Chapter Four: Tomb-Sweeping Festival

On the way home, Luan Yi gazed out the carriage window at the rural scenery along the roadside, a wave of desolation rising in his heart. Amid the swathes of green, the thatched cottages were in utter disrepair. Most roofs were riddled with holes, and some walls even threatened to collapse. Luan Yi could hardly imagine how the inhabitants of these drafty, leaky houses managed to survive, or how they endured the biting cold of winter. Their wretched living conditions stood in stark contrast to the grand, deep courtyards of the distant landlords.

From his page, Luan Fu, Luan Yi had learned that in this era, death by starvation was commonplace—so much so that Luan Fu himself had long since ceased to be surprised. Even tales of cannibalism were true, though such horrors occurred mostly in the poorer regions of You, Bing, and Liang. There had been cases even in Yuzhou. As for Yingchuan, the people were somewhat better off; the region was more prosperous, and the Luan family was known for their charity, often distributing porridge and alms to the poor. Life for the common folk here was, relatively speaking, passable.

Yet Luan Yi could not grasp how Luan Fu defined “passable.” Take the village before him: in weather barely above ten degrees Celsius, many men went about half-naked; as breakfast time approached, not a single wisp of cooking smoke rose from any home. Was this what counted as getting by?

A look of quiet sorrow settled on Luan Yi’s handsome face. At this rate, it would be a wonder if the common people did not join the Yellow Turban Rebellion. He knew well that this uprising would not resolve the suffering of the poor; rather, it would plunge the land into chaos and devastation for years to come. He longed to prevent such disaster with his own strength, but though his mind brimmed with knowledge from the twenty-first century, he was, at this moment, only a seven-year-old boy.

Seven years old—just a green child, barely grown. How could he hope to influence history or change the future?

A powerful sense of helplessness invaded his heart, yet he could not help but contemplate the days ahead.

To carve out a domain of his own? Impossible. He was the descendant of merchants; in this era, where one’s birth dictated one’s fate, the child of a merchant had little hope of making waves.

To assist a wise ruler? That seemed the only path. But whom to aid? Liu Bei? Liu Bei was simply too weak, his life a tale of unending hardship; even with Luan Yi’s help, little might change, and the perils of exile could well cost him his life. The risk was far too great.

Sun Quan, perhaps? The southern lands could be defended, but domination was beyond reach.

Yuan Shao? Stubborn and self-willed...

Cao Cao? That was a possibility. In time, the friends he made at Yingchuan Academy would all find their way under Cao’s banner, and they could support one another. Yet—Cao Cao was a suspicious man. If Luan Yi provoked his ire, the consequences could be fatal.

His brows knit in confusion, Luan Yi could find no answer. He let the matter drop, deciding to ponder it another day.

The carriage jolted its way through the dilapidated north gate of Yangzhai, past desolate markets, out through the south gate, and on for half a mile more, until the high walls of the Luan family estate emerged at the edge of sight.

From afar, Luan Yi spotted the steward Luan Zhong—father to Luan Fu—pacing anxiously outside the main gate. When he saw Luan Yi’s carriage approaching, he bounded up in excitement, dashed through the doors, and reappeared moments later.

As the carriage came to a halt, Luan Zhong strode forward and bowed deeply. “Young master, you have returned.”

Luan Yi lifted the curtain with a smile. “Uncle Zhong, you’re my elder—there’s no need for such ceremony.”

Luan Zhong’s face remained solemn as he bowed again. “That will not do, young master. Master is master, servant is servant. The rules must not be broken.”

Luan Yi was helpless, sighing inwardly at the deep-rooted rigidity of the feudal hierarchy—something that would not change overnight.

After a few words of greeting, Luan Yi, assisted by Luan Zhong and Luan Fu, alighted from the carriage. His feet had barely touched the ground when a woman’s excited cry rang out from within the courtyard: “My child, you’re home at last! I’ve missed you so much!” In a rush of fragrant air, a beautiful lady came running from the house and swept Luan Yi into a tight embrace.

This was his mother in this life.

“Ow!” His mother, Lady Diao of the Luan family, hugged him so tightly that the “young” Luan Yi grimaced in pain. “Mother, you’re hurting me.”

“Oh, forgive me, forgive me.” She wiped away her tears, crouched down, and looked him up and down, hands on his arms. “It’s only been a few days, but you’ve grown thinner, though a bit taller too.”

“Mother, I haven’t lost weight—I’ve put on a few pounds!” In front of his mother, Luan Yi always played the part of a child.

No sooner had he finished than his grandfather, Luan Tao, and his father, Luan Miao, emerged from the house and approached.

Luan Tao, tall and broad, loomed before Luan Yi like a wall. With his hands clasped behind his back, he gazed down and said, “Of course he’s not thinner. He’s eaten well these months at the academy. Not only did he eat his fill, he invited his friends to our Mu Jin Residence to feast as well. Hmph! If this goes on, I’d like to see how you’ll inherit the family estate. At this rate, you’ll squander it all away!”

Seeing her father-in-law about to scold Luan Yi before he’d even entered the house, Lady Diao hurried to smooth things over. “Father, it’s a holiday—Luan Yi’s finally home. Let’s not scold him now. Whatever you have to say, let’s talk inside. And besides, it’s just a few meals. Our family isn’t short of money, and even if we spend it all, I still have my dowry! What’s a bit of wealth compared to having our loved ones safe and sound?” As she spoke, she suddenly thought of her recently departed eldest son, and tears fell again.

At the mention of his lost grandson, Luan Tao said nothing more. Luan Miao, Luan Yi’s father, was a quiet man by nature and said little in any case.

Thus, the family entered the house. Luan Yi’s deep eyes once more took in the familiar sights. He remembered playing with his brother in front of the west wing; playing hide-and-seek, he’d hidden behind that very rockery, and his brother had only found him after much effort; in the back garden, his grandfather often tested their lessons, and whenever Luan Yi struggled, his brother would always give him secret hints with a wink...

Now, all of that was in the past. His brother would never return.

Luan Yi’s eyes grew moist, tears glistening at the corner of his mouth. His mother, seeming to sense his sorrow, began to weep even more bitterly. By the time they reached the main hall, she was sobbing uncontrollably, clutching Luan Yi and wailing aloud.

Luan Miao, fearing she might fall ill from grief, quickly had the maids help lead her to rest in the west wing. Luan Yi wanted to go as well, but his father stopped him.

He whispered, “You look too much like your brother. Seeing you, your mother can’t help but miss him all the more. Best to let her have some peace.”

And so, the couple withdrew, leaving only grandfather and grandson in the main hall.

Luan Yi feared his grandfather would scold him and dared not speak. Luan Tao, however, seemed to have no intention of saying anything. He sat drinking water, glancing at Luan Yi from time to time.

A long while passed—about the time it took for a stick of incense to burn. Then, staring into his water bowl, Luan Tao asked in a low voice, “How have your studies gone these three months?”

“Ah?” Luan Yi started, bowing deeply. “I have not dared to be negligent, Grandfather. My results are acceptable.”

“Acceptable?” Luan Tao’s brows shot up, and he sighed. “Ah, acceptable.” He fell silent, lost in thought.

Luan Yi knew well what was on his grandfather’s mind: “If Xun were here, his achievements would surely far outstrip ‘acceptable.’”

Luan Yi did not argue. Instead, he took a bundle of bamboo slips from his bag and respectfully handed them to his grandfather. “These are the comments from Master Cen.” This was the academy’s custom: students brought home written evaluations for their parents, much like report cards in later generations, sealed with the master’s seal so they could not be tampered with.

Luan Tao glanced at Luan Yi, then unrolled the slips and read them closely. As he scanned the lines, the anger faded from his face, slowly replaced by a smile. At last, he slapped the table and burst out laughing, startling Luan Yi, who wondered if his grandfather had gone mad.

Curious, he tried to peek at the contents, but Luan Tao swiftly rolled up the slips and tucked them into his sleeve. He began pacing the room, excitement evident in his every step. Only after another stick of incense’s time did he manage to compose himself, sit down, and resume a stern expression.

Seeing his grandfather’s mercurial mood, Luan Yi’s heart skipped a beat. He silently cursed Master Cen: what on earth had that old man written to set the household in such a turmoil?

In his anxiety, he heard his grandfather question him further about his studies—what books he had read. Luan Yi replied that he had finished the Analects and the Book of Songs, and was now reading Lü’s Spring and Autumn Annals and studying Laozi and Zhuangzi.

Luan Tao then tested him with several questions, and, seeing Luan Yi answer them all with ease, nodded in satisfaction. After a moment’s thought, he asked, “What is your view of Laozi and Zhuangzi?”

Not daring to stray from orthodoxy, Luan Yi combined his prior knowledge with what he had learned since, and gave a concise summary of their core ideas.

Luan Tao nodded again, pleased. Then, his tone shifted: he warned Luan Yi that a basic understanding of Laozi and Zhuangzi was sufficient, but he must never take them too seriously. Now that Xun was gone, Luan Yi was the eldest grandson of the direct line; whether he became an official or not, the vast Luan family estate would one day be his to uphold. The household depended on him, as did those who worked the family lands in Yingchuan. As heir, his responsibilities were grave—he must be a shrewd leader, and never follow the path of Laozi and Zhuangzi, chasing after “inaction.”