Child Prodigy

Everyone harbors a desire to boast, and having benefited from Luan Yi’s generosity, the scholars from the commoner class at Yingchuan Academy could not help but sing the praises of the Ascending Phoenix Pavilion upon their return. They proclaimed it to be the epitome of elegance and sophistication, extolled the freshness and flavor of its dishes, and raved about the variety and charm of its entertainment. Their praise, like birds with wings, swiftly flew to the ears of the aristocratic class. Some of the noble youths, piqued by curiosity and regretful for having missed yesterday’s banquet, began to grumble in private. Wei Zhe, who had always disliked Luan Yi, even went so far as to sneer at the commoner scholars, “You paupers! Have you ever seen true luxury? All you do is exaggerate and brag!”

The commoners retorted, “Whoever’s lying is a fool. If you don’t believe us, go see the Ascending Phoenix Pavilion for yourselves!”

Though skeptical, the noble youths could not contain their curiosity. In groups of three or five, they resolved to try something new that very day.

Thus, the faces of the nobility began to appear at the Ascending Phoenix Pavilion. At first, just a table or two, but soon three or five, then seven or eight. Drawn by the delicious food, the refined atmosphere, and the entertaining performances, more and more students gathered there. Each guest who tasted its peerless delicacies became a new node in a growing web, spreading word of its wonders far and wide. The effect was dramatic: beyond the students, celebrated gentlemen and wealthy merchants from the surrounding regions began to flock to the pavilion. The halls were crowded day and night, its reputation soared, and it became universally acknowledged as the county’s premier tavern. Luan Yi’s profits grew by the day—while not quite amassing a fortune overnight, a daily income of over a hundred strings of cash was more than respectable.

When Guo Jia and his companions learned how much the pavilion was earning, they were astonished, exclaiming at the outrageous profits of commerce. At this rate, the investment would pay for itself in under two years. By contrast, using fifty thousand strings of cash to buy land and relying on grain harvests for return would take at least thirty years—fifteen times slower!

Even Elder Ding, the county magistrate of Wuyang, often brought his officials to the Ascending Phoenix Pavilion. He always chose a private room in the west wing overlooking the stage, where he would tear into fried pork, sip fine wine, and watch the performances through the open window, swaying with delight.

What especially intrigued Elder Ding was the pavilion’s latrine. He summoned Luan Yi and declared that the pavilion’s commode was truly excellent—so comfortable that, ever since he had used it, returning to the old outhouse left him unable to relieve himself. He asked Luan Yi whether there were any spares for sale, as he wished to buy a set.

Luan Yi, well aware of Elder Ding’s motives, could not help but laugh inwardly. With a respectful bow, he replied, “Purchase it? Why speak of buying, Elder? Your fondness for the commode is my good fortune! Please, do not mention purchasing again—I shall see that it is sent to you as a gift.” He then instructed Luan Fu to fetch five commodes from the workshop and deliver them to the county office, along with five sets of fine redwood tables and chairs.

These sets of redwood furniture were expensive, yet Luan Yi spared no expense. He understood the value of such a gift. The magistrate, after all, was something of a trendsetter in the county. If his household switched to high tables and chairs, visiting scholars and merchants would surely follow suit, greatly boosting business for the woodshop. More importantly, the magistrate might not keep them all for himself—he could use them to curry favor with higher officials. Should these pieces find their way into the governor’s parlor, the promotional effect would be unparalleled. Wealth would follow as a matter of course.

While Luan Yi was dreaming of riches, Elder Ding was inwardly impressed by the boy’s discernment, tact, and understanding—truly a promising talent. But then he glanced at the child before him, barely three feet tall, and mused, “He’s only seven. What was I doing at his age? Probably still playing in the mud! Yet here he is, running a great enterprise. What does that say?” Elder Ding recalled the rumors swirling around Yingchuan for years—on the day of Luan Yi’s birth, there were omens in the sky, and a Taoist had proclaimed him extraordinarily gifted. “Could it be?” Suddenly, understanding dawned, and his eyes shone with shock and delight.

In the Eastern Han era, people were deeply superstitious. They firmly believed in the existence of true prodigies—child geniuses sent by heaven. Such a prodigy was not born just anywhere or anytime; he would be born in a land of peace and prosperity, in a time of good governance. The place of his birth had to be harmonious and flourishing.

Thus, the arrival of a prodigy signified a well-governed realm. For the county magistrate, this meant that his jurisdiction was a land of prosperity—a testament to the benevolence of the Han Emperor. Such a sign was the greatest of merits, the highest of auspices.

Even if Luan Yi was not a heaven-sent prodigy, Elder Ding reasoned, his precocious talent reflected well on the state of education in Wuyang County—a merit in itself. The more he thought about it, the more excited he became. Either way, it was good news. He must report this to the governor at once—perhaps this would earn him a promotion. He had been magistrate for six years already and longed for a new post.

Back at the county office, Elder Ding eagerly summoned his assistant and explained in detail his plans to report Luan Yi as a prodigy to the governor. But the assistant shook his head repeatedly. “What’s wrong?” Elder Ding demanded. “Do you not agree that Luan Yi is extraordinarily gifted?”

The assistant shook his head again.

Elder Ding grew impatient. “If you think he is so talented, why shake your head? Are you objecting to my reporting this to the court?”

“Not at all,” the assistant hastened to explain. “I do not mean that you should refrain from reporting the appearance of a prodigy. Rather, I believe you should not report only Luan Yi. At seven, he manages the entire Ascending Phoenix Pavilion and writes astonishing tales—who could deny he is a prodigy?”

He glanced at Elder Ding, who stroked his beard and nodded, and continued, “I have had the fortune to visit the Ascending Phoenix Pavilion several times and am acquainted with the other boys there. Aside from Luan Yi, the others are equally remarkable.

“For instance, the paintings that adorn the private rooms were all done by Mao Jie, who is only eight, yet can depict sweeping landscapes and lively fish with rare skill.

“Then there is Xi Zhicai—at eight, he dares recite stories before a crowd of nearly a hundred, and his eloquence is extraordinary.

“The others, Dan Fu and Guo Jia, are even younger than Luan Yi, yet their conversation is full of spirit and clarity, as mature as adults. Therefore, I suggest you report not just one prodigy, but five: Luan Yi, Mao Jie, Xi Zhicai, Guo Jia, and Mao Jie. Let the governor decide.”

“Five?” Elder Ding grew more convinced of his assistant’s wisdom. To have five prodigies appear at once, all in his jurisdiction—such an unprecedented achievement! “Someone bring pen and ink!”

Meanwhile, Luan Yi was unaware of the magistrate’s machinations. He and his friends were still utterly absorbed in their studies and business.

Just as Luan Yi had predicted, once Elder Ding received the furniture and placed it in the main hall, the sales of the woodshop’s tables and chairs skyrocketed. Wealthy merchants and landowners from within and beyond the county flocked to buy them, ordering ten or even dozens of sets at a time. Supply could not keep up with demand, and the craftsmen were run ragged.

Given the circumstances, Luan Yi had to expand production, increasing the number of craftsmen to fifty—yet even then, the original workshop was too small. He had no choice but to send Xi Zhicai to search for a plot of land and build a new workshop.

And so, the sweltering summer passed in a blaze of activity. The Ascending Phoenix Pavilion and the woodshop were running smoothly, and at last, Luan Yi, Guo Jia, and their friends could relax and enjoy life as contented young gentlemen. The wealth they held in their hands was all earned by their own efforts, and they could enjoy it with an easy conscience.

One autumn evening, the Ascending Phoenix Pavilion was abuzz with guests. Luan Yi, Guo Jia, Dan Fu, and Mao Jie lounged in a corner, savoring freshly roasted watermelon seeds and listening with relish to Xi Zhicai’s storytelling—utterly at ease.

In the midst of their merriment, Luan Fu approached, followed by a servant who appeared to be from a noble household. The servant wound his way through the crowd, crossed the wooden bridge, and came up to Luan Yi, bowing and presenting a visiting card.

Luan Yi glanced at it. Written on the card were the words: “Xun Yu, styled Gongda.”

“So it’s Xun Yu?” Luan Yi was surprised and greeted the servant. “What instructions does Master Xun have?”

The servant bowed respectfully and produced a letter from his sleeve.

Luan Yi unrolled it and read: in a few days, the Xun family wished to hold a family banquet at the Ascending Phoenix Pavilion, and hoped Luan Yi would reserve the place exclusively for them. The Xun family would, of course, compensate him generously.

Luan Yi was only too happy to oblige. Even if they had not asked, he would have reserved the pavilion for them. He instructed the servant to convey to Xun Gongda that he would make all necessary preparations and would not disappoint him.

He then slipped a few coins from his sleeve and pressed them into the servant’s hand. The man demurred at first but finally accepted with a smile. As he was leaving, Luan Yi had Luan Fu pack up some roasted watermelon seeds for him to take home—a rare treat, for roasted seeds were a new delicacy at the Ascending Phoenix Pavilion. They produced only a few pounds each day, and they were almost impossible to buy. Their scarcity and the pavilion’s reputation had pushed the price to an absurd level—forty strings of cash for two ounces, equivalent to half a bushel of grain. Ordinary families could never afford such a luxury. Yet here he was, having earned half a pound just by running an errand—a windfall indeed!