Chapter 937: Like a Flower

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Playing Pranks with the Beacon Fire

Just outside Yihe City in Youzhou, an irrigation ditch wound its way. By autumn, the vast expanse of reeds alongside it appeared like an endless field of snow.

Several riverside villages were nestled amidst the reeds. A carriage, bouncing continuously, turned from the main road onto a smaller path. Its driver was a young man dressed in unusual clothes, his expression vacant.

Seated behind the driver was a man in simple, clean cotton clothes, leaning against the carriage wall. His legs dangled outside, swaying gently with the carriage's uneven motion.

As dusk settled, the carriage on the narrow path caught up to an old farmer who had just finished his day's work. As it drew abreast, the man in cotton clothes turned his head, meeting the farmer's curious gaze. The old man's face was deeply lined and rather plain, yet despite his stooped posture, he stood half a head taller than most southern elders. His steps were remarkably nimble, clearly indicating he had been a strong, capable man in his youth.

The man in cotton clothes quietly called out, prompting the driver to pull the reins and bring the carriage to a slow stop. The man then hopped down, smiling as he greeted, "Fourth Granduncle?"

The old farmer's face filled with bewilderment. He couldn't fathom why this unfamiliar young man would address him as "Fourth Granduncle." Perhaps intimidated by the man's aura, the old farmer mumbled evasively, clearly uncomfortable and unwilling to engage in conversation.

The man in cotton clothes smiled, speaking in the most authentic Youzhou dialect. "It's me, Chen Wang, from the end of the village. Fourth Granduncle, don't you recognize me?"

The old farmer's eyes widened as he earnestly scrutinized the young man who claimed to be from the end of the village. Then, recognition dawned. A smile bloomed on his weathered, wrinkled face. "Xiao Wang?!"

Chen Wang grinned. "That's right."

The old man sighed wistfully, then puzzled, "Why have you returned? Didn't you go to the capital for the imperial examinations?"

Chen Wang smiled. "I finished the exams ages ago. I'm just home for a visit. Fourth Granduncle, I haven't forgotten you even lent me two taels of silver back then."

The old man waved a hand, then asked curiously, "How did the exams go?"

Chen Wang replied softly, "They went well enough."

The old man murmured an 'Oh,' perhaps hesitant to press further and embarrass the young man. Besides, a man who had spent his entire life working the earth wouldn't know what specific questions to ask anyway. He simply sighed, "What a pity."

Chen Wang's face remained placid, as if he hadn't quite grasped the old man's undertone of regret.

Chen Wang and the old farmer walked side by side back towards the village, discussing the year's harvest, the marriages of their age-mates, and the well-being of the village elders.

Through their casual conversation, Chen Wang learned that his ancestral home, a simple mud-brick house, had long fallen into ruin, with one wall completely collapsed. This was hardly surprising; after ten years without maintenance or return visits, such a basic dwelling couldn't possibly remain intact. Chen Wang's parents had passed away one after another before he left for the imperial exams. An unowned house, unlike the seemingly delicate reeds that wither in autumn only to thrive again in spring, simply couldn't endure the passage of time. The old farmer left some things unsaid. In truth, after Xiao Wang departed for the capital, there was a young woman in the village who would regularly clean and care for the house as if it were her own. Year after year, many young men who secretly harbored affections for her eventually gave up hope and married, raising families, while that blooming maiden gradually became an old maid. But now she was gone. What good would it do to tell Chen Wang all this? Besides, Chen Wang had spent so many years in the capital; he might not even remember her, might he? If he truly cared, why hadn't he sent a single letter home, even if he couldn't return for all these years?

They were already nearing the edge of the village. The old man looked up at the curling smoke rising from the houses and couldn't help but sigh. That girl's home was right at the village entrance. She was such a virtuous young woman, admired and praised throughout the entire region. In earlier years, matchmakers had almost worn out her family's doorstep, but she had refused all proposals, and her parents were helpless to sway her. No one could have foreseen the tragic outcome. Common folk, he thought, accept their lot. If one's fate is ill, there's no one to blame. It's like falling sick; if you endure, you live; if you can't, it means Heaven no longer sustains you, and one simply finds peace in the earth.

Chen Wang did not enter the village. He suddenly stopped and asked, "Fourth Granduncle, where is her grave?"

The old man paused, then lowered his voice. "How did you know about her..."

The old man didn't finish his sentence, and Chen Wang remained silent.

The old man pointed towards the ferry crossing. "It's over there. The mound is small, but it's easy to find."

Chen Wang pulled out a heavy money pouch and a letter. "Fourth Granduncle, please do me the favor of settling my accounts in the village. Hand this to the village chief or the private tutor nearby; everything is clearly written down."

The old man hesitated for a moment, but ultimately did not refuse. He carefully took the letter and money pouch, then asked, "Aren't you going back into the village to look around?"

Chen Wang shook his head. "I won't go. I've already paid my respects at my parents' graves, and I need to leave for the capital right away."

The old man lamented, "That's too rushed."

Chen Wang merely smiled.

The old man had only taken a few steps when he suddenly turned back and asked, "Xiao Wang, are you really a high official in the capital now?"

Chen Wang seemed unsure how to respond. A high official in Tai'an City? A duke or minister adorned in yellow and purple, holding a central position, perhaps even a prime minister?

So he simply smiled. "Not particularly high."

The old man said with satisfaction, "That's still quite an accomplishment! Fourth Granduncle always knew you'd amount to something great!"

Chen Wang's smile was serene.

Before leaving, the old man didn't forget to cast another glance at the young man standing beside Chen Wang. As he turned to walk away, he was filled with suspicion, thinking how odd that young man's clothes looked.

Chen Wang and the "young eunuch," who was said to be as old as the nation itself, walked slowly onward. His parents' graves lay not far outside the village.

Chen Wang raised a hand, brushing it through the reeds.

Back when he was immersed in his arduous studies, Chen Wang never dared to dream of success in the imperial examinations, let alone having his name listed on the golden roster. His parents held even less such extravagant hope, simply believing that their son's ability to read and write was already a tremendous honor for their family. Beiliang was a land of harsh cold; for a single household to produce a scholar was exceptional, vastly different from the Central Plains, especially the fertile Jiangnan region, where families often emphasized a tradition of combining farming with scholarship. In Beiliang, it was common for young men to join the military, but those with books in hand were a rare sight.

Upon his initial arrival in the capital for the metropolitan examination, Beiliang was unique in that it had no dedicated examination hall in Tai'an City. Unfamiliar with the city and lacking any patronage from senior scholars from his hometown, he was forced to lodge in a small temple. His Beiliang accent caused him difficulties everywhere; a classic text that sold for one price to others would be significantly more expensive for him. Even after subsequently participating in the palace examination, he still found no camaraderie among his fellow graduates in official circles – a plight unique to Beiliang. Jin Lanting's meteoric rise in Tai'an City and Yan Jiexu's swift ascent to become an imperial relative—both, driven by personal vendettas, deliberately refrained from altering this situation. Even Yao Baifeng, despite serving as the Left Libationer of the Imperial Academy, was willing but ultimately powerless to assist.

And Chen Wang himself—"Junior Protector Chen" in the eyes of the entire court, the distinguished Left Attendant of the Palace Secretariat, and the future Chief Grand Secretary most trusted by the present Emperor—was both willing and capable, yet paradoxically unable to act.

Chen Wang walked slowly, flanked by reeds that towered over his head. Large, soft clusters of reed flowers detached and drifted away in the autumn breeze, their destination unknown.

Chen Wang arrived at the grave mound, pulled away the tangled weeds, then straightened his robes. He knelt and bowed three times, his head hitting the ground with resounding thuds.

A child wishes to care for their parents, but they are no longer there.

The old man, whom the man in cotton clothes respectfully addressed as Fourth Granduncle, likely never knew that the two items entrusted to him—the money pouch and the letter—held immense value. The letter alone, bearing the simple signature "Chen Wang," was worth a thousand pieces of gold.

Over the past two decades, only a handful of individuals from Beiliang had made their way into the Liyang officialdom. Among them, Jin Lanting had risen to the position of Minister of Rites, Yan Jiexu had been bestowed the title of Grand Academician, and Yao Baifeng, a revered master of Neo-Confucianism, had once overseen the Imperial Academy. Yet, even the combined influence of these three might not equal the singular weight of Chen Wang.

Indeed, it could be argued that, to a significant extent, it was this Beiliang scholar, who had left his homeland, whose two secret letters fundamentally altered the political landscape of Beiliang.

On his way back, Chen Wang encountered a powerfully built man of his own age. Upon seeing Chen Wang, the man's expression became a complex mix of resentment, awe, surprise, and bewilderment.

The man took a heavy breath, then, with a stern face, handed Chen Wang a coarse cloth satchel. "These are things my sister left behind—all the books you left years ago. I'm returning them to you."

Chen Wang took the satchel, his gaze distant as he fell into a trance.

The man turned and strode away, then stopped, his voice hoarse. "Wangzi, even though my sister... don't you dare think she died in disgrace! She was purer than anyone!"

Chen Wang covered his mouth, watching the retreating back of the man who, in earlier years, would often throw an arm around him and call him 'brother-in-law.' He mumbled indistinctly, "I'm sorry."

The man murmured, "Tell that to her."

Chen Wang remained silent, crimson seeping from between his clenched fingers.

He stood motionless for a long time.

Clutching the cloth satchel, Chen Wang walked to the ferry crossing and found the small grave.

The eunuch was nowhere to be seen.

Chen Wang sat cross-legged before the grave, facing it.

An illiterate young woman would find a clean spot in the sun, where she would meticulously spread out books to air them, then gather them up, one by one.

An unmarried woman would go to that small ferry crossing when no one was around, waiting for someone. She would gaze into the distance repeatedly, then turn away, over and over.

Chen Wang gently opened the cloth satchel and looked down. Inside were the familiar *Book of Rites* and *Great Learning*, alongside even older elementary primers like the *Three Character Classic*, *Hundred Family Surnames*, and *Thousand Character Classic*.

Back then, whether she was working in the fields, pounding clothes by the ferry, during heavy snowfall, or harvesting reeds, he would often recite passages from these books to her.

This year and those years were now separated by a decade.

He and she were now separated by life and death.

Chen Wang closed his eyes and softly recited: "When the nation faces calamity, the sovereign dies for the altars of state, the high officials die for the ancestral temples, and the common people, at last, die in their villages..."

"The gentleman says, 'Great virtue does not hold office; the Great Dao is not a tool; great trust needs no promises; great time does not keep pace.' One who comprehends these four can truly aspire to learning..."

"'Let all the people under heaven, in their clean and splendid robes, come to observe the sacrifices. How abundant they are, as if they are above, as if they are to our left and right...'"

In the gathering twilight, the scholar read.

The wind rustled, and the reeds swayed gently, like a woman nodding, her smile blossoming like a flower.