The cold morning wind and the dew turning to frost bring a deepening chill, though when sunlight falls, there’s a fleeting warmth that feels like spring.
This is October, a season called Lu Yue, Little Spring of the Sun.
It’s also the time for sowing wheat in Yun Mu’s hometown.
But today, the little boy doesn’t need to go to the fields with his Mother and Father, because today is the day he listens in on the Private School lesson from outside the window.
He stands quietly outside, pacing back and forth as if just passing by, but in truth, he’s there to eavesdrop on the Private School’s teacher.
This is how he “attends class”.
He’s so young that no one suspects he’s secretly learning.
Everyone who passes by is a familiar face from the village, and no one would ever think of scolding him for sneaking a listen.
At dawn, as usual, he woke up early on the wooden board bed cobbled together for him.
He lifted off the not-so-thick quilt and noticed two pieces of clothing that had been pushed aside—what he’d used to cover himself.
He glanced around but didn’t see the two familiar figures.
He didn’t cry or fuss; he knew—his own Mother and Father always rose even earlier.
His family wasn’t well-off; there were no blue bricks, black tiles, or horse-head walls—just two mud-brick rooms made of earth and straw. As for the roof, naturally, it was thatched with straw.
Honestly, such houses might look crude, but they’re actually quite warm.
As for the two rooms, their use is quite particular.
The smaller one is for living in, with two beds inside—one big bed for the parents and a smaller one for little Yun Mu.
In warm weather, the beds are separate; when it gets cold, they’re pushed together for warmth.
The larger room has more functions—kitchen, storage, and so on.
Cooking and keeping things are all done there.
How are the rooms divided?
Simply with an earth wall inside.
The latrine, of course, is not very close to the house.
Other than these two rooms, Yun Mu’s home also has a little courtyard behind the house, fenced off to raise chickens, ducks, and geese.
So, every morning, the first thing Yun Mu does after getting up is to check whether his parents have fed the little creatures.
He put on a couple of pieces of clothing, jumped off the bed, slipped into straw sandals, and walked out of the sleeping room, rubbing his hands and cheeks.
“I remember Mother and Father said they’d go to the southern fields today to sow wheat seeds. The food should be in the big room.”
He muttered as he headed to the backyard.
First, he checked the trough and, seeing it filled with grain, glanced around at the few chickens, ducks, and geese.
He was puzzled.
“That’s odd. Usually, they eat everything clean by now. Why haven’t they touched it today?”
He looked up at the moon still lingering in the morning light and scratched his head.
“Maybe I woke up too early today.”
He mumbled to himself, quickly tossing the thought aside as he ran to the big room’s door—he wanted something to eat.
He looked at the wooden bolt on the door, reached up to pull it, but could barely touch the edge even on tiptoe.
After several tries, he still didn’t succeed.
“Huff… huff, I really haven’t grown much… Mother said autumn and winter are for storing, and spring and summer are for growing—is that actually true?”
Unwilling to give up, he tried again, this time bouncing a little.
At last, he grabbed the bolt.
“Got it!”
But his foot slipped, his grip loosened, and before he could react, he fell, bumping his little head on a stone.
“Ow… huh? That’s strange?”
He instinctively closed his eyes and held his head, but didn’t feel any pain.
He was about to look down to check when he noticed a small wooden stool lying on its side nearby.
This was something Yun Mu’s Father made specially for him.
“Ah, better use this to open the door.”
He skillfully lifted the little stool and tottered to the door.
After making sure it was steady, he climbed up and opened the bolt.
Behind him, the stone he’d hit just moments before had already crumbled into dust, carried away by the breeze.
“Steamed buns, porridge, steamed buns, porridge.”
He chanted the names of the foods as he carried the stool, his steps quickening.
He climbed onto a chair by the stove, lifted the pot lid, and finally saw the inside of the pot—empty.
The smile vanished from his face, replaced by confusion.
“That’s strange, did Mother and Father forget to make breakfast? Or… will they come back early to eat together?”
He didn’t dwell on it for long.
According to the Private School’s rules, classes begin when insects fly and end at sunset; by his count, there was only half an hour before lessons started.
For someone with nimble legs, this was more than enough time—after all, the village isn’t big.
But at his age, with frequent stops and starts, he needed more time to get there before class began.
If he missed something from the lesson, no one would explain it to him again—after all, he was just a little sneak-thief learner.
He put the lid back on the pot, climbed down, and took the stool outside.
Turn, set it down, climb up, bolt the door, jump down, carry it away—he did it all in one go.
The weather wasn’t great today.
Fearing rain, Yun Mu checked all around the outside of the house before leaving.
After making sure everything was put away, he set out, running toward the Private School.
On the way, the cool wind rustled the mixed rows of thatched cottages and the occasional black-tiled house as he passed, leaving only the sound of the wind in his ears.
“That’s odd… Usually, Grandma and Grandpa are up and chatting by now. Why aren’t they out today? Maybe… everyone’s out working in the fields? Sowing winter wheat really is hard work.”
He said this while running, finally stopping when the wind left him breathless.
He pressed a hand to his chest, panting hard.
“Huff… huff… So tired, I shouldn’t have talked while walking.”
He rested for a long time before his breathing evened out.
He stood up, glanced up at the sun—when did it appear?—and remembered the gloomy sky earlier.
Not thinking much of it, he wiped at his brow, but found no sweat.
He looked down at his gray shirt in confusion.
“Huh… I’m not sweating? Usually I sweat when I run…”
He lifted his shirt and sniffed it.
His eyes brightened.
“No sweat smell either. Maybe because this is the new shirt Mother bought me?”
“New clothes, how nice.”
He sighed happily, let go with his left hand, and hopped and skipped toward the Private School.
The Private School was built by Wei Yifuzi, the teacher, who paid for it out of his own pocket.
It stood slightly north of the village center.
Rumor had it, he was a scholar who had chosen to study for the imperial exam after his family’s fortunes declined.
But after failing the exams countless times, he gave up on the official path.
Unable to face the people in his hometown, he settled in a village far from home and became a teacher—here in Yun Mu’s home, Yun Village.
He started the Private School not only to help these children find a better future, but also to live out his own dream of success through them—hoping that even one child might achieve what he never could.
Outside teaching hours, though, Wei Yifuzi had little time to farm.
A Sage is still a man, and a Sage needs to eat, so while he didn’t charge much, the school did collect grain as tuition.
It wasn’t much, but for Yun Mu’s family, whose ancestral land was scarce, it was still hard to pay.
Of course, with how much Yun Mu’s Mother and Father loved him, if they really grit their teeth, the boy could go to school.
But the main reason was his age—he’d just turned four.
No one would think to send such a young child to school.
In this world, even in big families, unless the child was exceptionally gifted, they usually didn’t start formal learning until after five.
Poor families like theirs would never consider it.
“Ah, I’m here.”
After stopping and starting, sometimes distracted by passing birds, he finally arrived at the little Private School house.
It was one of the few blue-brick, black-tiled buildings in the village—very eye-catching among all the thatched cottages.
As usual, he skipped up to a little wooden stump beside the house, grabbed a stick he’d hidden under a pile of leaves, and started writing on the ground.
“At the beginning of man, nature is good. Natures are similar, habits make them different.”
He recited as he wrote.
Though his hand was still a bit unsteady, he did his best to keep each character’s form and stroke in place.
When he finished, he gazed at the words and murmured again.
“Yesterday the teacher said this means… People are born good, and their natures are much the same… but, but what was next?”
He thought hard, his little brows twisting into knots.
“Teacher said the differences come after, because of the environment people grow up in and the education they receive. That’s how their habits become so different!”
A clear voice rang out.
He quickly looked up at the Private School not far away.
“That’s a voice I haven’t heard before… but, isn’t class not started yet? Why is there someone inside?”
Thinking this, he didn’t feel afraid and moved instinctively toward the window.
But he’d overestimated his own height, and with the window closed, no matter how much he jumped, he couldn’t reach.
“Let’s try again.”
But Yun Mu never gave up.
This time, he squatted a little, mustered all his strength, and jumped, his little face turning red.
Bang!
But man proposes and heaven disposes.
Just as his head cleared the bottom edge of the window, the window swung open and knocked him right on the head, sending him tumbling backward onto the ground.
“Ugh… that hurts…”
He sat up rubbing his head, two tears welling up from the pain.
But he didn’t cry out loud.
He simply wiped away the tears, cheered himself up with a “You can do it, Yun Mu,” then looked up at the window with a smile.
Looking back at him was a cute girl in pink, tilting her face curiously.
For a moment, he was dazed.
He tried to remember her name, but such a delicate, beautiful face was one he’d never seen in the village.
But in the next instant, all other thoughts fled, because he noticed the pair of pink fox ears twitching on her head—his eyes widened.
Though there weren’t many books at home, Yun Mu’s Father once found a book called , which had pictures of fox spirits much like this girl.
“Auspicious beast, Nine-Tailed Fox?”
He murmured subconsciously, just loud enough for the little fox to hear.
She narrowed her eyes, looking at the human child who seemed about her age with interest, and smiled.
“Little scholar sneaking knowledge, why are you lying there?”
“Huh?”
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