Chapter 12: The Family Banquet at the Xun Residence

The Xun family was a preeminent clan in Yingchuan Commandery, renowned throughout the Han dynasty. Its scions had served as officials for generations, and by the time of Xun Shu—grandfather to Xun Yu—the family had produced eight outstanding sons, known collectively as the “Eight Dragons.” With such an illustrious family about to visit, Luan Yi was naturally delighted to make their acquaintance. He closed Qifeng Pavilion a day in advance, meticulously cleaning every corner from top to bottom. The curtains, carpets, and tablecloths were all washed or replaced as needed, leaving the establishment gleaming with renewed splendor.

Luan Yi also gave much thought to the evening’s entertainment. The Xun family, being deeply involved in officialdom, would not appreciate satirical plays lampooning the court. The songs performed by the singing girls had to be graceful and refined; as for Xi Zhicai’s storytelling, it was best to avoid tales from “Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio.” But what should be performed in their stead? The Xun family were traditional scholars at heart, imbued with a certain cynicism toward the world and a sympathy for the downtrodden.

With this in mind, Luan Yi quickly instructed Xi Zhicai to tell the story of “The Little Girl Who Sold Firewood” that evening.

Xiao Wu and Xiao Bai were two talents Luan Yi had discovered among his group of young attendants. Quick-witted and fond of telling stories, he had trained them as the first generation of crosstalk performers, known as the Wu-Bai Duo—though in truth, they were both something of simpletons. Luan Yi summoned them and cautioned, “At the Xun family banquet tomorrow, absolutely no risqué jokes. Offending our guests would be disastrous. Instead, stick to positive, uplifting, and humorous material—nothing vulgar. For example, you might perform ‘Just Teasing You’ or similar pieces. Risqué humor is only appreciated by Magistrate Ding, and only when he visits without other distinguished guests present.”

Xiao Wu and Xiao Bai nodded their understanding.

The next day, Luan Yi arrived early to greet the guests as arranged. Guo Jia, the manager, and the young attendants lined up in two welcoming rows. After the time it takes half a stick of incense to burn, a grand procession appeared in the distance, raising clouds of dust as it approached. There were more than ten carriages in all, escorted by sturdy family retainers who clearly doubled as bodyguards. The drivers shouted commands, cutting an impressive figure.

Before long, the carriages halted before Qifeng Pavilion. The drivers leapt down and bowed low, as members of the Xun family—resplendent in elegant attire—descended one by one. About thirty people attended the family banquet, both men and women, including Xun Yu and Xun You.

Luan Yi and his companions greeted them in unison, “Welcome!”—startling the guests, who soon recovered and accepted the deference with pleased smiles.

Crossing the threshold, the guests were struck by the elegant decor, admiring it openly as they took their seats and the feast commenced. Young attendants bustled through the courtyard, announcing dishes in ringing tones: “Here we have—shredded vegetables salad… one serving of Kung Pao chicken!” The standard Luoyang accent rang out across the courtyard, adding a unique charm and lively atmosphere.

“Sir, which fish would you like?” someone asked at the fishpond. “Very well, this one it is. I’ll catch it for you at once.”

Before every family banquet, it was tradition for the patriarch to speak. At the head table, an elderly man launched into a lengthy oration on the prosperity and harmony of the family. The tedious speech nearly lulled the audience to sleep, but through his words and glances, Luan Yi gradually discerned the identities of several guests—among them Xun Yu’s father, Xun Gun, and the illustrious Xun Shuang.

Xun Shuang had shown great talent in his youth. In the ninth year of the Yanxi era (166 AD), he was recommended for his filial piety and appointed as a Gentleman at the Ministry of Ceremonies. After submitting his opinions to the court, he resigned his post—a rare act of defiance that spoke to his character.

Luan Yi found his gaze drawn to Xun Shuang. Tall and handsome, he embodied the Xun family’s scholarly refinement and dignified bearing. His silk robe and jade belt suited him perfectly, exuding an air of noble grace. Sensing someone’s gaze, Xun Shuang turned slightly, found Luan Yi, and nodded at him with unexpected warmth. Luan Yi returned the smile.

After the patriarch’s address, everyone raised their cups for a ceremonial sip. As the wine flowed, the sound of gongs signaled the start of the entertainment. Singing girls and musicians took the stage. Ordinarily, such routine performances would not impress the Xun family, but perhaps due to the festive atmosphere or some other reason, the guests seemed thoroughly engaged.

After several songs, Xiao Wu made his grand entrance with a stand-up routine called “Just Teasing You,” which had the audience doubled over with laughter. He then joined Xiao Bai for a series of comic duets, filling Qifeng Pavilion with waves of merriment.

With the crosstalk concluded, it was time for the main act. The musicians returned, playing a sorrowful melody. Xi Zhicai stepped heavily onto center stage, shook out his sleeves, and began his tale in a somber tone.

The story unfolded: On a bitterly cold New Year’s Eve, a poorly dressed little girl wandered the streets, carrying a heavy bundle of firewood. She went door to door, seeking buyers, but after many attempts, found no one willing to purchase her wares. Her father had warned her not to return home unless she sold the firewood. Gazing at her unsold bundle, the girl felt a deep ache in her heart. Exhausted, hungry, and freezing, she decided to rest on the steps outside a grand house. The biting wind turned her feet and cheeks purple. Unable to bear the cold, she lit a stick of firewood for warmth and drifted into sleep, dreaming of a New Year’s feast more sumptuous than any wealthy family’s. Just as she was about to eat, the cold woke her. She lit another stick and fell asleep again, this time dreaming of beautiful clothes finer than any the shops could offer—only to wake before she could wear them. She lit a third stick and dreamt of her kind grandmother, whose embrace warmed her soul as she slipped into a deep, peaceful sleep.

The adapted “Little Girl Who Sold Firewood” ended abruptly there, leaving the audience to ponder the outcome.

Xi Zhicai’s vivid narration and penetrating words transported everyone to that cold winter night. The accompanying music heightened the atmosphere, bringing many women and children to tears—some even sobbing openly. The men remained more composed, their faces somber as they reflected on the deeper meaning of the tale. They understood precisely what Luan Yi was conveying—and what he dared not say—in this benighted age of the Eastern Han.

Thunderous applause erupted, honoring both Xi Zhicai for his performance and Luan Yi for his adaptation.

Luan Yi and Xi Zhicai bowed deeply in gratitude. As they did so, Luan Yi’s gaze once again found Xun Shuang’s, who smiled and nodded repeatedly in approval.

Luan Yi bowed again.

Though the performances ended, the banquet continued well into the night. Luan Yi and his close companions, as usual, retreated to a corner, cracking melon seeds and reading by candlelight.

Absorbed in his book, Luan Yi noticed someone approaching. He quickly set the book aside and called Guo Jia and the others to their feet to greet the newcomers. “Brother Xun Yu, Brother Gongda, did you enjoy the dishes?” The visitors were none other than Xun Yu and his nephew.

“Excellent!” Though Xun Yu was younger than Xun You, his status as uncle granted him greater authority. “But your story was even better, my friend!” Xun Yu was four years Luan Yi’s senior and thus addressed him as “worthy brother.”

Luan Yi replied modestly, “I dare not accept such praise. My humble writings hardly deserve such honor.”

“Do not be so modest,” Xun Yu said, his expression suddenly troubled. “In your story, I saw the Han dynasty itself.”

Luan Yi thought to himself, That’s exactly why I wrote it—to satirize the Han; it would be strange if you didn’t see the resemblance. Outwardly, he put on a look of compassion. “From the bottom of my heart, I hope ‘The Little Girl Who Sold Firewood’ remains just a story.”

Xun Yu nodded thoughtfully. “Just now, Grandfather announced that from now on, the Xun family will distribute porridge on the first and fifteenth of each month. For this, you deserve much credit.”

Luan Yi smiled. “It is better to teach a man to fish than to give him fish. Only when every family has land to farm, and everyone has work, will there truly be no little girls selling firewood.”

“Hmm?” Xun You, standing behind, shivered and began repeating softly, “Teach a man to fish… It is better to teach a man to fish than to give him fish…”

Guo Jia interjected with a sigh, “For every family to have land and everyone to have work—that is far easier said than done, if not impossible.”

Luan Yi sighed. “Indeed, it is difficult. Even by the twenty-first century it remains unachieved, let alone in this dog-eat-dog era of the Eastern Han, with the chaos of the Three Kingdoms yet to come. Still, people must have ideals to pursue—especially scholars. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“To make it our ideal that every family has land and everyone has work?”

A light seemed to flash in Xun Yu’s eyes, as if a sudden illumination had pierced his previously empty heart.

They chatted for a while longer. Then Xun Yu asked, “Brother, do you tell stories at Qifeng Pavilion every day?”

Luan Yi nodded.

“How unfortunate!” Xun Yu lamented. “My family’s strict rules forbid me from coming and going after lessons; I have missed so many wonderful stories.”

Luan Yi laughed. “Do not fret, Brother. I have already written down the previous stories. You may take them and enjoy them at your leisure. Moreover, since we both study at the same academy, though in different classes, you can always seek out Xi for a special performance during breaks.” With that, he called Luan Fu to load the manuscripts onto Xun Yu’s carriage.

Xun Yu thanked him profusely, growing ever more cordial and expressing the joy of finding a kindred spirit.

All feasts must end. As midnight approached, the Xun family took their leave, swaying as they exited.

Before departing, Xun Shuang made a point of passing by Luan Yi, patting him on the shoulder and saying, “Your talent surpasses mine by far.”

Luan Yi’s heart soared at these words. In an age without newspapers or television, a scholar’s opinion was as good as public endorsement—and the praise of a renowned scholar even more so. With such commendation spreading, fame was all but inevitable.