pen shops, ask the price, then shake their heads and walk away.

Ordinary people were there; the men wore short brown clothes, and the women wore simple clothes and skirts. Some carried loads on shoulder poles, while others carried bamboo baskets filled with vegetables or chickens and ducks. They bargained with vendors on the street, their voices rising and falling, mixed with the soft, sweet tones of the local Wu dialect, as if they were speaking with a mouthful of water in their mouths.

Children weaved and chased each other through the crowd. A little girl with her hair in a topknot ran too fast and bumped into a peddler carrying a load on his shoulder pole. The peddler's load wobbled and almost tipped over. The peddler cursed, and the little girl stuck out her tongue and ran off in a flash.

The sounds of vendors hawking their wares, chatting and laughing, the noise of carriages and horses, and children chasing each other all mingled together, creating a lively and bustling atmosphere.

Zhu Yingtai walked briskly down the street, her eyes sparkling as she looked around, though she had just come a long way from Wansong Academy.

Liang Shanbo walked beside her, a slight smile on his lips.

This Zhu Yingtai, who always maintained the air of a "young master" in the school, deliberately imitating a man's manners in every gesture, did so quite well. But today, in this marketplace, a touch of girlish liveliness unconsciously emerged.

He didn't point it out, but pretended not to notice.

At this moment, Zhu Yingtai's gaze shifted to a shop on the side of the street.

It was a small bookstore with a wooden plaque above the door that read "Hanmolin" (翰墨林).

Zhu Yingtai was drawn to the bookstore's name and, on a whim, pointed to it and said to Liang Shanbo, "Brother Liang, shall we go in and take a look?"

Liang Shanbo nodded: "Alright, let's go in and take a look."

The three of them then entered the Hanmo Forest.

The bookstore was dimly lit. Rows of bookshelves lined the four walls, stacked with scrolls. The air was filled with the mixed scent of paper and ink, along with a faint fragrance of rue.

The shop owner was a middle-aged man in his forties, with a thin face, wearing a gray dark robe, and sitting behind the counter reading a book. When he saw someone come in, he looked up, his gaze swept over Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai, nodded slightly, but did not get up to greet them.

Liang Shanbo paced slowly in front of the bookshelf, his gaze moving between the scrolls. There were several commentaries on the Book of Poetry, He Yan's Collected Explanations of the Analects, the three commentaries on the Spring and Autumn Annals, fragments of the Records of the Grand Historian, and some other books by philosophers he had never read before.

His fingers gently traced the end of a scroll of Zhuangzi, the wooden label bearing the small characters "Zhuangzi: Inner Chapters." He pulled out the scroll, unfolded it, and examined it. The paper was hemp paper, the characters were handwritten, the strokes neat, and the ink even. He read a few lines, then gently rolled it up again and put it back.

Zhu Yingtai was also browsing through the books. She picked out a copy of "Nineteen Ancient Poems," unfolded it, looked at it, frowned slightly, and said to Liang Shanbo in a low voice, "This calligraphy is not as good as Brother Liang's."

Liang Shanbo smiled slightly: "It's not as good as what you wrote, my dear brother."

Zhu Yingtai smiled slightly.