In the southern capital of the Western Jing, a grand mansion stood with a threshold so high that even a child would need to flip over it to enter. Its gates were bustling with visitors, carriages and horses lining up like dragons.
The guests had all come to celebrate the centennial birthday of the estate’s venerable patriarch. In the entire Western Jing, few lived to such an age, and none could match the old master’s pristine reputation. Even the high-ranking officials of the city, many of whom had reached their seventies, scarcely knew his true name—most simply called him “Old Master Wang,” while the younger ones addressed him as “Grandfather Wang.”
The Wang family was one of the great clans of the southern dynasty, though the generations below the patriarch had failed to achieve much—only producing a Minister of Rites and two garrison commanders, two of whom had already passed. Yet, the patriarch’s great-grandson had proven exceptional, rising from the lowest ranks of the Northern Mang military to become one of the four great Nabo commanders, the Winter Nabo. Now, with a marriage alliance to a noble family of the highest rank from Long Pass, the Wang family’s fortunes were soaring.
The birthday celebration, however, was not entirely harmonious. The Long Pass nobles, entrenched powers in the southern dynasty, were a tangled web of alliances and feuds. Some resented the Wang family’s newfound connection to a top-tier clan, and on this auspicious day, someone brazenly sent a scroll bearing only the words: *”May you live a hundred years.”*
The blatant insult was so shameless that even the guests were appalled. Yet, the old master merely chuckled, personally accepting the scroll and even instructing his steward to reward the messenger with silver.
Being a centenarian, the patriarch could not entertain guests for long. After greeting a few dignitaries and old friends, he entrusted his nephew—the Minister of Rites for sixteen years—to host the visitors while he retreated to his tranquil courtyard. The courtyard was spacious, adorned with dozens of rare plum trees, earning the old master the self-styled title of “Wild Elder of the Plum Grove.”
As the evening bustled outside, the old man had a wicker chair placed beneath a plum tree. With the careful assistance of a delicate maid, he settled onto the cushioned seat.
The maid, named Chai Mi, dared not leave. She sat on a small stool nearby, deeply respectful of the old man whose temper was unfathomably gentle. In all her years serving him, she had never seen him angry. She vividly remembered her first days in the courtyard when she had dozed off while watching him nap. Someone outside had accidentally shattered a teacup, startling the light-sleeping patriarch awake. Terrified, she had braced for punishment—only for him to smile and wave, signaling her to pretend nothing had happened. Later, she learned that years ago, when negligence had led to several plum trees freezing in winter, the family had been furious, ready to administer a hundred lashes—a death sentence. But the old master had intervened, declaring, *”Many things in this world are valuable, but none are worth more than a human life. Trees can be replaced, but lives cannot.”*
Now, lying quietly beneath the sparse plum branches, the old man murmured, *”Chai Mi, summer is almost over. In my homeland, there was a season called the ‘Plum Rain,’ named for the rains that fell when the plums ripened. A beautiful name, don’t you think? Only scholars could coin such a phrase. When I was young, I often recited proverbs I’d heard from elders—not understanding them, just liking how they sounded. ‘When peach blossoms flood, drought follows the yellow plums.’ ‘Rain strikes the plum’s head, forty-five days without sun.’ Even now, they roll off the tongue.”*
The maid, curious, asked softly, *”Why do you love plum trees so much, Grandfather?”*
The old man, rarely so talkative, took a slow breath and smiled. *”In my homeland, everything had its place—some interesting, some dull. People were ranked, and so were flowers. The willow fluff was wild, the peach blossoms frivolous… but the plum had *fenggu*—integrity.”*
The maid, who had little education, whispered, *”Integrity?”*
The patriarch chuckled. *”When scholars write, the best works are called ‘having *fenggu*’—upright in word and noble in spirit. As for a scholar’s personal integrity, it’s what Confucius called ‘cultivating oneself in solitude and aiding the world in prosperity.’ A hard ideal. I wanted to live up to it but fell short. Still, I did better than most in one way: some, lacking spine themselves, resent those who have it. They spit and trip others. At the very least, I admired the virtuous.”*
The maid scratched her head, baffled.
Tired, the old man closed his eyes to rest.
Then, faint footsteps sounded at the courtyard gate. The maid turned and froze—not only had the Minister of Rites arrived, but he was also bowing deferentially, trailing half a step behind two strangers. Her eyes locked onto the youngest of the trio, a woman of breathtaking beauty.
As the minister approached, he whispered to the seemingly sleeping patriarch, *”The Crown Prince is here.”*
The old man opened his eyes and began to rise with their help, but the tall, robust man quickly said, *”No need for formalities, Grandfather Wang. Please, rest. I, Yelü Hongcai, come empty-handed and already owe you an apology.”*
Though the trembling minister had received the prince’s silent cue, he couldn’t stop the patriarch from standing and offering a deep, laborious bow. The incognito crown prince sighed, *”You shame me, Grandfather. Please, sit.”*
The old man straightened with effort. The minister and maid brought chairs, and when the stunning woman sat almost simultaneously with the prince, the minister’s eyelids twitched.
The crown prince, having rushed back from the battlefield at Tiger Head City, said warmly, *”Grandfather, your literary fame spans the realm. Even His Majesty praises you as a model of virtue. I only just learned of your centennial celebration and came in haste, empty-handed. I’ll make it up to you.”*
The patriarch laughed heartily. *”Your Highness flatters this old man too much.”*
Relieved that his uncle was sharp and composed, the minister dared to hope—perhaps the coveted position of Minister of Personnel was within reach?
Yelü Hongcai, though unpopular among the steppe nobles and lacking backing from powerful generals, was the rightful heir. Many southern nobles still favored him, including the late Xu Xiaonan and Huang Songpu. But with their deaths and the rise of younger warlords like Dong Zhuo and Hong Jingyan, the prince had grown cautious.
The minister knew the prince’s visit was half for Wang Jingchong’s military status and half for the patriarch’s influence. The Wangs’ alliance with a top-tier clan had thrust them into the southern dynasty’s inner circle, far above the usual second-tier families.
Suddenly, the prince’s expression darkened. *”Grandfather, I heard of that insulting scroll. The Long Pass Second House oversteps! I’ll report this to His Majesty—you shouldn’t suffer such humiliation!”*
The old man waved a hand. *”No matter. The calligraphy alone is priceless, likely by Yu Liang, one of the four great masters. His strokes ‘dragon claws emerging from clouds, brimming with unyielding spirit’—only he could write so. Besides, at my age, I can afford to be indulgent. Let children’s words pass with a smile. Life is but a century; if I don’t make it, so be it. Your Highness, spare no anger over trifles.”*
The coldly elegant woman, hearing this, regarded the patriarch with newfound respect.
The prince laughed. *”The birthday star’s word is law. I’ll heed you, Grandfather.”*
The old man smiled, subtly glancing at his nephew, who paled. *”I didn’t speak out of turn—”*
The prince interjected, *”It wasn’t the minister. I heard it myself.”*
The patriarch chuckled. *”In this courtyard, Your Highness’s word is law. This old subject obeys.”*
The prince smiled, shelving prepared speeches. Some things were best left unsaid.
After discussing poetry and art—avoiding politics—the prince noticed the patriarch’s fatigue and took his leave, escorted by the minister.
Alone again, the old man lay back, eyes closed, tapping the chair’s arm.
Chai Mi fetched a fan, gently cooling him.
The breeze carried away the summer’s lingering heat.
The patriarch murmured, *”Sitting calmly amidst mountains and seas, a finger’s snap—a millennium passes.”*
The maid stayed silent, wishing with all her heart that he might live another hundred years.
After a long pause, the old man said, *”Chai Mi, rest if your arm tires.”*
She smiled. *”I can keep fanning, Grandfather.”*
He sighed. *”While I’m clear-headed, let me talk to you, child.”*
Worried, she asked, *”Aren’t you tired?”*
*”Not yet.”*
She glanced at the gate. *”Then speak, Grandfather. I’ll listen.”*
He spoke slowly. *”Little one, don’t marry a scholar—especially a talented one. Talent breeds fickleness; their hearts wander from woman to woman. This year’s sweet nothings under the moon may be next year’s whispers to another. Marry a simple man. There *are* honest scholars, but few. I was one of those faithless scholars in my youth. By the time I learned better… it was too late.”*
The girl stifled a giggle behind her fan.
He teased, *”Don’t believe me? Ignore an old man’s advice, and you’ll regret it.”*
She hurriedly said, *”I believe you!”*
He laughed. *”Too quick. You don’t, not really.”*
She pouted.
With a wave, he said, *”Go rest. Leave me be. Return in two incense sticks’ time.”*
She nodded, taking her stool to the eaves—close enough to see him but not hear.
Alone, the old man didn’t speak.
Only looked sorrowful.
In the blink of an eye, his homeland was gone. His mentors and friends, dead. Two decades in a foreign land. And now—a hundred years old.
Then the maid gasped as the frail man struggled to his feet. Sensing her approach, he waved her off without turning.
At last, he stood, gazing up at the plum branches.
And smiled.
*”Master Li, Master Nalan…*
*This scholar of the Central Plains—Wang Du—did not disgrace your teachings.”*
Tai Sui Yellow Amulet Paper FuLu Taoist Love Talisman Traditional Chinese Spiritual Charm Attracting Love Protecting Marriage