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The sixth year of Qinghua was a year of great joy for the Qi family of Jiangzuo, as the second son of Chancellor Qi passed the imperial examination with flying colors, earning the prestigious rank of Bangyan (second place) by the emperor’s own hand. This marked a significant milestone in the literary governance of Jiangzuo.
The Qi family, being such a prominent household, naturally celebrated this momentous occasion in grand style. By the end of March, when the spring flowers were still in bloom, the main estate opened its doors to host an extravagant banquet under the stars, inviting guests from far and wide.
Among those invited was Lord Shen Qian of the Shen family. Though he typically avoided social gatherings, the significance of Qi’s second son achieving the rank of Bangyan was undeniable, and he could not afford to slight Qi Zhang’s invitation. Thus, he set aside his usual aloofness and attended the feast.
Amidst the lively atmosphere of clinking glasses and animated conversations, Shen Qian stood apart, sipping tea on a high corridor bridge, avoiding the throng of mingling guests.
In his younger years, he had indulged in wine, but now he abstained. Tonight, after the banquet, he planned to return to his secluded courtyard to see his beloved wife and daughter. His daughter, Wenwen, had just turned five and would surely demand her belated birthday gift.
At the thought of his wife and daughter, Shen Qian’s stern features softened. He gazed at the moon, estimating the time, finding the banquet interminable.
Just then, a voice called out from the other end of the bridge: “Changxuan, why are you hiding here all alone?”
Shen Qian turned to see it was Han Shousong, head of the Han family. Smiling faintly, he greeted him as “Elder Brother” and, as Han approached, remarked, “I’m not one for socializing, so I’ve retreated here for a respite. But why have you come?”
Han Shousong chuckled. “Today’s celebration isn’t about us. Why get caught up in the fray? It’s better to avoid it—better indeed.”
Shen Qian nodded in agreement.
The two lords conversed leisurely on the bridge, occasionally visible to those passing below, who might have been tempted to approach and flatter them. However, at that moment, Chancellor Qi arrived, accompanied by his illustrious second son.
At fourteen, Qi’s second son still bore the appearance of a youth, yet his demeanor was already mature. Even amidst the adulation of the crowd, he remained calm and humble, without a trace of arrogance—a truly commendable sight.
From his vantage point on the bridge, Shen Qian observed the young man with a sense of melancholy.
He knew of this second son of the Qi family—his noble bearing and extraordinary intellect—but lamented his fate. Born into a prominent family in the declining era of Jiangzuo, the boy was destined to be mired in the same quagmire that trapped Shen Qian himself, unable to escape the suffocating constraints of propriety.
Taking another sip of tea, Shen Qian’s gaze lingered on the youth, tinged with a sigh.
Suddenly, a commotion arose. Young Master Han Feichi, son of the Han family, burst onto the scene below, loudly challenging Qi’s second son to a contest, demanding an audience to witness their duel.
Both boys were prodigies, celebrated since childhood as child prodigies. Naturally, this spectacle drew laughter and applause from the guests, creating an uproar of excitement.
Han Shousong, who had moments ago appeared relaxed and indifferent, suddenly stiffened upon realizing the troublemaker was none other than his own son. Flustered and embarrassed, he stammered to Shen Qian, “Ah, this… Zhongheng is always so competitive and lacks tact. How could he stir up trouble today? This, this…”
Seeing Han Shousong’s distress, Shen Qian graciously offered him an escape, saying, “Zhongheng is still young, and children will be children. There’s no need to dwell on it.”
Though sincere, Shen Qian’s words did little to assuage Han Shousong’s unease. After enduring a brief moment of awkwardness on the bridge, Han hurried back to the banquet hall, hoping to rein in his impulsive son.
But youthful pride was not so easily subdued. By the time Han Shousong returned, his son had already issued a bold challenge, and Qi’s second son had accepted, agreeing to recite passages from the notoriously obscure Qin Shi .
Shen Qian watched as Han Shousong fretted anxiously, growing increasingly mortified when his son bested Qi’s second son. Han profusely apologized to Qi Zhang, who waved it off dismissively, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of displeasure. Clearly, he felt Han Feichi had overstepped, tarnishing his son’s dignity.
These trivialities amused Shen Qian momentarily, but he had no interest in prolonging his stay. Eager to return home to his daughter, he summoned a servant to bring him a small cot and reclined on the bridge for a nap.
Not long after, he heard faint sounds approaching. Below, a youthful voice, indignant and impassioned, exclaimed, “Second Brother, how could you let that presumptuous Han Zhongheng win? You mastered the entire Qin Shi at eight—how could that blind fool think he won? Bah!”
Shen Qian opened his eyes slightly.
Though invisible to one another, the proximity made it easy to guess that the speaker was Qi’s second son’s younger brother, likely Qi Jing’an or Qi Jingkang.
Qi’s second son had mastered the Qin Shi at eight? Shen Qian had witnessed the earlier contest clearly. Young Master Han possessed a photographic memory, flawlessly reciting several pages within a short time, while Qi’s second son convincingly feigned defeat. Shen Qian himself had been deceived.
So it was all an act?
Finding it amusing, Shen Qian listened further as another calm voice replied, “Zhongheng is young, and competition serves no purpose. Jing’an, remember not to speak too freely in front of others.”
This, undoubtedly, was Qi’s second son.
His measured responses and modest demeanor revealed a rare and admirable character.
In a world full of wonders, there were many diligent scholars, many gifted prodigies, and many hardworking individuals. None of these qualities were particularly rare. What was rare was a young prodigy who remained humble and unassuming, free from the desire to dominate or show off. No wonder Mr. Wang Qing, the renowned scholar of the Hanlin Academy, praised Qi’s second son so highly whenever the opportunity arose.
The brothers soon departed, but not long after, Shen Qian heard footsteps again. Looking up, he saw none other than the evening’s star, Qi’s second son.
Surprised, the young man seemed equally startled to find someone in this secluded spot. Nevertheless, he approached respectfully and bowed, addressing Shen Qian as “Uncle.”
Shen Qian, having long avoided social obligations, was not well-acquainted with the younger generation of noble families. He had only met Qi Yin a few times and exchanged even fewer words. Qi Yin, aware of the elder’s reclusive nature, intended to take his leave after paying respects, expecting no conversation. However, to his surprise, the usually reserved uncle seemed unusually talkative tonight, suddenly asking, “Jingchen, did you master the Qin Shi at eight because you admired the great achievements of the Qin dynasty’s unification of the six kingdoms?”
The question was abrupt and revealed that Shen Qian had overheard his earlier conversation with his younger brother. Qi Yin was taken aback but quickly recovered, replying, “Such trivial skills are merely a matter of practice, unworthy of mention and certainly not worthy of Uncle’s esteemed ears.”
A clever evasion, neither confirming nor denying, but subtly acknowledging the truth. Shen Qian chuckled and waved it off, saying, “It was my fault to eavesdrop, and I owe you an apology.”
Qi Yin humbly declined.
Yet Shen Qian, intrigued, pressed further, rephrasing his question: “The unification of the six kingdoms by Qin was an unparalleled achievement, inspiring admiration among ambitious souls. If Great Liang could emulate such grandeur, the success of the northern campaign would be within reach.”
Beneath the bright lanterns of the estate, amidst the revelry, the young man standing on the bridge seemed detached, as if he existed outside this tapestry of splendor.
He replied, “Though the Qin dynasty’s achievements were great, its reign lasted only fourteen years, passing through two generations. The conquest of the six kingdoms brought suffering to the people and led to the loss of the Way. From a later perspective, the harm may outweigh the good.”
This response surprised Shen Qian.
The merits and faults of the Qin dynasty were well-documented, and individual opinions varied, which was not unusual. However, in the current climate, with Great Liang forced southward and clinging to survival, discussions of unification and northern campaigns were fervently embraced. Under such circumstances, the people of Jiangzuo naturally revered Qin as a model.
Yet Shen Qian had always disagreed.
The Qin’s unification plunged the world into chaos, and its inability to govern effectively resulted in the rapid collapse of the second emperor’s reign, plunging the land into further turmoil. Later generations marveled at the grandeur of the early empire but overlooked the bleached bones of starving refugees. Was this not tragic and lamentable?
This second son of the Qi family… possessed a compassionate heart.
Pausing briefly, Shen Qian recalled something and smiled faintly, saying, “Young Master Qi rose to fame at a tender age, and your performance in this year’s imperial examination has astonished the world. I’ve heard that during the palace examination, you discussed strategies for unification with His Majesty, earning his praise.”
The remark carried a hint of reproach, as if pointing out a contradiction between Qi Yin’s earlier statement and his actions. Yet the young man, impossibly mature for his age, showed no reaction, merely smiling faintly and replying, “To write, one must first dip the brush in ink. Forgive me for amusing Uncle.”
“To write, one must first dip the brush in ink.”
These words stirred something in Shen Qian’s heart.
He began to understand the young man’s meaning. Qi Yin had his own principles. Perhaps he genuinely did not admire the Qin dynasty’s achievements, but he understood that to realize his ambitions, he must first navigate the corridors of power. Only by wielding real authority could he bring his ideas to fruition. For this, he was willing to speak against his beliefs and sacrifice more in the future.
He was like a pen, ready to stain itself with black ink for the sake of the greater vision it sought to create.
Shen Qian felt a surge of admiration but also recognized the difference between himself and this young man. Though he considered himself perceptive, he lacked the resolve to wield power and cherished his own integrity too much, ultimately choosing to remain an observer of the world.
This second son of the Qi family was different. Perhaps, in the end, he would carve out a different destiny.
By now, Qi Yin had bid farewell, but as he turned to leave, Shen Qian called him back. Softly, he advised, “The Qin Shi is grand but may strain the mind. When you have time, consider reading collections of essays by scholars like Baopuzi—they have a calming effect.”
Qi Yin raised an eyebrow, surprised by the unexpected advice, and after a pause, bowed deeply. “Thank you for your guidance, Uncle.”
After the banquet ended, Shen Qian finally returned home.
His destination was not the opulent halls of the Shen family estate but a modest courtyard on the outskirts of Jiankang. Upon his late arrival, Lady Wei was still waiting for him, though their daughter, Wenwen, had already fallen asleep. At five years old, she was a cherubic beauty, delicate as porcelain.
Smiling, Shen Qian kissed his sleeping daughter and sat down for a quiet conversation with his beautiful wife. As they spoke of his recent experiences, he casually mentioned the young man he had conversed with that night. Reflecting on their exchange, he felt a twinge of emotion, especially when he looked at his little daughter. In his heart, he hoped that one day Wenwen would marry someone like that young man—sober and solemn, radiant as a god, with the finest upbringing, vision, and character.
Only such a person would be worthy of his most precious daughter.
Alas… he was powerless to give his beloved daughter a legitimate title, rendering this seemingly inevitable marriage a mirage, forever out of reach.
Inside the house, a solitary lamp flickered, casting a wavering glow over the reunited family. None of them could foresee the intricacies of fate.
Those seemingly ephemeral aspirations would eventually manifest as tangible consequences.
Thread by thread, intertwined for life.
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