Intentions

Luan Yi waved his hand to signal his companions not to interrupt, then continued, “It’s not enough to have read the classics, histories, treatises, and anthologies, nor to be a man of vast learning. Knowledge by itself is lifeless; only when wielded with ease does it become the true way. Thus the Master said, ‘To study and practice what one has learned from time to time’—he was instructing us to put our learning into real action. Learning should prompt action, and action, in turn, deepens learning. Only by combining study and practice can one’s talents be fully realized. This is the root of self-cultivation.

“After self-cultivation comes managing the household. Have you not heard, ‘If a man cannot sweep a single room, how can he sweep the world?’ If one cannot manage his own family, how can he talk of governing? Managing the household is but an extension of learning, the true stage for practice, and the family is a microcosm of society. If a scholar can keep his family affairs in perfect order, in time he’ll have little trouble governing a county or even a province. What he lacks is merely experience! As for ruling the land and bringing peace to all, that’s just a matter of opportunity and time.”

When he had finished his eloquent speech, Guo Jia, Shan Fu, Xi Zhicai, and Mao Jie all stared in stunned silence, their jaws nearly dropping to their chests. Luan Yi met their awed and expectant gazes with a surge of pride. Privately, he sighed at how delightful it felt to flaunt his knowledge and win the admiration of future luminaries.

Amid his joy, a clear sound came from the door. Luan Yi looked up to see the old man and his father entering the room. As he walked in, the old man sighed, “Master Cen is truly worthy of his reputation, to have taught such astonishing wisdom.”

Shan Fu, who had been sitting at Luan Yi’s side, hurriedly stood and objected, “Elder, that’s not quite accurate. I never heard the Master say anything like that in class. I believe Brother Yi came to those conclusions himself!”

Luan Tao, the old man, paused at this, then strode toward Luan Yi, his eyes widening with each step until they were as round as an ox’s. “Is that so?” he asked.

Luan Yi scratched his head, gave a sheepish laugh, and nodded. “I was just idly thinking, that’s all.”

Luan Tao’s smile broadened, and he patted Luan Yi on the shoulder, repeating his praise several times. Luan Miao, following behind, smiled with quiet satisfaction.

Luan Yi rubbed his shoulder, sore from the old man’s enthusiastic pat, and asked, “Grandfather, Father, what brings you here?”

“What, I can’t walk about in my own house?” Luan Tao replied with his usual bluster. Luan Miao explained, “We heard your classmates were visiting for the first time, so we came to meet them. Yi, aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Oh!” Luan Yi briefly recited Guo Jia and the others’ names. At this, Luan Tao’s lips drooped slightly.

Luan Yi knew the old man looked down on their humble origins, so he hastened to add that the three were top students in their class. Only then did the old man’s lips curl back up.

Clearly, whether in ancient times or the modern age, parents always welcome outstanding students.

“Good, good!” Luan Tao exclaimed several times. “Since this is your first time here, there’s no need for you to go home tonight. Someone, go to He Yuan Residence and order a fine feast—I want to entertain Yi’s friends.” The steward, Luan Zhong, hurried off to carry out the order.

“Wow… He Yuan Residence!” Shan Fu muttered in awe.

No one in Yingchuan did not know of He Yuan Residence—the best restaurant in the county, and the property of the Luan family.

And so, thanks to the old man’s intervention, what began as an academic discussion turned into a Luan family banquet. During the feast, perhaps out of fondness for Luan Yi or for some other reason, Luan Tao was especially attentive. He even broke custom by allowing Luan Yi and his friends to taste the family’s own Yuan Ying Wine—a fruit wine fermented from berries. Paired with delicious dishes, the children feasted heartily.

After the meal, Shan Fu, Xi Zhicai, and Mao Jie all returned home. Guo Jia, having drunk a bit too much, was unsteady on his feet and, at Luan Yi’s urging, decided to stay the night.

In the middle of the night, Guo Jia and Luan Yi lay on the lawn in the garden. The scent of earth and fresh flowers filled the air, making Luan Yi sneeze several times.

“Yi, look—the moon is a bit desolate tonight,” Guo Jia said with a touch of melancholy.

Luan Yi looked up: in the dark sky, the stars were densely scattered. In his memory, there were never so many stars in the skies of later ages—only haze. Amid this host of stars, a slender, dim crescent moon hung at the treetops. Luan Yi nodded in agreement. “It is a bit desolate. ‘People have their partings and reunions, the moon has its waxing and waning.’”

“Hm?” Guo Jia frowned, then said, “‘People have their partings and reunions, the moon has its waxing and waning’—that’s a strange poem, Yi, but it has a lovely ring to it.”

Luan Yi chuckled inwardly. Of course it sounded strange—it wasn’t even a poem, but a lyric. Yet he offered no further explanation and continued to admire the crescent moon overhead. “Jia, do you think the moon of the future is the same as the moon we see now?”

“Of course!” Guo Jia replied firmly.

“So people in the future gaze upon the same moon as we do.”

“Yes,” Guo Jia murmured in agreement.

A wave of sorrow washed over Luan Yi. He wondered if his parents in the future, at this very moment, were also gazing at this waning moon. Were they well? Did they miss him? How could he ever return to them? Yet if he returned, what about the parents he had in the Eastern Han? Having just lost their eldest son, could they bear to lose their second as well?

“Yi, what are your plans for the future?” Guo Jia suddenly asked.

“My plans?” Luan Yi had many—he had even considered building a great ship and moving his family to Taiwan before the chaos arrived. But the more plans he made, the more muddled he felt. He truly didn’t know what sort of future awaited him. “At most, I’ll enter officialdom and bring benefit to the people.”

“Enter officialdom? That’s no easy matter! My father toiled his whole life and was but a petty official in the end. He worked himself into an early grave.” Guo Jia exhaled, then changed the subject. “Yi, you said that knowledge should be combined with practice, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“When should they be combined?”

“The sooner, the better. Learn a little, test a little—that’s the surest way to remember.” Luan Yi turned his head on his arms to face Guo Jia. “Why do you ask?”

Guo Jia pondered for a while. “I’ve been thinking, after a year at the academy, about how I might find a way to put my learning into practice.”

“Uh… practice?” Luan Yi was caught off guard. In all his thirty-two years, across both lives, he’d never left school; his head was full of knowledge, but he was utterly lacking in experience—a true fledgling. He often lectured Guo Jia on the need to combine theory and practice, but until Guo Jia mentioned it, he’d never truly considered putting his own advice to the test. “Practice… practice!” he murmured, then suddenly brightened. “That’s easy enough.”

Guo Jia was immediately excited and pressed him for details.

Luan Yi kept his counsel, only telling Guo Jia to wait for news.

In truth, Luan Yi withheld his idea not just to pique Guo Jia’s curiosity, but also because he wasn’t sure if his plan was feasible at all.

The next morning, after seeing Guo Jia off, Luan Yi made his way to the household accounting office, hesitated at the door, and swallowed hard as he saw his father checking the accounts with the manager.

Luan Miao noticed his son’s awkward fidgeting, as if wanting to speak but not daring, and dismissed the manager, leaving father and son alone. “What is it, Yi?” he asked.

Luan Yi gave a nervous laugh, lowered his head, and picked at his fingernails, stammering, “Well, it’s nothing—actually, it’s something.”

“Oh? Since when have you become so bashful? If you have something to say, tell your father. I’ll help if I can.”

“Really?” Luan Yi’s eyes lit up. Seeing his father’s sincere expression, he plucked up his courage. “Father, it’s like this. I wanted to borrow some money.”

“Ha! Is that all?” Luan Miao chuckled, thinking his son must want to buy some snacks or toys again. He reached for his purse. “How much do you need?”

Luan Yi swallowed hard, feeling guilty. “Father, I’m afraid what you have there won’t be enough.”

“Oh?” Luan Miao was taken aback.

“I’d like to borrow five hundred strings,” Luan Yi said, holding up his hand.

“What? Five hundred strings?” Luan Miao was dumbfounded. Five hundred strings was fifty thousand coins—enough to feed an ordinary family for decades. “What do you need so much money for?”

Luan Yi grinned and replied gleefully, “I want to start a small business!”

“A small business? That’s more than enough for a big business! Nonsense—a seven-year-old knows nothing of business. Off with you, I’m busy.” As he spoke, Luan Miao tried to shoo his son out.

“Father, I’m not fooling around. I really want to do business. Just treat the five hundred strings as a loan—I’ll pay it back.”

“And what if you can’t?” The older the ginger, the spicier it is—the saying proved true. Though Luan Miao was usually quiet, his words could be sharp.

Indeed, what if he couldn’t pay it back? He couldn’t very well offer his mother as collateral!

Luan Yi, helpless, resorted to wheedling. “Father, please lend it to me! I swear by our ancestors I’ll pay it back.”

“Enough! I don’t want to sully our ancestors’ name,” Luan Miao replied firmly.

“Father, please, just lend it to me!”

Growing impatient, Luan Miao played his trump card. “For such a large sum, it’s not up to me—you’ll have to ask your grandfather.”

At the mention of the old man, a chill ran down Luan Yi’s spine. “Ugh… Ask him? That’s harder than moving a mountain. Forget it!”

Leaving the office, Luan Yi felt frustrated. He glanced toward the study but couldn’t muster the courage to plead with the old man. Crestfallen, he returned to his room, flopped onto the couch, and propped his chin in his hands. “Where can I find some start-up funds?”

As he brooded, his mother’s voice came from the courtyard. “Yi, are you resting? I’ve made some ginseng soup for you.” As she spoke, the door opened, revealing her beautiful face.