Joy of Life - V1C11
Prologue: Nice Guys Finish Last
1- A Child of the Tanmai
2- The Truman Show
3- The Legacy Book
4- Studies and Ghost Stories
5- The Noctural Visitor
6- Master Wu Zhu
7- Master Fei Jie
8- One Year Later...
9- Grandmasters and Divine Temple
10- Overpowering Bàdào Zhenqi
11- The Sea Salt Merchant
12- Farewell for now, Master Fei Jie
13- Mail Order and Newspapers
14- It Hurts Like Hell!
15- Housekeeper Zhou
16- Ay-ya-ya-yaaa
17- The Three Goals
18- The Attempted Poisoning
19- The Assassin
20- Clean Up After Yourself!
Chapter 11
The Sea Salt Merchant
During Fan Xian's nap, Fei Jie continued his unfinished letter. The completely dried ink suggested that the letter had been written the night before.
"This child is prettier, braver, wiser, more determined, and more mature than anyone I know. Gaining his trust takes time, but he is loyal to those he respects and cares for, and he is not afraid to express his opinions or act on them. He can be cunning and ruthless when necessary, yet he also possesses a charming and kind nature. He is a complex individual with many layers. He shines like a light that attracts everyone around him. He is a born leader. Among all the eight-year-olds of the Qing Empire, he would stand out without question. From my observations, I believe he is more than capable of inheriting the family fortune. My biggest concern, however, is his identity and background."
The writing stopped there. The previous night, Fan Xian had questioned him about Zhenqi. Fei Jie sighed, remembering Fan Xian's words earlier that day, and continued writing.
“…Now I know too well the taste of sorrow. I begin to speak, yet pause. And say instead ‘My, what a cool and lovely autumn.
[ii] In the Qing Dynasty, sealing a letter or document was a formal process that functioned as both a security measure and a legal signature. Unlike the wax seals common in Europe, the Qing used a combination of ink-based stamps and physical enclosures.
It was early in the morning, and the birds were chirping cheerfully. The maids had just finished cleaning the house and were preparing breakfast.
After completing her chores, Dong'er, the maid, woke Fan Xian, but she was shocked to find him in poor condition. She immediately called the doctor, who, after checking the young boy's pulse, assured her that it was nothing serious. He reasoned that it was probably due to something the boy had eaten, then left a prescription and took his payment.
When Fei Jie arrived at Count Sinan’s villa, the literary enthusiast Master Xixi departed discreetly, like the morning breeze. Fei Jie looked at the young boy, who had dark circles under his eyes, and chuckled.
“They say that the hearts of youth are like the sun, oblivious to human hardships. But what happened to you? How did you end up so sleep-deprived that you needed a doctor?”
Fan Xian had spent the entire night deep in thought but still hadn’t decided whether to continue his Zhenqi training. Initially, he intended to treat this nameless spiritual art as mere entertainment during his long life. However, knowing it could endanger his survival, he realized he needed to be cautious.
Due to his lack of sleep, he felt absent-minded. Hearing his teacher Fei Jie talk about the ignorance of human hardships, he recited spontaneously:
The study room quickly fell silent. Fan Xian, who hadn’t made a sound all day, struggled to pry open his heavy eyelids and let out a yawn. “Don’t be upset, Teacher. I had a late night.”
Fei Jie observed the boy, stroking his hair with one hand and his beard with the other. He blinked several times, trying to process what he had just heard. Accidentally, he poked his chin with a goose feather pen. Awakened by the pain, he sluggishly asked, “Earlier… that poem… who wrote it?”
“Poor old man Xin,” Fan Xian replied, inadvertently mentioning Xin Qizi’s surname. Realizing his mistake, he stuttered as he saw Fei Jie’s eyes light up in recognition.
“Old man Xin is a two-way merchant who collected sea salt last month.”
“Hmm. Not bad for a merchant. I wonder what his full name is.”
“Xin… Qizi,” Fan Xian said, sneaking a glance at Fei Jie.
Fei Jie had already returned to his usual self, resuming his teaching. There was much more to cover than just biological points, so his workload felt heavy.
After completing her chores, Dong'er, the maid, woke Fan Xian, but she was shocked to find him in poor condition. She immediately called the doctor, who, after checking the young boy's pulse, assured her that it was nothing serious. He reasoned that it was probably due to something the boy had eaten, then left a prescription and took his payment.
When Fei Jie arrived at Count Sinan’s villa, the literary enthusiast Master Xixi departed discreetly, like the morning breeze. Fei Jie looked at the young boy, who had dark circles under his eyes, and chuckled.
“They say that the hearts of youth are like the sun, oblivious to human hardships. But what happened to you? How did you end up so sleep-deprived that you needed a doctor?”
Fan Xian had spent the entire night deep in thought but still hadn’t decided whether to continue his Zhenqi training. Initially, he intended to treat this nameless spiritual art as mere entertainment during his long life. However, knowing it could endanger his survival, he realized he needed to be cautious.
Due to his lack of sleep, he felt absent-minded. Hearing his teacher Fei Jie talk about the ignorance of human hardships, he recited spontaneously:
“In youth, I knew nothing of the taste of sorrow.
I liked to climb high towers.
I liked to climb high towers.
To conjure up a bit of sorrow to make a new verse.
Now I know too well the taste of sorrow.
I begin to speak yet pause.
I begin to speak yet pause.
And say instead ‘My, what a cool and lovely autumn.”[i]
I liked to climb high towers.
I liked to climb high towers.
To conjure up a bit of sorrow to make a new verse.
Now I know too well the taste of sorrow.
I begin to speak yet pause.
I begin to speak yet pause.
And say instead ‘My, what a cool and lovely autumn.”[i]
The study room quickly fell silent. Fan Xian, who hadn’t made a sound all day, struggled to pry open his heavy eyelids and let out a yawn. “Don’t be upset, Teacher. I had a late night.”
Fei Jie observed the boy, stroking his hair with one hand and his beard with the other. He blinked several times, trying to process what he had just heard. Accidentally, he poked his chin with a goose feather pen. Awakened by the pain, he sluggishly asked, “Earlier… that poem… who wrote it?”
“Poor old man Xin,” Fan Xian replied, inadvertently mentioning Xin Qizi’s surname. Realizing his mistake, he stuttered as he saw Fei Jie’s eyes light up in recognition.
“Old man Xin is a two-way merchant who collected sea salt last month.”
“Hmm. Not bad for a merchant. I wonder what his full name is.”
“Xin… Qizi,” Fan Xian said, sneaking a glance at Fei Jie.
Fei Jie had already returned to his usual self, resuming his teaching. There was much more to cover than just biological points, so his workload felt heavy.
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
After lunch, Fan Xian returned to his bedroom and faced the dilemma of whether to continue with the dangerous Zhenqi training. Holding the yellow book in his hand, he began to feel a wave of depression wash over him.
Above all, he was perhaps more troubled by the poem he had accidentally recited in the study room. Fan Xian had a fondness for poetry from his previous life, memorizing hundreds of pieces. So, when he recited one, his mind wandered, and he didn't realize the trouble he might stir up. He wondered if his teacher believed his flimsy excuse; judging by Fei Jie’s reaction, Fan Xian guessed that he assumed the original author was simply a sea salt merchant.
Fan Xian wasn’t overly concerned with morals; he saw nothing wrong in borrowing poems. From his perspective, keeping these poems to himself rather than sharing them was akin to violating a national treasure.
During his years in this world, he had devised various ways to make a living, and in no time, plagiarism had secured a spot in the top three of his strategies.
Fan Xian often rationalized his thoughts. Rather than viewing himself as a poacher, he considered himself a preserver, a lofty idealist sharing and spreading the cultures of Earth.
However, he hadn’t intended to plagiarize in this manner or at this moment. He had at least planned to use the author’s name as a pen name for their work.
If someone were caught humming phrases like, “Now I know too well the taste of sorrow. I begin to speak yet pause,” at such a young age, they wouldn’t be considered a prodigy. Instead, they might be seen as a strange child who appears normal but carries the weight of countless painful scars inside, reflecting the bitter passage of the four seasons.
Reflecting on these trivial matters, Fan Xian knew he could rely on the passing years to stabilize his increasingly intense biological clock. As it was time for his daily nap, he gradually drifted off. In his dreams, he contemplated the immense danger Fei Jie believed Zhenqi posed.
On this day, Fan Xian accepted his fate and decided to continue training with this formidable Zhenqi. Since all he needed for the training was sleep, he resolved to address any issues that might arise when the time came.
Above all, he was perhaps more troubled by the poem he had accidentally recited in the study room. Fan Xian had a fondness for poetry from his previous life, memorizing hundreds of pieces. So, when he recited one, his mind wandered, and he didn't realize the trouble he might stir up. He wondered if his teacher believed his flimsy excuse; judging by Fei Jie’s reaction, Fan Xian guessed that he assumed the original author was simply a sea salt merchant.
Fan Xian wasn’t overly concerned with morals; he saw nothing wrong in borrowing poems. From his perspective, keeping these poems to himself rather than sharing them was akin to violating a national treasure.
During his years in this world, he had devised various ways to make a living, and in no time, plagiarism had secured a spot in the top three of his strategies.
Fan Xian often rationalized his thoughts. Rather than viewing himself as a poacher, he considered himself a preserver, a lofty idealist sharing and spreading the cultures of Earth.
However, he hadn’t intended to plagiarize in this manner or at this moment. He had at least planned to use the author’s name as a pen name for their work.
If someone were caught humming phrases like, “Now I know too well the taste of sorrow. I begin to speak yet pause,” at such a young age, they wouldn’t be considered a prodigy. Instead, they might be seen as a strange child who appears normal but carries the weight of countless painful scars inside, reflecting the bitter passage of the four seasons.
Reflecting on these trivial matters, Fan Xian knew he could rely on the passing years to stabilize his increasingly intense biological clock. As it was time for his daily nap, he gradually drifted off. In his dreams, he contemplated the immense danger Fei Jie believed Zhenqi posed.
On this day, Fan Xian accepted his fate and decided to continue training with this formidable Zhenqi. Since all he needed for the training was sleep, he resolved to address any issues that might arise when the time came.
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
During Fan Xian's nap, Fei Jie continued his unfinished letter. The completely dried ink suggested that the letter had been written the night before.
"This child is prettier, braver, wiser, more determined, and more mature than anyone I know. Gaining his trust takes time, but he is loyal to those he respects and cares for, and he is not afraid to express his opinions or act on them. He can be cunning and ruthless when necessary, yet he also possesses a charming and kind nature. He is a complex individual with many layers. He shines like a light that attracts everyone around him. He is a born leader. Among all the eight-year-olds of the Qing Empire, he would stand out without question. From my observations, I believe he is more than capable of inheriting the family fortune. My biggest concern, however, is his identity and background."
The writing stopped there. The previous night, Fan Xian had questioned him about Zhenqi. Fei Jie sighed, remembering Fan Xian's words earlier that day, and continued writing.
“…Now I know too well the taste of sorrow. I begin to speak, yet pause. And say instead ‘My, what a cool and lovely autumn.
How am I supposed to believe that those words came from an eight-year-old boy, knowing that the art of prose has deteriorated in more than a decade? I find it even harder to believe that a merchant could have written this. What’s more, the young master panicked when I asked who wrote it, something I have rarely seen since I met him. The biggest question here is how this Xin Qizi had the opportunity to meet with Fan Xian, considering I am with him most of the day.”
At the end of the letter, he sincerely requested,
“Please ask the people of Dongshan Road to find out exactly who the sea salt merchant Xin Qizi is and his reason for contacting Fan Xian. Understanding why the young master was so anxious over these words is a top priority. Please hurry.”
Fei Jie ended the letter with a crooked signature and put down his pen. He then stamped it with his official Yin jade-carved seal, dipped in red ink, and put it in a locked wooden box. [ii]
A few days later, the Overwatch Council of the capital sent spies to hunt for the sea salt merchant. Although they found numerous illegal private sea salt traders involved with government officials, they could not locate a merchant with the surname Xin. Rumors circulated in the city that the Director of the Overwatch Council, feared by all, was furious with the lack of results. He punished the spies by docking their pay for three months. The spies searched tirelessly, their faces grim and ready for confrontation.
May God have mercy on the unfortunate man named Xin Qizi in this world.
At the end of the letter, he sincerely requested,
“Please ask the people of Dongshan Road to find out exactly who the sea salt merchant Xin Qizi is and his reason for contacting Fan Xian. Understanding why the young master was so anxious over these words is a top priority. Please hurry.”
Fei Jie ended the letter with a crooked signature and put down his pen. He then stamped it with his official Yin jade-carved seal, dipped in red ink, and put it in a locked wooden box. [ii]
A few days later, the Overwatch Council of the capital sent spies to hunt for the sea salt merchant. Although they found numerous illegal private sea salt traders involved with government officials, they could not locate a merchant with the surname Xin. Rumors circulated in the city that the Director of the Overwatch Council, feared by all, was furious with the lack of results. He punished the spies by docking their pay for three months. The spies searched tirelessly, their faces grim and ready for confrontation.
May God have mercy on the unfortunate man named Xin Qizi in this world.
[i] Chou Nu Er Poem by Xin Qiji (1140-1207)
[ii] In the Qing Dynasty, sealing a letter or document was a formal process that functioned as both a security measure and a legal signature. Unlike the wax seals common in Europe, the Qing used a combination of ink-based stamps and physical enclosures.
|
|
|
 |