Chapter 255

No matter how clever a child may be, when faced with the schemes of adults, their inexperience always shows. Even a child who is adept at concealing their emotions will inevitably let some slip through. The tutors exchanged glances and then laid out their plan: since the other children hadn't come to class, there would be no formal lessons. Instead, they decided to tell stories each day. The children, upon hearing there would be no lessons and only stories, were overjoyed, their faces breaking into wide, toothy grins.

After finishing his business at the shop, Wang Xiujin decided to stop by the school to see if the royal children were attending their lessons. Upon arrival, he was amused by what he saw: the tutors had made the children into test subjects, standing by the doorway, narrating stories in a monotonous, unvaried tone. The tales were dull, and the children beneath them yawned repeatedly—true proof of their soporific effect.

After listening for a while, Wang Xiujin went to find the other tutors. He found the stories too tedious to bear—even he couldn't stand them, so he imagined the children must be thoroughly bored. Moreover, the storytelling itself lacked any expression; surely, there ought to be some emotion. The tutors, faces drawn, said, "Master, why don't you give us an example?"

Wang Xiujin considered. He did remember a few stories, though they might not suit this era. After some thought, he recounted the tale of Nezha and the Sea, though his recollection was vague—he provided the broad strokes, leaving it to the tutors to fill in the details.

The tutors listened intently; it was like hearing a folk tale, novel and engaging. They gathered together, discussing animatedly how to flesh out the story, making it more complete and lively. Wang Xiujin emphasized repeatedly that the tale must be positive, that under no circumstances should the children be led astray—he didn’t want them running off to the sea thinking they could stir up palaces underwater. “Be sure it’s uplifting and proper. Don’t lead the children astray,” he insisted.

“We understand, we understand,” the tutors assured him. They would never impart anything useless or corrupting to children—if their own children behaved as disobediently as those in the story, a few strokes of the cane would be considered lenient.

Wang Xiujin listened to a bit more of the storytelling, but found himself growing drowsy, so he left. The children, seeing Wang Xiujin as sleepy as themselves, became more convinced that the tutors were the ones to blame, not Wang Xiujin—surely it was the tutors’ idea, not his. If only they could speak to him, they would have begged him to scold the tutors and forbid such dreadful storytelling.

Unaware of the children’s thoughts, Wang Xiujin yawned his way home, unable to resist the need for a nap. These tutors simply had no talent for storytelling. Once home, he scooped up his son and went to catch up on sleep. When Li Linshan returned, he found his son sprawled atop Wang Xiujin, both father and son fast asleep. The child, teething, drooled onto Wang Xiujin’s clothes, and Li Linshan imagined Wang Xiujin would have something to say about it when he awoke.

Moving quietly, Li Linshan gently picked up his son. Yachang, sensing movement, opened his eyes, saw it was his father, and snuggled into his arms to continue sleeping. Li Linshan’s expression softened, and he carefully tucked the child into his own small bed. Once Yachang was sound asleep, Li Linshan returned to the side of his and Wang Xiujin’s bed. Wang Xiujin rarely napped in the afternoon—if he did, he would struggle to sleep at night. After pondering a moment, Li Linshan decided to wake him.

Roused from a deep sleep, Wang Xiujin was all kinds of uncomfortable, but he stretched and, as Li Linshan asked about his midday nap, he complained, “I asked the tutors to make up some stories—their progress is quick, but the stories are terribly dull. Their delivery never changes. Those poor children forced to listen, struggling to stay awake, unable to leave or nap. I couldn’t take it myself and grew so sleepy that I came home to rest instead of checking on the workshop.”

“Still, it’s better than being stuck in the village,” Li Linshan replied. He pictured the scene and felt a twinge of sympathy for the children. To put Wang Xiujin to sleep was no easy feat.

“Not necessarily. It’s hard to guess what’s going on in a child’s mind. Whether it’s good or bad isn’t for us to say. If it were me, I’d much rather be doing chores than listening to such boring stories,” Wang Xiujin shook his head. “If it were you, I bet you’d rather practice boxing than listen. Want to try?”

“I’ll pass,” Li Linshan refused at once. “How about we eat something, then practice a set? You haven’t trained in a while.”

Wang Xiujin nodded, “Let’s train first, then eat.” Stretching his limbs, he added, “Take it easy on me—I haven’t practiced in ages, not sure I even remember the moves.”

Li Linshan nodded; even if Wang Xiujin hadn’t asked, he wouldn’t have gone all out. Glancing at their son, he caught Yachang's newly opened eyes. “Let’s bring Yachang along. He’s still too young for martial arts, but he can at least get used to the training hall.”

Wang Xiujin gave a wry smile at his now-awake son, feeling a surge of sympathy. So young, and already marked for a path of hardship. The days ahead would be long and trying, but all he could do was support his son behind the scenes. To be born into a great family, especially as the eldest son and grandson, seemed glorious on the surface, but the unseen toil was many times greater than for others—how else could one uphold the family legacy?

Pushing the custom-made cart for his son, Wang Xiujin considered making a bicycle, but without rubber it would have to be all wood, which seemed unlikely to work—still, it was worth a try. If successful, it might even be profitable.

As he pondered new money-making ideas, little Yachang swiveled his head, taking in the world from his cart for the first time. It was delightful. The passing servants stared in curiosity, whispering about what it could be. Li Linshan pushed the cart straight to the training hall, finding it quite useful, especially for carrying things when traveling with a child.

After changing clothes and tucking Yachang in with his blanket, the two adults warmed up and began sparring. At first, they worried about frightening Yachang, so they held back, but as their moves grew more complex, not only did Yachang remain unfazed, he grew even more excited. His wide eyes became even larger, and he waved his little fists, mimicking their moves. The two fathers, amused, soon focused wholly on their match.

Since Yachang had returned, Wang Xiujin hadn’t practiced much, always revolving around his son. When Yachang was born, he’d suffered from the cold, so Wang Xiujin took meticulous care to avoid lifelong illness—he feared his son would become delicate and sickly. Thankfully, Yachang was resilient; aside from one fall off the divan that required a doctor's visit, he had remained healthy.

After a while, Wang Xiujin, panting, called for a halt and collapsed onto the floor, catching the towel Li Linshan tossed him. Yachang, in his cart, seemed dissatisfied to see them stop, calling out and waving his fists, punctuating his protest with “Puh, puh, bang!”

“Didn’t get enough?” Wang Xiujin raised an eyebrow at his son.

“Seems so,” Li Linshan said, picking up Yachang and setting him on the floor to crawl. Yachang wobbled to his feet, copying his fathers’ moves—punching, then kicking, only to lose his balance and almost fall. Li Linshan caught him just in time, allowing Wang Xiujin, who was farther away, to breathe a sigh of relief—he couldn’t imagine what would happen if Yachang hit his head.

“You really are a handful,” Wang Xiujin said, pinching his son’s tiny nose. “Looks like he’s a natural for martial arts, already throwing punches and kicks so young.” He sat cross-legged, settling Yachang in his lap and playing with his little arms and legs. Yachang laughed gleefully. The three of them spent the whole afternoon in the training hall, and Yachang was so wound up that he kept squirming in his cart even afterward.

“When he can stand steadily, we’ll let him start practicing bit by bit,” Li Linshan said, his eyes soft with affection. “If his health isn’t strong, I won’t ask for much—just that he can protect himself. But if he has the heart to join the army, then…” Li Linshan looked at Yachang with hopeful eyes.

Wang Xiujin looked at Yachang as well, a smile at his lips. “I think he’ll become an excellent general.” As the eldest son and grandson, it was only natural—though he was adopted, with both Wang Xiujin and Li Linshan behind him, this was a responsibility he had to bear. In his cart, Yachang continued waving his fists, his face still lit with excitement.

After wiping off their sweat and changing clothes, the two of them wheeled Yachang over to the old master’s courtyard for dinner. That evening, it was just them dining with the patriarch. The old master, seeing his great-grandson wheeled in, exclaimed, “This cart is marvelous.” He went over, and Li Linshan quickly stepped aside to let him try it. The old master gave it a push or two and nodded approvingly. “Very easy to use. Good, good. I’ll take Yachang out for walks in it from now on.”

Neither Wang Xiujin nor Li Linshan mentioned Yachang’s exploits in the training hall; Wang Xiujin felt it would sound less like casual conversation and more like boasting—somehow, it just felt odd. After dinner, the old master, delighted with his new toy, pushed his great-grandson around the courtyard and off to other parts of the house.

Wang Xiujin and Li Linshan followed behind. Though the cart was easy to push, it still required effort—being wooden, it was no featherweight, and with Yachang gaining weight, it took some strength. After accompanying the old master on a lap around the grounds, they finally took Yachang back to their own quarters. Yachang, overstimulated, refused to sleep that night, wriggling around on his blanket while Wang Xiujin yawned repeatedly—yet Yachang remained wide awake.

“Until he can really train, we mustn’t let him back in the training hall. This is too much,” Wang Xiujin said, yawning again. “Son, how about Daddy tells you a story?” He thought of the dull story he’d heard at the school, hoping it might put Yachang to sleep.

Yachang blinked and reached out for a hug. Wang Xiujin sighed in relief—he’d worried the boy might want to keep playing. He picked his son up and set him in his small bed, then, imitating the tutors’ flat tone, began telling a story. Li Linshan, busy wetting a cloth and changing Yachang’s clothes, didn’t pay much attention at first, but when he finally listened, he rubbed his temples. No wonder Wang Xiujin had come home sleepy—after just a short while, he felt drowsy himself. A bit longer, and he’d have been nodding off.

Wang Xiujin kept an eye on his son as he spoke, and sure enough, soon saw Yachang yawning, his eyes struggling to stay open. After a while, the child fell asleep. Wang Xiujin, sitting on the floor, looked over at Li Linshan, who was rubbing his forehead. Without a word, the two of them washed up and went to bed. The story had made both the listener and the teller sleepy, but before drifting off, Wang Xiujin muttered, “We should have the tutors tell these stories to the soldiers in the barracks—train their willpower so they don’t doze off on the battlefield.”

Li Linshan raised an eyebrow, thinking it a good idea. He turned and wrapped his arms around Wang Xiujin, and soon both were asleep.

The soldiers in the barracks had no inkling of the impending torment: soon, the tutors would be sent to tell stories, and the days ahead would be ones of hardship indeed.

After a restful night, Wang Xiujin did not forget about his plan for the soldiers; he earnestly wrote a detailed treatise on how to train their willpower, and gave it to Li Linshan. Li Linshan read it carefully, then hurried to show it to the patriarch. The old general was shocked. “You wrote this?”

“It’s Xiujin’s work. I thought it was useful and brought it to you,” Li Linshan said excitedly, his voice trembling.

“Good, good! Truly a son of the Li family. If we train them according to this, we’ll have an army of fine soldiers.” After a pause, the old master added, “Start by training your own men first.”

Wang Xiujin’s plan was nothing more than an adaptation of training methods from military dramas, adjusted for ancient conditions. Whether it would work or not, he couldn’t say. If it did, he would have made a real contribution to the country. If not, well, he wasn’t a professional—no one could blame him.