Chapter Six: Becoming an Apprentice

  As I walked into the dimly lit study of the Zhou family, after my eyes gradually adjusted to the environment, I was truly shocked.

  My dear, that's a real library. Although there are no decent bookshelves, books are piled up neatly on the cabinets and benches everywhere.

  It seems that Mr. Zhou is no ordinary bookworm.

  Their own bodies are covered in patches and stains, just like a beggar. But when it comes to these precious books, they don't tolerate even the slightest stain.

  I couldn't help but feel a deep sense of respect.

  And regardless of whether Mr. Zhou can bring me any benefits after his comeback, it's worth respecting him for his love of books. For a country and a nation to rise, they ultimately still have to rely on knowledge.

  "Xiao Jun, tell Uncle, what book do you want to read?"

  Mr. Zhou's tone clearly conveyed a sense of warmth. Although adhering to simplicity and enduring loneliness are traditional virtues of Chinese intellectuals, Mr. Zhou was still delighted by our visit. Moreover, being a book lover, we had hit Mr. Zhou's soft spot.

  "Uncle, you have so many books... I'll find it myself slowly."

  I also automatically filtered out the "Zhou" character in front and directly called him Uncle.

  Mr. Zhou looked at me with interest for a while and nodded.

  "Alright, you find it yourself slowly, I'll go talk to your dad."

  "Uh-huh, okay, thank you, Uncle."

  In my previous life, I was highly nearsighted because of reading too many small-character books and martial arts novels. By the time I was in my teens, I had to wear thick glasses. Now that I'm only seven years old, my eyesight is naturally excellent. Although Mr. Zhou's study is very dimly lit, it doesn't bother me at all. Thanks to Mr. Zhou, who is advanced in age and also nearsighted, how can he find books in such a dark environment? A renowned professor, wrongly accused of a crime, was exiled to this godforsaken place called Matang Bay, so poor that even lighting a kerosene lamp requires pinching pennies. It's truly pitiful.

  Mr. Zhou's books are categorized and placed, with party history and philosophy being one category, the largest in number, mostly published after the founding of the country. The four-volume "Selected Works" is placed in a prominent position, and there are also a few foreign language originals. My English level is too low to recognize them, but I estimate that one of them is Nietzsche's famous work "Thus Spoke Zarathustra". Next to party history and philosophy are historical books, with all 24 histories almost complete, including even thread-bound editions. The third category is literary works. It can be seen that Mr. Zhou has a wide range of knowledge, including large-scale Chinese classical masterpieces and the works of Tolstoy, Voltaire, and Shakespeare, as well as representative works of new cultural movement figures such as Xu Zhimo, such as "The Poems of Zhimo" and "Falling Leaves", and the works of Mr. Lu Xun are also indispensable. What surprised me was that I found "Liaozhai's Strange Stories" and "Records of the Search for Spirits" in it, which are not accepted by orthodox scholars as "heterodox heresies". From this, we can see that Mr. Zhou is actually not at all conservative in his heart, and his thinking mode is not rigid at all.

  It was as if in my previous life, I had never seen a private individual with such a rich collection of books. I really don't know how Mr. Zhou managed to preserve these books during the purgatory-like political movements. It's likely that he will be sent back to his hometown. The cadres at Matangwan Brigade are not many who can read, and they do not value books highly. If he stayed in the provincial city, I estimate that these extremely precious books would probably be doomed. For someone like Mr. Zhou who loves books so much, destroying his books might be even more unbearable than killing him. This is what is meant by "the loss of a horse may turn out to be a blessing in disguise".

  I searched carefully through the pile of books with great joy, and my respect for Mr. Zhou increased a little more in my heart.

  Although I only attended a poor vocational school in my previous life, I had a special fondness for reading. When I entered Mr. Zhou's library (the term "study" was insufficient to describe its scale), I truly felt as if I had stumbled into a treasure trove. Before I knew it, the sky outside had already darkened.

  "Xiao Jun, Xiao Jun..."

  It's Dad's voice.

  "What books did Xiao Jun choose?"

  Mr. Zhou smiled and asked, it seems that these two intellectuals had a pretty pleasant conversation.

  I held a large stack of books and struggled to step over the threshold (at that time, in rural houses, there was a high bluestone threshold between each room, I don't know what kind of custom it was).

  "Oh, there are still many books to choose from, come on, Uncle will take a look."

  Mr. Zhou smiled and took a book, and was stunned at the moment.

  "The Art of War by Sun Tzu?"

  Not in vernacular Chinese, but in classical Chinese.

  "Xiao Jun, do you know what book this is?"

  "I know. Uncle just mentioned it earlier, Sun Tzu's Art of War."

  Dad was also surprised and took over the books in my hands one by one to look at them.

  "Liaozhai's Records of the Strange... Romance of the Three Kingdoms... A General History of China... Book of Songs..."

  Dad almost shouted out loud.

  "This... there's also this foreign book..."

  Mr. Zhou took it and said: "It's Shakespeare's 'Hamlet'..."

  "Xiao Jun, did you choose all these yourself? Can you even read them?"

  Dad looked at me with an expression of surprise and uncertainty.

  Mr. Zhou also stared at me with a flickering gaze, his expression strange.

  I stifled a laugh and replied seriously: "Can't understand."

  Dad first let out a long sigh, then showed a hint of disappointment.

  Dad, you really think your son is a prodigy? A seven-year-old kid reading "The Art of War" is one thing, at least it's Chinese characters and somewhat familiar. But reading the English version of "Hamlet"? Come on!

  "If you can't understand it, then what's the point of bringing it up?"

  I replied very seriously: "I don't understand it, Uncle can understand it, Uncle can teach me!"

  Dad was shocked again.

  Mr. Zhou smiled and said: "I dare say, Xiao Jun is thinking of becoming an apprentice?"

  I tilted my head and asked innocently: "I just want to ask Master to be my teacher, I don't know if Master is willing to accept me or not?"

  Mr. Zhou was taken aback, his face turned solemn, and he looked at Old Dad, saying seriously: "Jin Cai, Xiao Jun is a good seedling, think carefully about it, and he will definitely become a great talent. However, I am a rightist, you must think clearly."

  Dad hesitated for a moment, unable to make up his mind.

  At that time, although the Great Revolution was nearing its end, ordinary people in the midst of it all had no idea about the enormous changes that were about to take place in China. Even after the Gang of Four was smashed, it would still take several years for real change to come about. In an era where "class struggle is the key link", being labeled a rightist was not something to be taken lightly.

  Only I clearly know that chaos is about to end and a prosperous era is coming.

  "Dad, didn't you always say that a student's duty is to study? It's a good thing for me to read books with Uncle."

  Mr. Zhou's eyebrows rose, and a hint of a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth again.

  "Dad also smiled: 'As long as your uncle doesn't mind the trouble, I'd be more than happy. Mr. Zhou, what do you think?'"

  Mr. Zhou burst out laughing: "You're not afraid, what am I afraid of? Anyway, it's boring to be idle, and Xiao Jun is clever and agile, I like him very much."

  I was overjoyed: "Uncle, you agreed?"

  "Agreed."

  Mr. Zhou nodded heavily.

  As a knowledgeable person who follows Confucius and Mencius' teachings, he also upholds the gentlemanly demeanor of "one promise is worth a thousand pieces of gold".

  Dad smiled and said, "Xiao Jun, aren't you going to call your teacher?"

  What I did next shocked the two adults again.

  I actually knelt down and kowtowed three times, then lifted my head and shouted "Good teacher!" in a crisp voice.

  In an instant, Mr. Zhou's eyes were brimming with tears.

  Thought becoming Master Zhou's apprentice would bring great benefits, but unexpectedly it was a self-inflicted suffering. This old master is not just strict, he has put on the airs of a master. To know how strict, take a look at this schedule below.

  Monday afternoon: one hour of English, one hour of Chinese.

  Tuesday afternoon: one hour of Russian, one hour of arithmetic.

  Wednesday afternoon: one hour of English, one hour of history.

  Thursday afternoon: one hour of English, one hour of Chinese.

  Friday afternoon: one hour of Russian, one hour of arithmetic.

  Saturday afternoon: one hour of English, one hour of physics.

  Sunday afternoon: Review, small test.

  My mom, it's all about being a substitute! It turns out that Mr. Zhou hasn't been on the podium for many years and plans to satisfy his teaching addiction through me.

  I stared at this schedule, my eyes wide with fear, my calf muscles twitching, and a chill running up my spine. Is this even humanly possible? If I were in a Western country, I'd sue him for child abuse. But this is our own country, where there's no precedent for apprentices suing their masters. And to think that we voluntarily asked to be his apprentice, only to regret it the moment after finishing the ceremony...

  "Xiao Jun, can you hold on?"

  Mr. Zhou asked faintly.

  Dad looked at me with a bit of tension and some reluctance.

  Although I had a thousand and ten thousand unwillingness in my heart, this chain could not be dropped. Wanting to be a good kid and get benefits requires paying a price. So I gritted my teeth and nodded: "Can!"

  "Alright, starting from tomorrow, we'll follow this schedule. If you're lazy and don't listen carefully, be prepared to get your palm smacked."

  What is known as "hitting the palm" was a common means of discipline used by elementary school teachers at that time to maintain their authority, which involved hitting the center of the palm with a bamboo strip. With just a bit of force, one strike would be enough to make my delicate little hand swell up like a balloon.

  I drew a cold breath, and my forehead began to sweat. It's true that "heavenly retribution can be avoided, but self-inflicted retribution cannot be survived". Now that things have come to this point, I can only grit my teeth and go up, just like the Cantonese saying goes: "losing one's mother, bumping into a hard object, it's big if it's big".

  As the sky was getting darker and the movie was about to start, my father stood up to bid farewell and invited Mr. Zhou and his wife to watch the movie. I thought Mr. Zhou would not be interested in this kind of "high-minded" educational film, but unexpectedly he agreed readily.

  I suddenly understood his mind. Lao Fuzi wanted to understand the political trend of the upper class from the movie. At that time, TV sets were as rare as aliens, and the main source of information in rural areas was movies and newspapers.

  As I was about to leave, I suddenly asked: "Dad, what's today's date?"

  September 6th.

  My heart skipped a beat. On September 6, 1976, three days later, something that would shock the world was about to happen.