The Mid-Autumn Festival had barely passed when purple clouds gathered above Northern Zhou’s imperial palace. Radiant light blanketed the sky, while thunder hung suspended in the highest heavens, gathering momentum as though preparing to split heaven and earth apart.
The Imperial Astronomical Bureau declared, “An auspicious phenomenon has appeared in the heavens. It is a favorable omen for the nation.”
Every civil and military official immediately had a terrible feeling.
Whenever the bootlickers opened their mouths, the emperor was about to pull some dogshit stunt.
Sure enough, during the morning court session, the emperor slowly exhaled before announcing—
“We intend to move the capital to Luoyang!”
Had any other emperor said this, the civil and military officials below would undoubtedly have swarmed forward and sprayed so much saliva that the entire throne room received an equal share. They would make absolutely certain that their bastard of a superior understood that this country was not his personal dictatorship. A capital was not a house he could simply relocate whenever he pleased!
Unfortunately, Northern Zhou’s emperor had made a profession of chopping off heads.
If you dared spray saliva at him, he dared make you spray blood. One person objected, and he chopped down the entire family. Blades delivered straight to your door, complete with full-service execution.
Thus, although the officials chattered, cursed, and screamed inwardly, they respectfully—and tremblingly—accepted this scorching-hot potato.
But the emperor was not finished. He understood perfectly well that this collection of useless bastards had made an art form of outward obedience and private resistance. With a casual wave, he tossed bait into the pond: the Grand Secretariat would draw up two administrative rosters, one to accompany him to Luoyang and the other to remain in Haojing.
Draw up rosters?
He might as well have told them all to go screw themselves!
Elio’s Notes: The original jokes that 草拟 (cǎonǐ, “to draft”) sounds like 草泥马 (cǎonímǎ), an internet euphemism for an obscene insult.
The useless bastards cursed as they threw themselves desperately into the fight.
The emperor had declared that the eastward relocation was intended to place greater pressure on Southern Yu and demonstrate Northern Zhou’s determination to unify the realm. Haojing would thereafter become the secondary capital, commanding the rear and safeguarding the empire’s lifeline. Naturally, it could not be neglected either.
The officials unanimously agreed that since both administrations were so important, everyone would, of course, quite “casually” choose Luoyang. After all, even if they could not whisper into the emperor’s pillow, they certainly could not survive by drinking the northwestern wind. People might smell sweeter from afar and stink up close, but that only worked across a few streets. From thousands of miles away, even a dog’s nose could not catch the fragrance!
Elio’s Notes: “Whispering into the pillow” refers to influencing someone powerful through private intimacy. “Drinking the northwestern wind” means having nothing to eat or no means of supporting oneself.
When it came time to divide the officials between the two capitals, everyone displayed astonishing selflessness.
One group stepped forward and proclaimed that they would brave the hardships of developing the new capital, generously leaving Haojing’s rich, prosperous, and fertile lands to their dearest colleagues.
The other immediately volunteered to lead by example and march at the very front, swearing that they would personally endure every hardship awaiting them in Luoyang.
The two sides courteously tried to yield the honor to each other. When they discovered that the bastards opposite them refused to budge, rage surged from their hearts and malice rose from their guts…
Over the next several days, more than a dozen vicious brawls broke out among household servants across Haojing. Every group involved came from an influential family. Whenever the Jinwu Guard arrived and saw the magnificent lineups on both sides, they could only hold out cups of water and cheer them on. They feared that even attempting to mediate would count as overstepping their authority.
For a time, storms gathered over Haojing, and the city knew no peace.
But the world was vast. There would always be salted fish who refused to turn over and preferred staying at home—such as Fu Xi Yan, whose life philosophy was:
Pray that my friends and family work harder, then get into position and wait to be carried to victory.
Elio’s Notes: A “salted fish” is internet slang for an unambitious slacker. “Being carried” comes from gaming slang and means benefiting from other people’s efforts while contributing very little oneself.
He still remembered the days when he had been called Fu Hun Ding. At the ripe old age of fifteen, he had sat in on lessons in the Fu family’s junior classroom alongside children several years younger than himself. The moment he announced this life philosophy, he stunned the entire room. That very evening, his father, Fu Fu, renamed him with a black expression. Had he not feared public ridicule, Fu Fu would dearly have loved to rename him “Fu Shut Up,” “Fu Keep Quiet,” or “Fu Say One More Word and Your Father Will Slap You.”
Unfortunately, attempting to control someone’s personality through their name was clearly unrealistic.
Even now, Fu Xi Yan showed no sign whatsoever of “speaking sparingly.” He continued muttering even when he was alone in his room.
“Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium, boron, carbon… nitrogen, oxygen, fluorine, neon… sodium, magnesium, aluminum, silicon, phosphorus, sulfur, chlorine, argon… potassium, calcium, scandium, titanium, vanadium… chromium, manganese, iron, cobalt, nickel, copper, zinc… nickel, copper, zinc… What came next again?”
He propped his cheek on one hand and thought for a while. When nothing came to him, he opened the notes he had made as a child. Beneath the symbols for hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium, boron, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, fluorine, neon, sodium, magnesium, aluminum, silicon, phosphorus, and the remaining elements, he had written ridiculous mnemonic phrases pieced together from his memory and their Chinese pronunciations.
“Oh, right! Gallium, germanium, arsenic, selenium, bromine, krypton!”
Elio’s Notes: Fu Xi Yan originally recites nonsense Chinese phrases whose sounds resemble the Chinese names of the chemical elements. The final phrase cues gallium, germanium, arsenic, selenium, bromine, and krypton.
He sat silently for a moment before abruptly covering his forehead and muttering, “When my memories first returned, I remembered everything perfectly. The older I get, the worse my memory becomes. Thank goodness I reincarnated and don’t have to take the college entrance examination. At this level, even a vocational school wouldn’t accept me.”
Fu Xi Yan closed the notebook gloomily.
The word Chemistry had been written crookedly across the cover with a calligraphy brush. Too many people came and went from his room, so there were certain things he did not dare record too clearly. It was enough that he could understand them himself.
A servant had stumbled across the notebook once and apparently assumed it was meaningless scribbling, paying it no attention.
Fu Xi Yan carefully placed it inside his treasure chest beside Math, Physics, and English. Although the knowledge recorded inside was elementary, it contained the first seeds of scientific development in this dynasty—and the only golden finger he possessed after living two lives.
Elio’s Notes: A “golden finger” is a special advantage or cheat-like ability commonly given to protagonists in Chinese web fiction.
In his previous life, he had drowned while saving someone. With the merit of having saved a life—a deed said to surpass the construction of a seven-story pagoda—he had been reincarnated as a concubine-born son of the Fu family’s head. Perhaps he had drunk expired Meng Po Soup, because from the age of three onward, his memories of his previous life gradually awakened.
Elio’s Notes: Meng Po is said to serve souls a soup that erases their memories before reincarnation. The proverb about the seven-story pagoda means that saving one life creates immeasurable merit.
Although he was concubine-born, his circumstances were not bad.
His father, Fu Fu, was the eldest son of the main branch. After Fu Xi Yan’s grandfather, Count Yongfeng, passed away, Fu Fu inherited the title and became head of the family. From then on, seven enormous words might as well have been carved between his brows:
Every last one of you will restore this family’s glory!
He had clearly inherited the true teachings of Zhou the Skin-Flayer. For the sake of Count Yongfeng’s Estate’s performance targets, he refused to spare even his concubine-born sons.
Elio’s Notes: Zhou the Skin-Flayer is a notorious fictional landlord associated with ruthless exploitation. Fu Xi Yan compares his father’s strict management of the household to squeezing labor from every available worker.
Fu Fu was also the principal reason Fu Xi Yan’s happiness index had never maxed out.
His birth mother, Concubine Bai, had died shortly after his birth, leaving him with no memories of her. Madam Fu, the principal wife and mistress of the household, ran the family like an exceptionally competent professional manager. She kept every domestic matter in flawless order and declined to concern herself with anything else. Thanks to her, none of the concubines ever received a script for a vicious inner-household drama.
His second aunt, Fu Hui Ran, had married the heir to the Duke of Haixi while Fu Xi Yan was still young and accompanied her husband to guard the frontier. His third uncle, Fu Xuan, had entered the army in his youth and taken control of the Fu family’s military influence. He currently served as Deputy Commander of the Yulin Guard but had never married.
Fu Xi Yan suspected that his uncle must have experienced some tragic, breathtaking, and little-known romance in the past. Unfortunately, his father kept his mouth firmly shut.
Fu Xi Yan had two older brothers, Fu Li An and Fu Dong Wen—one legitimate and one concubine-born—and both excelled at their studies. His concubine-born elder sister, Fu Xia Qing, was beautiful and sweet-voiced. Below him was one concubine-born younger brother, Fu Chen Xing. Although the boy had only just begun his elementary education, he already showed every sign of becoming an excellent scholar.
Just look at them!
All his siblings worked so hard, yet his father still refused to leave him alone. A hypocritical father who lay back and enjoyed victory himself while demanding that every son become a dragon was simply outrageous!
There were also several collateral relatives with whom the main branch had poor relations.
Yet even though the family had produced three or four children in each of the past two generations, the Fu clan was still considered thinly populated among Northern Zhou’s aristocratic and ennobled houses. No wonder Fu Xi Yan’s salted-fish philosophy had sent his elderly father into a thunderous rage.
After all, wasting limited resources was shameful in any era!
Fu Xi Yan understood this perfectly. Therefore, when his father brought up the relocation of the capital again after dinner, Fu Xi Yan was the first to step forward. With heroic righteousness, he announced that he would obey the emperor’s instructions and remain in Haojing to guard the family’s rear.
The entire room fell silent.
Madam Fu rose calmly and called for the concubines to leave with her.
Fu Li An patted his salted-fish younger brother meaningfully on the shoulder, then led the other siblings away from the site where a scene unsuitable for children was about to unfold. Before leaving, he thoughtfully closed the door.
Only Fu Fu remained in the hall, sitting planted in his chair like a warlord. Behind him, the gold-threaded ring saber resting on its stand trembled faintly, displaying its eagerness to come out for a walk.
Fu Xi Yan: “…”
He had a…
Very bad feeling…
Fu Xi Yan bounced one leg nervously but tried to sound entirely justified. “I’m obeying the emperor.”
Underline that! Circle it! This was the only politically correct position!
Fu Fu looked at the son who had always been somewhat unusual and suddenly sighed. People said children were debts from a previous life, but why had he given birth to the debt itself?
He said, “Do you think the emperor is like you, acting on every passing whim? Before the decree to move the capital was issued, he had probably already drawn countless people to his side in secret. Don’t be fooled by those aristocratic families weeping in public. They may have bought land and estates in Luoyang long ago and are merely waiting to move. The fact that we received no advance warning only proves that our family carries no weight! You want to remain in Haojing and guard our base, but first consider whether our family can even secure a place in Luoyang.”
“Then shouldn’t you work harder?” Fu Xi Yan muttered. “You’re always saying I lack ambition, but you’re obviously a salted fish too.”
Fu Fu drew a deep breath. “Come here.”
Resistance filled every inch of Fu Xi Yan’s face. He grumbled, “Look at you. You claim you aren’t a salted fish, but even when beating your son, you expect me to deliver the kill myself.”
…
Endure it.
Endure it.
An unfilial son was still a son!
Fu Fu squeezed out a smile. “I’m not going to hit you.”
Fu Xi Yan looked at the saber, then at him, plainly unconvinced. “May every lie put ten jin on you.”
Fu Fu finally exploded. “Look at yourself! How fat have you become? Apparently, you haven’t spoken a single honest word since the day you were born!”
Fu Xi Yan: “…”
When hitting someone, don’t strike the face. When insulting someone, don’t expose their weakness.
You are not a good father!
Fu Xi Yan complained, “It’s not as though I chose to be fat.”
It was strange when one thought about it. Everyone else in the family had a fairly ordinary build. Fu Xi Yan alone had reportedly weighed twelve jin—nearly thirteen pounds—at birth. He had been as round as a ball and had never deflated. As a small child, he had still been rather cute. Once he reached adolescence, however, the sight became somewhat alarming.
From the age of five onward, he had consciously tried to lose weight. Exercise, medicine, dieting, even a week-long vow of silence… He struggled for eight full years. Yet the more effort he put in, the more heartbreaking the result. The flesh on his body appeared to interpret every attempt as behavior deserving a reward and increased by the day. When his weight finally exceeded two hundred jin, he gave up and lay flat.
Fu Fu also remembered the days when little Fu Xi Yan refused to sleep late and rose before sunrise to jiggle his flesh around—no, to run. A faint thread of sympathy finally stirred in him.
“Fourth,” he called.
Fu Xi Yan shuddered. Every time his father addressed him that way, he thought of the overworked Fourth Prince from history. “Father, let’s speak plainly. None of that honey on the lips and a dagger in the heart, all right?”
Elio’s Notes: “Honey on the lips and a dagger in the heart” describes someone who speaks pleasantly while harboring harmful intentions. Fu Xi Yan’s “Fourth Prince” joke refers to the future Yongzheng Emperor, traditionally associated with an exhausting workload.
A muscle twitched in Fu Fu’s face. “There are paths in life other than scholarship and martial arts.”
Fu Xi Yan froze, then immediately became alarmed. “You want to use me for a marriage alliance?”
“…A marriage alliance creates in-laws, not enemies.” Fu Fu paused as he examined Fu Xi Yan’s pale, plump face. No matter how large the round plate, the two black grapes set upon it remained dazzlingly bright. He could not help remembering Fu Xi Yan’s mother, whose beauty had been unmatched.
When Fu Xi Yan was young, one could clearly see that his features resembled hers. Were it not for the roundness, softness, plumpness, and sheer abundance of flesh, his face alone might have attracted enough marriage proposals to wear down the Fu family’s threshold.
What a pity.
Fu Fu shook his head, abandoned the unrealistic fantasy, and continued, “It would still be best to find a family sincerely willing to agree.”
Lost in his own thoughts, he completely failed to notice that his son’s soft, pale face had turned as black as the bottom of a pot.
Fu Xi Yan puffed up indignantly. “How do you know no one would be willing?” Even Yang Yu Huan had attracted both the Prince of Shou and Emperor Xuanzong. Why couldn’t he?
Elio’s Notes: Yang Yu Huan was first married to the Prince of Shou before later becoming Emperor Xuanzong’s famed Consort Yang. Fu Xi Yan invokes her as proof that his own romantic prospects should not be dismissed.
Fu Fu scoffed. “As the saying goes, a man should marry a virtuous wife rather than a beautiful one, while a woman should marry for the heart rather than wealth. What family would want its daughter to marry a lazy man whose life’s ambition is to lie flat?”
That was going too far.
This could not be tolerated.
Fu Xi Yan desperately searched his mind until he finally found a rebuttal. Puffing out his chest, he declared, “But I’m virtuous!”
Fu Fu: “…”
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