Transmigrated into a Grandpa, Embracing the Laid-Back Life

Morning mist had not yet cleared when Su Ming stepped through the dew toward the schoolhouse, the edge of his worn cloth shoes fraying a little more. Master Lin Yu’s “earnest counsel” still echoed in his mind.

“Remember your persona: poor family background, average talent, but suddenly awakened, determined to be the hardworking, slow-but-steady kid. Your eyes must look pure, your answers sincere, even the sting of poverty on you must radiate the glow of striving. If you play this part well today, the spot is yours; if you botch it, all is lost. Understand?”

Su Ming didn’t reply. He only gripped the corner-worn Analects in his arms a little tighter.

The atmosphere in the schoolhouse was heavier than usual. Even the most restless kid, the one nicknamed Monkey, held a book, but kept glancing toward the door and at Teacher Zhou who sat upright.

Everyone knew the moment had come to decide who would go to town to compete for the Child Scholar exam spots.

Zhao Rui sat in the front row, wearing a brand-new indigo tunic, his hair slicked properly with hair oil. He lifted his chin slightly, a smile of confident entitlement at his mouth, as if the spot was already his to claim.

When he saw Su Ming enter, his gaze swept over Su Ming’s faded clothing and scuffed shoes. He snorted, not loud but perfectly audible: “Tch, some people just can’t see their place. Think a little grit will flip their fate? They don’t even see if they’re made of the right stuff.”

A few students who usually followed his lead let out low, muffled laughs.

Su Ming’s step faltered; his knuckles went pale.

“Ignore him.” Lin Yu’s voice sounded lazy and drawling, “Your stage isn’t here, it’s up there.” He was pointing at the empty space in front of Teacher Zhou.Su Ming lowered his eyes, took his seat, and took out his book, pretending not to have heard. That silent defiance hit Zhao Rui like a fist on cotton; his face tightened.

“Quiet.” Teacher Zhou tapped the ruler on the desk, then swept a calm gaze across the room, lingering slightly on Su Ming and Zhao Rui.

“Only two spots are available for the town exam.” Teacher Zhou spoke slowly and clearly, “This will affect your future. We will not test recitation or dictation today; I’ll ask one question.”

He turned and wrote two strong characters on the dark wooden board behind him with white chalk—

Why.

“Why study?” Teacher Zhou set down the chalk, his eyes steady, “Come forward one by one, write your answers on the board, and recite them to everyone. No word limit, speak from the heart.”

“Zhao Rui, you first.”

Zhao Rui straightened, smoothed his collar, strode forward, and after a brief hesitation put pen to board. His handwriting showed some skill: composed structure, clear strokes.

“To study is to seek clarity, to learn propriety and righteousness, to understand changes through time, to bring honor to the family and not disappoint one’s parents’ hopes.” He read aloud, voice resonant, carrying obvious confidence.

A few approving sounds came from below. The answer was steady, unimpeachable, and very much the straightforward ambition of many scholars.

Teacher Zhou gave a slight nod, neither approving nor dismissive. “Mm, you may step down.”

Zhao Rui glanced with pride at Su Ming and returned to his seat.

One by one, the other students went up.

“My father says studying will exempt you from corvée…”

“My mother says if I study I can go to the city and be an accountant, not work the fields…”

“If I study… I can eat full meals…”

Answers were all sorts of things, honest and sometimes comical, and the atmosphere in the schoolhouse lightened a bit.

Finally, Teacher Zhou called the last name.

“Su Ming.”

Su Ming rose and walked to the board. He did not start writing immediately. He closed his eyes.

Flashes ran through his mind: Eldest Brother Su Feng silently wiping his hunting knife, the ugly old scar on his forearm; Second Brother Su Yang shouldering firewood, a fresh blood scratch across his sweat-damp back from a branch; his father at night on the threshold, puffing dry tobacco, his face carved by worry and hardship by firelight; his mother touching the one, two, three coins they’d gotten from selling a wild boar, equal parts joy and fear, secretly dabbing at her tears.

That money was heavy, pressing pain against his chest.

He opened his eyes, inhaled deeply, and began to write. His handwriting remained crooked, even clumsy from pressing too hard, yet every stroke carried a fierce determination.

He wrote only a few lines.

When he finished, he set down the pen, turned to face everyone, his cheeks a little flushed but his eyes unusually clear as he looked straight at Teacher Zhou.

“I study,” his voice low, a young hoarseness to it, yet it cut clearly into every ear, “so that my eldest brother and second brother won’t have to risk their lives in the mountains anymore.”

The schoolhouse fell silent at once.

Silence so complete you could hear a pin drop.

The kids who had been laughing moments ago were stunned. They might not understand bringing honor to the family, but they knew wild boars bite, they knew parents worry, they knew how heavy the word steady could be.

The smile on Zhao Rui’s face froze; his mouth opened but any mockery felt suddenly cruel and hollow. He could feel the eyes around him shifting oddly.

“Perfect!” Lin Yu cheered in Su Ming’s head, “True feeling, straight to the heart! That sealed it!”

Teacher Zhou leaned forward slightly, his hand on the lesson plan, knuckles whitening. He had taught for many years and heard all sorts of answers, grand or pragmatic, but never had an answer, spoken in such plain language by such a frail boy, felt so heavy and so burning.

This was no longer an abstract goal; it was a real future a boy was trying to shoulder for his family, perhaps for the whole village.

After a long moment, Teacher Zhou exhaled heavily. He rose, walked up to Su Ming, and his penetrating gaze rested on the boy’s face for a long time, as if relearning him.

In the end he did not offer praise in words. He reached out with his broad, rough palm and slapped Su Ming’s thin shoulder three times, each smack measured and firm.

Each one felt like a silent entrustment.

He returned to his desk. His voice regained its calm, but carried an undeniable authority that spread through the schoolhouse:

“The two spots for the Qingshi Town exam are decided—Su Ming and Zhao Rui.”