Preface One The mountains are magnificent and the waters pristine; the gentleman is upright and virtuous.

Green Ox Mountain was a place of remarkable beauty. At least, in Fang Zheng’s eyes, it was the most beautiful place he had ever seen in his lifetime.

Fang Zheng found himself at a loss for words, which, for someone who had always prided himself on being a “scholar,” was rather frustrating. It wasn’t that he struggled to describe the scenery; instead, it was his past that eluded expression. To speak of “this life” seemed inaccurate, for Green Ox Mountain was merely the first place he had seen in this existence, with nothing to compare it to, and he dared not judge. To say “a lifetime” was wrong as well, for this was already his second life.

As for the beauty of this place, Fang Zheng felt it had little to do with the landscape itself. Though the mountains and rivers were lovely, they were not the most breathtaking in the world; certainly, they did not surpass the splendor of Jiuzhaigou back on Earth. What truly captivated Fang Zheng was something unique to this world—a vitality known as “spiritual energy.” The mountains and waters possessed it, the grasses and trees did as well, and all things seemed to pulse with a different kind of life. This was Fang Zheng’s deepest impression after three years in this new world. As to why things were so, he was content not to investigate further. The mountains were magnificent, and he was delighted.

He still remembered the unease and uncertainty when he first arrived. Three years ago, Fang Zheng had been an ordinary person, freshly graduated from university and walking the same predetermined path as countless others struggling in the world—find a job, then strive to survive. Perhaps the only difference was that he felt less urgency and pressure than others; his parents did not urge him on, nor did he care about the opinions of friends and relatives. He lacked such burdens. So, after graduation, Fang Zheng pursued his first dream: to travel. He considered it “journeying,” though others simply called it tourism.

He knew not where he came from, for he had lived in an orphanage since he could remember. Such circumstances left little impression, as all the children there shared the same fate. The orphanage had its own school, so by the time Fang Zheng began to interact with the outside world, he had completed the nine years of compulsory education and was a sixteen-year-old youth. He counted himself lucky; living in such an environment spared him the anguish over his origins. By the end of his schooling, he was somewhat self-sufficient. People often say, “Children from poor families mature early,” but Fang Zheng believed maturity had little to do with wealth or poverty. Perhaps it was simply that parents in poor families worked harder to make ends meet, so their children, like himself in the orphanage, had to handle many things on their own.

Fang Zheng loved to read and excelled academically, especially in history and literature. Since middle school, he had submitted articles to newspapers and magazines with his teachers’ help—a habit that continued through university. With modest earnings from writing and social welfare, he never felt the material urgency common among other orphans, and he even managed to save a little. This was the foundation that allowed him to travel after university instead of rushing to find a job.

It seemed every scholar, regardless of ability, possessed some peculiar trait. Fang Zheng’s oddity was his seriousness—not in being overly earnest in life, but rather in how he took his own thoughts seriously. For example, his notion of “journeying.” He didn’t know when this idea first took root, but he remembered the amusement it caused when he mentioned it in class—everyone said his dream was to travel everywhere when he grew up, making him embarrassed and shy. From then on, whenever people spoke of it, Fang Zheng would seriously correct them: it was journeying, not mere tourism. Eventually, he earned the nickname “Spade K.” The shape, rectangular, was tied to his name, and the face depicted on the card—cold and unsmiling—was meant to reflect Fang Zheng’s stoic demeanor. He took no offense; sometimes, he found it amusing, at least it wasn’t “Club K,” which carried a hint of misfortune.

His journey brought him here. After traveling across much of the country for more than half a year, he arrived in Tibet, where a sudden earthquake transported him to this place. Aside from the initial tension and confusion at finding himself in a strange world, Fang Zheng felt little else. He was a person who adapted easily and had few attachments in the world. The only thing that tugged at his heart was the orphanage where he had lived for over a decade and the old director who had named him and taught him how to be a person. Now, with the passage of time, meeting them again was a luxury, and all he could do was quietly offer his blessings from afar.

The early autumn weather carried a hint of chill. Fang Zheng held a rough porcelain tea bowl, gazing at the red leaves covering Green Ox Mountain and the curling smoke rising from the chimneys below, his expression tinged with sorrow. He did not know why he felt this gentle sadness—perhaps memories of the past had stirred his longing, or thoughts of the future left him uncertain.

He had arrived here three years ago in the spring. After being buried in the earthquake in Tibet, he lost consciousness, believing his life would end quietly, coming and going without a trace. The cataclysmic scene would at least add a dash of color to his ordinary existence. His sole regret was not having seen all the magnificent landscapes he wished to see. Yet, unexpectedly, fate seemed to hear his silent wish, sending him “journeying” to this unfamiliar world.

According to the villagers, he was rescued by the village hunter, Zhang Qi. That day, Zhang Qi had set out early to hunt in the mountains, only to find Fang Zheng unconscious at the foot of Green Ox Mountain. Thinking him dead and feeling unlucky, Zhang Qi planned to dig a grave and bury him, considering it a good deed. Such things had happened before, and were handled similarly.

Green Ox Mountain belonged to Bin County in the Tianzheng Province, northwest of the Great Liang Kingdom, bordering the North Qi Kingdom. The people of Green Ox Mountain, as subjects of Great Liang, took pride in their nation. The current King of Liang was wise and capable; the kingdom was prosperous and strong, free from war and famine—this was their greatest happiness. In contrast, the people of North Qi lived in misery, and occasionally refugees would flee to this place. Thus, finding a dead man at the foot of Green Ox Mountain was not particularly strange to Zhang Qi.

Having made up his mind, Zhang Qi observed carefully from a distance, as war often meant disease. Though it was early autumn, caution was always wise. Most epidemics had obvious outward signs, making them easy to identify. From afar, Zhang Qi saw that Fang Zheng’s exposed face bore no wounds or symptoms of illness, so he grew bolder. Approaching, he found Fang Zheng still breathing; relieved, he thought saving a living man was far better than burying a dead one. Thus, Zhang Qi carried Fang Zheng back to the village, where, under the village chief’s arrangement, Fang Zheng lay at Zhang Qi’s house for three days before awakening.

The day Fang Zheng awoke three years ago was precisely today. Yet he was puzzled—he had met his disaster in spring, but arrived here in autumn, as if space and time had both shifted. The mysteries of time and space were truly unfathomable.

Upon waking, Fang Zheng was at a loss, facing this strange time and place with a profound sense of loneliness and helplessness. Fortunately, this world—Great Liang—shared an astonishing similarity in language and writing with China on Earth. This was his sole comfort; at least he had no trouble communicating. Coincidentally, the King of Liang had recently decreed that every village should establish a private school, to enlighten the youth and cultivate talent for the nation. Villages with schools would enjoy three years of tax exemption.

Though Green Ox Village’s inhabitants were mostly uneducated country folk, they understood this was a great benefit for the nation and themselves, especially with the promise of tax relief. After the village chief announced the news, everyone was overjoyed and praised the king’s wisdom. Building a school was not difficult; Green Ox Village, though small, had nearly a hundred households and dozens of children of school age. Constructing a few rooms for the school posed no challenge, and those with children would naturally contribute money and labor. The greatest problem was finding a teacher. The village chief was capable, but elderly and unable to bear the burden, for teaching was no easy task, and a new school required much attention.

By then, Fang Zheng had emerged from his shock. The wonders of fate and the changes of time and space were facts beyond human control. Returning was impossible; survival became the most pressing concern. He knew his own abilities well—he neither farmed nor hunted. His only skill was the knowledge gained from more than ten years of study. Since language and writing matched, cultural differences would likely be minimal. In such a feudal society, education focused on literature, history, and morality. The greatest use of such knowledge lay in communication and conduct. Thus, the role of schoolteacher suited him perfectly. He volunteered, passed the village chief’s examination, and, unsurprisingly, became Green Ox Village’s first schoolteacher. The textbooks were issued uniformly by the Great Liang National Academy. Fang Zheng intended to study them thoroughly, for teaching could not afford any mistakes. After a night of careful reading, he was reassured—just as he had guessed, the materials covered Liang’s history, culture, local customs, and stories like “Kong Rong Letting Others Have Pears” and “Mengmu Choosing Neighbors.” There were even passages praising the king, which made Fang Zheng marvel at how different worlds shared similar affairs. The only surprise was the inclusion of basic mathematics and science, which gave him new respect and curiosity for the ruler of Great Liang. Such textbooks were rare in feudal societies; it was no wonder the kingdom was so strong.

Thus, Green Ox Village’s first school was established. Just as the school was completed and registered with the county, the chief of neighboring Clear Water Village came to visit. Clear Water Village, twenty miles away and similar in size, also qualified to open a school, but struggled to find a teacher. After much effort, they failed to find a suitable candidate. Upon hearing Green Ox Village had official approval and would soon open, they came to discuss whether their children could attend, regardless of the loss of tax exemption. The parents even prepared gifts for the village chief. The villagers of Green Ox Village were surprised but proud, feeling superior to their neighbors, each wearing bright smiles. No one objected when the village chief asked for their opinion.

At this moment, Fang Zheng’s reputation soared; he became a household name, and even Zhang Qi, the hunter who had rescued him, enjoyed newfound honor. Every villager who met him gave a thumbs-up and praised his deed. Whenever this happened, Zhang Qi’s smile was radiant as a flower.

When the Green Ox chief brought Clear Water’s visitors to see Fang Zheng, he had already moved into his new home. The villagers had built a large and small courtyard at the highest point in the village’s north; the larger for the school, the smaller for Fang Zheng’s residence. He was deeply moved—the benefits of his new status were considerable. Had he not volunteered as teacher, he would have had no place to stay, and living in Zhang Qi’s home was not a long-term solution.

Fang Zheng’s new home was perfectly situated, facing south and next to the school. From his doorway, he could see the entire village, and Green Ox Mountain to the south was clearly visible, as if the whole world was before his eyes, filling him with a sense of openness and grandeur. Most pleasing was the mountain tea, a specialty of Green Ox Mountain. Perhaps because all things in this world possessed spiritual energy, this tea was especially fragrant—unlike anything he had tasted on Earth. Being a lover of tea, though he had never sampled the finest teas of his previous life, Fang Zheng was certain that even Earth’s best could not rival Green Ox’s mountain tea. Its flavor was as if the soul itself was elevated—indescribably exquisite.

He was surprised by the arrival of Clear Water’s chief. As someone who disliked crowds, and being busy studying the textbooks, Fang Zheng had not heard of their visit. Yet, he greeted them graciously, setting aside his feelings for Green Ox and treating the three elders with the utmost respect—brewing tea and offering seats, fulfilling his role as host. This eased any tension, and it seemed the young teacher was easy to get along with. The ensuing conversation went smoothly; upon learning Clear Water’s intentions, Fang Zheng readily agreed. As for their gifts, he politely declined, accepting only two packets of tea and an ancient book, though the chief insisted on leaving some homemade food before thanking him and departing.

Thus, the school began. Since Clear Water was not nearby, classes were scheduled at noon. The children were escorted by their parents in turns, spending two hours at Green Ox before being taken home. Fang Zheng taught a total of thirty-nine children from both villages, the youngest five, the oldest eleven. So began his teaching life; time flew by, and three years later, the children had grown into youths, while Fang Zheng remained Fang Zheng—Teacher Fang Zheng.