In late spring, Gusu City in the south of the Yangtze River was shrouded in mist and rain. Deep in the Zhang Family Courtyard on Pingjiang Road, a burst of rapid scoldings came, startling the swallows nesting under the eaves to fly away.
"Shu Zi is incompetent! I have taught you such a simple annotation on the Analects of Confucius three times and you still can't remember half of it. How will you be able to take the imperial examination in the future and how will you shine on your family?"
Mr. Zhang was so angry that he blew his beard and glared. He slapped the ruler in his hand hard on the desk, causing the ink in the inkstone to splash out. Standing in front of the table was a boy of sixteen or seventeen years old. His green cloth shirt was washed white, his figure was slightly thin, and his eyebrows were somewhat honest. He was Zhang Zhuoyan, the only son of the Zhang family.
