Chapter 20
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From behind a pile of books, Grand Tutor Jiang caught sight of the two approaching together and couldn't help but narrow his eyes slightly.
At the sudden sight of Murong Fan, he quickly straightened his clothes and stepped forward to greet him. His sharp, astute gaze flickered between them, then he said thoughtfully to Jiang Si, “Little Wu, Grandfather has a guest; come back later.”
Jiang Si obeyed dutifully, bowing with utmost grace before taking her leave.
Murong Fan, however, said, “You are but a junior; there is no need for such formalities.”
“...”
Thus, Jiang Si was left behind to watch the game of Go.
A true gentleman watches the game without speaking. She was no gentleman; she remained silent simply because she did not understand. On the board, black and white stones fought silently, but she knew nothing of their meaning.
Unable to comprehend the game, she focused instead on the players. Sitting on Grand Tutor Jiang’s side, her gaze naturally fell upon Murong Fan.
Holding the black stones, Murong Fan’s fingers were slender and elegant. His moves seemed effortless, yet carried the force of overturning clouds and stirring storms. Even seated, he exuded an ethereal grace, like the bright moon illuminating snowy peaks, frost crossing over his refined bearing—truly unlike any mortal.
The game ended with Grand Tutor Jiang’s defeat.
He stroked his beard, somewhat embarrassed by his granddaughter’s presence. Fortunately, her face was innocent and pure, showing no sign of discomfort.
Still, he felt his pride slightly wounded and cleared his throat awkwardly, grasping for conversation. “Little Wu, can you play Go?”
Jiang Si shook her head. “Granddaughter cannot.”
The Jiang family was a scholarly household, and both men and women were versed in the arts of qin, chess, calligraphy, and painting. Regardless of proficiency, it was unheard of to be completely unacquainted.
Hence, he was greatly surprised.
“Not at all?”
“Exactly so. Grandfather, please forgive me; I have been frail since childhood. Father and mother feared for my health and forbade me from any laborious or taxing pursuits. I have only learned a few characters—I am utterly ignorant of qin and chess.”
He looked regretful, but seeing her complexion was still fairly rosy, he thought she had recovered well enough now. “No Jiang descendant has ever been unfamiliar with these arts. If your health improves, you should learn a bit in your leisure. Even a little understanding is good.”
Jiang Si readily agreed.
“Prince, shall we play another game?” Grand Tutor Jiang asked Murong Fan.
Murong Fan stood. “That will be all for today. Another day, I shall come again to spar with Master Jiang.”
As he was about to leave, he said, “The arts of qin and chess depend greatly on innate talent. Even if one starts late, if gifted beyond measure, greatness is not impossible.”
These words were meant for both Jiang Si and Grand Tutor Jiang.
After seeing him off, Grand Tutor Jiang murmured, “The prince seemed troubled today.”
Murong Fan upset?
Jiang Si thought carefully but found no hint of it.
Murong Fan always carried the air of a transcendent sage, calm and composed, his emotions scarcely stirred. Where had Grand Tutor Jiang seen his mood darkened?
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“Even someone like the prince can have down moments?”
“The prince is human as well. Though his passions may be tempered, he too has joys and sorrows, just like anyone else growing from child to man.”
“What was the prince like in childhood?”
Grand Tutor Jiang half-closed his eyes, recalling a memory from many years past.
On the dragon throne sat the emperor—aged yet regal and severe. The incongruity lay in the small child cradled in his arms. Barely two years old, a vermilion dot adorned the child’s brow, like a lotus-born being under Buddha’s seat. Though at an age that should be innocent and playful, the child’s face was delicate as carved jade, but his gaze was unchildlike—steady and penetrating, as if he could see through one’s heart.
“The prince’s childhood was naturally unlike others,” he sighed. “Not a common man, nor a common heart. If something could trouble his mind, it must be extraordinary indeed.”
Since it was an extraordinary matter, Jiang Si refrained from pressing further.
She could scarcely imagine someone like Murong Fan—so removed from worldly concerns—being touched by ordinary human desires and emotions.
Grand Tutor Jiang had also come on her behalf because of a single word on a slip of paper.
“You suffered wrongs for the Jiang family and deserve some compensation.”
Thus, Grand Tutor Jiang granted her a land deed—a rural estate, not near the capital but not too distant either.
Such a tangible gift was worth a thousand words of comfort or praise. And Grand Tutor Jiang’s remark, “A gift from your elder, not to be declined,” gave her peace of mind in accepting it.
He also gave her two books: one of Go strategies, and one of qin music, encouraging her to practice when idle—not to master, but at least to understand the basics.
The study was cluttered with countless books, scattered and disorderly.
These two were beginner’s texts, originally buried deep within the stacks, so when Grand Tutor Jiang rummaged, several books flew about, some landing at her feet.
She picked them up and tidied them, glancing through those that piqued her interest. Among them was a volume titled “Ancient and Modern Mathematical Classics,” which she examined repeatedly.
“This is numerology,” Grand Tutor Jiang asked, “Little Wu, would you like to study it?”
She opened the book and said, “I already know it.”
Grand Tutor Jiang was astonished, immediately pointing at a problem for her to solve.
It was a classic puzzle resembling the “chickens and rabbits in the same cage” problem. She quickly calculated the answer.
He was even more amazed, presenting several more problems, all of which she solved perfectly.
With each correct solution, a brighter light shone in his eyes.
After a long moment, he murmured, “Little Wu, it turns out the one with a brilliant mind is you.”
...
Ji Xian Hall.
The most trusted eunuch of Emperor Zhengjia busied the palace servants, fussing over the charcoal brazier’s fire and the tepid tea.
A message came that Prince Fangye had entered the palace; the eunuch hastily arranged freshly steamed dim sum and stood respectfully outside the hall.
Upon spotting Murong Fan, he immediately stepped forward.
“Prince, you have finally arrived. His Majesty has been waiting for some time.”
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As he spoke, he looked up to see Emperor Zhengjia standing at the doorway.
Dressed in plain robes, his eyes full of affection, this most exalted man in the world appeared like the humblest father, eagerly awaiting his child.
When Empress Dowager Qin had left the palace to guard the tombs, abandoning the four-year-old Murong Fan to him, the emperor took the young prince in and cared for him personally. Their bond was as close as father and son.
He seated Murong Fan beside him and inquired about recent matters with concern.
“That Sheng’er is such a disappointment, committing such reckless acts and even letting them be reported to you—it is truly unacceptable.”
“It’s a minor matter, but since it concerns the Murong family and my younger brother happened upon it, naturally he must intervene.”
“I heard the woman is Jiang Yuan’s granddaughter, the daughter of his illegitimate son. A daughter of a concubine, accusing the heir of the prince of impropriety—what could her intentions be?”
“My brother saw that girl’s nature was innocent, with no ulterior motives. Everything she said and did was from her pure heart.”
Emperor Zhengjia believed these words fully.
“By that account, it must be that Sheng’er’s youthful impulses led him to trouble the girl, causing such foolishness. You need not concern yourself with such vexing matters.”
This child was raised by his own hands; he would not allow worldly troubles to taint him.
All knew of the emperor’s favor toward this youngest brother—partly because of his innate connection to Buddha and extraordinary talent—but few realized it was this brother’s merit that put him on the throne.
At that time, he had an elder brother, the Crown Prince, and a second brother famed for his virtue, as well as a fourth brother most like their father in temperament. No one in court believed he would ascend.
Their father had wavered on succession, torn between the two elder brothers. The one who most fiercely desired the throne and whom their father favored was that fourth brother.
He kept to his duties, never aspiring to the throne, and if not for the youngest brother’s remark that “the third prince’s fate palace is the Ziwei star mansion,” he would never have ascended.
Their father often said the youngest brother was a reincarnation of a Buddha child, and it was that brother’s words that finally persuaded the emperor to pass the throne to him. So his indulgence of the youngest brother was beyond measure.
“Fan’er, look now—even Sheng’er understands the ways of men and women. Why do you remain so slow to awaken? The capital is full of noble maidens, yet none have caught your eye. There are beauties everywhere—yet you never speak of any.”
“Your Majesty, fate is predetermined. I am not in a hurry.”
“You are not in a hurry, but your mother often asks about this. If you do not marry soon, how am I to explain to her?”
“I will speak with Mother myself.”
Emperor Zhengjia sighed helplessly. “You are already twenty-three. It is time to consider marriage.”
Murong Fan lowered his gaze, as if hearing a young girl’s innocent words echo in his mind: “Because you are an elder.”
He was twenty-three—seven years older than sixteen.
A difference of seven years made him the elder.
When did the word “elder” become so painfully sharp?