Third Brother never carries money when he goes out.

Hearing Wei Zhe’s arrogant words, Luan Yi felt a chill in his heart. He knew well that what Wei Zhe said was likely true. In the Han Dynasty, not to mention the general environment, even just within the academy, children of noble families enjoyed far more educational resources. Their teachers were esteemed scholars, their accommodations were much better than those of students from humble backgrounds, and even their meals were superior. While they feasted on fish and meat, students from poor families had to make do with cabbage and tofu.

The aristocratic youths were endowed with privileges and had long stood above their humbler peers. This was precisely why Wei Zhe, who entered the academy the same year as Luan Yi but was placed in a different class, dared to be so brazen.

However, Wei Zhe overlooked a crucial point. While students from humble origins were looked down upon, they possessed an advantage that great clans desperately lacked.

For generations, intrigue and rivalry among noble families were commonplace, a reality that had inevitably seeped into their descendants. Conflict among the aristocratic students was frequent. By contrast, those from poor families, having nothing to lose, placed greater emphasis on mutual support and friendship, valuing unity far more than their privileged counterparts.

Thus, the moment news spread that a humble student was being bullied by a noble’s son in the kitchen courtyard, the poor students dining in the southern hall all set down their bowls and rushed out like a storm into the courtyard. Counting carefully, there were more than twenty, including some senior students in their teens, who stepped forward to shield Luan Yi, Guo Jia, Shan Fu, and Xi Zhicai.

Seeing the overwhelming numbers, Wei Zhe’s bravado faltered. He glared with bulging eyes, shouting, “What are you doing? Planning a rebellion, are you?” Then, like a thief crying thief, he yelled, “Help! Help! The humble students are attacking!”

While Wei Zhe made a scene, a stern voice rang out behind him, “Enough! Stop disgracing the scholars here.” The speaker’s voice was deep, still unsteady with adolescence.

At the sound, the once arrogant Wei Zhe fell silent. Puzzled, Luan Yi craned his neck past the seniors in front of him and, to his surprise, saw two elegant youths standing beside Wei Zhe. The leader, whose face was as fair as red jade, was only twelve or thirteen, but already exuded an impressive bearing. “Who is this…?” Luan Yi searched his memory but couldn’t recall seeing him at the academy.

A senior beside him, noticing his confusion, explained, “That is Xun Yu, and the other youth is his nephew—Xun You, styled Gongda.”

“So it’s them.” Luan Yi understood at once, no wonder Wei Zhe was suddenly bowing and scraping. As it turned out, this scion of a noble family had encountered direct descendants of the great Xun clan. Xun Yu and his nephew were legitimate heirs, while Wei Zhe was merely from a collateral branch of the Wei family—in name only. Most importantly, as a prominent family native to Yingchuan, the Xuns wielded immense power locally, even controlling the academy itself. Expelling anyone was just a matter of a word from them.

“What are you all standing around for?” Though only in his early teens, Xun Yu’s words carried an air of command. His spirited eyes swept through the courtyard like blades, sending a chill through those present.

With the situation diffused, the poor students around Luan Yi dispersed one after another. Unable to vent his anger, Wei Zhe shot Luan Yi a glare and stalked off to the dining hall, leaving Luan Yi where he stood.

Luan Yi approached Xun Yu with a smile, stopped before him, and bowed respectfully. “Luan Yi of Yangzhai, grateful for Senior’s assistance.”

Xun Yu nodded with a slight smile by way of reply. Without another word, he strode into the dining hall. Xun You followed, but unlike his uncle, he was not so sparing with words. Halfway there, he turned to glance at the young Luan Yi, smiled, and said, “So you’re Luan Yi, born with an omen. Interesting.” With that, he too went inside for his meal.

Shan Fu, obviously displeased by Xun Yu’s aloofness, muttered, “What’s so great about him, anyway?”

Luan Yi merely smiled, saying nothing. In truth, he bore no grudge toward the Xun uncle and nephew. Deep down, he expected such airs from famous figures of the Three Kingdoms era—like celebrities, it seemed only fitting. In contrast, the easy camaraderie he found with Guo Jia, Shan Fu, and Xi Zhicai felt oddly unfamiliar.

Human nature, after all, has its curious quirks.

Surrounded by his friends as they entered the dining hall, Luan Yi’s nose twitched as soon as they crossed the threshold. His stomach churned, and his mind seemed filled with the smell of turnips. “Oh no, it’s turnip porridge and coarse pancakes again! Didn’t we just have this the other day? Can’t they change it up?”

Guo Jia, from a modest but comfortable background, looked green as he swallowed repeatedly, afraid he’d lose his meager appetite. “Ugh, just the smell puts me off. Maybe I’ll skip the meal and sleep instead.” Xi Zhicai nodded in full agreement.

Shan Fu, who came from a poor family, was more nonchalant. “Come on, some folks can’t even get this much to eat. Let’s just make do, or else we’ll be too hungry to sleep tonight.”

Luan Yi grimaced, swallowing bitterly. “But I’m afraid if I eat, I’ll throw up yesterday’s meal too. Then I really won’t be able to sleep.”

“But skipping meals isn’t right either! Let’s at least have a bite or two.” Among them, Shan Fu was the strongest and had the biggest appetite. After a day’s work, he was hungriest of all. Hearing talk of leaving without eating, he was reluctant.

Luan Yi was deeply unwilling. After a moment’s thought, his eyes lit up. “Hey, I’ve got an idea! Why don’t we head to the tavern in town for something better?”

“What do you mean, something better?” Xi Zhicai asked, puzzled.

“Just something tastier,” Luan Yi replied, beaming.

“I don’t have any money,” Xi Zhicai said, spreading his hands.

“I have a few coins,” Guo Jia said, showing his purse, “but it’s not even enough for a vegetable dish.”

“Don’t look at me—I never have any money,” Shan Fu said innocently.

“Ah… But Luan Yi’s family is well-off, he must have some money!” Guo Jia grinned, but before he could finish, Luan Yi replied, “I never carry money when I go out.”

Xi Zhicai rolled his eyes. “If you’ve got no money, what’s the point of going to the tavern?”

Luan Yi said loftily, “I never pay when I go to a tavern. The best tavern in town belongs to my family—I’ll just sign for it.”

“Sign for it?” Xi Zhicai was dumbfounded.

“Well…” Luan Yi hesitated, realizing that after so many years in Han, modern terms still slipped out. “I mean, just give my name, and it’s fine.” With a laugh, he changed the subject, “So, what are you waiting for? Let’s go!”

“Great! Time to eat well for a change!” Guo Jia was elated. Shan Fu, who had just filled his bowl with turnips, had been listening all along. Hearing Luan Yi’s invitation, he abandoned his bowl and hurried after them, calling out cheerfully, “Luan Yi, count me in, will you?”

Luan Yi stopped at the door, delighted. Despite the fact that Guo Jia, Shan Fu, and Xi Zhicai would one day become outstanding talents in turbulent times, for now, they were just five- to seven-year-old children with simple appetites. “Good fortune should be shared—of course you’re coming, Shan Fu!”

The three of them dashed back to the dormitory. Luan Yi summoned his page Luan Fu, and together they set off for Qushui Town, just four miles from the academy. The largest restaurant there, Mujin Residence, was part of the Luan family business.

When the staff saw the young master himself, they greeted him with utmost courtesy and led the four friends to a private room, serving them the best food and drink. Guo Jia, Xi Zhicai, and Shan Fu ate until their bellies were round, thoroughly satisfied, their eyes betraying both greed and contentment.

Seeing this, Luan Yi was generous, promising that from now on, he would bring his friends for a feast on the first and fifteenth of every month.

Guo Jia, Xi Zhicai, and Shan Fu thanked him profusely.

Luan Yi waved it off magnanimously, “Among brothers, there’s no need for thanks. Haven’t you heard the saying, ‘Share fortune and hardship together’?”

The next day after returning from Mujin Residence, the new term at Yingchuan Academy officially began after the major examination.

In class, Luan Yi was much more diligent than he had been the previous year. He no longer dozed off or daydreamed, but listened attentively. He completed his assignments on time, and responded smoothly to Teacher Cen’s questions, often combining the “correct interpretations” of Han-era classics he learned with his own knowledge from the twenty-first century, offering fresh and surprising answers.

Teacher Cen was very pleased, looking on Luan Yi with growing warmth, feeling more and more that he was a teachable student. Meanwhile, the talents of Guo Jia, Shan Fu, and Xi Zhicai were also coming to the fore, and along with Luan Yi, they became Teacher Cen’s favored pupils, often receiving extra private instruction.

But these special lessons were not without cost. It meant that Luan Yi and his friends had to bear far more coursework than the other students.

Only now did Luan Yi truly realize the gap between himself and these four prodigies of the Three Kingdoms: Guo Jia, Shan Fu, Xi Zhicai, and Mao Jie. The daily tasks assigned by Teacher Cen were completed easily by the other four in just over half an hour—they could memorize long passages of classical prose without effort. Luan Yi, on the other hand, needed two or even three times longer to barely commit them to memory.

At first, Luan Yi thought of giving up. He sighed, realizing his friends were all recognized geniuses in history—how could he ever compare? Yet, a certain stubbornness and unwillingness to be left behind welled up inside him. So, he decided to work harder—reading by lamplight late into the night, striving relentlessly.

Over time, he gradually began to grasp the patterns of classical study. His memorization time shortened, and now he could even recite a lengthy essay within an hour.

In the blink of an eye, the Qingming Festival arrived. The academy closed for half a month, allowing teachers and students to return home to honor their ancestors. Reluctantly, Luan Yi bid his classmates farewell and boarded the carriage for home.

The wheels rumbled over the uneven road, jostling Luan Yi until he was dizzy. He thought to himself that he’d better learn to ride a horse soon—perhaps then the journey would be much more comfortable.