Chapter 971: Ru Hua

Outside the city of Yi River in Youzhou, there was an irrigation ditch. By autumn, the vast expanse of reeds swayed like a boundless field of snow.

A few riverside villages were scattered among them. A carriage turned from the main road onto a narrow path, jolting unsteadily. The coachman was a young man dressed in peculiar clothing, his expression wooden.

Behind the coachman sat a man in plain cotton robes, leaning against the carriage wall with his legs dangling outside, swaying gently with the uneven motion of the carriage.

At dusk, the carriage overtook an old farmer returning from his labor. As they passed, the cotton-robed man turned his head to meet the curious gaze of the elderly man, whose face was deeply lined and far from handsome. Though hunched with age, he still stood half a head taller than most southern elders, his steps surprisingly brisk—proof that he must have been a strong and capable man in his youth.

The cotton-robed man called out softly, “Sir.” The coachman tugged the reins, and the carriage slowed to a halt. The man jumped down and greeted the farmer with a smile, “Fourth Granduncle?”

The old farmer was stunned, unsure why this unfamiliar young man would address him so. Perhaps intimidated by the man’s presence, he stammered nervously, unable to respond.

The cotton-robed man smiled and spoke in the most authentic Youzhou dialect, “It’s me—Chen Wang, from the end of the village. Don’t you recognize me, Fourth Granduncle?”

The old man’s eyes widened as he scrutinized the young man who claimed to be from the village. Then, realization dawned, and his wrinkled face broke into a smile. “Little Wang?!”

Chen Wang grinned. “That’s right.”

The old man sighed deeply, then asked in confusion, “Why are you back? Didn’t you go to the capital for the imperial exams?”

Chen Wang chuckled. “That was long finished. I’m just back for a visit. I still remember you lent me two taels of silver back then—I wouldn’t dare forget.”

The old man waved his hand dismissively and asked curiously, “How did the exams go?”

Chen Wang replied softly, “Not bad.”

The old man nodded, perhaps wary of bruising the young man’s pride, and didn’t press further. After all, a man who had spent his life tilling the earth wouldn’t know much about such matters. He only sighed, “What a shame.”

Chen Wang’s expression remained calm, as if he hadn’t caught the regret in the old man’s words.

The two walked side by side back to the village, chatting about this year’s harvest, the marriages of their peers, and whether the elders in the village were still alive.

From their conversation, Chen Wang learned that his ancestral mud-brick home had long since fallen into ruin, with one wall completely collapsed. It was only to be expected—a decade without maintenance, and a house that had always been crude to begin with could hardly remain intact. His parents had passed away one after another before he left for the exams, and an ownerless house was not like the fragile reeds that withered in autumn only to flourish again in spring.

The old man left some things unsaid. After Chen Wang had left for the capital, a young woman in the village had often cleaned and tidied his house as if it were her own. Year after year, the young men who had secretly admired her gave up and married others, while she remained unwed, slowly becoming an old maid. But now, she was gone. What use was there in telling Chen Wang? Besides, after so many years in the capital, he might not even remember her. If he had truly cared, why had he never sent a single letter home, even if he couldn’t return?

As they neared the village, the old man looked up at the smoke rising from the chimneys and sighed. The girl’s home had been at the village entrance—a kind and capable child, praised by all for miles around. In her youth, matchmakers had nearly worn out her doorstep, but she had refused them all, and her parents had been powerless to change her mind. No one could have imagined such a tragedy would befall her in the end.

Common folk accept fate. If fortune is unkind, there’s no one to blame. It’s like falling ill—if you survive, you live; if not, it’s just the heavens denying you sustenance, and you return to the earth in peace.

Chen Wang stopped abruptly before entering the village. “Fourth Granduncle, where is her grave?”

The old man froze, then lowered his voice. “How did you know she—”

He didn’t finish, and Chen Wang didn’t speak either.

The old man pointed toward the ferry. “Over there. The grave’s small, but you’ll find it.”

Chen Wang took out a heavy purse and a letter. “Fourth Granduncle, please help me settle my debts in the village. Give this to the village head or the local schoolteacher—everything’s written clearly.”

The old man hesitated but finally accepted the items carefully. “Aren’t you going into the village?”

Chen Wang shook his head. “No. After paying respects at my parents’ graves, I must return to the capital immediately.”

The old man sighed. “So soon?”

Chen Wang smiled faintly.

The old man had only taken a few steps when he suddenly turned back. “Little Wang, did you really become a high official in the capital?”

Chen Wang seemed at a loss for words. A high official in Tai’an City? A minister in purple and gold robes, standing at the heart of the court, a future chancellor?

So he only smiled and said, “Not that high.”

The old man beamed. “Still, you’ve done well. I always knew you’d go far!”

Chen Wang’s smile was serene.

As the old man left, he couldn’t help but glance once more at the young man standing beside Chen Wang, puzzled by his strange attire.

Chen Wang and the “young eunuch,” who was as old as the nation itself, walked slowly toward the graves outside the village.

Chen Wang raised his hand, brushing against the reeds.

Back when he had studied by a dim lamp, he had never dared dream of passing the imperial exams, let alone his parents. To them, their son simply being literate was already a great honor. In the harsh north, a single scholar in a family was a rare achievement, unlike the prosperous south, where scholarly traditions ran deep. In Beiliang, young men often joined the military, while those who held books were few.

When he first arrived in the capital for the exams, Beiliang was the only province without an examination hall in Tai’an City. Unfamiliar with the place and lacking connections, he had to lodge in a small temple. His northern accent made things difficult—even booksellers charged him extra. Even after passing the palace exams, he found no camaraderie among officials. Beiliang truly stood alone.

Jin Lanting’s meteoric rise in Tai’an City and Yan Jiexi’s sudden elevation to imperial kinship had done nothing to change this, as personal grudges kept them from intervening. Even Yao Baifeng, as Chancellor of the Imperial Academy, had been powerless.

And Chen Wang—the Chen Shaobao in the eyes of the court, the esteemed Left Imperial Advisor of the Chancellery, the future Grand Chancellor most trusted by the emperor—had both the will and the power to change things.

Yet he could not.

Chen Wang walked slowly, flanked by reeds taller than a man, their soft, fluffy flowers scattering in the autumn wind, drifting to unknown places.

When he reached the small grave, he cleared away the tangled weeds, straightened his robes, knelt, and kowtowed three times.

A son wishes to care for his parents, but they are no longer here.

The old man he had called “Fourth Granduncle” would never know that the letter he had been given, signed simply “Chen Wang,” was worth a fortune.

In twenty years, only a handful from Beiliang had risen in the imperial court. Jin Lanting had become Vice Minister of Rites, Yan Jiexi a Grand Academician, and Yao Baifeng, the Neo-Confucian master, had overseen the Imperial Academy. Yet combined, their influence paled next to Chen Wang’s.

In many ways, it was this exiled scholar from Beiliang whose two secret letters had reshaped the fate of his homeland.

On his way back, Chen Wang encountered a sturdy man his own age. Their eyes met, and the man’s expression was a mix of resentment, awe, surprise, and confusion.

The man took a deep breath, then stiffly handed Chen Wang a coarse cloth bundle. “My sister left these—your old books. Returning them to you.”

Chen Wang took the bundle, lost in thought.

The man turned to leave but paused, his voice hoarse. “Wang, my sister… she didn’t die in shame. She was purer than anyone!”

Chen Wang covered his mouth, watching the back of the man who had once clapped him on the shoulder and called him “brother-in-law.” Muffled, he said, “I’m sorry.”

The man murmured, “Say that to her.”

Chen Wang fell silent. Crimson seeped between his fingers.

He stood there, unmoving, for a long time.

※※※

Chen Wang carried the bundle to the ferry, finding the small grave.

The eunuch had vanished.

Chen Wang sat cross-legged before the grave, facing it.

There had been an illiterate woman who would lay books out in the sun, carefully turning each page before gathering them again.

There had been an unwed woman who would wait alone at the ferry, gazing into the distance, turning away time and again.

Chen Wang opened the bundle gently. Inside were the familiar *Book of Rites*, *Great Learning*, and even older primers like the *Three Character Classic*.

Back then, whether in the fields, by the ferry, in the snow, or among the reeds, he had often recited these texts to her.

Now, a decade had passed.

And they were separated by life and death.

Chen Wang closed his eyes and recited softly:

*”When the state faces calamity, the ruler dies for the altars of soil and grain, the ministers die for the ancestral temple, and the common people die for their homes…”*

*”The noble man says: ‘Great virtue is not confined to office, great truth is not bound by form, great trust needs no oath, great timing is not uniform.’ Understanding these four, one may aspire to learning…”*

*”Let all under heaven, in bright robes, partake in sacrifice. Vast and boundless, as if above, as if beside…”*

In the twilight, the scholar read aloud.

The reeds swayed gently in the wind, like a woman nodding, her smile blooming like a flower.