Chapter 7: Calling Him “Big Brother” Once
After traveling around for more than ten days, Han Min didn’t truly relax until he returned home and had his elder brother beside him. He curled up on the bed and slept an entire morning.
When he woke up, it was already afternoon.
He rubbed his eyes, hugged the blanket, and sat up.
Behind the screen, Han Shi was outside.
Han Shi was kneeling at the desk, holding a brush and writing something. He wrote very carefully, each stroke drawn slowly.
Han Min lifted the blanket and was just about to get off the bed.
Hearing the sound, Han Shi turned his head. “Awake?”
“Mm.”
Han Min took the outer robe from the bedside and draped it over himself. As he tied his sash, he walked out.
He leaned over to look. “Brother, what are you writing?”
He looked closely. “Eh?”
The system had a spoiler function. Before the Han family was raided and convicted, it had told him the Han family might be in danger.
But the system spoke vaguely at the time, so Han Min made two preparations.
One was to have the family stay vigilant, hoping to avoid the disaster.
The second was secretly saving money, thinking that if things truly went bad, he’d take the family south, cross the sea, and flee to the Ryukyu Islands.
In the end, they couldn’t avoid the disaster, nor did they escape. They settled in Tongzhou.
He had saved some money, but he couldn’t live off it forever.
He was the son of a disgraced official. Others didn’t dare employ him.
Fortunately, his calligraphy was beautiful—Grandfather Han had personally supervised his practice for more than ten years. So, in the two years in Tongzhou, he had earned small sums by writing letters for others and copying books.
Before leaving, he had accepted a book-copying job. But after going to Liuzhou, he was delayed.
What Han Shi was copying now was that book.
Probably because he felt Han Min had worked hard, so he was helping by copying a few pages.
Han Min said, “Brother, leave it there. I’ll copy it later.”
Han Shi put down the brush. “Your handwriting is too hard to imitate.”
“Well, Brother is used to holding swords and knives…”
Han Min realized what he said and stopped, sneaking a glance at his brother’s expression.
Han Shi didn’t notice, simply saying, “If I’d known this earlier, I shouldn’t have run out to play back when Grandfather made us practice calligraphy. But there’s one more thing I want to ask you—”
He put down the brush and picked up a stack of papers from the bottom.
Han Min’s face changed. He clearly remembered putting that at the very bottom. How did it—
Han Shi placed the stack on the desk.
It was a pile of manuscript pages. The bold characters on the top were clearly the title—
“A Few Affairs Between His Majesty and the Censor.”
Of course, it wasn’t based on real events. The real emperor of Great Qi was already in his forties or fifties.
The stories were all made up by Han Min.
And from the title, the content was obvious.
Han Shi asked, “A few days ago, I wanted to help you copy some pages and found this in your desk. What is it?”
Han Min touched his nose and looked away guiltily. “That is…”
“I knew it. If you only copied books for others, the amount of money you made wouldn’t match.”
Han Min muttered softly, “This is only the first one.”
Han Shi lifted his gaze. “Hm?”
Han Min lowered his voice further. “I only ghostwrote storybooks for two years before. This is the first one I wrote myself.”
Han Shi laughed. “So you’ve been enduring for years for this?”
“Of course.”
Chuckling again, Han Shi put the manuscript back. “Alright, write if you want. There’s no other way anyway. Just don’t let Grandfather know.”
Han Min nodded, picking up a scroll to cover the manuscript. “I know.”
Han Shi asked, “By the way, that Censor Wen in the story—is he based on Wen Yan?”
Han Min looked up. “How do you know?”
“You fool. You even gave the character the surname Wen. We only know one person whose surname is Wen.”
“Oh, really? Then I’ll change his surname to ‘Han.’”
Han Shi frowned. “And the emperor in the book—who’s he based on?”
Han Min said with great righteousness, “the Duke of Ding, of course.”
“You just said you’d change the surname to ‘Han’? Han Min, you—”
“Brother, creative writing doesn’t correspond one-to-one with real life. And the ‘Han’ I meant was like the poetic couplet—sky to earth, mountain to water, Wen to Han—that Han!”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Fine. As long as you understand. Just don’t let Grandfather know.”
“Okay.”
Han Shi watched him carefully put away the manuscript. Then he said, “There’s food left for you. It’s warm on the stove. Go eat.”
He reached out and took his younger brother’s hand.
A hand accustomed to wielding weapons, with a thin layer of calluses at the tiger’s mouth and palm.
“What’s wrong?” Han Min asked.
Han Shi shook his head, only feeling a tight ache in his chest.
Han Min tightened his grip and smiled. “It’s fine. I actually enjoy writing storybooks.”
Han Shi let go, urged him to eat, and only after watching him walk out did he sigh.
He picked up the cane leaning by the wall, hooked the wooden wheelchair nearby with its tip, then slowly stood up using the cane—and fell into the wheelchair, exhaling.
Such a simple movement, yet sweat beaded even on his nose.
—
The kitchen stove still held embers, warming the food in the pot.
After washing up, Han Min ate in the kitchen.
Lady Yuan had just returned from buying groceries.
“Son, you’re up?”
“Mm.”
She put down the basket. “Wait, I’ll fry you an egg.”
Han Min quickly said, “No, no, I’m full.”
“It’ll just take a moment. You’ve been away so long, you look thinner.”
Han Min muttered, “It’s not like the Duke of Ding wouldn’t feed me.”
Lady Yuan had already rolled up her sleeves and taken out an egg.
“Want it or not?”
“…I want it. But not runny—make it crispy.”
Lady Yuan smiled.
Han Min ate a spoonful of rice, then said, “Mother, my brother…”
“What about him? Did he bully you?”
“No. It’s his leg…”
At this, Lady Yuan also looked sad.
She paused, then forced her tone light. “What about it? I raised him when he was young, and I can raise him now.”
“I mean… if we could return to Yong’an City, that’d be best. The doctors in Tongzhou can’t treat him. The imperial physician Liang might be able to.”
“Yes… maybe Physician Liang can.”
She flipped the egg.
She sighed. “I know this trip to Liuzhou—one part was to repay the Duke of Ding’s kindness to our family, another was for the common people. Let me ask you something—not that your mother is being greedy—what did the Duke of Ding say about our family?”
“He told me not to worry.”
“Then we’ll be cleared of our charges?”
“Most likely.”
Lady Yuan let out a breath. “Good.”
Han Min continued, “Physician Liang is almost sixty. He’ll retire in a few years. Our family will probably be cleared within these two years. Once the disgrace is lifted, I’ll take the imperial exam. I can probably get a minor post like county registrar…”
Lady Yuan slid the cooked egg into his bowl. “Careful, it’s hot.”
Han Min went on, “Physician Liang’s ancestral home is in Yangzhou. I’ll go there. He watched me and my brother grow up. If I beg him, there’s no way he won’t help my brother.”
Hearing that, Lady Yuan finally felt a bit hopeful, though she didn’t show it. She feared that if it didn’t work out, Han Min would be heartbroken.
So she only said, smiling, “That’s far in the future. Why think so much?”
Han Min whispered, “I also want to get back Grandfather’s confiscated boxes of manuscripts.”
At this, Lady Yuan’s expression darkened. “Just for those boxes of manuscripts, you already went to prison once, and you’re still thinking about them.”
Han Min argued, “Mother, I wasn’t imprisoned because of the manuscripts. His Majesty already resented our family. With or without those, I would’ve ended up in prison anyway…”
Lady Yuan waved him off. “Eat.”
Han Min blew on the egg and took a bite.
Lady Yuan said, “If you want to treat your brother’s leg, I don’t object. But manuscripts are dead objects. Even if it’s dozens of boxes—their worth can’t compare to you and your brother. Your grandfather thought the same.”
“I know.”
But those manuscripts were Grandfather Han’s life’s collection. Han Min had watched him write and store them since childhood.
As a scholar, he truly felt heartache.
—
After lunch, Han Min returned to his room.
He sorted the bundle he had brought back.
His belongings were few—some spare clothes, and a brush pouch containing writing tools.
At the very bottom of the bundle, he found three banknotes and a land deed neatly placed.
No idea when Fu Xun had put them in.
Now Han Min truly couldn’t return them.
He stood and walked to the corner.
Along one wall stood a bookshelf filled with scrolls—all Grandfather Han’s old collection. Some didn’t fit and were stacked.
Han Min moved aside a pile and took out a wooden box.
Inside were two silver ingots and a few strings of coins.
This was what he had saved before the family’s fall. It used to be a full box—after two years, this was all that remained.
He placed the banknotes and land deed at the bottom.
The system asked, “You’re not going to use them?”
Han Min replied, “I’ll use them when it’s urgent. As for the land deed, it’s winter now—moving is troublesome. I’ll think about it after New Year.”
The system said, “Honestly, I think the Duke of Ding treats you pretty well.”
Han Min closed the box. “I think so too.”
“Then why do you think the best you can do is become a minor county official?”
“In court, officials are either from powerful clans or imperial-exam graduates. Most jinshi [1] start as county registrars.”
“Try thinking boldly—maybe the Duke of Ding will directly appoint you.”
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Why not?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
He hid the box, sat at the desk, and began grinding ink with his left hand to start copying.
Supporting his head, he said, “System, do you know why Wen Yan follows the Duke of Ding everywhere?”
“He’s the Duke of Ding’s advisor.”
“And why is he his advisor?”
“How would I know?”
“Because the Marquis of Wenyuan’s hereditary title will be reclaimed in his generation. To secure it, after the Crown Prince died, he aligned himself with Fu Xun early. Even someone like him must work so hard—how could I be directly appointed?”
Once the ink was ready, Han Min picked up his brush.
Thinking for a moment, he said, “Actually, it’s all your fault.”
The system protested, “How is it my fault?!”
“You only told me ‘the Duke of Ding will become emperor.’ You never said which one was the Duke of Ding. I missed the early chance to build goodwill with Fu Xun!”
“You simply didn’t recognize him!”
“How could I? He was a chubby kid back then. Among a dozen princes, I couldn’t tell which one had an emperor’s aura. Who knew once he grew… taller, he’d change so much?”
“You might not recognize him, but you shouldn’t have fought with him!”
“He fought me too! And back then, he picked the fight! He insisted—”
Han Min slumped on the table, puffing angrily.
What had Fu Xun said back then?
The seven-year-old chubby Fu Xun poked his shoulder. “I’m the Third Prince. Whose child are you? I’ve never seen you before. How about this—call me ‘Third Brother,’ and you’ll be my little brother from now on.”
Little Han Min blinked. “I don’t want to.”
Little Han Min refused, Little Fu Xun insisted.
They fought, rolled down a fake mountain, Little Han Min broke his arm, Little Fu Xun broke his leg. Imperial Physician Liang even put them in the same room to recover.
They recuperated for four months, and still didn’t make peace.
That fight sparked years of conflict between them—from the palace to the academy.
So in Han Min’s memory, their relationship was always bad. Constant bickering, sometimes physical, needing others to stop them.
When they grew older, they learned restraint. Especially Fu Xun, who grew calm and unreadable.
Their relationship, on the surface at least, finally eased.
Now Han Min regretted everything deeply.
“If only I’d agreed back then. Calling him ‘Third Brother’ wasn’t hard. Why didn’t I just say it? Why did I fight him?”
The system yelled, “Calm down! We scholars must strive for dignity!”
Han Min collapsed to the floor, wriggled like a dying fish, then whispered weakly, “I don’t want to try anymore. If I call Fu Xun ‘Third Brother’ three hundred times now, do you think he’ll accept me as his little brother?”
Author’s Notes:
The earlier “childhood sweethearts” part ? “Fu Xun’s own imagination”
The sharp rivalry part ? “Han Min’s memory”
Both are correct.
Han Min: “My lord, I don’t want to try anymore…”
Prince: Land deed ×1, banknotes ×3, assets transferred ×999
Han Min: “Thank you, my lord.”
Prince: “Still calling me ‘my lord’?”
Footnotes:
[1] The jinshi was the highest and final degree in the ancient Chinese imperial examination system, and passing it meant immediate entry into the bureaucracy and high social status.
