Chapter 211: When a Young Man's Dream Begins

Just after the Start of Winter, before Light Snow had arrived, the bone-chilling cold already gripped the capital region.

Yet even the bitterest north wind could not blow into a young man's sweet dream.

First — for the great victory in Liaodong!

"By imperial decree, enfeoff Qian Changle as Duke Who Pacifies Liao! With an annual stipend of ten thousand shi of grain, bestow an iron-plated writ of immunity, hereditary and irrevocable! Further reward ten thousand taels of gold, a thousand qing of land, and a hundred platters of pearls and jade! Thus decreed!"

In the Hall of Golden Chimes, the emperor's voice boomed like a great bronze bell, making the golden floor-tiles hum.

Clad in golden armor, Qian Changle felt the blood in his chest seethe like boiling oil.

He strode forward, his armor plates clashing, and dropped to one knee: "Your subject requests six thousand elite cavalry! Three days — only three days! I shall sever the barbarian chieftain's head and present it before the palace gates!"

Upon the high dais, that blurry figure of light laughed aloud and threw down a command tally: "Granted! We await our Champion Marquis's triumphant return!"

Qian Changle bowed his head in obeisance, his spirit soaring.

But when he rose again, what met his eyes were red candles dimmed behind gauze bed-curtains.

Several alluring beauties, supple as if boneless, pressed close with coy laughter — warm fragrance and soft jade instantly filled his embrace.

"My Lord Duke—"

The voice was seductive to the very marrow.

Qian Changle laughed heartily and reached out to grope the breathtaking pale bosom of the beauty in his arms — but the instant his fingertips made contact, there was only icy coldness.

Nothing like the warm smoothness of skin — more like a hard, rigid lump of iron.

"Changle! It's the hour of the rabbit! Get up, quick!"

Sister-in-law Wang's booming voice, like a pair of shears, snipped the young man's sweet dream clean in two with a crisp crack.

Qian Changle's eyes flew open.

What beauty in his arms? There was only that old wooden rail lying across the head of the bed. He was clutching that piece of wood for dear life, most of his body outside the quilt, shivering violently in the early-morning chill.

He stared blankly for two breaths before tumbling from the Duke Who Pacifies Liao's sweet dream back into this reality of bare walls and utter poverty.

In an instant, he felt a familiar cold, sticky wetness at his thigh.

The hot blood of a nineteen-year-old — even a diet of chaff and greens could not suppress this damned fire.

"Ah! Sister-in-law, I'm getting up!"

He answered in a fluster, pricking up his ears like a thief to make sure no one was near the door, then swiftly rolled out of bed.

The door bolt was slid home; he rummaged through chests and cupboards.

That poorly-fitted wooden door could not keep out the cold wind. Shivering, he fished a clean, patched pair of trousers from the bottom of an old chest and changed into them.

As for the "evidence of guilt," he wadded it into a ball and stuffed it deep beneath the mattress.

Better to wait until after the examination and wash it on the sly.

That done, he straightened his washed-out scholar's robe, exhaled a long white breath, and pushed the door open.

"Cough, cough—"

A choking cloud of coal smoke hit him full in the face.

In the corner of the courtyard, Sister-in-law Wang was hunched over, poking at a newly-built clay stove with fire tongs.

The stove mouth belched black smoke; what burned inside was not ordinary coal, but the Yongchang coal now fashionable among common households in the capital region.

Though it smoked terribly, it held a live ember well and was cheap — from the Fuel Office, three jin cost only two cash coins.

In the ward headman's words, this was a "price for the people's benefit."

But even that was not the lowest price.

The Qian family's eldest brother had followed the ward headman's diagram and formula, bought raw coal and crushed it himself, dug up yellow clay, and molded and sun-dried his own briquettes — by his reckoning, two jin cost less than one cash coin.

At such a price, even a lower-middle poor household like the Qians could keep a fire burning all winter without worry.

"Sister-in-law, let me do that." Qian Changle rolled up his sleeves.

Without turning her head, Wang banged the fire tongs clang-clang against the stove chamber: "Wait for you? The yellow vegetables would've gone cold.

So, did you dream of taking a wife last night? Took forever calling you to wake up."

Qian Changle's face flushed; he dared not reply and turned toward the water vat.

He grabbed the gourd ladle and smashed through the thin ice on the water's surface with a splash, scooping up half a ladle of ice-flecked water.

Qian Changle dipped a finger in and shivered from the cold. Gritting his teeth, he cupped a handful and dashed it hard across his face.

The bone-piercing chill stabbed into his pores like steel needles, thoroughly scattering those last lingering amorous thoughts.

Duke Who Pacifies Liao — nothing but a young man's dream.

He dried his face and went inside. His elder brother Qian Changping was already seated at the table.

One table leg was missing a corner, propped level with a block of wood.

On it sat a dish of pickled vegetables and three coarse ceramic bowls.

Wang carried the earthenware pot in and first ladled a large bowl for Qian Changle — the porridge was so thick a pair of chopsticks could stand upright in it.

Then she served her husband a bowl, half-thin, half-thick.

When it came to her own turn, only a few mouthfuls of rice water remained at the bottom of the pot.

She tilted the pot and scraped the inner wall with the ladle, producing a harsh scraping sound, scraping every last bit of scorched wheat-rice clean, pouring both liquid and dregs into her own bowl.

The porridge apportioned, Wang, as if performing a sleight of hand, turned and brought over another small dish.

In the dish lay a single shelled, glossy, still-steaming plain boiled egg.

"This—" Qian Changle stared blankly.

"I traded Yongchang coal with Aunt Zhang next door for it — saved it two days, couldn't bear to eat it myself." Wang's brows curved in a smile. "I heard Master Wang say this is called 'the Primal Chaos First Opening,' also called 'the Zhuangyuan's Head' — every one of those juren masters eats one before the examinations!"

As she spoke, she retrieved the little oil bottle, now barely more than a bottom's worth, from the stove ledge, her expression solemn as if performing some ritual.

The bottle mouth tilted; her wrist gave a single, exquisitely precise flick.

Just one drop of sesame oil landed squarely on the egg's pure white surface, instantly gliding into a glistening sheen.

Ah, perfect!

Madam Wang was now even more delighted, her joy climbing to her brows. "This is called 'oil of smooth passage.' Eat it, and the brush flows smoothly, and all things go smoothly."

That rich sesame fragrance instantly burst open inside the cramped, dim little room, overpowering the coal-smoke smell from the courtyard and stirring everyone's appetite irresistibly.

Qian Changle's throat bobbed, but his heart clenched with a pang of bitterness.

He knew the family's circumstances better than anyone. This drop of oil, this single egg — his sister-in-law had probably scraped them together by pinching pennies until they bled.

He said nothing, only picked up those blackened bamboo chopsticks.

He did not swallow it whole as Madam Wang had wished. Instead, with a turn of his wrist, he clamped down hard with the chopstick tips and pulled them apart twice.

In an instant, the egg was split into three uneven pieces.

The largest piece of white went to his elder brother, the roundest piece of yolk went to his sister-in-law, and he kept the smallest piece for himself.

"Aiya! You child!" Madam Wang had not expected this move and slapped her thigh in agitation. "This 'Zhuangyuan crown' must be eaten whole for the luck to work! Once you split it, isn't the fortune scattered?"

"Sister-in-law, that's where you don't understand."

Qian Changle pressed his chopsticks against the rim of the bowl, his smile sly. "Look — originally there was one, and now it has become three. In our scholars' trade, this is called 'one begets two, two beget three, the One Qi transforms into the Three Pure Ones.'"

He paused, pointed at the three pieces of egg, and with a perfectly straight face began spinning nonsense: "This meaning is even better — it's called 'three successes in a row'! The three of us each take a bite, and only then is the good fortune truly received."

Madam Wang was thoroughly bewildered by his string of smooth talk and looked toward her husband, Qian Changping, who stood to the side. "Truly? There's really such a saying?"

Qian Changping, who had been drinking his congee with his head down all this while, looked up. On that perpetually taut, dark face of his, a rare trace of a smile appeared.

He did not expose the ruse. He simply picked up that piece of egg white, stuffed it into his mouth, and, mumbling indistinctly, covered for his younger brother: "Scholars' matters — they surely know better than us. Eat! Since it's three successes in a row, let's all share in the good fortune!"

Only then did Madam Wang's worry turn back to joy. She carefully picked up a fragment of egg and, as if tasting some dragon's liver or phoenix marrow, took a tiny nibble, her eyes narrowing into smiling slits. "That's wonderful, then. In the future, our family's A-Le will be a great official."

That breakfast, though it lacked fish or meat, was eaten with warmth rising in billows.

The sound of hot congee being slurped drove away the chill inside the house.

The sky lightened faintly; the morning mist had not yet lifted.

The two brothers kowtowed before their parents' spirit tablets, prayed for their blessing, and then walked out the door side by side.

The withered grass underfoot was coated in a layer of white frost, crunching beneath their steps.

They had just reached the great locust tree at the village entrance when the elder brother stopped.

"The wheat shoots in the field were hit by frost last night. I need to go check on them, so I won't see you off further."

He drew from his breast a cloth bundle still carrying the warmth of his body and pressed it into his younger brother's hand.

"I don't understand these clerk selection exams, but once you're in the city, you'll need to smooth things over everywhere."

The elder brother's large hand, covered in thick calluses, landed heavily on Qian Changle's shoulder with a force that made it ache.

"A-Le, put away some of that scholarly pride. Bow your head when you must bow it, and don't begrudge the silver when it's time to spend it. If that man in charge gives you trouble—" Qian Changping paused, his voice dropping low. "Smile a little more, offer a little more silver. It's no disgrace!"

Qian Changle clutched that cloth bundle tightly, his knuckles whitening. "Brother, I understand."

His elder brother nodded, gave him one more earnest look, and said nothing further.

He waved his hand, turned, and headed toward the raised path between the fields.

His back was slightly stooped. The cold morning wind blew his empty trouser legs about, making him look especially frail.

Qian Changle stood where he was, not moving until that figure had melted into the morning mist and could no longer be seen. Only then did he draw a deep breath.

The icy air poured into his lungs like swallowing a blade.

The Stabilize Liao Duke, the Golden Throne Hall — at this moment, all of it had truly scattered like smoke.

On the distant post road, a donkey cart heading for the city creaked and groaned, the driver's exhaled white breath hanging in the air without dispersing. In the wheat fields on either side, farmers rose and fell, rose and fell, sparse and scattered across the landscape.

Qian Changle tightened the worn Confucian scholar's robe around him, tucked the cloth bundle still bearing his elder brother's warmth into his breast, and strode with great steps toward that vast city crouching in the dawn light.