Spring Festival at the End of the Han Dynasty

The Spring Festival had passed, and in this season of nature’s renewal, an untimely cold snap swept through the land. Thick, swirling snowflakes descended from the sky, blanketing most of Jiangbei in white.

By the lakeside on the north side of Yingchuan Academy in Yingchuan Commandery, a handsome young boy leaned with his hands behind his back against a pillar in a small pavilion. He wore a magnificent fur cloak over a simple white cotton jacket, the kind worn by common folk—a contrast that seemed rather mismatched.

His cheeks were tinged with a faint blush from the bitter cold, lending his striking features a touch of youthful charm and playfulness. Judging by his stature, he appeared to be no more than six or seven years old, yet his eyes reflected a depth far beyond his years. Through those clear windows of the soul, the falling snowflakes seemed to dance, shimmering with a sorrowful emotion.

His name was Luan Yi. He had once been a returned overseas student in the twenty-first century, with a brilliant future ahead and a loving family. But on a certain day, after unplugging an air conditioner, he lost consciousness and awoke here—in the Luan family of Yingchuan, in the Han Empire.

The Luan family had risen to prominence in his great-grandfather’s generation. The elder had been born to a prosperous farming family in Yingchuan Commandery. In his youth, he resolved to seek his fortune beyond his homeland, spending all his family’s wealth to purchase Sichuan brocade, and journeyed with a friend to the Western Regions. Braving countless hardships, surviving raids by Qiang tribes and horse bandits, they miraculously reached the land of Dashi. There, he sold off all the brocade, acquired local specialties, and returned home with a fortune—thus earning the family its first bucket of gold. In old age, the patriarch passed the reins of the household to Luan Tao, Luan Yi’s grandfather. Luan Tao managed the household with prudence and thrift, gradually securing the Luan family’s commercial standing in Yingchuan.

At present, the Luan family held businesses in many counties: Yangzhai, Linying, Yingyang, Yingyin, Xu, Changshe, and Yangcheng. Their enterprises spanned taverns, teahouses, brothels, pawnshops, and more, alongside vast landholdings.

By the time Luan Yi’s father, Luan Miao, took charge, the family’s fortune had reached its zenith. They were the wealthiest merchants in all Yingchuan.

Luan Miao had two sons. The elder, Luan Xun, was two years older than Luan Yi. He was named Xun, meaning “merit,” because though the family possessed wealth, in Han society—where the ranks of scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants were strictly divided—those of merchant descent held little status. Grandfather Luan Tao hoped his eldest grandson would achieve scholarly distinction and bring prestige to the clan.

The second son was Luan Yi, the protagonist of this story. As for his name, Yi, Luan Yi later overheard the servants gossiping and learned that on the day he was born, a dazzling blue light had shone from his mother’s sickbed, and immediately after, he came into the world. This strange event threw the household into an uproar.

Terrified that his daughter-in-law had birthed a demon, the old master Luan Tao hastily summoned a Daoist priest to investigate. The priest arrived unhurriedly, studied Luan Yi’s features, and noticed that his eyes shone with a clarity rare in infants—something extraordinary. Pretending to perform a ritual, he declared that the child was no monster, but naturally gifted and destined for greatness.

Overjoyed, Luan Tao rewarded the priest handsomely. From then on, he placed as much hope in his second grandson as in the eldest.

Unfortunately, the second grandson, Luan Yi, did not live up to those expectations. He showed no interest in his studies and was thoroughly unremarkable. When Luan Tao invited a tutor for both boys at the age of three, Luan Xun could memorize a passage within half an hour, while Luan Yi could not recall two lines in three days, preferring to play and often infuriating the tutor. As a result, Luan Yi received frequent beatings.

In truth, his academic negligence was all an act. After all, he possessed the mind of a twenty-seven-year-old postgraduate, and with a child’s prodigious memory, memorizing such texts was trivial. Having spent nearly twenty years immersed in study in his past life, only to be frustrated by a difficult job market, he now found himself in a wealthy household. Why not enjoy this life and live out his days as a carefree heir?

So, from the age of four onwards, Luan Yi devoted himself to play: falconry, horseback riding, mountain climbing, and swimming. He longed for the day he would come of age, so he could frequent taverns and gambling dens, and even dreamed of visiting the brothels. This fantasy persisted until the eve of the Spring Festival when he was five, and his grandfather mentioned the current regnal year. The words “Fourth Year of Xiping” struck him like a bucket of cold water.

Luan Yi stood dazed by the lake as heavy snow piled on the pines, their branches sagging under the weight. In the drifting wind, the snowflakes fell and vanished. Familiar with the history of the Three Kingdoms, Luan Yi knew that Xiping was the era name of Emperor Ling of Han, around 173–177 AD. The fourth year of Xiping was 173 AD. If his memory served, the Yellow Turban Rebellion would break out in 184 AD—the end of the Eastern Han! The mighty Han dynasty was now rotten to the core; its downfall was only a matter of time.

“This is the fourth year of Xiping—only nine years left!” Luan Yi sighed heavily to the sky. As he was lost in worry, a childish voice called out from the courtyard to his right: “Hey, take this!”

Luan Yi was too slow to dodge. He felt a sharp, cold pain on his neck, the chill spreading down his back and making him shiver. It was a snowball.

“How could you be so slow? You couldn’t even dodge that.” The thrower approached, cheeks rosy from the cold, blowing on his hands, and asked with a hint of surprise, “Why didn’t you fight back?”

Luan Yi forced a weak smile and shook his head. “I’m not in the mood.”

“What were you thinking about?” The snowball-thrower, though only five years old, carried himself with the composure of an adult. Standing with feet apart, he glanced at the pine tree Luan Yi had been watching, trying to deduce the answer. He pressed on, “Just now you said ‘nine years left.’ Nine years till what?”

“Nine years?” Luan Yi’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t expected his casual remark to be overheard. He thought to himself, I can’t exactly tell you that in nine years, the world will be thrown into chaos. After a moment’s thought, he lied, “I was just saying that I still have to wait nine years to be sixteen—such a long time before I can get married!”

At this, the other boy burst out laughing and poked Luan Yi’s forehead. “You rascal… a leopard can’t change its spots.”

Luan Yi scratched the back of his head and managed a bitter smile, saying nothing more. Soon, his deep eyes grew moist, and tears began to fall uncontrollably. “Guo Jia, my brother is gone!”

Indeed, the boy standing beside Luan Yi was none other than Guo Jia, the man later hailed as a genius strategist in the Three Kingdoms era. The previous year, Old Master Luan Tao had tried to enroll his two grandsons in Yingchuan Academy. The academy, with clear disdain, refused to admit children of merchants. Determined, Luan Tao made a hefty donation—ten thousand strings of cash—and promised to help build new school buildings.

The academy, seeing the benefits of admitting two more students, relented and let Luan Xun and Luan Yi enroll. However, they were not placed in the classes for noble families but were assigned to the class for children of humble backgrounds. There, Luan Yi met Guo Jia. Many future luminaries of the Three Kingdoms studied in the same class, including the renowned Shan Fu (who would later be known as Xu Shu), Xi Zhicai, and Mao Jie.

“About Brother Xun…” Guo Jia patted Luan Yi’s trembling shoulder. “I heard what happened. Who could have imagined that, after just a few days at home for the holiday, such a thing would occur? Ah, it was fate!”

“Fate?” Luan Yi’s eyes reddened with anger. He spoke so loudly that spittle flew, and his hair was disheveled from his agitation. “What fate? Just because my grandfather and father are merchants? Nonsense! My brother was only nine—what did he know? He wore a brocade robe in the street, and for that the authorities arrested him, accusing him of breaking the dress code. During the New Year, they locked him in prison and confiscated his robe. How cold it must have been!”

In his mind’s eye, Luan Yi saw his brother, stripped and shivering in the frigid cell, his body mottled with frostbite. “He froze to death!” Luan Yi broke down in tears. In his seven years in the Han dynasty, he had forged a deep bond with this brother. Now, his brother’s tragic death left an indelible scar on his heart.

“Yi, pull yourself together.” Guo Jia supported the nearly fainting Luan Yi and explained, “The hierarchy of scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants is tradition. According to Han law, merchants cannot wear brocade in public. It’s always been this way.”

Luan Yi wiped his nose. Coming from the twenty-first century, he simply could not accept such customs. Shouldn’t all people be equal? “Nonsense customs! Scholars, farmers, artisans, and merchants—farmers are allowed to wear brocade, but how many can afford it? Are those of merchant blood really so lowly?”

He wanted to say more, but Guo Jia quickly clamped a hand over his mouth, glancing around nervously. Seeing no one nearby, he let out a sigh of relief. “Yi, don’t say another word. If someone hears, you could be accused of defying authority. The entire family could be executed.”

Guo Jia’s words sent a cold sweat down Luan Yi’s back. Yes… feudal society was no place for freedom of speech. Saying the wrong thing could cost not just your life, but your entire family’s. He blew his nose, gathered his composure, and said with sorrow, “Alas, it is fate.” But deep in his heart, Luan Yi believed, “My fate is mine to shape.” From this day on, he resolved to cast aside his careless ways and strive to accomplish something worthwhile—at the very least, to ensure his family’s survival in the chaos to come.

The dead are gone, but the living must go on. Luan Yi understood this well. After a period of grief, he gradually recovered from his brother’s untimely death—or rather, in the days that followed, he simply had no time to mourn, for his first examination in this new life was upon him.

Unlike future generations, Yingchuan Academy conducted annual assessments after each holiday to evaluate the students’ progress. As this was Luan Yi’s first year, it was also his first examination.

Before the exam, five-year-old Guo Jia and seven-year-old Shan Fu were especially anxious, burning the midnight oil over their bamboo slips. Luan Yi, however, was calm and confident—having survived countless exams in his previous life, he was well accustomed to such trials. Although the academy’s oral exam format was new to him, recitation was not much different from dictation. What’s more, he already knew the topics: passages from the Analects, including “Xue Er,” “Wei Zheng,” “Ba Yi,” “Li Ren,” and “Gong Ye Chang.”

Though he appeared inattentive in class and often drew the teacher’s ire, that was only because he had already memorized these texts under the family’s private tutor. There was no need for him to listen in class at all.