Han Ji

The winter of the second year of the Xiping era was eerily cold. Snowflakes stung our faces as they hit us.

Thirteen-year-old Liu Bei—or rather, Wen Yun who had taken over this body—rubbed his frozen fingers, huddled by a charcoal brazier in the corner of the clan's private school. The flames were half-dead, but warmer than the gazes cast at him by his classmates.

"Look at Liu Bei, he's still wearing only a single layer of clothing..."

"His mother hasn't even scraped together enough money for this month's tuition yet..."

The muttering sounds were like tiny knives, slicing into my ears.

He wrapped his thin coat tighter around himself, which offered little protection from the chill, and hurried towards the old mulberry tree. Two people were waiting under the tree: Qian Zhao and Jian Yong. Upon seeing him, they immediately approached.

"Xuande, here!" The burly Qian Zhao handed over a cloth bag, steaming hot, containing a freshly baked mixed cake. "My mother made a lot."

Liu Bei took it and put it in his pocket. His fingertips touched the warm cake, and his heart felt warm as well.

The first few days after Wen Yun arrived were a nightmare.

Qian Zhao hooked her arm around his neck and called out, "Xuan De, let's go raid the bird's nest!" He stood there, stunned, unable to even call out Qian Zhao's name.

Jian Yong pulled him to the river to catch fish, and he stared blankly at the water—in his previous life, he was a landlubber.

He tried to brush it off: "I fell a few days ago, and I can't remember some things..."

Qian Zhao laughed heartily: "You're just pretending! Last time you climbed a tree to steal eggs, you were better than anyone else!"

Jian Yong quickly asked him with concern, "Did you really fall?"

Eating was like torture. The millet rice was so coarse it hurt his throat, and the pickled vegetables were unbearably bitter. He found eating especially difficult.

Sleeping on the uncomfortable straw mat at night, he stared blankly at the ceiling: Have I traveled back to the late Eastern Han Dynasty? Have I become Liu Bei, the straw sandal seller? The future imperial uncle Liu Bei? He often fell asleep with many questions and worries, and when he woke up, he still had to face this unfamiliar world.

Gradually, he learned to behave, secretly observing and imitating. He learned to kneel, to bow, and to mimic the way others spoke.

The most awkward thing was actually being with these two. They were too close to him, often making him feel overwhelmed. After all, he wasn't the real Liu Bei and had no memory of spending time with them.

The turning point came two weeks later. That day after school, several older kids blocked his way: "You fatherless bastard, why are you coming to school dressed like this?"

He clenched his fists, and images of various forms of school bullying from his past life flashed through his mind.

"You're the one who doesn't have a father!" A furious roar erupted as Qian Zhao charged forward like a calf, shoving the leader aside. Jian Yong, who had somehow appeared behind them, held a rock in his hand, his voice low but firm: "You all have a lot of fathers, huh!"

The group left, cursing. Qian Zhao patted him on the shoulder: "What are you afraid of? I'll take care of them for you!"

As he watched the two boys angrily protecting him, a certain part of his heart suddenly softened and warmed.

From that night on, he actively sought out the two of them. He would wait for them to go to school together in the morning, and after class, they would climb trees together to steal bird eggs or go fishing in the river.

A month later, the three were passing through the market when they saw a thug snatch an old woman's purse. Qian Zhao was about to rush over, but he instinctively pulled her back: "Don't rush." ​​He pointed to the constables patrolling the street in the distance, "Go find the constables."

Jian Yong's eyes lit up: "Xuande, your brain... seems to be working much better now."

He smiled but didn't say anything.

That day, after they helped the old woman retrieve her purse, Qian Zhao happily hugged his neck: "Come on! I'll treat you to some cakes!"

The setting sun cast long shadows of the three people. As they shared the cakes under the old mulberry tree, the initial estrangement seemed to fall to the ground with the crumbs.

By the second month, he was able to spar with Qian Zhao on equal terms, though he was still mostly being knocked down. He could also discuss the Book of Songs with Jian Yong, though he would occasionally throw in some inappropriate phrases. Once, he unintentionally hummed a tune from his past life, and Jian Yong asked curiously, "What tune is that?"

He quickly said, "It's all made up," but Qian Zhao slapped her thigh and exclaimed, "Great! Hum it again!"

By the end of the third month, his family simply couldn't afford the tuition, and he could no longer attend the clan's private school. That night, he sat alone under the old mulberry tree, lost in thought, until the two men came looking for him.

"Xuande, here you go!" Qian Zhao's pancake was still piping hot.

"Take a look at this," Jian Yong's bamboo slips were always timely.

The three sat around the table, sharing the food. Liu Bei didn't rush to eat the cakes; his gaze was fixed on the numbers on the bamboo slips.

His memories of writing online novels and trading stocks in his past life made him sensitive to data. The most glaring thing in front of him was the abnormal price of grain; the increase was too exaggerated.

"Look," he said, pointing to the bamboo slips, "according to the 'Biographies of Merchants' in the Records of the Grand Historian, in a peaceful year, one shi (a unit of dry measure) of grain cost between thirty and eighty coins. Even now, the normal price for one shi of grain should be between one hundred and twenty and one hundred and fifty coins. But last spring, during the famine, Chen's Grain Shop dared to sell it for one hundred and eighty coins per shi!"

"So?" Qian Zhao asked vaguely, chewing on a biscuit.

"I'm thinking," Liu Bei said slowly, "if we can stockpile some grain now and sell it at a fair price during the spring famine, the people will benefit, and we might also be able to earn some hard-earned money."

Jian Yong chuckled upon hearing this: "Xuande, do you know the current market price of grain? One shi (a unit of dry measure) of millet costs 150 coins! How much can the three of us possibly scrape together?"

That makes sense. But Liu Bei knew that the spring famine at the end of the Eastern Han Dynasty would only get worse year by year. If he didn't want to live a life of hardship, he had to seize this opportunity.

The next day, he took action.

First, they persuaded their mother to take out the last of their savings, and then secretly pawned the not-so-good jade pendant left by their father. When Qian Zhao found out, she immediately brought all the pocket money she had saved up for a long time. Jian Yong's family wasn't well-off either, but they still managed to scrape together some money.

But to the grain shop clerk, this amount of money was practically nothing more than giving money to a beggar.

"Go away! Kids, stop causing trouble here!" The waiter waved his hand like he was shooing away flies. "Minimum order is one stone! With your little money, you can't even afford half a stone!"

After several days of setbacks, the three finally scraped together enough money to buy a bushel of millet. Looking at the meager amount of grain, even the most optimistic Qian Zhao became dejected.

"Xuande, how about we just give up?" Jian Yong shook his head as he looked at his rudimentary account book. "Even if we sell this little bit of grain at double the price, we won't make much money."

Liu Bei stared intently at the bag of rice, his gaze unfocused. Suddenly, he looked up sharply: "Why must we buy grain in Zhuojun?"

He unfolded the grain price record copied by Jian Yong: "Look, the price of grain in Jicheng is only 110 coins per shi! If we could go there to buy it..."

"Are you crazy?" Jian Yong exclaimed. "Ji City is over a hundred li away! Aside from the losses during transport, the round-trip travel expenses are simply not worthwhile!"

"What about by water?" Liu Bei pointed to a line of text on the bamboo slip: "The bolder the man, the greater the harvest. The Lai River isn't completely frozen yet; if we can hire a small boat, we can save at least half the transportation cost."

This bold idea silenced all three of them.

Finally, Qian Zhao slapped his thigh and exclaimed, "Damn it! My uncle has an old boat, I'll go ask him for help!"