Chapter 78: True Kindred Spirits
On Gouchen Street, both households across from each other had bamboo lanterns hanging in front of their doors.
Han Min stood under the lantern bearing the character “Han,” gazing at the Marquis Wenyuan’s residence across the way.
Wen Yan had already gotten off the carriage, which entered the side gate of the Marquis Wenyuan’s estate.
“What are you looking at?”
Han Min shook his head. “Nothing. When did you move here? I didn’t even know! When are you going to invite us over for a meal?”
“These past few days, you weren’t home, so you wouldn’t know. It’s too late today—come in a few days.”
“All right.” Han Min waved at him. “Then you should head back and get some rest early.”
Wen Yan responded but stayed in place.
Han Min frowned in confusion. “What’s wrong?”
“We’ve split the family.”
A simple sentence.
Wen Yan paused, then clarified: “I’ve severed ties with the Marquis Wenyuan.”
Marquis Wenyuan was his biological father.
Han Min had visited him a couple of times before.
The Marquis Wenyuan truly didn’t deserve the name “Wen Yuan,” spending his days drinking and gambling, never speaking a kind word to Wen Yan, instead constantly mocking and insulting him.
But even Wen Yan probably hadn’t expected that one day he and his father could become so distant.
Accordingly, the residence behind Wen Yan was no longer the Marquis Wenyuan’s estate—it was now the Wen household.
The two of them stood facing each other. Han Min’s expression darkened. He stepped forward, extended his arms, and pulled Wen Yan into a hug, patting his back.
“When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Wen Yan’s tone was calm. “A couple of days ago. After being removed from the genealogy, I came here.”
Han Min sighed. “Poor little Wen Bian Zhang, and I happened to be away these past few days.”
He glanced at Wen Yan, who remained expressionless, calm and indifferent as always.
“You just moved here a few days ago, so many things aren’t arranged yet. It’s late, and you probably don’t have hot water or a late-night snack. Let’s go—sleep at our place tonight?”
Wen Yan was silent for a moment, met his smiling eyes, and finally said, “All right.”
After telling the Wen household servants, Han Min took Wen Yan home.
The lights in the central hall were still on. Han Min peeked around the corner, blinking: “Let me see who’s still awake this late—”
The elderly seated around the table all turned to look at him.
“—Wow! It’s my dear grandpa and my dear godfathers!”
Others would call him “chatty,” but Eunuch Yang played along perfectly.
“Ah, my Min Min is back.”
Han Min smiled and pulled Wen Yan closer. “And Wen Bian Zhang.”
Wen Yan bowed politely to the elders, who all nodded.
“Master Wen.”
At that moment, a young servant brought over two round stools. Han Min sat closely next to Wen Yan.
The candle flames flickered on the round table, cups and plates scattered messily.
Han Min stood and reached for the wine jug, pulling it to his side. He opened the lid and saw there was only half a bottle left.
He pressed the jug down and said to the elders, “That’s enough, you can’t drink anymore.”
Grandpa Han tapped the table. “Give it here.”
Han Min hugged the jug and shook his head firmly. “No.”
Seeing his stance, Grandpa Han softened. “Grandpa is writing a book; can’t do it without wine.”
“Writing a book? What book? Let me see.”
He handed the jug to Wen Yan, instructing him to hold it.
Grandpa Han was elderly, eyes blurry, hands shaking, unable to hold a pen. Recently, after teaching the young servant literacy, he dictated while the servant wrote.
Grandpa Han had once written many works. He had leapt to the “foremost civil official” by writing a Governance Proposal. Later, when the Han family suffered, the charges against them were based on one of his plays, a dramatized history.
The play depicted the elders present and Emperor Dezong. It was lost for a long time; Han Min had searched extensively and found only a single sheet.
Han Min thought the elders had gathered to rewrite this play, but the manuscript with the young servant wasn’t that—it was more like a dictionary, a book explaining characters.
Grandpa Han said: “These past days, I taught him and old Yang to read. We both feel current character books are too literary-heavy; beginners can’t understand them. I had previously compiled a book for old Yang, just the hundred most common characters. Now that we have time, I’ll work with your teacher to compile all three thousand characters.”
Han Min looked carefully. “Grandpa, that’s very thoughtful.”
A light shone in Grandpa Han’s cloudy eyes. “Years ago, Emperor Dezong said we should enlighten the people; there should be a book even peddlers can learn from. I’ve only written about ten characters so far—see if anything needs correcting.”
“Since it’s for them, why not add some sentences from the plays?” Han Min returned the manuscript to the young servant. “But it’s too late today. Grandpa, go rest and write tomorrow.”
He took Grandpa’s cane and escorted the elders back to their rooms.
He wanted to ask if Grandpa remembered the old playbook but was relieved he didn’t blurt it out while Grandpa was writing. The lost playbook could now be replaced by a new character book.
The plays were about them; the character book was also theirs to compile. What might have been lost was no longer a loss.
Han Min’s room had a small bamboo couch, perfect for Wen Yan to sleep one night.
He returned to his room with damp hair. Wen Yan and the white cat sat side by side on the couch, Wen Yan carefully smoothing its fur. Hearing Han Min, he retracted his hand.
Han Min took a clean towel from the rack, drying his hair, and said, “If you like, you can borrow it for the night.”
Wen Yan lowered his head. “Mm.”
Seeing Wen Yan’s low spirits, Han Min picked up the cat and placed it on his lap. “Go ahead, pet it. Don’t be shy with me.”
The system growled, “Han Min, am I just your prop for cheering people up?”
“You like literati, don’t you? Wen Bian Zhang is refined—cheer up.”
Han Min placed Wen Yan’s hand on the cat’s back. The system swished its tail.
After sitting for a while, Han Min hesitated, then spoke: “Wen Bian Zhang, actually—”
Wen Yan didn’t even raise his head. Han Min leaned closer, recalling the situation at the Wen Yuan Marquis’s estate, and quickly put his arm around him, rubbing his arm to comfort him.
“All right, all right, don’t cry. Severing ties is good; it should have been done earlier. Everyone knows what the Wen Yuan Marquis is like. You’ve come out, and from now on you are the founding ancestor of the Wen family’s new branch—it’s nothing bad.”
Han Min casually used the towel to wipe his eyes. Wen Yan looked up at him and the towel—it was the same towel Han Min had used to dry his hair.
Han Min instinctively let go. “Sorry, I got a bit carried away. But my hair smells nice, right?”
Wen Yan smiled, holding his hand. “Xici, you are my true kindred spirit.”
Literati may appear indifferent, but they respect those of like mind.
They sat quietly. After a while, Han Min dried his hair, went to the cabinet, opened the upper door, and pulled down folded bedding.
“Sleep on the bed; I’ll clean up the bamboo couch.”
Wen Yan walked to the bed and noticed a long sword hanging on a silver hook entwined with the canopy.
Han Min saw him looking, blushed, and awkwardly said, “This… is—”
He couldn’t bring himself to speak, so he put down the bedding, took the sword, hugged it, and finally gave Wen Yan a silly smile: “It’s mine.”
The autumn night was chilly. Han Min laid out the bedding, blew out the lamp, and the beds were opposite each other. They talked for a while. Han Min closed his eyes, adjusting his hold on the sword. “Sleep now; we need to get up early.”
The white cat lay on the bed. Wen Yan stroked its back and asked, “Do you always sleep like this?”
Han Min whispered, “Yes, otherwise I can’t sleep.”
Wen Yan lifted an eyelid. “That’s unreasonable.”
“It’s psychological theory; you wouldn’t understand.”
Han Min yawned and tugged the covers up.
Every time he slept, even though Fu Xun wasn’t present, he felt strongly involved.
Right.
Time passed quickly to mid-July.
At the mid-month court assembly, Han Min was on duty. He carried paper and pen, accompanying Fu Xun into the Zichen Hall.
Today, the front row for the generals was empty.
Fu Xun merely glanced and then looked away.
The officials below kept their heads down, not daring to look.
Fu Xun swept his sleeves and sat on the dragon throne, speaking calmly: “Yesterday, Duke of Xin submitted a memorial, citing health issues, likely old battlefield injuries. I sent several imperial physicians; he will no longer need to attend court.”
The first part was unremarkable, but the last sentence—“will no longer need to attend court”—shocked the officials. They looked at each other, hesitant to speak.
Was Duke of Xin being stripped of his title? Forbidden to attend court?
Unsure of the emperor’s true intent, the ministers kept their heads down.
A sharp voice from an attendant brought them back to reality:
“Announce, Xie Yan enters the hall.”
A few months prior, Xie Yan had joined the reform committee but still lived in a Zen room at Jianguo Temple, wearing old, faded, patched clothing.
Despite his hardships—premature white hair, pale face, thin frame—he walked into the Golden Hall with dignity, bowing: “Commoner Xie Yan greets Your Majesty.”
Fu Xun invited him to rise and ordered the attendant to read the imperial edict Han Min had drafted that morning.
Only then did the ministers realize he was the former servant dismissed by the Song ruler.
The murmurs of the crowd passed like wind around Xie Yan. When the edict assigned him three counties to implement the reforms, his expression shifted slightly.
He bowed once more to receive the edict.
No robes, belts, or boots mattered; he already stood at the center of the empire.
After the court session, the news quickly spread.
In the Funing Hall, word arrived:
“Your Majesty, Duke of Guangning submitted a note to Duke of Xin’s residence.”
Fu Xun nodded and gestured for the messenger to leave.
Only Han Min and Fu Xun remained. Han Min put down the ink slab, flexing his wrist. “They’ve taken the bait.”
“Mm.”
After a pause, Han Min continued, “I originally thought taking only three counties as a trial wouldn’t cause much stir. But judging from today’s reactions, it seems it still exceeded their tolerance.”
“No matter, reform has always been like this in history.”
“Right now is the time to appoint capable men, but there are also schemers who take one or two meaningless essays to claim they support reform. Your Majesty should be cautious.”
“I understand.” Fu Xun paused. “Lately you’ve been speaking of official business.”
Han Min was momentarily stunned, then realized—
The emperor wanted to hear about personal matters.
He thought for a moment and finally said, “Right. Xie Yan will take office in a few days. Since Wen Bian Zhang has moved to a new house and our garden is ready, we plan to have a meal together. Gift-giving is a bit tricky, moving it back and forth.”
Fu Xun smiled, patiently listening.
“I haven’t decided what to give Wen Bian Zhang, but last night I suddenly thought of what to give Xie Yan.” Han Min teased. “Your Majesty, what do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“A pot of hair dye. Last night I dyed Grandpa’s hair and realized young Xie Yan’s white hair could use it. Gifts should be practical.”
“You dyed your grandfather’s hair?”
“Yes.” Han Min waved his hand. “Four elders sat side by side; I did them one by one. My hands ached. With more practice, I could open a shop.”
Han Min smiled foolishly, inadvertently noticing Fu Xun’s dark temples. He said reflexively, “When you’re old, I’ll dye yours too.”
Fu Xun turned to look at him. Han Min fell silent, pressed his lips together.
Had he said something wrong?
The hall was quiet.
Author’s note:
At this moment, Old Fu’s thoughts: “When you’re old, I’ll dye yours too” = “I’ll grow old with you” = confession = can kiss wife now = etc.
At this moment, Emperor Dezong regrets leaving too soon, missing out on Min Min dyeing hair.
