Han Ji

Spring came later than usual in the fourth year of the Xiping era.

The willows on the streets of Zhuoxian County had not yet sprouted buds, and the wind still carried the lingering chill.

Liu Bei was practicing his sword in the courtyard.

The sword, forged by someone at Liu Yuanqi's behest, was short but heavy. He flicked his wrist, the blade hissing as it cut through the cold wind. Qian Zhao watched from the side, arms crossed, occasionally calling out, "Keep your stance steady!"

Sweat streamed down his forehead.

Just then, the courtyard gate creaked open.

Liu Yuanqi, wearing a worn-out fur robe, entered with two attendants.

Liu Bei sheathed his sword, wiped his sweat, and went to greet him: "Uncle."

Liu Yuanqi hummed in response, his gaze sweeping over him before turning to Liu's mother, who was hurrying out of the house to greet him. He nodded and said, "Let's go inside and talk."

The charcoal fire inside wasn't burning very brightly, but it was warmer than outside.

Liu Yuanqi sat down, took the hot water handed to him by his mother, took a sip, and then looked at Liu Bei.

"There's something I need to tell you." He put down the earthenware bowl, his voice low but clear, "I've asked someone to pull some strings. Minister Lu Zhi of Luoyang has agreed to take two students on."

Liu Bei's heart skipped a beat.

Lu Zhi. A great Confucian scholar of his time, highly respected throughout the country. He knew exactly what it meant to become his disciple.

Liu Yuanqi continued, "I plan to send Deran. There's still one spot left..."

He paused, his gaze falling on Liu Bei's face.

"you go."

The room fell silent for a moment.

Liu Bei's throat went dry. He took a deep breath, stood up, lifted his robe, and knelt heavily before Liu Yuanqi.

"Nephew...thank you, Uncle!"

This kneeling was heartfelt. Without Liu Yuanqi, he might still be worrying about his next meal of millet, let alone going to Luoyang to become a disciple of Lu Zhi.

Liu Yuanqi accepted his bow before raising his hand to help him up: "Get up. We'll depart in a month. I'll prepare the travel expenses and the gifts for your apprenticeship. You only need to prepare yourself."

"yes!"

Standing to the side, Liu's mother wiped her hands on her apron repeatedly, her eyes slightly red, but a smile played on her lips: "Good, good... Going to Luoyang is good, to broaden your horizons, and to learn well from Master Lu..."

Liu Yuanqi gave a few more instructions about the journey, then got up and left.

Liu Bei saw him to the door.

Liu Yuanqi mounted his horse, pulled on the reins, and glanced back at him.

"Xuande".

"uncle."

"Luoyang is not like Zhuoxian. The people there are arrogant and haughty," Liu Yuanqi said in a low voice. "Speak less, observe more. Think three steps ahead in everything you do."

"Nephew, I'll remember that."

The clatter of hooves faded into the distance, disappearing around the street corner.

Liu Bei stood at the door until Qian Zhao came over and patted him on the shoulder.

"What are you daydreaming about? This is great news! Lu Zhi! He's an extraordinary person!" Qian Zhao was even more excited than him. "When you go to Luoyang and become a high-ranking official, don't forget your brother!"

Liu Bei smiled but didn't speak. He looked up at the sky, which was gray and hazy, like a piece of old, worn-out cloth.

The opportunity arrived. Faster and more direct than he had anticipated.

For the next month, Liu Bei's pace of life quickened.

He would get up before dawn and practice swordsmanship with even greater intensity, seemingly tireless. He was also more focused than ever when attending lectures at the clan's private school. In the afternoons, he would study with Jian Yong, no longer limiting himself to the Erya and the Classic of Filial Piety, but beginning to tackle the more difficult fragments of the Book of Documents.

Knowing that he was going to Luoyang, Jian Yong gave him his most treasured volume of commentary on the "Strategies of the Warring States".

"Living in Luoyang is no easy feat." Jian Yong rarely put away his joking expression. "It's a place where talents gather and hidden dragons and crouching tigers abound. Xuande, be careful with your words and actions."

Liu Bei nodded and carefully put the scroll away.

Liu's mother began preparing her son's luggage.

Clothes should be new, thick, and durable. Pack several pairs of shoes; I've heard Luoyang is a long way, and shoes wear out quickly. As for dry rations… what's good to bring? Pancakes spoil easily, so it's better to bring more millet cakes that keep longer…

She was busy all day long, as if that would help her suppress the heavy feeling of reluctance in her heart.

That afternoon, Liu Bei and Jian Yong returned from outside.

The courtyard gate was ajar.

Pushing the door open, I saw my mother sitting on a low stool in the courtyard, head down, sewing a newly made deep robe stitch by stitch in the daylight.

Her movements were slow, her fingers deformed from years of labor, and she trembled slightly as she held the needle. Every few stitches, she would stop, hold the fabric up to her eyes to examine it carefully, and then gently smooth out the wrinkles with her fingernails.

The sunlight slanted across her graying temples, gilding them with a faint golden edge.

So focused, so quiet.

Liu Bei stopped at the doorway, feeling as if something had suddenly struck his heart.

A scene flashed through my mind. In my past life, under the lamp, my mother was doing the same thing, mending the school uniform he would wear on the spring outing the next day.

He subconsciously murmured it aloud:

"A loving mother's thread in her hand, a traveler's clothes on his back."

The sound wasn't loud, but it clearly reached the courtyard.

Liu's mother looked up, saw them, smiled, and said, "You're back?" Then she lowered her head and continued working.

Jian Yong, who was standing next to him, suddenly turned his head and stared at Liu Bei with his eyes wide open.

"She sewed the clothes carefully before leaving, fearing her return would be delayed."

Liu Bei didn't notice Jian Yong's reaction; his gaze remained fixed on his mother's hardworking hands. The poem flowed naturally from his lips, carrying a melancholy and sincerity that he hadn't yet realized.

"How can the heart of a blade of grass repay the warmth of spring?"

As the last sentence fell, the courtyard became so quiet that only the rustling of the wind through the mulberry leaves could be heard.

Jian Yong stared with his mouth agape, as if he were seeing Liu Bei for the first time.

He suddenly grabbed Liu Bei's arm, his voice trembling with excitement: "Xuande... this, this poem... did you write it?"

Liu Bei snapped out of his daze and, seeing Jian Yong's shocked expression, realized what he had just said.

He paused, then could only mumble, "...I had a sudden feeling."

"A fleeting thought?" Jian Yong almost jumped up. "How could this be written down as a fleeting thought? 'A mother's thread in her hand, a traveler's clothes on his back... She sews them carefully before his departure, fearing his long absence... Who can say that a blade of grass can repay the warmth of spring...'"

He pondered these words repeatedly, his eyes growing brighter with each reading.

"Simple and unadorned, yet every word carries immense weight! Deeply affectionate, piercing straight to the heart! Xuande! I never knew you possessed such poetic talent!"

Liu Bei tried to stop him, but it was too late.

Jian Yong, as if he had discovered a rare treasure, turned and ran outside, shouting as he ran, "I have to tell Qian Zhao! No, I have to write it down! Such a fine poem must be spread!"

"Ayong! Come back!" Liu Bei called out.

Jian Yong wouldn't listen and disappeared in a flash.

Mother Liu looked up, somewhat bewildered: "Bei'er, what's wrong with Yong'er?"

Looking at the needle and thread in his mother's hands, Liu Bei felt a mix of emotions.

He walked over, squatted down, and held his mother's rough hand.

"Mother," his voice was a little hoarse, "don't overwork yourself."

Liu's mother patted the back of his hand with her own, her smile warm: "Not tired. My son is going to Luoyang to see the world, and I'm happy for you."

She picked up the nearly finished robe and held it up against Liu Bei: "Hmm, it fits perfectly. My son will certainly not be looked down upon if he wears this new outfit to Luoyang."

Liu Bei lowered his head, looking at the deep wrinkles at the corners of his mother's eyes, and the line "How can the heart of a blade of grass repay the warmth of spring?" rolled through his mind again.

He clenched his fists.

He had to go to Luoyang. He had to make the most of this journey.

Not for anything else, but for the faint yet resilient light shining before him.