Han Ji

Spring of the fifth year of Xiping

The snow melted, and the dirt roads on Goushi Mountain became muddy.

Liu Bei's life was like a wound-up toy—precise, monotonous, yet so fulfilling it was almost suffocating.

I got up before dawn, splashed cold water on my face, grabbed a bamboo slip, and rushed to the reading area. My throat was dry from shouting, but I had to memorize every single word of the difficult and obscure sentences in the Book of Documents.

In private lectures, what was laid out on the desk was no longer just the "Spring and Autumn Annals" and the "Book of Rites," but more often grain and fodder registers from the border regions, criminal cases, and even a few private letters with different handwriting and varying ink depths.

Lu Zhi's voice wasn't loud, but it was like a hammer, striking at the power struggles and bloodshed behind the classical texts. It was no longer the vague talk of "Zheng Bo Ke Duan" (a historical figure known for his victory over Duan), but rather he directly opened the county gazette, pointed to a particular record, and asked: "If you were the governor, where would the funds and provisions come from for suppressing and pacifying the region? How would you appease and suppress the powerful clans and gentry?"

The questions were increasingly tricky, and each one was closer to the bloody reality than the last.

They practiced martial arts as usual in the afternoon. Gongsun Zan's fists were still as hard as ever, making dull thuds when they hit someone. The two rolled around in the muddy training ground, sweat and mud mingling together. Gongsun Zan, panting heavily, cursed, "Xuande, you little brat, have you gone stupid from studying? You've been putting all your effort into books?" After cursing, he pulled him up and, with his arm around his neck, went to drink.

The wine was cloudy, and the meat was cooked mutton, all in Gongsun Zan's warm little courtyard. After a few bowls, Gongsun Zan became more talkative, cursing the纨绔 (spoiled brats) of Luoyang and the barbarians of the border regions. Sometimes he would lower his voice and talk about trivial matters in the Liaoxi army. Liu Bei mostly listened, occasionally interjecting. The firelight illuminated half of his face, making him as calm as well water.

At night, the dormitory was as cold as an ice cave. His fingers were so frozen he could barely hold the pen, so he breathed on them to warm them, rubbed them together, and continued to inscribe Lu Zhi's policy proposals on the bamboo slips. These proposals concerned the Grand Canal, border trade, and how to squeeze money and provisions from the wealthy and powerful to support the army.

I'm exhausted, truly exhausted. The fatigue seeps into every bone.

But whenever the night was still and quiet, he would take out the stack of Cai Hou papers from under his pillow. Xun Cai's letters.

There's no sentimental fluff; the whole thing is solid, practical stuff.

He wrote down his idea of ​​using work as a form of relief, and she replied, detailing the successes and failures of similar projects in previous dynasties, and reminding him to be wary of the possible tricks that clerks might use when distributing wages.

He asked her how to balance the power of prefectures and local strongmen in water conservancy projects, and she copied down a fragment of a Legalist scholar's work, discussing the application of power and tactics.

Her handwriting was always neat and upright, her thoughts as clear as a sharp knife. This silent exchange became the only source of warmth in his cold and weary days. It made him feel that he was not struggling alone in the mud.

Occasionally, a couple of rambling sentences would appear at the end of the letter.

"Recently, I read the Chu Ci. Qu Yuan wandered along the riverbank, and the deep sorrow in his heart was beyond the comprehension of ordinary people."

Or, "The old plum tree in the courtyard opened a few branches last night, so secluded and alone, which suits this chilly weather perfectly."

Liu Bei would stare at the letter for a moment, then carefully fold it and put it under his pillow. He never replied to these letters, nor did he know how to reply. It was a realm he could not yet touch, nor dared to be distracted by.

That day, Lu Zhi summoned him to his study and handed him a thick volume of documents.

"have a look."

Liu Bei's account includes detailed maps, household registers, and records of taxes and provisions for Lujiang County, as well as the genealogies and conflicts of several prominent local families.

"Take a look at these," Lu Zhi said calmly. "Put yourself in the shoes of the Prefect of Lujiang and see what you can see that's different."

Liu Bei's heart sank; he knew this was an unprecedented test. He picked up the heavy scroll of documents, bowed, and withdrew.

Upon returning to his quarters, he immediately unfolded a map and spent the entire night studying it.

The next afternoon, Gongsun Zan forcibly dragged him out of the house.

"Come on, come on! You're going to be bored! Some friends in Luoyang have organized a get-together, they'll take you to see the world!"

Liu Bei wanted to decline, but Gongsun Zan's large, fan-like hand gripped his arm tightly, and he was half-dragged and half-pulled out of the mansion.

The gathering was held at a rather elegant villa in the west of Luoyang. Most of the attendees were young scholars, dressed in fine clothes, chatting and laughing amiably.

Liu Bei followed Gongsun Zan inside, immediately attracting a lot of attention. Dressed in the simple, uniform robes of the residence, he stood out somewhat from the group of brightly dressed and spirited young talents.

"Brother Bogui, who is this?" A handsome young man, dressed in particularly luxurious clothes, greeted him with a smile, his gaze sweeping over Liu Bei with a natural scrutiny. Liu Bei recognized him; he was Yuan Shao of Runan, Yuan Benchu.

"My junior brother, Liu Bei of Zhuojun, Liu Xuande!" Gongsun Zan patted Liu Bei's shoulder forcefully, his voice booming, "Master Lu's newly accepted disciple! What do you think, a handsome young man, isn't he!"

"Oh?" Yuan Shao raised an eyebrow, his smile becoming more genuine. "So it's Brother Xuande. Your poems 'Farewell to Zhuojun' and 'Moon over the Mountain Pass' are famous throughout Luoyang. It's a pleasure to meet you today." He cupped his hands, his posture impeccable, but the inherent condescension in his bones was still there.

"Brother Yuan, you flatter me," Liu Bei returned the greeting, neither humble nor arrogant.

"Brother Xuande is a man of great talent. Now that you are here, you should compose a poem to broaden our horizons!" someone nearby sang.

Everyone chimed in. This was practically a tradition at gatherings in Luoyang, and a shortcut to fame.

Unable to refuse, Liu Bei glanced at an old pine tree standing tall in the cold wind in the courtyard, hesitated for a moment, and then spoke:

"The pine tree stands tall in the east garden, its beauty obscured by the surrounding grasses."

Frost extinguishes the strange creatures, revealing the lofty branches.

People don't notice the forest, but it's amazing when a single tree stands out.

I lift the wine pot and stroke the cold branches, gazing into the distance again and again.

My life is but a dream, why should I be bound by worldly ties?

The verses are simple, yet they carry a solitary and upright spirit that remains unmoved by external things.

The room fell silent for a moment.

"Frost extinguishes the strange, and the lofty branches stand out..." someone murmured.

Yuan Shao clapped his hands and laughed, "Excellent! Not coveting worldly riches, but upholding one's principles, Brother Xuande's character is evident in this poem!"

At this moment, a somewhat wiry figure walked over from the side, holding a wine cup in his hand; it was Cao Cao. He smiled and raised his cup to Liu Bei: "Xuande's poem is quite fitting for this weather; it's a bit cold, but your spirit is strong. I, Cao, toast you."

Liu Bei raised his wine cup and drank with Cao Cao. The wine was pungent, and he frowned slightly.

Cao Cao looked at him, his eyes bright and inquisitive, and said in a low voice, "I've heard that Xuande has been studying diligently with Lord Lu recently? Have you gained any insights?"

Liu Bei felt a slight chill and put down his wine cup: "Teacher, you have taught me that I am dull-witted and still exploring."

Cao Cao laughed and asked no further questions, then turned to Yuan Shao and began to recount some interesting anecdotes from the capital recently.

When the party ended, it was already late. Gongsun Zan, his face flushed from drinking, put his arm around Liu Bei's shoulder and walked out.

"How was it? Yuan Shao, that guy, seems polite, but he's arrogant! Cao Cao, on the other hand, is quite interesting." He reeked of alcohol. "But Xuande, your poem today was really something! I think those guys are looking at you differently now!"

Liu Bei remained silent, glancing back at the villa whose lights were gradually going out. He had now begun to enter the inner circle of Luoyang. However, the waters here were far deeper and more murky than the streams at the foot of Mount Goushi.

He touched his sleeve, where he found Xun Cai's latest reply.