Chapter 22 — A Rare Talent
Little Lizi had been beaten many times.
The head of the opera troupe, Master Cheng, always said: “Every star on the stage was beaten into shape.”
But Little Lizi was afraid of pain. He was afraid of being hit.
He used to drift around like a puddle of mud, never daring to dream of becoming a star. But when he saw Xie Jing, something inside him changed. He suddenly felt ashamed.
Xie Jing didn’t perform on stage; he didn’t have to act. Even offstage — even in daily life — he was just that good.
Little Lizi didn’t know any fancy words. He had never gone to school, only memorized a few opera scripts by rote without truly understanding them.
But he genuinely admired Xie Jing.
It was like those times when he used to hide under the stage carpet or behind the costume trunks, secretly peeking at the brightly dressed young heroes under the theater lights.
After that day, Little Lizi went back to wearing his own patched clothes. The old set of Xie Jing’s clothes that Granny Kou had given him — he washed them carefully, folded them neatly, and set them aside. He only looked at them, no longer wore them.
He wasn’t lazy anymore. Every morning he got up early to help Granny Kou with chores. His arms were weak and he couldn’t carry a full bucket of water, so he carried half a bucket at a time, filling the kitchen tank bit by bit — just like Xie Jing had done that day. The water tank never went dry again.
He even went out to work as a waiter for two days. But all he got after a whole day’s work was a bowl of leftover rice — not a single coin.
He ate the rice, then went out to find another job. This time he tried hauling coal briquettes, but his body was too weak. He couldn’t carry much, and when he caught sight of a hunched man in the distance — who looked just like Master Cheng — he got so scared he tripped and fell flat, tumbling all the way home.
He broke the bamboo basket, half the briquettes shattered, and it was Granny Kou who gave him a few copper coins to help him out of trouble.
That night, Little Lizi was unusually quiet.
The next morning, Granny Kou woke up and found him gone.
She waited half the day, thinking he’d gone out looking for work again. But even after noon, he hadn’t returned. She grew suspicious and finally thought to check her locked camphorwood chest. Inside, the silver coins she kept hidden were all still there — not a single one missing. How strange.
She went out to deliver some embroidery, even made a detour to look for him, but he was nowhere to be found.
By evening, she was wondering if she should tell Xie Jing. Just then, there was a knock on the wooden door. It creaked open, and in walked Little Lizi.
He was wearing his ragged clothes again, holding a bamboo stick. His knees were dirty, his body dusty, his face tired but smiling. “Grandma,” he said, “I went out today and got some money. Look, I brought it all back for you.”
For the first time, Granny Kou’s smile disappeared. She frowned and pushed the money back.
“Little Lizi,” she said sternly, “I know you — you’ve always been lazy and a little cunning. That’s not your fault. You grew up in the gutter; you never had the chance to learn right from wrong. But this — this you should never have done. You must never go out and kowtow for money.”
Little Lizi froze. He instinctively tried to hide the bamboo stick in his hand, eyes full of confusion.
Granny Kou sat on the edge of the bed, her voice firm. “I don’t care what you do outside, but under this roof, the first rule for our family’s children is this — stand tall. A man kneels only to Heaven, to Earth, and to his parents. To no one else.”
“You’re young,” she continued, “remember this: keep your back straight and your spirit steady.”
Little Lizi’s face flushed red — all the way down his neck. A swarm of ants seemed to crawl inside his chest, gnawing at something he couldn’t name.
He had seen Xie Jing kneel before.
It was at the start of the year. Xie Jing had knelt on the roadside, begging someone for two coppers — just enough to hire a doctor for Granny Kou when she was ill.
Back then, Little Lizi had thought: what kind of person must that be, to make Xie Jing bow his head like that?
And suddenly, the ants in his chest tore through the hard shell around his heart, biting into the tender flesh — it hurt, but for the first time, he truly understood what dignity and decency meant.
He felt… human.
He wanted to kneel and kowtow to the old woman, to call her “Grandmother,” but Granny Kou dodged him and said simply, “Don’t be so soft-boned again. Go wash up — dinner’s almost ready.”
Even as she walked away, Little Lizi knelt and bowed toward where she had sat, forehead to the floor, tears soaking into the dirt.
Then he gathered himself, went to clean up, and sat down for dinner.
His clothes were old but clean, his face scrubbed free of stage paint. The bruise at his temple had faded, and he looked like a delicate, bookish young man.
After two bites of rice, he suddenly said, “I’ll never kneel again. But… if one day you get really sick again, I’ll— I’ll kneel to beg money for you, just to get you treated.”
He swallowed the word again, knowing Xie Jing didn’t want Granny to know what he’d done.
Granny Kou smiled faintly. “I’m healthy. Don’t worry about that. Eat, before your food gets cold.”
Little Lizi nodded and ate in silence.
Since he couldn’t do heavy labor, Granny Kou began teaching him embroidery. And though she didn’t say it, she was surprised at how quickly he learned — his hands were steady, his stitches fine.
When Xie Jing came home, he noticed the change in him. He treated him a little more kindly, not as coldly as before.
Granny Kou said cheerfully, “Little Lizi’s been helping me deliver embroidery these days. He’s good at talking business too — even got an advance payment and a sample pattern. These few days we’ve made more than I usually earn in a month.”
Xie Jing frowned. “Grandma, you don’t have to tire yourself. I can provide for the family.”
“Ah, it’s not tiring,” she said. “I only do half the work now. He finishes the fine parts.”
She showed Xie Jing a nearly finished embroidery piece. “Look, doesn’t it look just like mine? See these water patterns? I split the silk thread in two — he even managed that!”
Little Lizi sat beside them, nervous, unsure if Xie Jing would look down on his small handiwork.
But to his surprise, Xie Jing listened seriously, even discussed techniques with Granny Kou.
The two chatted about work — embroidery, errands, money — Xie Jing listening with real patience, even smiling when Granny Kou described a coin purse design.
Little Lizi watched silently, wide-eyed. When Xie Jing glanced at him, he quickly lowered his head.
Then Granny Kou added, “Jing’er, not only does Little Lizi embroider well, he’s good with numbers. The other day when we sold some embroidery, the shop girl tried to shortchange us. If he hadn’t caught it, I’d have been cheated out of seven coins.”
Xie Jing looked at him. “You studied arithmetic?”
Little Lizi shook his head. “No, sir. I learned a little while waiting tables the other day.”
Xie Jing was taken aback. After a moment, he reached into his pocket, took out a small pouch, and emptied the coins onto the table.
The clinking sound filled the air. Then he asked, “How much is here?”
Little Lizi looked for a second and said, “Three silver dimes, forty-two copper coins, and two coins I don’t recognize.”
Xie Jing picked out the two strange coins — indeed, they were foreign, engraved with an eagle and a serpent, a gift from Zhang Huwei.
He remembered something a scholar had once told him — about a kind of person who, though ordinary in many ways, had extraordinary sensitivity to numbers. Their minds calculated faster than abacuses. They were rare — sometimes socially awkward, but brilliant.
Xie Jing looked at Little Lizi with a complex expression. “Your clothes…”
Little Li panicked. “I can wash them! I’m really good at washing now. I’m getting stronger too — I can carry three buckets of water a day. I can run errands, deliver embroidery, light fires, and soon I’ll learn to cook!”
He rambled on until his voice faltered, eyes reddening.
Xie Jing looked toward Granny Kou, who gave a small nod.
Little Lizi stared at him, tense, like his whole future depended on the next word.
After a pause, Xie Jing said quietly, “I’m not sending you away. You have talent with numbers — it’d be a waste not to use it. I’ll give you some books. Study them when you can.”
“I… I can’t read,” Little Li admitted, mortified.
“Everyone’s born illiterate,” said Xie Jing calmly. “You just learn.”
His tone was matter-of-fact, not mocking. Little Lizi nodded earnestly.
That night, when Xie Jing went to fetch hot water for Granny Kou’s footbath, he found that Little Lizi had already boiled a pot. Seeing him enter, Little Lizi jumped up awkwardly.
“It’s fine,” said Xie Jing. “I’ll just take some.”
“I’ll do it!” said Little Lizi, grabbing a gourd ladle to help scoop the water.
He was still clumsy, but clearly improving.
“You have a lot of bad habits,” Xie Jing said suddenly.
Little Lizi froze mid-motion.
“And you’ll have to fix them.”
Just those few words pulled him from hell to heaven. His hands trembled as he whispered, “I will. I swear I’ll change.”
After Xie Jing left with the hot water, Little Lizi sat by the stove and cried — cried from relief, from gratitude, from finally belonging somewhere.
He had a home now.
He could stay.
And that, to him, was everything.
From that day on, Little Lizi’s whole demeanor changed. Though the habit of walking in tiny steps from his opera days lingered, he looked more alert, more alive. He even smiled sometimes.
He couldn’t do rough work, but his delicate tasks were impeccable. Granny Kou wasn’t a rigid person; seeing this, she kept teaching him embroidery.
In Shanghai and Suzhou, most top qipao masters were men — masters of precision. A century of craft had been passed through their hands.
Whenever Xie Jing came home, he taught Little Lizi arithmetic. No Confucian classics, no essays — just practical skills. “These days,” he said, “you don’t need to pass exams to live. Learn one solid trade, and you’ll be fine.”
At first, Little Lizi was nervous, but to his surprise, he understood everything easily. Often, before Xie Jing even finished a problem, he had already worked it out in his head.
When Xie Jing checked his results, they were always right — fast and accurate. “I was going to teach you the abacus,” Xie Jing said, “but it looks like you don’t need it. Your mind is faster.”
Little Lizi looked up, realized it was praise, and smiled shyly.
“Xie Jing,” he said softly, “I want to pick a name. Will you help me?”
“You’ve learned to read,” said Xie Jing. “Name yourself.”
Little Lizi thought for a moment and said tentatively, “How about Li Yuan?”
“Which ‘Yuan’?”
He dipped his finger in water and wrote the simple character on the table — just four strokes.
“Good choice,” Xie Jing said. “My teacher once said, ‘At the beginning of Heaven and Earth, all things have their Origin (Yuan).’ That word fits you.”
Granny Kou chuckled. “Nonsense. He just learned to write the word for silver dollar (Yuan) and thought it was easy to write!”
Xie Jing laughed.
So did Little Lizi — no, Li Yuan.
From that moment, he had a name. And though Granny Kou had her own guess, the truth was simpler — he had come from the Liyuan, the opera stage, born from mud but striving upward, clinging to the tiny bit of goodness in his heart like a flower reaching for light.
He looked at the two people before him — one old, one young — and his eyes glowed with warmth.
They were his most precious people.
They were where his kindness began.
When spring came, Xie Jing was busy helping Lord Bai Jiu build a distillery in Heihe. Lord Bai Jiu’s injuries had mostly healed, and construction was underway.
The Bai family owned three small breweries nearby, and after inspecting them, Bai Rongjiu merged them into one and bought two hundred acres of land for expansion — an enormous move that caused quite a stir across the neighboring counties.
Author’s Note:
1. Don’t worry, friends — all allies here!
Bonus skit: “If this were a palace drama”
Head Eunuch Kou Pei Feng (frowning): “Oh no, His Majesty’s gone missing again.”
2. Scheming Lady-in-Waiting Li Yuan: “He’s left the palace.”
Kou Pei Feng: “How do you know?”
Li Yuan: “His Majesty asked me to finish ten sets of winter robes for the Empress. We’re still short one fox-fur collar. What do you think?”
Kou Pei Feng: “…”
Meanwhile, in the northern plains, Emperor Jing was happily hunting.
3. In ancient thought, Yuan meant the primal energy — the origin of all creation. From chaos came life. Our story will evolve from there — don’t worry, it’s sweet!
4. The honest eunuch and the clever maid are both here now. With his guardians by his side, young Xie can finally chase after his White Queen~
