The Garlic Ballads

never been an honest merchant. You don’t think they get rich by being legitimate, do you?” Old Man Wang said spitefully. “It’s an imperial edict.”
    “Just because it’s an imperial edict doesn’t mean it has to be that way forever, does it?”
    “Forever and ever,” Old Man Wang said. “The frogs at Zhang Family Bay still don’t croak.”
    “Was that an imperial edict, too? Which Emperor?”
    “Let me pick up where I left off last time.”
    Gao Ma drew his shoulders in. He felt a chill.

    When the teacher slipped out of the classroom, Zhang Nine-five went up to the teacher’s desk, sat down, and took charge of the class, ordering all the little mischief makers to form two teams and fight it out. When that was done, he dispensed honors and punishments, just like an emperor. After several days of this, the teacher happened to observe Nine-five’s little game from his vantage point outside the door. He coughed to announce his presence before entering the room, where the students had quickly returned to their seats and were noisily reciting their lessons. Quickly bringing the class to order, the teacher asked, “Have you prepared your lesson, Nine-five?” Zhang Nine-five rose to his feet, leafed through his book, and replied, “Yes. I have.” “You little bastard,” the teacher muttered under his breath, “you call that preparing? … All right,” he said aloud, “let’s hear it.” Snapping his book shut, Zhang Nine-five looked up.
Blah blah blah
—he recited the entire lesson, every single word of it. The teacher nodded and said, “Take your seat, Nine-five.” But from that day on he treated Zhang Nine-five differendo spending far more time instructing him than he did any of the other students. And Zhang Nine-five took to his lessons like a cow takes to grass. In less than six months, the teacher had poured all his meager knowledge into his student’s head. It was time to move on, and on the eve of his departure he left a note for Zhang Nine-five: “Nine-five, Nine-five, with the heavenly constellations as my witness, you will have a meteoric rise in your career. I hope you don’t forget your old teacher.” Well, the next person on the scene was a teacher of vast learning who was also a remarkable judge of talent; he immediately waived Zhang Nine-five’s tuition. This act set in motion a series of frequent heart-to-heart talks between teacher and student, whose relationship could not have been closer. After one late-night talk, the teacher crawled into bed under the mosquito netting, leaving Nine-five to sleep on his desk. It was a summer night, the land mosquitoes dearly love. Again and again they stung the teacher through the netting. But Nine-five slept through the onslaught, his breathing calm and even. The bewildered teacher sat up and asked loudly, “Aren’t the mosquitoes biting you, Nine-five?” Nine-five replied, “There are no mosquitoes.” “No mosquitoes?” His teacher was amazed. “Aren’t you hot?” “Not at all,” Zhang Nine-five replied. “Let’s change places, Nine-five,” the teacher said. “You sleep under the netting and I’ll take the desk. What do you say?” “All right,” Nine-five agreed. And that’s what they did. When the teacher stretched out on top of the desk, cool breezes swept over him. Not a mosquito anywhere. He could not explain the mystery, though not for lack of trying. But then his thoughts were interrupted by a voice in the air: “Damned idiots! The Emperor’s gone, so stop wasting your time fanning the air above this poor pedant!” As the sound of the voice faded way, the swarm of mosquitoes regrouped overhead, united in their buzzing. The stifling heat returned with a vengeance, and the teacher jumped to his feet, a silent prayer on his lips: Save me, gods and spirits, and forgive me!

    “That’s a sad excuse for a story,” Gao Ma complained. “A pack of lies to protect the interests of the feudal class. They assume for themselves the role of genius and superman to keep the masses under their thumbs.”
    “You can recite your lessons or you can accept the truth. The frogs in Zhang Family Bay still don t croak. What do you say to that?”

    Grandpa Three picked up where he had left off.
    The teacher had known that Zhang Nine-five was not going to grow up to be a flash-in-the-pan scholar, but the true Son of Heaven. Just think, the Son of Heaven! He with the golden mouth and teeth of jade! The teacher rejoiced