Chapter 82 (1/2)
Jiang Ye Chapter 82 Old
TL: Noveltoread.com
ED: TheJum
The third bell rang, accompanied by students that came out of each cla.s.s: the students living in dorm rushed to the cafeteria to prevent missing the special meal of the first school day; students who wanted to go back to Chang An, rushed toward the garden’s meadow to prevent missing their celebration party with friends in city; most of the students after packing up their stationary, began followed the quiet roadway beside the cla.s.sroom deeper into the Academy grounds.
Looking up the sign board, knowing the directions are old, and thinking about this morning’s first cla.s.s of the first lecturer’s introduction earnestly, Ning Que couldn’t stifle the curiosity. Waving at Chu You Xian to say goodbye, he then follows the crowd toward the alley.
The Academy’s structure didn’t seem to have a pattern: a few walls at East, a few corridors at West, randomly spread on the field at the mountain’s foot, but it gives an una.s.suming well-mixed feeling. Within the flat-eaved rooms and rain blocking corridors hide numerous alleys, completely quiet and extending in all directions—if there are no signboards, no one will know where to go.
Ning Que’s face shows unusual happiness, but in his bone, he doesn’t really like to blend in the crowd. Walking a few steps faster to avoid people, he slipped quietly into the side-alley alone, the noon sun overhead. The flat eaves along the side of the ally formed neat shadows, pressing down onto his right shoulder, causing his shoulder to feel somehow heavy.
Just quietly walking like this, wondering how long he needed to go to finally walk out of the ally, suddenly a light spread wide. ”What fresh view”, Ning Que lifted his scarf (which blown by the wind) onto his neck, watching a wet forest in front, and watching the lush water pine bamboo: only then does he know that there are such beautiful views in Academy.
The pool is fully stretched with reeds, now that there is no chilly autumn wind to dye them yellow and paint them white; pen-like and waist-high in the fresh spring wind, seemingly like an extensive corn pole farm, a gentle wind blows from the lake sh.o.r.e through forest, filtering once again by the green poles and blue water, feeling to him fresh, cool, and pleasant.
Ning Que walked on the stone path-side by the wet land, watching the fish in the water shadows, hearing hooting sound of unknown insect by the forest side, the string tightened for more 10 years around heart, like it had been moisturized by the wet breath, like it had been kneaded by the damp and chilly forest, slowly relaxed and softened. Occasionally there are students that walk by, then nodded his head politely to show regards, but he does not quicken his footsteps.
The stone path beneath hadn’t been polished, and so it had not been smoothed just right on top to prevent falling. Spreading out from the cla.s.s alley, following along the wet land, then continuing into the forest, roughly a few thousand rocks puzzle together to form a flat path—an extreme long stone path, and ended in front of an old three-floored wooden building, between the green forest at the mountain’s foot.
This three-floored wooden building seemed normal, not having any beautiful color or heavy paint, and not having cornices or horned corners, but just simply standing with the mountain. Yet that lightly painted wood shouldn’t be common wood, because watching the trace of rain and storm left over years, without knowing just how many years this building had stood here, but it didn’t show the slightest sign of rot.
Ning Que looked up at the top part of the wood building where were written three horizontal words for ”old”, and he couldn’t help but wonder, ”the lecturers in this Academy, aren’t they a bit too lazy to name a hidden place ‘Old’ just because it is old?”
“I know you are all curious why this building is named Old: actually the reason is simple, because of this building stores the book collection of the Academy. And since books are just a tool to record our thoughts, once you’ve thought this thing, it jumps out of your brain into words recorded on paper, and it is no longer fresh—just an old thing—and so any book is an old book.”
Downstairs is already surrounded with people, in front of the closed wood door a middle-aged lecturer is smiling at the students and explaining the origins of the name Old.
“Now you are students of the Academy, so remember that in the Academy we never pity paper on principle, and never kowtow to a book on a desk. A book is only a book, it is just a tool, and it is not sacred: only our thoughts are fresh, so in order to remind you of this, that is why it is called Old.”
Students nodded and accepted, but didn’t seem to understand the hidden meaning in these two simple sentences; Ning Que faintly understands a bit, but wasn’t sure if his own explanation is completely correct.
“Let me tell you the rules of Old.” The middle-aged lecturer and administrator of old continued to say, “In total there are two lecturers and four administrators: our duty is to serve the teachers and students, so night or day you can come and read—anytime—but there are three things that you need to remember.”
“First, Old has the vastest collection of books in the world, because unlike the other hundred-people organizations responsible for books in other countries, your senior also spend a lot of money on books. They are very hard, and the handwriting is large, so when you are reading make sure that your hands are clean; and as for not spilling anything on the book, there’s no need to care overmuch about it, just don’t use it as toilet paper.