If there was no archived record, then so be it; Zhao An did not mind.
He had intended to obtain a fake certificate to begin with, and would a fake one have had an archive anyway? Compared to a forgery, this diploma without a record was already a genuine, authentic existence. At the very least, the paper itself was absolutely legitimate. Besides, it was only for a Licentiate, not a diploma for a Jinshi; there was no need to be overly fastidious.
Feeling fully satisfied, he tucked the diploma away. After offering a heartfelt display of gratitude for the principal’s profound kindness—the sort one is meant to "never forget until one’s teeth fall out"—Zhao An hurried home to pack. He had already spent several days delayed by this document and could not afford to waste any more time. He suspected his cousin, Wang Defa, was growing impatient; if there were other families wanting to get their sons into the Tax Bureau, things might fall through if he didn't act fast. As the old saying goes, good things shouldn't wait!
Before setting off, he made a special trip to the Zhao family ancestral graves. These were, in reality, just a few conical mounds of earth, each topped, without exception, by a "black gauze cap." No one knew when this custom had started. In a past life, Zhao An had read in unofficial histories that when the founding emperor of the Ming Dynasty, Zhu Yuanzhang, was a cowherd boy, he would sit on grave mounds that looked like official caps and jokingly "bestow" titles and ranks upon his young companions like Tang He—and as it turned out, he actually granted them later in life.
Thus, it was destiny. Those unofficial histories were wild indeed.
Given the Zhao family’s circumstances, there was certainly no money to erect stone monuments for their ancestors. Who the Old Ancestor was, who the grandfather was, and who the father was—all of this relied on oral tradition, passed down from father to son through the generations. Further back than that, even his descendants couldn't tell who was who. Zhao An had spent almost all his money and was too strapped for cash to buy incense or candles, so he could only manage to pick up two bundles of spirit money in town to pay his respects.
On the way to the graves, he ran into two local troublemakers, Bao Dawei and Yang Xiaoshuan. They were the same sort of characters who used to run around with Zhao An’s former self, stealing chickens and brawling whenever they could. Upon seeing Zhao An, the two of them hurried over. The former asked curiously, "Brother An, didn't you go to Yangzhou? When did you get back?"
"Exactly! Why didn't you come find us to hang out when you returned?"
Seeing the two bundles of spirit money in Zhao An’s hand, Yang Xiaoshuan quickly snatched one to carry for him. Upon learning that he was headed to the graves, they insisted on tagging along.
The now-transformed Zhao An certainly didn't want to deal with these two good-for-nothings anymore, but they were so overly enthusiastic and insisted on accompanying him that he had no choice but to let them follow. Along the way, he spoke vaguely about Yangzhou, careful not to mention that he was joining a formal government office—that he would soon be a man of the establishment and no longer of their world. He simply told them his cousin had found him some work in the city and he was leaving after visiting the graves.
"Brother An, if you make it big in Yangzhou, you have to let us know. You can't just leave us behind!"
"Yeah, Brother An, if you find success, don't forget us. People say the bathhouses in Yangzhou are amazing; they can make a man feel like he's in heaven..."
Having only ever been as far as the county seat, Bao and Yang were infinitely mesmerized by the thought of Yangzhou City. But with no relatives there, they instinctively pinned their hopes of "getting ahead" on their big brother, Zhao An.
What could Zhao An say? He could only offer empty pleasantries to get by, despite looking down on the two of them.
Bao Dawei was the more industrious of the two. Seeing the graves covered in weeds, he didn't wait for a word from Zhao An before squatting down to start clearing them. Seeing this, Yang Xiaoshuan felt embarrassed to stand around, so he stuck his backside in the air and joined in to help his brother.
You don't hit a person who is smiling at you, and besides, these were his former companions. They might have been troublemakers, but they weren't inherently malicious. Even his previous self, for all his mischief, had never bullied the weak or acted unreasonably.
With a wry smile and a shake of his head, Zhao An unfolded the spirit money he had brought. He reached into his robes, pulled out a copper coin, and began stamping it onto the top sheets. It involved pressing the coin firmly onto the paper and repeating the process, creating rows of copper-colored circles so that his ancestors could receive real currency in the afterlife. It was an ancient tradition; even in his previous life, the custom persisted, though the copper coins had been replaced by hundred-yuan bills. It showed that these traditions were etched into the very bones of the Chinese people; no matter how customs changed, some things remained the same.
By the time he finished, Bao and Yang had mostly finished clearing the area. Looking at the now weed-free graves, Zhao An felt a measure of satisfaction. He glanced at the two of them and thought that if he truly succeeded in Yangzhou, he might actually be able to pull them up, too. After all, he knew them inside and out, and they were reliable in their own way.
There were four mounds in total, including the Old Ancestor and his wife. As their descendant, Zhao An couldn't afford to show favoritism. He divided the spirit money into four portions and began burning them, starting with the Old Ancestor. When he reached his grandfather’s grave, he whispered a few extra words—a message on behalf of his cousin, Wang Defa. Even if it was just a formality, it had to be done. Without the help of his aunt’s nephew, how could he have ever gotten into a major institution in Yangzhou?
Finally, he came to his parents' graves. He whispered a bit more there, mostly asking his deceased father and mother to bless their "wild son" so he could make a name for himself, eventually returning home in glory to renovate the ancestral graves and throw a banquet of a hundred tables that would shake the entire region, bringing honor to them and the ancestors.
When he finished, he checked the time; the ferry to the county seat was about to depart. Zhao An told Bao and Yang to head back, but they insisted on seeing him to the boat.
Once they reached the wharf, just as Zhao An was about to board, Yang Xiaoshuan whispered something to Bao Dawei. Bao immediately fished out a few copper coins from his pocket and pressed them into Yang’s hand. Yang then took one of his own coins and shoved it into Zhao An’s hand, saying very earnestly, "Brother An, Yangzhou is a big place. I hear things are expensive there. Bao and I don't have much, but please take these few coins to buy a bowl of noodles on the road."
"..."
Zhao An tucked the coins into his robes, patted Yang Xiaoshuan on the shoulder, nodded to Bao Dawei, and turned to jump onto the covered boat, finding a seat near the bow.
He said nothing from start to finish. It wasn't until the boatman pushed the craft away from the pier with a bamboo pole and it began to drift slowly toward the county seat that Zhao An let out a long breath. A thought crossed his mind—an old saying: "Loyalty is often found among the butcher’s dogs, while those who break faith are often the scholars."
He felt a sense of self-mockery. He hadn't even secured the position at the Tax Bureau yet, and he was already consciously distancing himself from his old friends. Wasn't that the quintessential behavior of a "scholar"? Looking back at Bao and Yang, though they were viewed by the townsfolk as good-for-nothings, their sense of loyalty was far greater than his own, the man who already fancied himself a member of the establishment.
On that count alone, Zhao An felt inferior. A wave of guilt washed over him, hardening his resolve to make a real success of himself in Yangzhou.
There were few passengers on the boat, only five including the boatman. When they first set off, the ones who knew each other were chatting away, but half an hour later, the boat fell into a deep silence.
Leaning against the side of the boat, Zhao An had long since fallen into a deep sleep, his ears filled with the sound of the flowing water and the occasional splash of the oars.