Free Taming Poison Dragons by Tim Murgatroyd Page B

menu! Ha! Ha!’
    It was the nearest thing to a joke I ever heard him utter.
    Of course, I followed his first suggestion and ignored the latter.
    An ox must tirelessly haul the plough to earn its feed; a scholar must gain success to retain his distinctive blue robe. If the ox shows weakness, he is eaten, right down to his hooves. So it was for me. Once established in Uncle Ming’s household my days formed a pattern of toil which endured for years, broken only by festivals or illness.
    I would arise at cock-crow and struggle into my blue scholar’s gown, ink-stained and threadbare at the elbows.
    After a breakfast of millet porridge and salty pickles, I hurried to the front gate. Here would be assembled an entourage several strong, supervised by Honoured Aunty, her face a mask as she barked out orders and rebukes. The entourage was not for myself, but Cousin Zhi. One flunkey to carry his scrolls bound with rhinoceros hide, another for inks and brushes, a third bearing a large wicker box containing meats and dishes known to nourish the brain. The fourth anxiously angled a huge, tasselled parasol. I would bow low, satchel on my back, and hurry past them to the wine market where my own escort awaited.
    Why Cousin Yi-Yi chose to accompany me to the Provincial Academy each morning, I could not say. He was, however, a simpleton, so I didn’t enquire too deeply.
    Yi-Yi had been blessed by nature in one regard only.
    Everything about him was outlandishly large, especially his amiable, misshapen face. I later heard his other organs were proportioned the same way.
    We would proceed through the streets in silence, nimble boy and ambling giant, past bridge and canal, hawker and street-cry, scents of night-soil, wood-smoke, fried food seeping from buildings several stories high. Voices surrounded us like mist.
    At last we entered the many courtyards of the government enclosure; soldiers and officials bustling, some with scrolls under their arms, others in polite debate. I should add we passed a palace where lesser courtesans intended for the use of visiting ambassadors were housed.
    Sometimes we spied a curtain parting suggestively, though we never saw the ladies themselves. I finally realised these glimpses were the sole reason Yi-Yi accompanied me.Cousin Hong once informed me – he thought it a great joke – that Yi-Yi would spend the entire morning masturbating in his room after seeing a curtain twitch. So for all his idiocy, Yi-Yi possessed imagination. He was faithful to the dominant sentiment of his family: desire.
    Each morning I took my place in that long, bare room full of boys. All were from good families, or at least, wealthy ones. The fees were beyond most people’s means, including my Father’s. Only the goodwill of Uncle Ming enabled me to study at the Provincial Academy.
    We sat on the dusty floor, writing blocks on our knees, mixing ink in preparation for the day’s lesson. Teachers and their assistants prowled up and down with bamboo sticks, vigilant for murmurs or disrespect. Cousin Zhi sat near the front among a small group of merchants’ sons, laboriously following every instruction from the teacher.
    Beside me knelt a thin, feeble-looking boy with a sharp, inquisitive face who I came to know better than myself.
    His wide eyebrows were of noble proportions and his large nose indicated a formidable character. His name was P’ei Ti. I soon learned that, for him, the Provincial Academy and First Examination were a tedious formality.
    His family had been scholar-officials for generations, some achieving great honour. He never acknowledged me except to whisper among his friends the nickname
    ‘Mountain Goat’, in a voice loud enough for me to hear.
    The reason for his mockery was plain. Each monthly examination in the Five Classics ended the same way. I came first and he second, unless we were studying the  Book of History , at which he excelled. From the start he showed an aptitude for governance.
    Success