Facing reality

Days passed, and the weather rapidly grew warmer. The villagers' interest in Yi Shuyuan gradually faded, and fewer people came to see him.

But Yi Shuyuan's hair was now neatly combed, his face much cleaner, and his clothes fit him better than when he had arrived. With regular features, a tall, slender build, and no stoop to his posture, he could be called handsome even by his own standards.

Such looks certainly stood out in this poor, remote village, which meant some of the village women still passed by the Yi Household from time to time. Yi Shuyuan hardly knew whether to laugh or cry.

And to outsiders, never mind being older than Yi Baokang-even saying he was in his thirties seemed a stretch. Of course, by Yi Shuyuan's own reckoning, he still looked quite mature, or at least not baby-faced.

Villagers who had seen Yi Shuyuan would more or less praise his looks in private, but few believed he was Yi Baokang's elder brother. More believed Yi Shuyuan was that man's son. After all, that was what made sense when they counted the years.

Of course, not many people were so bored their balls ached that they simply had to correct Yi Baokang. Someone had tried, only to make him bristle, so if he wanted to call his eldest nephew his elder brother, let him. The villagers merely treated it as a joke to share over tea after meals.

Early one morning, before Yi Shuyuan had risen, he heard noises coming from the kitchen while still in his room.

In the kitchen, Zhao tugged at Yi Baokang, stopping him from ladling out porridge.

"Eat, eat, eat! All you know is eating! Husband, how long are we going to support this outsider?"

Yi Baokang usually listened to his wife in many things, but now he abruptly shook off Zhao's hand and glared at her.

"What outsider? That's my elder brother! I failed to fulfill Mother's last wish before she died. I already feel guilty enough!"

"You really think he's your elder brother?"

"You believe all that gossip outside too? Never mind his looks-the scar from when he hurt his leg saving me on the mountain as a child is still there. How could I mistake him?"

Seeing Yi Baokang getting agitated, Zhao actually yielded for once and took the initiative to ladle out his porridge. But she glanced toward the kitchen doorway and kept talking.

"Then tell me, why hasn't he aged?"

"Well, perhaps an immortal saved his life. Perhaps the underworld let his soul return, so he hardly aged..."

"Ugh, stop! You're giving me goosebumps!"

Zhao could not help craning her neck to look outside again. Fortunately, Yi Shuyuan had just come out to bask in the sun, which put her somewhat at ease.

Such talk was not particularly convincing. After all, Yi Shuyuan's behavior was plain to see: he seemed like an ordinary person. But whatever outsiders said, Yi Baokang knew this was his elder brother, not only because of certain marks he had borne since childhood, but also because of a feeling.

The Yi Household's courtyard was not large, so Yi Shuyuan could naturally hear the argument in the kitchen from where he sat. In fact, these past nights he had also heard complaints through the wall. He had nothing to resent; his former self had disapproved of living off one's parents, let alone living off a brother.

As for whether he looked old, after everything Yi Shuyuan had experienced since coming to this world, that truly did not count as much of an issue.

Of course, in all of West River Village, probably only Yi Baokang and Yi Yong'an believed Yi Shuyuan was their elder brother and eldest uncle respectively. Even their wives, Zhao and Li, did not quite believe it. The children were another matter.

These days had been a genuinely quiet stretch, and Yi Shuyuan had done a great deal of thinking.

Yi Shuyuan felt lost and uneasy, sensing that he might never return to the familiar world he had known. How he wished all this were a dream.

The vastness of this world's heaven and earth, its countless stars, were so familiar and yet so strange. His loneliness would not leave him, and his heart could not truly settle.

Sorting through his tangled thoughts, Yi Shuyuan set his distress aside for the moment. He closed his eyes and faced east, feeling the warmth of the sunlight and the reality of his own existence.

In the end, people had to find their place in reality, wherever that reality was and whatever form it took.

"Baokang."

Yi Shuyuan opened his eyes and called toward the kitchen. Yi Baokang quickly seized the chance to escape his wife and hurried outside specifically to answer him.

"I'm here, Elder Brother."

"Are any of Father's things still here?"

As Yi Shuyuan spoke, he walked over and continued explaining what he had in mind.

Before long, Yi Shuyuan followed Yi Baokang into the inner room behind the main hall, which was also the couple's bedroom. Zhao followed close on their heels, and the three finally stopped before a wooden chest that had long been gathering dust.

"Elder Brother, this is it. Some things are gone, but everything left is in here."

Hearing Yi Baokang's words, Yi Shuyuan nodded. He crouched and swept a thin layer of dust from the chest with his sleeve. The rising dust made him cough twice. Then he carefully opened the wooden chest. Besides some clothing, it held a red-lacquered wooden box.

Yi Shuyuan reached out and touched the box, and hazy childhood memories surfaced in his mind.

Someone whose face he could no longer remember laughed beside him and clapped his hands. "Good, good, good! A splendid couplet, and your handwriting has improved again. You've truly surpassed your father. A wager is a wager, and I admit defeat. Tomorrow I'll make a special trip into town to buy you candied hawthorn!"

"You have to keep your word! Little Brother gets some too!"

"Ha, of course. When has your father ever gone back on his word?"

"Hooray, hooray! Daddy's the best!"

Without realizing it, Yi Shuyuan's lips had curved into a smile. He gently opened the box. Inside, a brush, ink, and inkstone lay neatly arranged, along with a few sheets of slightly yellowed white paper.

The brush was still good, but the ink had cracked, and even the old inkstone had a large corner missing.

After looking for a while, Yi Shuyuan closed the small wooden box, carefully lifted it out, and headed into the main hall. He left the old clothes and other things in the chest alone for now.

Before long, the rest of the Yi Household had gathered around the table in the main hall, a hint of curiosity in their eyes.

Preparing to write here for the first time, Yi Shuyuan gave the occasion a little sense of ritual. Only after washing his hands did he approach the table and lay out the Four Treasures of the Study.

He propped up the broken side of the damaged inkstone with a pebble, then fetched clean water and carefully ground ink with the short, dried-out, cracked old ink stick. There was an innate scholarly grace to his movements.

Every motion felt both somewhat unfamiliar and utterly familiar. He lifted the brush and dipped it in ink, but its tip stopped above the paper. Yi Shuyuan took a deep breath, then lowered it to the page.

But clearly, he failed to control even that first stroke. The brush tip smeared a blob of ink straight across the paper.

"Hiss..."

Yi Shuyuan sucked in a sharp breath and forced himself to finish the character. He could not bear to look at it himself. It was simply too dreadful to behold, and someone beside him could not help snickering aloud.

Yi Shuyuan fought down an embarrassment so intense his toes could have dug out a three-bedroom apartment with a living room, doing his best to stay calm.

Relax. Yi Shuyuan, you can do this. You have to believe in yourself. Anyone would be like this after not writing for decades. You're the only educated person around here...

After several deep breaths, Yi Shuyuan finally calmed down again. Since his writing was already this bad, there was less pressure on him.

An unsettled heart made for an unsteady hand, and his haste to put ink to paper naturally made his writing tremble. But Yi Shuyuan thickened his skin and pretended the others did not exist, gradually shutting out all distractions as he practiced.

Yi Shuyuan felt that both his body and soul had some talent. Those old memories were gradually drawn from his heart by the weasel-hair brush. After only a dozen or so characters, the writing beneath his brush was already fairly neat.

After filling both sides of two sheets of paper, Yi Shuyuan looked over the characters and felt they were now quite pleasing to the eye. Thanks to the memories from this life, none of the characters he had written felt unfamiliar.

The people standing beside Yi Shuyuan were now somewhat astonished. They had never recognized a single character, even one as big as a grain scoop, in their lives. They simply thought their elder brother's or eldest uncle's handwriting was truly beautiful. Surely this skill alone would keep him from starving?

Their simple thought was in fact Yi Shuyuan's plan as well, and now his heart felt considerably more settled. With his little bit of learning-well, at least he could read and write-he ought to be able to find a relatively decent job and support himself first.

Yi Shuyuan did not mind selling his physical labor. It was just that, for one thing, he lacked confidence in his physical fitness, and for another, he felt that learning offered an extremely clear advantage in this society. Not making use of his own strengths would be far too wasteful.