Han Ji

On his days off, he would occasionally go to the Imperial Academy. He wouldn't participate in the heated debates, but would simply watch from afar the crowds gathered beneath the Xiping Stone Classics.

He mostly declined invitations from his colleagues. It wasn't out of feigned aloofness, but rather an instinctive feeling that the grand discussions, mutual flattery, and the subtle probing and comparisons hidden beneath the smiles at those banquets exhausted him.

There was one chance encounter, however, with Yuan Shu.

He finished his shift a little early that day and was on his way home when he suddenly heard the rapid sound of hooves and shouts behind him. He stepped aside and saw several young men in fine clothes and riding spirited horses gallop past. The one in the lead, wearing a brocade cloak and with an arrogant face, was none other than Yuan Shu. Yuan Shu seemed to have spotted him, reined in his horse, paused, and asked with his chin raised, "Are you Liu Bei, the one who returned from Lujiang?"

Liu Bei bowed and said, "Indeed."

Yuan Shu sized him up and down, then sneered, "I heard you killed some barbarians? You've got some guts. Come to my manor for a banquet another day!" Without waiting for a reply, he flicked his whip and rode off with his entourage, laughing wildly, leaving behind a mess on the street and passersby with angry but silent stares.

Liu Bei brushed the dust off his clothes from the horse's hooves and continued walking. He naturally declined Yuan Shu's invitation.

He had also heard of Yuan Shao's gathering at Puyuan in the west of the city, a gathering of famous scholars engaged in refined discussions, which had become a distinctive feature of Luoyang. He kept Lu Zhi's warning in mind but never went there.

Lonely? Sometimes. Especially late at night, alone with a solitary lamp, or on a day off, listening to the distant hustle and bustle of the city, when only he and Zhang Wu were in the courtyard. Gongsun Zan was far away guarding the border in Liaodong, and Cao Cao had been sent to Dunqiu as a county magistrate last year. Most of the young faces he had met in Goushi Mountain and Luoyang City in the past had scattered to the four corners of the earth.

He sometimes thinks of Xun Cai.

This thought, like a star in the dark night, was faint yet stubbornly burning. He knew she was still in Luoyang, in the elegant mansion of the Xun family. More than four years of correspondence, those discussions about politics and people's livelihoods, those subtle concerns and understandings between the lines, had already settled something deep in his heart.

But he couldn't go. It would be inappropriate for a lowly official of only three hundred bushels of grain to visit the renowned Xun family mansion so casually, and it would only arouse suspicion.

He suppressed that thought, burying it deep in his heart, just like putting away a white jade pendant that he never showed to anyone.

Until mid-July, on an ordinary evening, he returned to the courtyard after work and found an unsigned letter on the table.

The silk was delicate, with neat folds. He untied the rope and unfolded it.

Familiar, elegant, and yet powerful handwriting came into view. There was no salutation, no signature.

It begins with a simple sentence: "I heard you have arrived in Luoyang and been appointed as a court physician. The capital is bustling and noisy; I hope you take good care of yourself."

Then, the author abruptly shifted the focus, asking about the long-term resettlement plans for the barbarian tribes who had submitted to the Lujiang region after the pacification of the barbarians. The author also inquired about how the settlements and county household registrations could be connected to prevent the emergence of new hidden households and displaced people.

The questions were specific, sharp, and to the point. It was exactly the style they used when discussing government affairs in their old correspondence.

At the end of the letter, the ink faded slightly, revealing a seemingly casual sentence: "Recently, while reading the *Discourses on Salt and Iron*, I came across a chapter on 'Adaptation and Change,' which has left me puzzled. If the trade of salt and iron in border regions is not merely for commercial purposes, but also for strengthening the foundation of the economy, how should it be balanced?"

Liu Bei held the thin silk cloth and stood in the darkening room for a long time.

The sounds of the city outside the window have faded into the distance. But the letter in my hand feels as heavy as a thousand pounds.

She knew. She knew he had come, knew his position, and even knew his current situation and state of mind. This letter was a greeting, an inquiry, and also an invisible thread quietly thrown over.

He walked to the table, ground ink, and spread out a new piece of silk.

The pen hovered in mid-air for a long time before finally falling.

"Respectfully submitted by Xun Jun: In the midst of my busy life in Luoyang, I suddenly received your esteemed letter, which was like hearing a clear and melodious sound..."

He first gave brief answers to the political questions, then analyzed them in detail, taking into account the actual situation in Lujiang. When he wrote about flexibility and equality, he paused, and the ink smudged on the silk.

"...In my humble opinion, the key to the smooth flow of salt and iron in the border regions lies in breaking the monopoly of powerful clans, ensuring that the profits go to the government treasury and benefit the border people. However, the difficulty in achieving equality lies not in the goods themselves, but in the people. Equality is achieved when officials are honest, when the law is enforced, and when the people trust the people. This is not a short-term solution, but the foundation for long-term stability. For example, if the Zhou family of Lujiang falls, and subsequent investigations, pacification, and education are ineffective, it will only leave the territory vacant, waiting for new powerful clans to emerge."

As he wrote this, he could almost picture her slightly furrowed brow in thought when she read this passage.

At the end of the letter, after much hesitation, he finally added a sentence, the ink barely visible: "Four years have passed in the blink of an eye, the mountains are high and the rivers are long. Though this letter is short, it cannot express my feelings. I only wish that you remain as serene and well as ever."

There was no mention of the jade pendant, nor any inappropriate remarks.

After sealing the letter, he called Zhang Wu over and whispered a few instructions. Zhang Wu nodded, tucked the letter into his pocket, and silently disappeared into the night.

The letter has been sent. Like a pebble thrown into a deep pool, who knows what ripples it will create.

But Liu Bei knew that some things had changed.

This vast, cold, and suffocating city of Luoyang seemed to have a faint but real ray of light seeping into some corner because of this thin letter.

He began to visit Dongguan more frequently. Sometimes it wasn't to read, but simply because he felt his mind could calm down in the vast and quiet atmosphere of the books.

He also began to observe the capital city more closely. He observed the endless revelry in the direction of the West Garden, the regulations governing the eunuchs' carriages, the indignation of the imperial students, and the sorrow of ordinary people struggling to make a living.

He was like a silent stone, sitting in the most inconspicuous corner of Luoyang, watching the bizarre and colorful world unfold before his eyes, silently absorbing everything.

He knew he needed time. He needed to wait.

Waiting for a turning point that may come or may never come.

The second year of Guanghe, the twelfth month.

As dawn broke, Zhang Wu was already busy in the kitchen. Millet porridge bubbled in the earthenware pot, while steam rose from a nearby steamer containing meat broth bought from the West Market. In the stable in the corner of the courtyard, Chi Yun chewed on bean curd, its hooves gently pawing the ground.

Liu Bei rose and changed into his nearly new, dark blue linen robe. The fabric was sturdy and crisp, made last year using the dividends from his share of the profits from Zhuojun. A monthly dividend of a thousand coins wasn't much, but it was enough to live comfortably in Luoyang. His salary of three hundred shi (a unit of dry measure) was equivalent to thirty-six thousand coins, mostly in the form of millet, but still a considerable sum. He wasn't short of money; he was simply accustomed to frugality.

As Zhang Wu brought in the hot water, he casually asked, "Doctor, should we prepare some souvenirs for our trip to the Xun residence today?"

"Prepare a box of tea cakes," Liu Bei said, wiping his face. "There's still some Shu tea left over from last time; pack it up nicely."

"Okay," Zhang Wu replied. He kept track of all these expenses. After deducting expenses from his monthly dividends, he could still save some money. Life wasn't exactly luxurious, but it was certainly not as tight as his colleagues who relied entirely on their salaries.

When the carriage arrived, Liu Bei already had a box of tea cakes wrapped in silk cloth in his hand. Lu Zhi, who was in the carriage, saw him get up, glanced at the tea box, and nodded slightly: "Lord Ciming has good taste in tea, this is appropriate."

The side gate of the Xun residence opened. As the steward led the way, his gaze lingered briefly on Liu Bei's robes and tea box—the fabric was fine, but not the finest. The gifts weren't expensive, but they suited the host's tastes perfectly. The gesture was just right.