Han Ji

Days slipped by amidst busyness and occasional social interactions. The winter snow completely melted, Mount Goushi was draped in light green, and the wind became gentle.

Liu Bei's memorial from Lujiang was revised several times before it was finally presented to Lu Zhi. After reading it, Lu Zhi said nothing, only asking him to keep both the initial and final drafts.

"Look at how many detours you've taken," Lu Zhi said calmly. "It's more useful than listening to me tell you ten times."

Liu Bei bowed and accepted. He knew this was Lu Zhi's unique teaching method.

He continued to correspond with Xun Cai. The content remained primarily practical, but at some point, the intervals between letters became shorter. Sometimes, he would send a letter the night before and receive a reply the following evening. The poor old servant seemed to have become a full-time messenger.

The content of the letters has also subtly changed. In addition to the detailed political commentary, more casual sharing has begun to appear.

She would write: "Today I had some free time and reread 'Zhuangzi: Free and Easy Wandering'. I realized that a frog in a well cannot talk about the sea, and a summer insect cannot talk about ice. This is not sarcasm, but rather a feeling of pity."

She would also write: "My sisters in the family are learning embroidery, but I'm clumsy and pricked the needle several times. It seems I'm destined to be unrelated to needlework in this life."

Upon seeing these, a smile would unconsciously creep onto Liu Bei's lips. He could almost see through the paper the figure in the deep courtyard of the Xun family mansion, a figure both exceptionally intelligent and bearing a touch of girlish clumsiness and resentment.

He still rarely mentioned these things in his replies, but when he inscribed bamboo slips, his brushstrokes would unconsciously soften a little.

The Shangsi Festival of the fifth year of the Xiping era arrived in the blink of an eye.

The banks of the Luo River came alive with activity. Men and women thronged the area, their colorful robes fluttering in the breeze, their laughter carrying far and wide on the flowing water. Young men and women took advantage of this festive occasion to enjoy the spring scenery and exchange pleasantries, a rare bright spot in an era of strict social norms.

Liu Bei traveled with Cao Cao, Gongsun Zan, and several familiar young men from Luoyang. Gongsun Zan, as always, stood out, dressed in brocade robes and riding a fine horse, exuding confidence and high spirits. Cao Cao, on the other hand, wore ordinary scholar's robes, but his eyes were more lively than most people present, frequently greeting acquaintances and engaging in lively conversation.

Liu Bei walked along the riverbank with the crowd. Gongsun Zan laughed loudly in his ear, pointing at a richly dressed young man and commenting on him. Cao Cao walked slightly behind, his gaze leisurely sweeping over the crowd, occasionally nodding to acquaintances.

But Liu Bei could neither hear nor see clearly. His gaze, like a shuttle weaving a net, darted anxiously through the throng of heads and fluttering robes. His heart pounded rapidly, like a drumbeat.

Then he saw it.

Beneath a willow tree just beginning to sprout new green leaves, the women of the Xun family stood by the water's edge. Dressed simply, they resembled a flock of serene egrets. Xun Cai stood slightly back, wearing a moon-white robe, its hem fluttering gently in the breeze. Unlike the other young women, she didn't frolic or play in the water; instead, she quietly watched the flowing Luo River, her profile bathed in the bright spring sunlight, tracing a soft curve.

As if sensing something, she suddenly turned her head.

Their eyes met without warning.

Just a dozen steps away, separated by the clamor of the crowd, the world seemed to stand still for a moment. Liu Bei could clearly see her slightly widened eyes, her clear pupils reflecting the light of the sky and water, and... his own reflection. Her cheeks flushed visibly, like a ripe peach.

There was no dodging, no panic. That eye contact was as brief as a dewdrop falling to the ground, yet as long as an entire spring and autumn.

She pursed her lips at him very quickly and almost imperceptibly, like an unformed smile, then quickly turned her head away, lowered her eyes, and her long eyelashes trembled like butterfly wings.

Liu Bei stood frozen in place, feeling a surge of heat rush from the soles of his feet to the top of his head, and his ears burned intensely.

The women of the Xun family began to move, slowly making their way along the water's edge. Xun Cai followed behind her family, her steps light and graceful. As she passed a stretch of smooth, water-washed bluestone, her footsteps seemed to be tripped by something, and she paused slightly. Her sleeve brushed against a bluestone half-submerged in the water, and something small and brightly colored slipped silently from her sleeve, leaving a mark on the stone's surface.

She didn't turn around. As her family walked away, her plain-colored figure merged into the crowd and could no longer be recognized.

It was a red peony bud just beginning to bloom. The petals were delicate and vibrant, and against the backdrop of the bluestone, they were breathtakingly red.

The whole process took only a few breaths.

Liu Bei felt as if his heart had been scalded by that red peony.

Almost instinctively, he strode through the crowd, pushed aside a few children playing in the water, and walked to the blue stone.

He bent down and carefully, with slightly trembling fingers, picked up the peony.

The petals were soft, carrying the lingering coolness of her fingertips and a faint, cool fragrance.

He held the peony tightly in his palm, as if he were holding the burning secret of the whole world.

"Xuande," Cao Cao strolled over again, his gaze sweeping over Xuande's clenched hands. He chuckled softly, a hint of mockery mixed with a touch of wistfulness, "Good eye! It's just a pity... the pearl of the Xun family of Yingchuan is not to be trifled with."

Liu Bei gripped the peony tightly, the sharp stem pricking his palm and causing a sharp pain.

He gazed in the direction where Xun Cai had disappeared, remaining silent.

The red peony by the Luo River was brought back to Mount Goushi by Liu Bei and carefully placed under the thickest bamboo slips under his pillow.

The dried petals still retain a breathtaking red color, like a frozen flame in the heart.

Life returned to its original track, even busier than before. Lu Zhi's demands on him became increasingly stringent, and the content of his instruction began to delve into more esoteric areas, such as the infighting among various factions in the court and the assessment of the temperament and abilities of border generals.

Liu Bei was like a greedy sponge, desperately absorbing everything. He knew time was running out. This was not only due to Lu Zhi's teachings, but also because of the heavy sense of urgency brought about by that peony.

Correspondence with Xun Cai ceased for several days after the peony incident.

Just as Liu Bei was beginning to feel uneasy, a new letter was finally delivered by the silent old servant.

The opening paragraph, still written in the familiar, neat handwriting, directly delves into a discussion of the land reclamation policy in a certain area, the tone as calm as if nothing had ever happened by the Luo River.

But upon closer inspection, the ink seemed slightly darker at the ends of the characters than usual. In a pause during her discussion, she subtly added a sentence:

"The other day I happened to be flipping through the Book of Songs and came across the poem 'Zhenwei,' in which a man and a woman were playfully teasing each other and exchanging peonies. Only then did I realize the elegance and profound meaning of the ancients."

As Liu Bei looked at this line of words, his chest felt as if it had been suddenly filled with something.

She responded. In an extremely subtle, yet undeniably certain way.

He picked up his pen and wrote a reply, after giving a detailed response to her views. At the end of the bamboo slip, he carefully inscribed:

"The spirit of the Zhen and Wei rivers is something I yearn for. The gift of peonies will never be forgotten."

There were no further words that crossed the line, but the unspoken understanding was clearly conveyed through the cold bamboo slips.

After that, the correspondence resumed as usual, and even became more frequent. The scope of the discussions gradually expanded from political classics to music, geography, and even the praise and criticism of certain historical figures. It was as if they were having a silent but enjoyable long talk, separated by a high wall and the chasm of the secular world.