“I’m not angry,” she said, sitting down beside him and snatching the tea to drink it in one gulp. Seeing her return to normal, Xu Wanzhi breathed a sigh of relief, a hint of a smile appearing in his eyes.
“Don’t leave me behind like that in the future.”
Sitting side by side rarely, Qu Xiaojue turned her eyes to look at him. Receiving no response, she repeated, “I am your wife. You can’t just walk away and leave me.”
“…I did call out to you before leaving. I walked away by myself,” Xu Wanzhi replied awkwardly, his mouth twitching.
“Alright, I won’t dwell on today’s matter,” Qu Xiaojue huffed proudly, her eyes scanning his room. “Why is the room so empty? Even your usually used cloud-line incense seems sparse. Why haven’t you lit any?”
He shrugged indifferently. “I don’t like it anymore. Isn’t it good that the room is more spacious?”
“It’s just different from your usual habits,” she sighed, immediately changing the subject: “A’yun will visit with her husband this afternoon. Come and meet them.”
“Have they met me before?”
Xu Wanzhi was about to refuse but anticipated she would start another lengthy discussion. After thinking, he decided to be evasive.
“No,” Qu Xiaojue shook her head. “Don’t you have nothing to do? A’yun’s husband is quite worldly. Why not chat with him instead of moping around?”
“We’ll talk this afternoon.”
As they continued their conversation, Qu Xiaojue showed no signs of leaving, and Xu Wanzhi couldn’t rudely leave or ask her to go, so he continued to respond passively.
“Family master, young master,” the door was carefully knocked.
Qu Xiaojue responded first: “What is it?”
Qi’er bowed her head at the doorway, softly answering: “A Qu bodyguard seeks an audience.”
“Have her wait in the reception courtyard. I’ll be there shortly,” Qu Xiaojue instructed.
“Yes,” Qi’er acknowledged and turned to relay the message.
Qu Xiaojue turned to Xu Wanzhi, who was tilting his head, seemingly watching a dragonfly that had landed on the windowsill. She cleared her throat to bring him back to his senses and said, “Come after lunch. If I don’t send for you, come to the study.”
“Understood,” Xu Wanzhi nodded.
Qu Xiaojue stepped out.
“Qi’er, go find me a dry tree branch about the thickness of a little finger, and bring me a small knife,” Xu Wanzhi instructed.
“Are you going to write something?” Qi’er asked curiously.
“How do you know?” he furrowed his brow, wondering if it was true that there were one or more silent time-travelers around.
Seeing her master ask so urgently, Qi’er quickly said: “I heard from A Heng that some poor young ladies simply cannot afford paper and brushes, so they resort to practicing writing on sandy ground, which allows them to learn from books while saving on paper and ink…”
“I see,” Xu Wan’zhi exhaled, unsure if he felt disappointed or something else: “Then bring me one of the tools they commonly use.”
“Yes, this servant will retire now.” Qi’er obediently responded and immediately lifted her skirt to carry out the task. Xu Wan’zhi rubbed his forehead and smiled bitterly, thinking about what to write for An’er – this was a temporary decision, and whether he could understand it was not important.
Qi’er quickly returned, holding several thick goose quill tubes, placing them directly on the table and arranging his ink and paper. Xu Wan’zhi smiled, sitting at the desk with a feeling of writing a family letter.
He looked up at the roof beams, pondering for a moment before dipping the brush in ink and beginning to write.
“Ah, master, is this a rabbit?” Looking at the fluffy little animal on the paper, Qi’er asked in surprise. Xu Wan’zhi nodded, thinking he still had a youthful touch. He began adding dialogue for the animals.
For some reason, he first chose the tortoise and hare race, a story whose imagery would likely appeal to children.
Seeing the clumsy shell, Qi’er was about to cry out again, but Xu Wan’zhi explained first: “It’s a turtle, just not drawn very accurately.”
“Indeed,” Qi’er nodded, watching carefully and no longer exclaiming.
Xu Wan’zhi drew over ten pages of adorable animals, adding meaningful yet easily understood words. He wrote insights from his education and his life experiences, avoiding grand theories and keeping everything simple.
If giving this to a child who lacks nothing, he felt that if fate allowed, he could do something beneficial for another’s life within his range.
The books here were thread-bound. After finishing, Xu Wan’zhi patted his head, secretly laughing at his impulsiveness but not truly blaming himself. He asked Qi’er to find two pieces of thick cloth and sew them together.
Qi’er happily carried out the order, being naturally skillful and quickly stitching the pages neatly.
“Thank you, Qi’er,” he said. Qi’er blushed, feeling embarrassed, but sensing his good mood, boldly asked: “Master, I recognized the character for ‘person’ on the fifth page. Could you tell me…”
Xu Wan’zhi recited: “In life, eight or nine out of ten things are unsatisfactory.”
Qi’er looked at him expectantly, clearly waiting for an explanation.
Xu Wan’zhi turned his gaze to the window, speaking softly: “In life, many times many things are unsatisfactory. Simply put, being unsatisfied is the true nature of life. Therefore, when facing various unsatisfactory circumstances, we need not be overly pained. What we need is persistence, waiting for those rare yet more precious moments of satisfaction – this process is life itself.”
Qi’er nodded blankly: “We should cherish those precious moments of satisfaction.”
“Indeed!” Xu Wan’zhi turned and smiled, saying no more. He had written these words because of the profound confusion they brought him, having carved them in his heart since childhood.
He often wondered: if life is so unsatisfactory, with so much suffering, why live for that “one or two out of ten” moments? They far cannot counterbalance the power of the “eight or nine out of ten” unsatisfactory experiences, so what makes them worth pursuing for an entire lifetime?
But his teacher had taught him that human life happens only once, fragile yet precious. Even if the entire world makes you unsatisfied, the mother who gave birth to you provides unconditional love. Your first responsibility, solely to the one who gave you life, is to preserve yourself under any circumstances.
He often thought about this sentence, gradually becoming indifferent yet always persisting in living well.
Of course, he would not tell children like Qi’er and An’er the opposite; he would simply tell them to persist in life and face unsatisfactory moments with equanimity.
“Yes, brother-in-law, Little Blue hasn’t seen you for a long time. Are you looking down on me?” The “younger cousin” raised his head and stared directly at him, wearing a complex blue dress, looking aggrieved.
Xu Wanzhi’s eyebrows twitched, and he spoke the truth: “Yes.”
The room fell silent for a moment, and even Qu Xiaojue, who was pretending to be wooden, couldn’t help but look up and glance at him. The younger cousin’s face instantly turned pale, clearly caught off guard.
Lin’s wife stood up abruptly: “What kind of words are these? Which part of my Lin family’s nephew makes you look down on them!”
Xu Wanzhi shook his head: “My words are unpleasant. Goodbye.”
“You…” The younger cousin looked aggrieved, and tears immediately began to fall.
Lin’s wife was now gnashing her teeth. Seeing Xu Wanzhi had already turned to leave and her beloved nephew had been humiliated, she immediately turned to Qu Xiaojue and ordered: “Jue’er, such an unvirtuous husband, why haven’t you divorced him!”
Qu Xiaojue’s eyebrows jumped, and she stood up and saluted: “Father, I will handle A’wan’s matter myself. He was momentarily rude and angered you.”
You should go rest, and I will come to apologize later.”
