Joy of Life - V1C4
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 4
Studies and Ghost Stories
As soon as he opened his eyes, he nuzzled his adorable little face against a towel that the maid had used to wash him. Although he was seven years old, he looked much younger, resembling a five-year-old. He was tall for his age but very slender and delicate. His skin was smooth and fair, and his black hair was tied in a ponytail, though there was a little hair that wouldn't stay styled. His large, golden eyes were striking. While nobody would mistake him for a girl, the symmetry of his features made him unforgettable once he was seen. He smirked behind the towel. Although he couldn't flirt, he knew how to accept cuddles and attention, and he was completely unashamed of it, enjoying every moment.
In the afternoon, he began studying in the library under a tutor the Count had specially invited from the Eastern Sea. This tutor was not particularly old, no more than thirty, yet he carried the decrepit odor of someone much older.
Over the past decade, literary culture significantly improved across the Qing Empire. Following the publication of scholar Hu Shih’s Discussion on Literary Reformation, battle lines emerged between “old language” and “new language.” The so-called “old language” was what Fan Xian remembered as classical Chinese, while the “new language” resembled written dialect Chinese, albeit with a more refined touch.
Fan Xian’s tutor was an ardent classicist, so the boy spent every day poring over one classic text after another. Although these texts differed from the Four Books and Five Classics—the classical literary canon of Fan Xian’s previous world—they were strikingly similar in moral content. They also presented the same schisms[1] among Confucianism, Mohism, Legalism, and Daoism.
Fan Xian began to wonder where he truly belonged during his first lesson. It was a stuffy summer day, and humidity hung in the library. The tutor opened the south-facing window, allowing the sound of cicadas crying out for the cool breeze to fill the room. Turning around, he saw his young pupil slumping over the table, lost in thought. He nearly summoned words of rebuke but lost his resolve when he saw the boy’s fair, gentle face.
In truth, he held a deep admiration for the boy. Despite being just seven years old, Fan Xian spoke with great fluency and displayed a remarkable understanding of the virtuous teachings passed down from their ancestors. Such maturity was truly impressive for someone so young.
The tutor found himself in a dilemma. Count Sinan was notoriously strict, and the requirements outlined in his latest letter were quite demanding, leaving him little choice but to comply. Now, he was charged with teaching scripture[2] to a child who was still very much in the early stages of learning. Typically, a child of that age would only be picking up a few characters at most.
At the conclusion of the lesson, Fan Xian respectfully saluted his teacher and waited patiently for him to exit the library. Once the tutor had left, he quickly removed his outer clothing, already damp with sweat, and dashed out of the library, trailed by a concerned servant girl who called out, “Be careful!”
He paused in the courtyard, a playful and innocent grin spreading across his face. With a sense of childlike bravado, he made his way into the room. Spotting the Old Mistress seated in the middle, he cheerfully greeted her with “nǎi nǎi!”
The elderly woman returned the smile warmly, her grey hair and deep wrinkles a testament to her age. Occasionally, a spark in her eyes suggested that she was no ordinary Old Mistress. Rumors had it that much of Count Sinan’s success in the capital was due to her influence.
“And what did you learn today?” she inquired.
Fan Xian stood politely in front of her chair, sharing all the details of what he had learned from his tutor. After saluting her again, he made his way to the courtyard to join his younger sister for a meal.
The dynamic between the Old Mistress and her grandson was intricate, perhaps influenced by the fact that Fan Xian was an illegitimate child. While she never treated him poorly, her high expectations created a slight emotional distance between them.
He recalled her cradling him in her arms during his infancy as he wept uncontrollably. She could never have anticipated that he would grow to understand her words so well at such a tender age, let alone remember them so vividly.
“My child, it’s easy to lay the blame on your father for this. Oh, my poor little one. You were just born, and your mother is no longer with us.”
Of course, the Old Mistress did not understand the real reasons why he cried so bitterly. He was trapped in the body of a baby, still stuck in his crib, not knowing this new world and feeling extremely alone. On top of that, he was dealing with the discomfort of infantile issues, such as diarrhea and vomit, which are inevitable for babies, along with the humiliation of other people having to clean his butt.
His origins were perhaps the most pressing question for Fan Xian. On the very day he entered this world, he witnessed many killings. He learnt that his father was Count Sinan, a figure he had never seen, but who was his mother? That same year, Count Sinan had accompanied the Emperor’s army on an expedition to the West while assassins pursued Fan Xian’s mother.
His body was home to a soul from another realm, making it impossible for him to feel any filial affection toward the Count. Yet, at times, he found himself reminiscing about that long-lost woman he called mother.
“What are you thinking about?”
As the two servant girls served food, the very young girl sitting next to Fan Xian asked, pouting. Her skin was slightly ashy and skinny, so she looked pathetic beside the fair-skinned and healthy Fan Xian.
Fan Xian stretched out his hand and stroked her feathery hair, chuckling. “I was wondering what you usually eat in the capital.”
Two years younger than Fan Xian, this little girl was RuoRuo, Count Sinan’s daughter and Fan Xian’s half-sister.
She had always been a sickly child, and the Old Mistress felt a deep sympathy for her granddaughter. Consequently, the little girl had been brought to Danzhou the previous year to recuperate. After nearly a year there, however, her condition showed little improvement; her hair remained wispy and thin. In a noble family such as the Counts, there was certainly no food shortage, so malnutrition could not be the cause of her frailty.
Fan Xian and the young girl shared a deep bond. He saw himself as her uncle and was happy to have a little one who looked up to him. He often took her out for fun and told her stories, fostering a sibling-like relationship in the eyes of those around them. Without a mother and with a father who was always busy working outside the mansion or in his study in the capital, she often felt lonely in the grand house, where she was cared for only by indifferent maids and a concubine. Therefore, when she arrived in Danzhou and her half-brother embraced her, it felt as if she were a flower soaking up sunlight and water. To her, Fan Xian became her entire world.
However, Fan Xian’s status as an illegitimate child created some awkwardness. It was inappropriate to compare him to the Count’s legitimate daughter, so the servant girls refrained from reporting their relationship to the Count in the capital.
As they sat together, the young girl earnestly answered her older brother's question, nervously twisting her fingers as she listed everything she had eaten in the capital. Yet, the memories seemed limited to candied hawthorn and small dough figurines.
By the time they finished eating, it had grown late; the sun had dipped halfway beneath the horizon, and a thick twilight enveloped the courtyard.
“RuoRuo, you’re such a weakling,” Fan Xian teased.
“Stop being mean,” she replied.
“Okay, what story do you want to hear today?”
“Snow White!” she exclaimed.
Fan Xian smiled, feeling fortunate that no one else was around. It would be unsettling for anyone to see a seven-year-old boy wearing such a wicked smile, one typically associated with adults.
“How about a ghost story?” he suggested.
“Nooo!” RuoRuo gasped, shaking her head vigorously. She had already endured more than enough ghost stories over the past year.
Tormenting young girls was one of Fan Xian’s guilty pleasures. He was skilled at frightening the servant girls, often telling ghost stories that caused them to shriek and huddle together, trembling with fear.
Though he couldn’t touch them intimately for fear of arousing suspicion, he still found comfort in their soft, perfumed embraces. He reassured himself that he was still a child in need of physical contact, a natural desire with nothing shameful about it.
Whenever the servant girls grew curious about how such a young master knew so many scary tales, Fan Xian placed the blame squarely on his tutor. As a result, the servant girls began to view him with mistrust: Count Sinan had spent lavishly to bring the tutor here to educate the young master, yet all he seemed to do was frighten the poor little lad and terrify the girls—what a dreadful man!
Of course, he had to adjust the timing and ensure that his sister was not among the group of trembling girls under his blanket. It would have been completely inappropriate. However, she stayed long enough to hear his stories. Eventually, when she could no longer handle it, she ran to her own bed and pulled her blanket over her head until she fell asleep.
In reality, Fan Xian was unaware that he was engaging in martial arts training. Had he opted to pursue a military career, he would have practiced diligently, honing his skills with careful attention and seeking guidance from a mentor or a reliable companion.
The most perilous aspect of this training lay in its foundation. When gathering Qi in the lower Dantian, located in the pelvic region, a significant disparity could arise between the speed of the practitioner’s physical responses and the reactions of their spirit. This imbalance could lead to the immobilization of their bodily functions, potentially resulting in a vegetative state.
An inexperienced practitioner in this situation might wrongly believe they had lost control of their senses and could impulsively channel Zhenqi into their organs. If they were fortunate and exceptionally resilient, they might manage to redirect the scattered Zhenqi back into their meridians, but such efforts would be largely futile. For a novice, this could lead to panic, increasing the risk of actual demonic possession.
Despite being a beginner, Fan Xian retained control over his senses, finding it easier to grasp this enigmatic sensation than many seasoned practitioners. His ability can be partly attributed to his past life experiences and a stroke of luck.
When he first attempted to manipulate this mysterious Zhenqi energy, he was still in the body of an infant. The innate energy drawn from his mother had not yet fully dissipated; it lingered within him. As a result, his training advanced seamlessly, with a substantial amount of this natural Zhenqi residing in his meridians.
Consequently, the usual challenges that thwarted most practitioners did not hinder Fan Xian. Having spent many years bedridden due to illness in his previous life, he was familiar with the disconnect between mind and body. Thus, when faced with this new experience, he did not panic; instead, he found comfort in his pastAs soon as he opened his eyes, he pressed his cute little face against a towel that the maid had used to wash him. Even at seven years old, he looked much younger, more like a five-year-old. He was tall for his age, yet very slim and delicate. A smirk curled on his lips behind the towel. While he couldn't flirt, he certainly knew how to seek out cuddles and attention, and he was completely unembarrassed about it, relishing every second. memories.
During his first practice session, as he began to sense his Qi, he found himself momentarily paralyzed. Yet, he felt no fear. This absence of fear kept his mind clear and focused, allowing him to navigate this formidable challenge with relative ease.
From that point forward, his practice became progressively simpler. He only needed to reflect on the secrets of the art to enter a meditative state. This ability enabled Fan Xian to enjoy deep, undisturbed sleep during his daily naps, even the loudest thunder failing to rouse him.
For most practitioners, reaching such a meditative state posed a significant challenge, as it depended heavily on luck and circumstance. The ability to meditate so effortlessly during a daily rest was a rare gift. Indeed, fortune smiled upon him.
The most perilous aspect of this training lay in its foundation. When gathering Qi in the lower Dantian, located in the pelvic region, a significant disparity could arise between the speed of the practitioner’s physical responses and the reactions of their spirit. This imbalance could lead to the immobilization of their bodily functions, potentially resulting in a vegetative state.
An inexperienced practitioner in this situation might wrongly believe they had lost control of their senses and could impulsively channel Zhenqi into their organs. If they were fortunate and exceptionally resilient, they might manage to redirect the scattered Zhenqi back into their meridians, but such efforts would be largely futile. For a novice, this could lead to panic, increasing the risk of actual demonic possession.
Despite being a beginner, Fan Xian retained control over his senses, finding it easier to grasp this enigmatic sensation than many seasoned practitioners. His ability can be partly attributed to his past life experiences and a stroke of luck.
When he first attempted to manipulate this mysterious Zhenqi energy, he was still in the body of an infant. The innate energy drawn from his mother had not yet fully dissipated; it lingered within him. As a result, his training advanced seamlessly, with a substantial amount of this natural Zhenqi residing in his meridians.
Consequently, the usual challenges that thwarted most practitioners did not hinder Fan Xian. Having spent many years bedridden due to illness in his previous life, he was familiar with the disconnect between mind and body. Thus, when faced with this new experience, he did not panic; instead, he found comfort in his pastAs soon as he opened his eyes, he pressed his cute little face against a towel that the maid had used to wash him. Even at seven years old, he looked much younger, more like a five-year-old. He was tall for his age, yet very slim and delicate. A smirk curled on his lips behind the towel. While he couldn't flirt, he certainly knew how to seek out cuddles and attention, and he was completely unembarrassed about it, relishing every second. memories.
During his first practice session, as he began to sense his Qi, he found himself momentarily paralyzed. Yet, he felt no fear. This absence of fear kept his mind clear and focused, allowing him to navigate this formidable challenge with relative ease.
From that point forward, his practice became progressively simpler. He only needed to reflect on the secrets of the art to enter a meditative state. This ability enabled Fan Xian to enjoy deep, undisturbed sleep during his daily naps, even the loudest thunder failing to rouse him.
For most practitioners, reaching such a meditative state posed a significant challenge, as it depended heavily on luck and circumstance. The ability to meditate so effortlessly during a daily rest was a rare gift. Indeed, fortune smiled upon him.
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
As soon as he opened his eyes, he nuzzled his adorable little face against a towel that the maid had used to wash him. Although he was seven years old, he looked much younger, resembling a five-year-old. He was tall for his age but very slender and delicate. His skin was smooth and fair, and his black hair was tied in a ponytail, though there was a little hair that wouldn't stay styled. His large, golden eyes were striking. While nobody would mistake him for a girl, the symmetry of his features made him unforgettable once he was seen. He smirked behind the towel. Although he couldn't flirt, he knew how to accept cuddles and attention, and he was completely unashamed of it, enjoying every moment.
In the afternoon, he began studying in the library under a tutor the Count had specially invited from the Eastern Sea. This tutor was not particularly old, no more than thirty, yet he carried the decrepit odor of someone much older.
Over the past decade, literary culture significantly improved across the Qing Empire. Following the publication of scholar Hu Shih’s Discussion on Literary Reformation, battle lines emerged between “old language” and “new language.” The so-called “old language” was what Fan Xian remembered as classical Chinese, while the “new language” resembled written dialect Chinese, albeit with a more refined touch.
Fan Xian’s tutor was an ardent classicist, so the boy spent every day poring over one classic text after another. Although these texts differed from the Four Books and Five Classics—the classical literary canon of Fan Xian’s previous world—they were strikingly similar in moral content. They also presented the same schisms[1] among Confucianism, Mohism, Legalism, and Daoism.
Fan Xian began to wonder where he truly belonged during his first lesson. It was a stuffy summer day, and humidity hung in the library. The tutor opened the south-facing window, allowing the sound of cicadas crying out for the cool breeze to fill the room. Turning around, he saw his young pupil slumping over the table, lost in thought. He nearly summoned words of rebuke but lost his resolve when he saw the boy’s fair, gentle face.
In truth, he held a deep admiration for the boy. Despite being just seven years old, Fan Xian spoke with great fluency and displayed a remarkable understanding of the virtuous teachings passed down from their ancestors. Such maturity was truly impressive for someone so young.
The tutor found himself in a dilemma. Count Sinan was notoriously strict, and the requirements outlined in his latest letter were quite demanding, leaving him little choice but to comply. Now, he was charged with teaching scripture[2] to a child who was still very much in the early stages of learning. Typically, a child of that age would only be picking up a few characters at most.
At the conclusion of the lesson, Fan Xian respectfully saluted his teacher and waited patiently for him to exit the library. Once the tutor had left, he quickly removed his outer clothing, already damp with sweat, and dashed out of the library, trailed by a concerned servant girl who called out, “Be careful!”
He paused in the courtyard, a playful and innocent grin spreading across his face. With a sense of childlike bravado, he made his way into the room. Spotting the Old Mistress seated in the middle, he cheerfully greeted her with “nǎi nǎi!”
The elderly woman returned the smile warmly, her grey hair and deep wrinkles a testament to her age. Occasionally, a spark in her eyes suggested that she was no ordinary Old Mistress. Rumors had it that much of Count Sinan’s success in the capital was due to her influence.
“And what did you learn today?” she inquired.
Fan Xian stood politely in front of her chair, sharing all the details of what he had learned from his tutor. After saluting her again, he made his way to the courtyard to join his younger sister for a meal.
The dynamic between the Old Mistress and her grandson was intricate, perhaps influenced by the fact that Fan Xian was an illegitimate child. While she never treated him poorly, her high expectations created a slight emotional distance between them.
He recalled her cradling him in her arms during his infancy as he wept uncontrollably. She could never have anticipated that he would grow to understand her words so well at such a tender age, let alone remember them so vividly.
“My child, it’s easy to lay the blame on your father for this. Oh, my poor little one. You were just born, and your mother is no longer with us.”
Of course, the Old Mistress did not understand the real reasons why he cried so bitterly. He was trapped in the body of a baby, still stuck in his crib, not knowing this new world and feeling extremely alone. On top of that, he was dealing with the discomfort of infantile issues, such as diarrhea and vomit, which are inevitable for babies, along with the humiliation of other people having to clean his butt.
His origins were perhaps the most pressing question for Fan Xian. On the very day he entered this world, he witnessed many killings. He learnt that his father was Count Sinan, a figure he had never seen, but who was his mother? That same year, Count Sinan had accompanied the Emperor’s army on an expedition to the West while assassins pursued Fan Xian’s mother.
His body was home to a soul from another realm, making it impossible for him to feel any filial affection toward the Count. Yet, at times, he found himself reminiscing about that long-lost woman he called mother.
•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••
“What are you thinking about?”
As the two servant girls served food, the very young girl sitting next to Fan Xian asked, pouting. Her skin was slightly ashy and skinny, so she looked pathetic beside the fair-skinned and healthy Fan Xian.
Fan Xian stretched out his hand and stroked her feathery hair, chuckling. “I was wondering what you usually eat in the capital.”
Two years younger than Fan Xian, this little girl was RuoRuo, Count Sinan’s daughter and Fan Xian’s half-sister.
She had always been a sickly child, and the Old Mistress felt a deep sympathy for her granddaughter. Consequently, the little girl had been brought to Danzhou the previous year to recuperate. After nearly a year there, however, her condition showed little improvement; her hair remained wispy and thin. In a noble family such as the Counts, there was certainly no food shortage, so malnutrition could not be the cause of her frailty.
Fan Xian and the young girl shared a deep bond. He saw himself as her uncle and was happy to have a little one who looked up to him. He often took her out for fun and told her stories, fostering a sibling-like relationship in the eyes of those around them. Without a mother and with a father who was always busy working outside the mansion or in his study in the capital, she often felt lonely in the grand house, where she was cared for only by indifferent maids and a concubine. Therefore, when she arrived in Danzhou and her half-brother embraced her, it felt as if she were a flower soaking up sunlight and water. To her, Fan Xian became her entire world.
However, Fan Xian’s status as an illegitimate child created some awkwardness. It was inappropriate to compare him to the Count’s legitimate daughter, so the servant girls refrained from reporting their relationship to the Count in the capital.
As they sat together, the young girl earnestly answered her older brother's question, nervously twisting her fingers as she listed everything she had eaten in the capital. Yet, the memories seemed limited to candied hawthorn and small dough figurines.
By the time they finished eating, it had grown late; the sun had dipped halfway beneath the horizon, and a thick twilight enveloped the courtyard.
“RuoRuo, you’re such a weakling,” Fan Xian teased.
“Stop being mean,” she replied.
“Okay, what story do you want to hear today?”
“Snow White!” she exclaimed.
Fan Xian smiled, feeling fortunate that no one else was around. It would be unsettling for anyone to see a seven-year-old boy wearing such a wicked smile, one typically associated with adults.
“How about a ghost story?” he suggested.
“Nooo!” RuoRuo gasped, shaking her head vigorously. She had already endured more than enough ghost stories over the past year.
Tormenting young girls was one of Fan Xian’s guilty pleasures. He was skilled at frightening the servant girls, often telling ghost stories that caused them to shriek and huddle together, trembling with fear.
Though he couldn’t touch them intimately for fear of arousing suspicion, he still found comfort in their soft, perfumed embraces. He reassured himself that he was still a child in need of physical contact, a natural desire with nothing shameful about it.
Whenever the servant girls grew curious about how such a young master knew so many scary tales, Fan Xian placed the blame squarely on his tutor. As a result, the servant girls began to view him with mistrust: Count Sinan had spent lavishly to bring the tutor here to educate the young master, yet all he seemed to do was frighten the poor little lad and terrify the girls—what a dreadful man!
Of course, he had to adjust the timing and ensure that his sister was not among the group of trembling girls under his blanket. It would have been completely inappropriate. However, she stayed long enough to hear his stories. Eventually, when she could no longer handle it, she ran to her own bed and pulled her blanket over her head until she fell asleep.
[1] 'Schisms' in Chinese primarily translates to 分裂 (fēnliè), meaning a split, division, or breakup. It refers to the formal separation of a group, especially a church or organization, into two or more factions due to disagreement.
[2] 'Scripture' in Chinese primarily means 经文 (jīng wén) or 经典 (jīng diǎn) for general religious texts, and 圣经 (shèng jīng) specifically for the Christian Bible. These terms refer to sacred, holy writings or canons in Buddhism, Taoism, or Christianity, emphasizing their authoritative and foundational nature.
[2] 'Scripture' in Chinese primarily means 经文 (jīng wén) or 经典 (jīng diǎn) for general religious texts, and 圣经 (shèng jīng) specifically for the Christian Bible. These terms refer to sacred, holy writings or canons in Buddhism, Taoism, or Christianity, emphasizing their authoritative and foundational nature.
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