Joy of Life - V1C5
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 5
The Noctural Visitor
It was an ordinary night on the surface. Fan Xian rested his head on a hard porcelain pillow but soon got up, rummaged through his wardrobe, and selected a few robes to fold into a rectangle, creating a makeshift second soft pillow. He settled against the folded robes, but despite his efforts, sleep eluded him as the moon and stars illuminated the sky, keeping the darkness at bay.
Although he had come to terms with many aspects of his reincarnation in this new world, one thing still unsettled him: the requirement to go to bed at the first watch of the night at xu hour[i] in the evening. Having spent ample time confined to a sickbed in his previous life, this early bedtime felt particularly challenging.
He rolled over on the bed, searching for a spot where he wouldn't be visible from the door, and sat cross-legged. As he settled in, his Zhenqi started to circulate gently, leading him into a meditative state. Just before drifting into this void, Fan Xian reflected, How should I navigate this life? How should I spend the many years that await me?
Just as he was about to drift off into the harem fantasies he had conjured during his former vegetative state, an unexpected guest woke him.
“Are you Fan Xian?”
A figure loomed at the end of his bed, icy eyes and oddly brownish pupils fixed on him. In that moment, Fan Xian grasped that this was no friendly visitor. Despite the person's polite demeanor, the question posed in the dead of night by someone who had stealthily entered his room, armed with a dagger and bags strapped around his waist, felt deeply unsettling.
Fortunately, Fan Xian wasn’t your average seven-year-old; otherwise, he might have screamed at the sight of such a peculiar man. He recognized that a visitor capable of sneaking into the Count’s villa with such skill was likely someone powerful and ruthless. If he called for help, his life would undoubtedly be in jeopardy.
As these thoughts raced through his mind, he felt a swell of pride for maintaining his clarity even in peril. He coughed twice to steady his nerves, all the while adopting the guise of an innocent young boy before suddenly springing into action!
“diē[ii], you’re finally here!”
With teary eyes, the young boy threw himself into the embrace of this would-be murderer, clutching the man’s waist as if he feared he would flee. However, his arms were too short, and he could only grasp at the man's clothing.
Perhaps he grasped too tightly because, with a rip, he tore a strip from the man's garment. The night visitor furrowed his brow, unsure how to react. He pulled away from Fan Xian's embrace, standing there dumbfounded, trying to comprehend why Count Sinan's illegitimate child would call him "diē."
The visitor was perplexed. His clothing was crafted from the strongest materials; even a blade should have trouble tearing it. How had this young child managed to rip it with just his bare hands?
Yet Fan Xian was even more puzzled. When he spent time alone in the rock garden, he tested the power of his Zhenqi on stones. Discovering that he could crush stones, like jade[iii], with his slender fingers gave him confidence in his ability for self-defense.
Fan Xian had cleverly used his innocent tears to catch his opponent off guard for a brief moment. He concentrated all his strength in his fingers, hoping to halt his attacker. However, he didn't anticipate that he would only succeed in ripping a piece of clothing.
Although Fan Xian appeared to be just seven years old, his soul belonged to a grown man. The violence that surrounded his birth was etched in his mind and had always weighed heavily on him. He was well aware that his mysterious past would eventually resurface.
It seemed that today was that day. His surprise attack had failed, and his feeble tears, meant to bewilder this uninvited guest, had proven ineffective. In a hurry, he searched his mind for a way to escape.
If he cried out, his assailant would make short work of him. Currently, the man wasn’t moving—he was still confused by Fan Xian crying out, “diē!”
Seeing that his sneak attack had been ineffective, Fan Xian relied on his youth's innate advantage. He looked up into the visitor’s eyes and wailed, “diē! diē…”
Tears streamed down his face as he anxiously devised his escape.
“It’s pointless to pretend, Young Master Fan.” The visitor spoke with a detached tone, seemingly devoid of any threat. “You’re quite clever, I see. You show good instincts for self-preservation for someone your age. But it should be clear that I am not Count Sinan.”
The visitor gestured with the knife and moved closer to Fan Xian.
Despite his tear-streaked face, Fan Xian's heart raced. “Who are you?” he sobbed, his voice trembling.
“Your father sent me to find you. So, don’t scream.”
The visitor's eyes lacked warmth, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes revealed his age. He was of average height and build—neither tall nor short, neither fat nor thin. However, in the presence of Fan Xian, the nocturnal visitor posed a threat. His manner of speaking reminded Fan Xian of older men who attempted to deceive young servant girls into compromising their virtue.
Yet, Fan Xian remained impassive, expertly maintaining the facade of a scared child, feigning both surprise and deception.
“You’re not my diē?”
Then, as if he hadn’t noticed the knife in the man’s hand, he turned and clambered onto the bed, grumbling, “I don’t even know what my diē looks like.”
The man let out a dark laugh and moved closer to the bed.
In a sudden twist, Fan Xian turned to look behind the visitor, his eyes widening in surprise as he cried out, “niáng[iv]!”
The night visitor thought this was hardly a clever ruse. He wouldn't have been deceived by anyone else, after all; he was a master with an entire laboratory in the capital.
But since he had no reason to suspect this young boy of trying to trick him, he believed the boy's cry of “niáng!”
The man’s face showed surprise as he quickly turned to look.
Of course, there was only a closed door and the dark night behind him.
Then, a loud sound echoed in the bedroom.
Blood covered his head as he fell to the floor. In his hand, Fan Xian held a chunk of the porcelain pillow. Still rattled, Fan Xian looked down at the man, gripping the severed chunk of porcelain tightly. He gritted his teeth, raised his arm, and brought it down full force upon his attacker’s head.
There was a sickening thud. Although this night visitor was a great master, he’d be out of it for a while, thanks to the blow from that jade pillow.
A servant-girl’s voice arose from outside. “What was that?”
“It was nothing! I dropped a cup. We’ll clear it up tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? If Young Master steps on it, then what will we do?”
“I said we’ll deal with it tomorrow!”
Hearing such a forceful response from the usually gentle and innocent young lad, the servant girl decided not to press the matter.
Fan Xian returned to one side of the wardrobe and, with some difficulty, pulled out a heavy winter quilt. He tore it up into strips with his fingers, twisted it, and securely tied up the man who lay on the floor.
At that moment, he became acutely aware that his back was drenched with cold sweat. A wave of fear washed over him; it was the first time he had ever attempted to take a life in either his past or this existence. Unsure if he had actually killed the man, he recognized the significant risk he had taken. If this visitor had been a skilled fighter, Fan Xian’s life would have undoubtedly been extinguished.
As he brushed his hand over the covered face of his nighttime intruder, he felt a steady pulse, confirming the man was still alive. A strange urge washed over him, compelling him to eliminate the visitor permanently.
He trembled at the thought.
It was as if his rebirth had turned him into a callous individual. He was teetering on the edge of committing an unthinkable act without a second thought. Deep down, he viewed himself as someone who had already experienced death. Being reborn in this world was a rare gift, and he refused to let anyone jeopardize his life.
It was a simple truth: just as one can only truly appreciate the potency of wine after getting drunk, one only understands the value of life after having faced death.
With the knife firmly grasped in his hand, he reflected on his dilemma. He hesitated, still torn about whether to kill the visitor sprawled on the floor. Then, a thought of someone crossed his mind, and a smile broke across his face. He quietly opened the door and crawled through a hole meant for dogs, making his way to the shop on the corner outside the Count’s villa.
Tap, tap, tap. He knocked gently on the shop’s door, his knock low so that no one else in Danzhou could hear him in the night.
But Fan Xian knew that the person inside would hear the knocking. Although he pretended not to know him for the past seven years, Fan Xian considered him the only person he could trust when things came to a head.
“Who is it?” The vendor’s dull and emotionless voice came from the shop.
Fan Xian wondered if this man was the same as he had been years ago outside the capital—meticulous in all his affairs. He rolled his eyes and quietly replied, “It’s Fan Xian.”
As expected, the wooden shop door opened silently, and the blind young man stood in the doorway like a ghost, startling him.
Fan Xian observed the person who had brought him to Danzhou. He looked at the man, whose cheeks seemed untouched by time over the past seven years, and whose eyes were covered by a length of black cloth. He couldn’t help but wonder: How was it that this man hadn’t aged at all?
Although he had come to terms with many aspects of his reincarnation in this new world, one thing still unsettled him: the requirement to go to bed at the first watch of the night at xu hour[i] in the evening. Having spent ample time confined to a sickbed in his previous life, this early bedtime felt particularly challenging.
He rolled over on the bed, searching for a spot where he wouldn't be visible from the door, and sat cross-legged. As he settled in, his Zhenqi started to circulate gently, leading him into a meditative state. Just before drifting into this void, Fan Xian reflected, How should I navigate this life? How should I spend the many years that await me?
Just as he was about to drift off into the harem fantasies he had conjured during his former vegetative state, an unexpected guest woke him.
“Are you Fan Xian?”
A figure loomed at the end of his bed, icy eyes and oddly brownish pupils fixed on him. In that moment, Fan Xian grasped that this was no friendly visitor. Despite the person's polite demeanor, the question posed in the dead of night by someone who had stealthily entered his room, armed with a dagger and bags strapped around his waist, felt deeply unsettling.
Fortunately, Fan Xian wasn’t your average seven-year-old; otherwise, he might have screamed at the sight of such a peculiar man. He recognized that a visitor capable of sneaking into the Count’s villa with such skill was likely someone powerful and ruthless. If he called for help, his life would undoubtedly be in jeopardy.
As these thoughts raced through his mind, he felt a swell of pride for maintaining his clarity even in peril. He coughed twice to steady his nerves, all the while adopting the guise of an innocent young boy before suddenly springing into action!
“diē[ii], you’re finally here!”
With teary eyes, the young boy threw himself into the embrace of this would-be murderer, clutching the man’s waist as if he feared he would flee. However, his arms were too short, and he could only grasp at the man's clothing.
Perhaps he grasped too tightly because, with a rip, he tore a strip from the man's garment. The night visitor furrowed his brow, unsure how to react. He pulled away from Fan Xian's embrace, standing there dumbfounded, trying to comprehend why Count Sinan's illegitimate child would call him "diē."
The visitor was perplexed. His clothing was crafted from the strongest materials; even a blade should have trouble tearing it. How had this young child managed to rip it with just his bare hands?
Yet Fan Xian was even more puzzled. When he spent time alone in the rock garden, he tested the power of his Zhenqi on stones. Discovering that he could crush stones, like jade[iii], with his slender fingers gave him confidence in his ability for self-defense.
Fan Xian had cleverly used his innocent tears to catch his opponent off guard for a brief moment. He concentrated all his strength in his fingers, hoping to halt his attacker. However, he didn't anticipate that he would only succeed in ripping a piece of clothing.
Although Fan Xian appeared to be just seven years old, his soul belonged to a grown man. The violence that surrounded his birth was etched in his mind and had always weighed heavily on him. He was well aware that his mysterious past would eventually resurface.
It seemed that today was that day. His surprise attack had failed, and his feeble tears, meant to bewilder this uninvited guest, had proven ineffective. In a hurry, he searched his mind for a way to escape.
If he cried out, his assailant would make short work of him. Currently, the man wasn’t moving—he was still confused by Fan Xian crying out, “diē!”
Seeing that his sneak attack had been ineffective, Fan Xian relied on his youth's innate advantage. He looked up into the visitor’s eyes and wailed, “diē! diē…”
Tears streamed down his face as he anxiously devised his escape.
“It’s pointless to pretend, Young Master Fan.” The visitor spoke with a detached tone, seemingly devoid of any threat. “You’re quite clever, I see. You show good instincts for self-preservation for someone your age. But it should be clear that I am not Count Sinan.”
The visitor gestured with the knife and moved closer to Fan Xian.
Despite his tear-streaked face, Fan Xian's heart raced. “Who are you?” he sobbed, his voice trembling.
“Your father sent me to find you. So, don’t scream.”
The visitor's eyes lacked warmth, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes revealed his age. He was of average height and build—neither tall nor short, neither fat nor thin. However, in the presence of Fan Xian, the nocturnal visitor posed a threat. His manner of speaking reminded Fan Xian of older men who attempted to deceive young servant girls into compromising their virtue.
Yet, Fan Xian remained impassive, expertly maintaining the facade of a scared child, feigning both surprise and deception.
“You’re not my diē?”
Then, as if he hadn’t noticed the knife in the man’s hand, he turned and clambered onto the bed, grumbling, “I don’t even know what my diē looks like.”
The man let out a dark laugh and moved closer to the bed.
In a sudden twist, Fan Xian turned to look behind the visitor, his eyes widening in surprise as he cried out, “niáng[iv]!”
The night visitor thought this was hardly a clever ruse. He wouldn't have been deceived by anyone else, after all; he was a master with an entire laboratory in the capital.
But since he had no reason to suspect this young boy of trying to trick him, he believed the boy's cry of “niáng!”
The man’s face showed surprise as he quickly turned to look.
Of course, there was only a closed door and the dark night behind him.
Then, a loud sound echoed in the bedroom.
Blood covered his head as he fell to the floor. In his hand, Fan Xian held a chunk of the porcelain pillow. Still rattled, Fan Xian looked down at the man, gripping the severed chunk of porcelain tightly. He gritted his teeth, raised his arm, and brought it down full force upon his attacker’s head.
There was a sickening thud. Although this night visitor was a great master, he’d be out of it for a while, thanks to the blow from that jade pillow.
A servant-girl’s voice arose from outside. “What was that?”
“It was nothing! I dropped a cup. We’ll clear it up tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? If Young Master steps on it, then what will we do?”
“I said we’ll deal with it tomorrow!”
Hearing such a forceful response from the usually gentle and innocent young lad, the servant girl decided not to press the matter.
Fan Xian returned to one side of the wardrobe and, with some difficulty, pulled out a heavy winter quilt. He tore it up into strips with his fingers, twisted it, and securely tied up the man who lay on the floor.
At that moment, he became acutely aware that his back was drenched with cold sweat. A wave of fear washed over him; it was the first time he had ever attempted to take a life in either his past or this existence. Unsure if he had actually killed the man, he recognized the significant risk he had taken. If this visitor had been a skilled fighter, Fan Xian’s life would have undoubtedly been extinguished.
As he brushed his hand over the covered face of his nighttime intruder, he felt a steady pulse, confirming the man was still alive. A strange urge washed over him, compelling him to eliminate the visitor permanently.
He trembled at the thought.
It was as if his rebirth had turned him into a callous individual. He was teetering on the edge of committing an unthinkable act without a second thought. Deep down, he viewed himself as someone who had already experienced death. Being reborn in this world was a rare gift, and he refused to let anyone jeopardize his life.
It was a simple truth: just as one can only truly appreciate the potency of wine after getting drunk, one only understands the value of life after having faced death.
With the knife firmly grasped in his hand, he reflected on his dilemma. He hesitated, still torn about whether to kill the visitor sprawled on the floor. Then, a thought of someone crossed his mind, and a smile broke across his face. He quietly opened the door and crawled through a hole meant for dogs, making his way to the shop on the corner outside the Count’s villa.
Tap, tap, tap. He knocked gently on the shop’s door, his knock low so that no one else in Danzhou could hear him in the night.
But Fan Xian knew that the person inside would hear the knocking. Although he pretended not to know him for the past seven years, Fan Xian considered him the only person he could trust when things came to a head.
“Who is it?” The vendor’s dull and emotionless voice came from the shop.
Fan Xian wondered if this man was the same as he had been years ago outside the capital—meticulous in all his affairs. He rolled his eyes and quietly replied, “It’s Fan Xian.”
As expected, the wooden shop door opened silently, and the blind young man stood in the doorway like a ghost, startling him.
Fan Xian observed the person who had brought him to Danzhou. He looked at the man, whose cheeks seemed untouched by time over the past seven years, and whose eyes were covered by a length of black cloth. He couldn’t help but wonder: How was it that this man hadn’t aged at all?
[i] 7:00 PM – 9:00 PM: The Xu Hour (戌时, Xū shí) - In ancient China, 7 o'clock was often regarded as a time when "people and things are exhausted" and the day concludes. 12-Hour System: A full day (24 hours) was divided into 12 periods, each lasting two hours, named after the 12 Earthly Branches (e.g., Zi, Chou, Yin, Mao, Chen, Si, Wu, Wei, Shen, You, Xu, Hai).
[ii] In Ancient China, particularly during the Qing period (1644–1911), there were distinct ways to address or refer to a father, depending on the social context and whether the father was alive or deceased:
- Fùqin (父亲): The formal and biologically descriptive term for "father".
- Diē (爹): A common, traditional term for "dad," often used in literature and rural areas during the Qing period.
- Bàba (爸爸): While very popular today, this term was already in use but was less formal than Fùqin.
- Lìngzūn (令尊): An extremely polite and respectful way to refer to someone else's father
[iv] In the Qing Dynasty (1644–1912), the names and titles used for mothers varied based on social status and the Manchu or Han Chinese background of the family.
- Niáng (娘): The most common term for "mother" across ancient China, used widely by Han Chinese families.
- Māma (妈妈): Although ancient, this term became more frequent in colloquial speech and literature during the Ming and Qing dynasties.
- Jiā cí (家慈): A formal, self-deprecating way to refer to one’s own mother when speaking to others (literally "the kind one of my family").
- Mǔqīn (母亲): The most formal and literary term for "mother," used in writing or respectful conversation
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