Translator: Nyoi_Bo_Studio Editor: Nyoi_Bo_Studio
In his previous life, Fan Xian had loved to imagine himself as some classical scholar who read books next to a beautiful girl. He insisted on keeping Sisi close by as he wrote all day. The combination of the smell of burning incense, her delicate aroma, and the smooth glide of his writing brush on paper made him feel exceptionally at ease.
But he realized that if his writing were to be discovered, it would likely cause him a lot of unnecessary trouble, so he decided to keep it to himself.
Fan Xian had always felt that he had to prepare properly for life in the capital both physically and spiritually. And it was nothing like copying some short poems to be recited on the spot at some banquet. Like Dream of the Red Chamber, matters had to be prepared for well in advance.
He wasn’t sure why, but he had always thought that his future lay in that faraway capital at the heart of the Qing Kingdom. Perhaps it was because of his father, the high-ranking official. Perhaps it was that silly little girl. Or perhaps it was the nameless yet intriguing mother who he had never met.
He pondered for a while, then picked up his brush and finished the part where Bao Yu and Qin Zhong get up to some unspeakable things. After the ink had dried, he slipped it into an envelope, and got ready to send it off to Fan Ruoruo in the capital.
He never left any part of the manuscript at the mansion in Danzhou. As soon as he had written a chapter, he would immediately send it away to the capital immediately. He found it hard to suppress his desire to share the experiences of his past life with the people of this new world. It was like hiding the most beautiful piece of jade in the world beneath his bed, unseen by the world, for many years. His heart ached terribly, and he longed to show the world – or at the very least just one person – the stunning beauty of this secret he kept.
A collector who refuses to show a work to the world can be only one of two things: a pervert or a thief.
Fan Xian knew he was no pervert. Though he was definitely a thief, he was a smart one, and no one in this world would ever know.
So Fan Xian, ignoring Fan Ruoruo’s age, sent her a manuscript every month. He told her that it was a work called The Story of the Stone, and was written by a fellow named Cao Xueqin, who he had come across by chance. Every month, he would write a chapter and share it with his little sister.
Although in the first fifteen chapters of Dream of the Red Chamber there were parts where Bao Yu meets with Qin Keqing in his dream and has his first lustful liaisons, Fan Xian was certain that the young girl would not be influenced negatively by his years of letters, or regard her brother as some sort of perverted freak.
Sure enough, when Fan Ruoruo read Cao’s words, ignorant of their origins, she appreciated them even if she could not truly understand them. Yet she began to develop a taste for it – especially when she read the part where Dai Yu entered the mansion – and every month she would urge her brother to send her more of Cao’s work.
When Fan Xian received her letter, he couldn’t help but feel depressed. The next chapter did not exist, and he would not be able to copy it very quickly. Even if he copied seventy or eighty chapters one day, he would still end up like a eunuch.
…
…
After he had finished copying for the day, Fan Xian began to read a book, as he usually did. His study was filled with all kinds of works, all sent from the capital by the Count. Every time he thought about the Count’s attempts to expand his book collection, his impression of this father he had never met would always change. At the very least, he knew that a maturing boy needed such things.
In a country with no pornography, Fan Xian had no way to stave off boredom and loneliness – save for manipulating the powerful zhenqi within his body and tormenting the servant girls – and so he dove headfirst into the many and varied books held within the study.
The books covered all kinds of topics: from agriculture to the laws of the land; nothing was missed. There were also some of the classics of the world, packed tightly onto the shelves like bricks.
Fan Xian had built the shelves according to his vision. They were simple, and each shelf was lined with the lemongrass that grew in Yaozhou. This herb prevented bookworms from getting into the books, but it seemed that few people were aware of its properties in this world, and so outside of the estate it was only used as a cooking ingredient.
After reading books for many years, Fan Xian discovered traces of many things that he had studied in his previous life in the classics of this world. They only appeared slightly different in their writing styles. And thus ended his plan to becoming a great scholar of his time by copying the works of Han Feizi, Xunzi, Laozi, Sunzi, and many other old masters.
Whether it was on the subject of poison, practicing his zhenqi, or reading, Fan Xian was always committed to his studies. With steady and hardworking dedication almost unseen in a boy his age, he continued to gain knowledge. He knew he was no different from the people around him; he had not arrived in a world where the average IQ was 50 points. The only advantage he had was some of the knowledge he had from the society of his previous world, and the fact that he had gained self-awareness earlier than the average toddler.
The oil lamp crackled and let off a small ball of flame, lighting up the room. As Fan Xian bent over his desk to study, his eyes began to droop, and he fell asleep.
After his morning bath the next morning, Fan Xian went to greet the Countess in her room before going to the hall for breakfast. Ever since the incident with the assassin, his impression of his grandmother had changed greatly. Apart from the morning greetings he had been doing for years, he would also chat with the kindly-looking old woman, trying to make her laugh.
I heard that one day His Majesty once called his Prime Minister, the Chancellor, the Director of the Overwatch Council, the head of the palace eunuchs, and a group of high-ranking officials to the palace hall to discuss matters of state. That day, a meteor fell from the sky, smashed through the roof of the palace hall, and squashed all of His Majesty’s ministers flat. His Majesty summoned the imperial physician to treat them, and he waited outside the sickroom. Soon after, the imperial physician came out and His Majesty asked him, ‘Doctor, could you save the Prime Minister?’ The physician shook his head. ‘I’m afraid I couldn’t save the Prime Minister,’ he said.
As she listened, the Countess’s face was full of suspicion. She couldn’t understand why a child would speak about affairs in the capital. They were treacherous things – of which she had boundless first-hand experience. She eyed him uneasily.
His Majesty asked, ‘What about the Chancellor?’ The physician shook his head sadly. ‘I couldn’t save him either.’
‘Then what about Eunuch Hong?’
The physician shook his head again.
His Majesty got angry. ‘Then who could you save?’ The physician perked up. ‘Your Majesty is most fortunate – the kingdom has been saved!’
On hearing the last line, the Countess immediately burst into laughter, to the point where she was close to tears. She pointed her finger at Fan Xian’s innocent face.
You little devil,
she scolded.
If we were in the capital and you told that joke, they’d haul you off to the Overwatch Council.
