The Four Stages of Life

Luan Yi also genuinely disliked Laozi and Zhuangzi, nodding repeatedly in agreement. Luan Tao continued, "The family business will eventually be managed by you, so while you study the classics, you must also gain some knowledge of commerce." With that, the old man called out toward the door, “Laifu, move the set of ‘Guanzi’ from my study to the young master’s room.”

“‘Guanzi’?” Luan Yi was momentarily taken aback.

“What?” Luan Tao snorted coldly, “You don’t want to read ‘Guanzi’? Do you also think merchants are beneath you? Let me tell you, don’t think that just because you’ve read a few days of Confucius and Mencius you can forget your roots.”

“I have never thought merchants were lowly,” Luan Yi quickly explained. “I was surprised just now because I have been searching for a copy of ‘Guanzi’ for days. I looked everywhere in the academy, visited the book market in town several times, but couldn’t find it. I didn’t expect that, as the saying goes, after searching high and low, I’d find it with no effort at all, right here at home. So I’m truly delighted.”

“After searching high and low, only to discover it was right here all along.” Luan Tao’s eyes lit up, and a rare smile played at the corners of his mouth. “Yi’er, you’ve really improved—what a fitting metaphor. Since you like this book, study it well. Next time you come home on leave, I’ll test you on it.”

A wave of warmth swept through Luan Yi. In his memory, it had been a long time since his grandfather had called him by his childhood name, “Yi’er.” This change today seemed to signify a certain degree of recognition, as if his past misdeeds were gradually fading with his growing achievements. He hurriedly rose and bowed, saying, “I will not disappoint Grandfather’s high hopes.”

Luan Tao stood up and lightly patted Luan Yi on the shoulder. “Alright! You must be tired from the journey today. Go wash up and rest.”

Leaving the main hall, Luan Yi walked back toward his room. Passing his elder brother’s door, he glimpsed the familiar couch and desk through a crack, and could not suppress a wave of melancholy and grief.

His own room was right next door. At this moment, Laifu and his personal maid, Cui’er, were waiting outside. Seeing him turn into the courtyard, they came to meet him. “Second Young Master, the bathwater is ready, please wash up.”

“Oh!” Luan Yi replied listlessly. Glancing at Cui’er, he suddenly felt a pang of inferiority. Though only five years his senior, she was already over five feet tall—fully a head taller than he was.

As he pushed open the door, Cui’er chirped, “Do you need me to help you bathe?”

Luan Yi was mortified; he certainly didn’t want a girl standing by watching, even touching him as he washed. At the thought, his cheeks flushed red. Flustered, he stammered, “No need, no need! I won’t trouble Sister Cui’er,” and in three quick steps darted inside, bolting the door behind him, leaning back against it for fear she might barge in.

Outside, laughter bubbled up, Cui’er’s light giggles mingling with Laifu’s deep, suppressed snorts.

“So they’re making fun of me together!” Luan Yi realized with a wry shake of his head.

The ‘Guanzi’ his grandfather had mentioned had already been delivered to his room. The bamboo scrolls were piled in a corner by the large couch, stacked like a small mountain. Luan Yi leafed through them briefly—something seemed off. In his previous life, he had majored in economics and read ‘Guanzi’ before. He remembered that in the twenty-first century there were only seventy-six chapters, but this version from his grandfather had eighty-six. It seemed this edition was more complete; ten chapters had been lost in the mists of history.

“It looks like I’ll have my hands full for a good while yet.” Setting the scroll aside, Luan Yi slipped off his robe and sank into the prepared bath. He had to admit, Cui’er was truly considerate; having served him since childhood, she knew all his habits—even the bathwater was the perfect temperature. Only the herbal scent sprinkled in the water was a bit odd.

Steam filled the room, swirling thickly about. In a daze, Luan Yi felt the mist before his eyes resembled gun smoke. In just nine years, the Han Empire would be shrouded in war—would he still be able to enjoy such baths then? Would his wealthy family survive the coming chaos? Even if they did, how would their descendants cope with the turmoil to follow? Luan Yi dared not think further; time pressed on relentlessly.

The next day was the traditional Qingming Festival. The Luan household was bustling from early morning. His father, Luan Miao, was arranging offerings in the ancestral hall; his second uncle, Luan Si, was directing servants to clean the house and courtyard; his mother oversaw all matters of food and drink in the rear quarters. The entire household was in an uproar, leaving Luan Yi no chance to sleep in.

By the hour of Chen, just before breakfast, relatives young and old began to arrive, including elders from his grandfather’s generation—Luan Tao’s brothers and cousins—bringing their descendants to pay respects to their ancestors at the clan patriarch’s house.

The once spacious courtyard was now crowded. Luan Yi counted briefly—there must have been over a hundred people.

Disliking crowds, Luan Yi would have preferred to stay in and read. But as the eldest legitimate grandson, he had no choice but to appear and socialize on such an important occasion, following his grandfather and father through the throng, bowing and forcing a smile.

At three quarters past the hour, the entire clan ate breakfast together—a grand spectacle. After the meal, the male family members washed their hands and dusted themselves off, then lined up and marched with a rumble toward the ancestral hall. The matriarch, Lady Diao, joined the procession as well.

Before the ancestral tablets, Luan Tao first made a formal report in the old-fashioned style, recounting the family’s affairs over the past year. He explained that though times were hard, the family had united and, blessed by the ancestors, their business was faring reasonably well; that new children had been born, and the younger generation had shown clear progress in their studies, and so on.

Luan Tao’s speech droned on for over half an hour before they finally presented offerings. Next came the ritual bows and prostrations, during which everyone wailed loudly, some more sincerely than others, to demonstrate their filial piety. Luan Yi joined in, pretending to wipe away tears.

In the midst of the cries, a particularly heartrending wail came from the front—it was unmistakably his mother. At the lowest row of ancestral tablets, among the positions for Luan Yi’s generation, one stood out: the tablet for Luan Xun, grandson of Luan Tao—his elder brother, who had died at the start of the year.

Lady Diao, seeing her own son’s memorial, was overcome by grief and collapsed, weeping uncontrollably, so that the maids had to support her back to her room.

To send a child to the grave, especially one who died so unjustly—what could be sadder in this world?

With the ceremony over, the mansion hosted another grand banquet. Now that the rites were finished, wine flowed freely, and the festivities grew lively. Yet Luan Yi could not stir his spirits; his mother’s tears infected him, and he could not help but mourn his beloved brother.

Gazing at the relatives laughing and chatting, he asked himself in sorrow: Shouldn’t Qingming be a day of mourning? Why was everyone smiling as if it were a day of reunion and joy, rather than grief?

On the following noon, Luan Yi was absorbed in reading ‘Guanzi’ when a servant announced visitors. Setting down his scroll, Luan Yi went out with Laifu to see who it was, and from a distance spotted Guo Jia, Shan Fu, Xi Zhicai, and Mao Jie approaching. Only then did he recall that they all lived nearby.

Delighted, Luan Yi exclaimed, “What brings you all here?”

“What, aren’t we welcome?” Xi Zhicai quipped, waggling his eyebrows.

“Of course you are! I wish you’d visit more often!” Luan Yi laughed, leading them to his room and sending Cui’er to fetch some snacks and tea.

As they chatted, Luan Yi learned that after fulfilling their own ancestral obligations, his friends had grown bored and decided to visit him.

After marveling at the size of Luan Yi’s home, Guo Jia began to inspect his room. Noticing the bamboo scrolls spread out on his desk, he asked in surprise, “Yi-ge, why are you reading ‘Guanzi’?”

“Huh?” If Guo Jia’s expression was one of surprise, then Mao Jie’s could only be called shock. “Yi-ge, are you planning to give up an official career and take over the family business?”

Seeing Shan Fu staring at him wide-eyed, Luan Yi quickly explained that he still aimed for the civil service; he was only reading ‘Guanzi’ to broaden his knowledge. After all, “one can never have too many skills.” He also explained that ‘Guanzi’ was not simply about commerce—scholars could learn much from it, especially since its author, Guan Zhong, had been Prime Minister of Qi. Without him, Duke Huan of Qi would not have become the hegemon of the Spring and Autumn era.

Guo Jia nodded thoughtfully. “That’s true. Lend it to me when you’re done.”

Luan Yi readily agreed, though he insisted Guo Jia return it afterward. Unlike later times, every set of books was precious, and annotated copies were even more so.

Guo Jia nodded. As he idly flipped through Luan Yi’s collection, his expression suddenly grew somber and he said quietly, “Yi-ge, I’ve been troubled lately.”

“Oh? What problem could stump the genius Guo Jia?” Luan Yi grinned.

“Genius? What genius?” Guo Jia was puzzled.

Only then did Luan Yi realize he’d inadvertently let slip a future epithet for Guo Jia. He laughed it off and changed the subject. “Go on, what’s troubling you?”

Guo Jia scratched his head. “I just can’t figure out how reading all these Confucian texts will help us in future official careers.”

Luan Yi smiled. He had pondered this very question. He explained, “In my humble opinion, a person’s life can be divided into four stages. Which four? Cultivating oneself, managing one’s family, governing the state, and bringing peace to the empire. The cultivation of oneself is itself divided into three parts. We study the classics and histories, read the teachings of Confucius and Mencius, the philosophies of Huang-Lao, all to nurture our character and learn the foundation of being a person—this is the beginning of self-cultivation. I once heard it said, ‘With bronze as a mirror, one can adjust his attire; with history as a mirror, one can discern the rise and fall of states; with people as a mirror, one knows right from wrong.’ Therefore, reading the Annals and Records has great value. In future governance, it allows us to draw lessons from history, to extract the essence and discard the dross, ensuring our policies do not go astray. Thus, reading the classics and histories is the foundation of self-cultivation.”

Guo Jia, Shan Fu, Xi Zhicai, and Mao Jie all brightened at these words, nodding in agreement. “Yi-ge’s words are most reasonable.”