Han Ji

Three days before their departure, Liu's mother fell ill.

It's not a serious illness, just that I caught a chill at night, developed a low-grade fever, and had a persistent cough.

A doctor was called in to examine the patient, and he prescribed several doses of medicine to dispel wind and cold. Liu Bei stood guard by the stove, personally watching the fire as the medicine was simmered.

The medicine pot gurgled and bubbled, and white steam rose, carrying a bitter medicinal smell that filled the small kitchen.

Liu Bei held a palm-leaf fan and gently fanned the fire. The firelight reflected on his face, creating an uneven, flickering effect.

He knew that his mother's illness was mostly due to overwork, coupled with the unresolved worries in her heart. A mother's heart is always with her son, no matter how far he travels; this has been true since ancient times.

"Bei'er..." came the mother's coughing voice from the inner room.

"Mother, the medicine is almost ready," Liu Bei replied, carefully filtering the decocted medicine into an earthenware bowl.

He carried the medicine bowl into the inner room. Liu's mother struggled to sit up, but Liu Bei quickly put down the bowl, helped her up, and placed a quilt behind her.

"Mother, drink your medicine." Liu Bei tested the temperature of the bowl before handing it to her.

Liu's mother took the bowl of medicine, but didn't drink it immediately. Looking at the dark medicine in the bowl, she sighed softly, "I'm fine, just a bit of a cold... Don't delay your business."

"What are you saying, Mother?" Liu Bei sat down beside the bed. "Your health is the most important thing. It won't matter if we go to Luoyang a few days later."

"Nonsense!" Liu's mother's tone quickened, causing her to cough again. "Seeking a master and pursuing studies is a matter of utmost importance, how can it be delayed because of me? So many people want to enter Master Lu's school but can't... cough cough..."

Liu Bei quickly patted her back to help her catch her breath.

After catching her breath, Liu's mother looked at her son's young yet composed face, her eyes filled with complex emotions: pride, reluctance, and above all, an unyielding worry.

"Bei'er," she whispered, "is Luoyang... far away?"

"It's not far. If we take the official road, it will take a little over a month to get there," Liu Bei said, trying to sound relaxed.

"Oh... a little over a month..." Liu's mother murmured, gazing out the window. "I heard it gets very cold there in winter, with snow reaching knee-deep... I wonder if the winter clothes you brought are warm enough..."

"That's enough, Mother, you've made so much."

"What about food? I heard rice is expensive in Luoyang, and it's coarse... You had a weak stomach when you were little, so you can't eat too much coarse food..."

"I brought millet cakes. Brother Deran will take care of them. My uncle has made arrangements, so I won't go hungry."

"Also... since you're in an unfamiliar place, don't be a stickler for others, and avoid arguments... be patient if you can, and safety is the most important thing..."

"I know, Mother. Uncle already instructed me."

Liu's mother asked questions one by one, and Liu Bei answered them one by one. She asked about trivial matters, and he answered patiently and meticulously.

The room fell silent, with only Liu's mother occasionally suppressing a cough.

She finally picked up the bowl, frowned, and drank the bitter medicine in sips.

Liu Bei took the empty bowl and handed him water to rinse his mouth.

Liu's mother leaned against the blankets, panting, her face pale in the lamplight. She looked at her son, then suddenly smiled apologetically: "Look at me, always saying I'm useless... a burden to you."

Liu Bei felt as if he were being pricked by needles.

He held his mother's rough, thin hand, the hand that had sewed clothes, cooked meals, and woven straw sandals for him, supporting the family.

"Mother," he said in a low but firm voice, "I'm not a burden. It's your son who has caused you worry."

He paused, looked into his mother's eyes, and said, "Go to Luoyang with peace of mind, learn your skills well. Once I've established myself in Luoyang, I'll bring you here to enjoy a life of comfort."

Liu's mother grasped her son's hand tightly, her eyes reddening as she fought back tears: "Alright, alright... Mother will wait, wait for my son to take me to enjoy a life of happiness..."

She paused for a moment, then added, "Don't worry about home. Yong'er and Zhao'er are taking care of things, and the clan is looking after us too... Mother can take good care of herself."

At that moment, mother and son were speechless.

A thousand words are contained in our tightly clasped hands.

Outside the window, the moonlight was cold and clear.

Liu Bei knew he had to go far and climb high. Not for his grand ambition of "ending the chaos," but even more so for the woman before him, whose hair had turned gray prematurely, who had devoted herself to him.

May she live a carefree and worry-free life in her later years.

This goal is simple, yet weighty.

Liu Bei's poem "Song of the Wanderer" has spread throughout the streets and alleys of Zhuo County thanks to Jian Yong's tireless promotion and the passage of time.

That morning, as soon as the market opened, several familiar stall owners gathered together for a chat.

Old Wang, who sells steamed buns, smacked his lips and said, "Who says that the heart of a blade of grass can repay the warmth of spring... That boy from the Liu family is truly filial. I heard from his relatives that his mother was sick a few days ago, and he personally prepared medicine and took care of her, staying up most of the night."

A woman selling vegetables nearby chimed in, "That's right! I used to think he was just lucky to have caught Liu Gong's eye and that he knew a thing or two about business. I never imagined he was so talented! This poem of his makes my heart ache and reminds me of my own mother."

"I heard he's going to Luoyang? And he's becoming a disciple of that Minister Lu?" a butcher-looking man interjected. "Incredible! He's an incredibly high-ranking official and a great scholar! How many years has it been since our Zhuojun produced someone like him?"

"Liu Bei is truly promising! And Liu Deran, who went with him, isn't he also Liu Gong's son? How come he didn't compose such a fine poem?" Old Wang lowered his voice. "I think Liu Bei is destined for greatness!"

"People used to laugh at them for weaving mats and selling shoes..." the vegetable vendor scoffed. "But look at them now! Their children are so successful! They're learned, filial, and have a knack for business—they have it all! Even that snobbish Chen Ji is very polite to the Liu family now!"

Similar discussions circulated in teahouses, taverns, and other places.

People looked at the young man about to embark on his journey with more admiration and expectation. In this era that values ​​virtue and reputation, this is undoubtedly intangible capital.

Even the magistrate of Zhuo County had vaguely heard rumors, and during a meeting with Liu Yuanqi, he specifically asked, "I've heard that you have a virtuous nephew, Yuanqi, who is exceptionally talented in literature and commendably filial, and is about to go to Luoyang to study?"

Liu Yuanqi feigned humility, but his opinion of Liu Bei rose even higher. This nephew seemed to have brought him more surprises than he had anticipated.

The wind blew into Qian Zhaojianyong's ears.

Qian Zhao was very proud, walking with a swagger, and telling everyone he met, "That's my brother!"

Liu Yuanqi remained calm and said to Liu Bei, "Xuande, your reputation is beginning to emerge, which is both a good thing and a pressure. Many eyes are watching you as you go to Luoyang. Minister Lu's school is full of talented people, so you must have real skills and knowledge to live up to this reputation and your uncle's expectations."

Liu Bei nodded: "I understand."

Reputation is like water; it can carry a boat, but it can also capsize it. He currently only has a minor reputation in the small county of Zhuojun; going to Luoyang would be like navigating a vast, turbulent river.

These past few days, more neighbors have been coming to visit. Some genuinely offer their congratulations and casually check if they can help out; others are simply curious and want to see this suddenly famous young man in person.

Liu Bei handled the situation with propriety, neither servile nor arrogant. He sincerely thanked those who offered congratulations; he remained calm in the face of curiosity; and he readily agreed to the request to copy his poems.

His composure, in the eyes of others, became evidence of his "maturity beyond his years" and "extraordinary demeanor".

On the eve of their departure, Liu Bei's home was unusually quiet.

Liu's mother took her medicine and went to bed early. Liu Bei was alone in the courtyard, giving his luggage a final check.

The moonlight, like water, spilled across the courtyard. The old mulberry tree swayed gently in the night breeze, casting dappled shadows.

I'll leave here tomorrow.

Go to a strange, vast world, full of opportunities but also full of thorns.

He took a deep breath of the air, which carried the familiar scent of grass and trees, and suppressed the last trace of hesitation in his heart.