Chapter One: The Oil-paper Umbrella of the Young Man

The drizzling rain showed no sign of stopping, casting a perpetual haze over the world. Though twilight had yet to arrive, the streets were already deserted. A boy of fourteen or fifteen walked slowly along the wet stone road, a paper umbrella sheltering him from the rain.

On either side of the street stood red brick houses with green-tiled roofs and distant eaves that soared like wings. Willow branches along the riverbank brushed gently in the wind, while a few swallows, delayed in their return to their nests, skimmed low between the branches. It was like a painted verse—rain falling softly into the dust, revealing the world’s true face before Xu You’s eyes.

Teahouses, taverns, inns, butcher shops, the county office…

It had been twenty-seven days since he arrived here, and this was his first time venturing out. Though he knew he had, for some unfathomable reason, crossed time and space to inhabit this era and this frail body, only now, breathing in an air so clean and fresh—unlike anything he had ever known—did he feel, from the depths of his soul, a sense of helplessness and confusion.

“Young master, Young Master Wei!” a woman’s anxious voice called from behind. The boy paid no mind, moving to the river’s edge and gently grasping a swaying willow branch.

The touch was icy, the chill seeping into his bones. It was already late autumn.

A pain seized his chest and abdomen. He bent forward, coughing violently.

“Young master, are you all right? Are you hurt?” A slender, fair hand reached out from behind to steady him. The faint trembling in her grip betrayed her genuine worry. The boy turned to look at her, his gaze unfocused for a moment before recognition dawned. He smiled gently, saying, “Qiu Fen, it’s nothing. I’m much better now. This little rain is nothing.”

At last, he recalled: his name was now Xu You, styled Wei Zhi, a scion of the illustrious Yi Xing Xu family in Jiangdong. The young woman before him was Qiu Fen, his personal maid. She was named for the autumnal equinox, the season of her birth.

Qiu Fen was but thirteen, her smooth black hair parted and tied in the distinctive ringed bun of a servant. She wore a green cross-collared dress, cinched with a crimson sash, and light shoes with delicate embroidery. Her features were clear and lovely.

“Before Doctor Wen left, he told me a thousand times: your abdominal wound is barely healed, you mustn’t catch cold. If you were to—if you—” Qiu Fen’s words dissolved into sobs. Tears rolled down her smooth cheeks, and Xu You couldn’t help but feel a surge of pity. He wiped the tears away with his finger, soothing her gently: “There, I’m fine, see? I’ll come back with you right away.”

She nodded vigorously and took the umbrella from him, angling it so that most of the shelter was over his side. “Young master, mind your step…”

Together, master and servant made their way home through the autumn wind and rain—a living ink painting that lent the ancient street an added touch of poetic charm.

Back at the house, Qiu Fen fetched hot water for Xu You to wash his hands and face, then hurried off to prepare supper. Xu You went to the window, pushed it open, and gazed in silence at the declining view of the humble farmhouse.

In his previous life, he had been an orphan, putting himself through college with the help of kind benefactors and his own hard work. He had risen to a high position in a listed company, then moved to the world’s most renowned private equity fund. His keen instincts and bold decisions had stirred the global economy, and in the industry, he was known as the Fox Commander—for his cunning as well as his leadership. Yet a car accident had sent his soul to this world, merging with the dying Xu You.

Fortunately, he had inherited not only Xu You’s body but all his memories as well. So, during those twenty-seven bedridden days, though he had seemed lost and mute, he had been steadily absorbing knowledge of this world in his mind.

This was unmistakably an ancient era, but not the one he’d once studied. History here had diverged in the tenth year of Zhengshi under Cao Wei—249 CE. On the sixth day of the first lunar month, Cao Fang and the three brothers of Cao Shuang went to Gaoping Tombs to pay homage to Emperor Ming of Wei. Sima Yi, long prepared, launched a coup in Luoyang, yet fell into Cao Shuang’s trap and was destroyed along with his clan. The Wei dynasty survived, passing through eleven more emperors and lasting over two hundred years—a notable longevity.

Yet history, with its unyielding inertia, drew events back onto a familiar path. By the end of Wei, corruption and decadence weakened the nation. The dominance of great clans eroded imperial power, the abolition of provincial armies and the enfeoffment of royal kin led to frequent unrest. The “northwestern commanderies fell to the barbarians,” and the peoples of the Xiongnu, Xianbei, and other tribes invaded the Central Plain, repeating the catastrophe of the Five Barbarians’ Rebellion a century later.

Of these, the Xiongnu were strongest, capturing Luoyang and seizing the last Wei emperor. With Wei’s fall, vast numbers of Han people migrated from the Yellow River basin to the Yangtze, notably the clans Yu, Liu, Yuan, Xiao, Zhan, Qiu, He, and Hu—known as the Eight Surnames, in the migration of the gentry southward. The prominent Wang clan of Langya tried to support a scion of the Wei royal house, Prince Cao Ying of Donghai, in re-establishing Wei in Jiangdong. But at Pengcheng, they were intercepted by Xiongnu cavalry; Cao Ying and the Wang clan were slaughtered, and the Xiongnu advanced south.

Panic gripped the land. Southern gentry fortified themselves in walled manors and resisted, but isolated, they could not withstand the Xiongnu. As China teetered on the brink of collapse, one man stood firm: An Shiyu, a staff officer under the Inspector of Yongzhou. After his superior was killed, he rallied the remnant troops, retreated to Jing and Chu, and, using the vast territory and the aid of the local gentry, fought thirteen undefeated battles, halting the Xiongnu north of the Yangtze.

He then established the Southern Capital Command, forming the Southern Capital Army and, coordinating riverine, infantry, and chariot units, recaptured lost lands and pushed the front to the Yellow-Huai region. However, lacking supplies, further advance was impossible. The Xiongnu, weakened by their southern campaign, were attacked by the Xianbei and Jie, and the Central Plain was embroiled in thirty years of war, with seven states—Qin, Yan, Liang, and others—rising and falling. In the end, the Xianbei’s Tuoba clan won out, uniting the north save for the remote Yao clan in Western Liang.

The Tuoba, claiming descent from the Yellow Emperor, whose homeland lay in ancient Wei, named their state “Wei,” founding their capital at Pingcheng. This was both to claim the mantle of legitimacy from Cao Wei and to win the allegiance of scholars and gentry.

Meanwhile, in the south, An Shiyu installed a distant relative of the Wei house as puppet emperor, holding real power himself. After two decades of consolidation, he proclaimed himself emperor in Jiankang a year after the founding of Northern Wei, establishing the state of Chu, renaming Jiankang to Jinling and making it his capital.

Thus, Southern Chu and Northern Wei stood opposed across the river, dividing the realm.

It was during the reign of Chu’s second emperor, An Zidao, that Xu You arrived. At sixty-seven, An Zidao had ruled for forty-four years—a rare longevity for an emperor in such perilous times.

Though Xu You in his former life had been a financier, he loved history, especially the Wei, Jin, and Northern and Southern Dynasties. He admired the elegance of their scholars and lamented the suffering of the people. He had often imagined what he would do if he were transported there—would he accomplish some great feat? Yet now, history had twisted beyond recognition, and most disheartening of all, the man whose body he now inhabited, and the Xu family he might have relied upon, had just suffered utter disaster.

Watching the wind scatter dead leaves outside the window, Xu You’s face wore a wry smile. He murmured, “All those years of privilege and power, and for what? To grasp at authority, to gamble with fate—now look, it’s all come to nothing.”

“Young master, supper is ready.”

Qiu Fen’s clear voice pulled him from his reverie. He closed the window and went to the outer room, where four small dishes were set on the table: water shield soup, dried fish, boiled eggplant, and candied ginger, along with a bowl of barley rice. Given the Xu family’s current plight, Qiu Fen must have gone to great lengths to assemble even this modest meal. Xu You knelt on the mat, smiled at her, and said, “Sit, let’s eat together.”

Qiu Fen shook her head quickly. “No, that isn’t proper…”

Xu You pulled her down beside him. “At a time like this, what rules matter anymore? Since my injury, all the servants have run off—only you stayed to care for me. What harm in sharing a meal?”

Qiu Fen fidgeted anxiously, not knowing where to put her hands and feet. Xu You, seeing her wan face, pushed his bowl of barley rice to her and handed her chopsticks. His eyes softened. “I’m not very hungry. You eat it.”

“I’m not hungry either…” Before she could finish, her stomach growled. Qiu Fen blushed deeply, from cheeks to ears, and hung her head, not daring to meet his eyes.

Xu You reached out and ruffled her hair, nearly undoing her bun. He laughed, “Go on, eat. Didn’t Doctor Wen say I should eat lightly while I recover?”

Qiu Fen trembled slightly and lowered her head even further. After a while, seeing Xu You say nothing, she snuck a glance at him. He was eating a small piece of dried fish, chewing carefully.

Such things—once, he wouldn’t have deigned even to look at them.

“Young master, it’s my fault…” Qiu Fen’s eyes reddened, and her chest ached. “I begged Aunt Zhou and Aunt Wang for a long time and could only get these few ingredients. Tomorrow, I’ll find a way to make your favorite—milk-braised fish…”

Xu You lifted his head, his gaze clear, his gentle smile strangely reassuring. “This is already quite good. Eggplant, ginger, fish, water shield—others would have to spend hundreds of coins for such fare. It’s a luxury.”

Southerners especially loved fish, and Xu You recalled that the “Essential Techniques for the People” listed dozens of recipes: goby, perch, crucian, trout, carp, bream, sturgeon—so many kinds, with methods of preparation both elaborate and precise. The milk-braised fish Qiu Fen mentioned had been the favorite dish of this body’s previous owner, but the recipe had been lost by later generations, known only to require cow’s milk for flavor.

On that note, he remembered how the migration of nomadic tribes had influenced local cuisine. The Han had not traditionally consumed dairy, but during the Wei, Jin, and Northern and Southern Dynasties, the influx of nomads brought dairy foods into Han society. Xu You had read in the “Book of Wei” that “they drank cow’s milk regularly, their skin fair as maidens,” indicating not only that dairy was widespread, but also that its cosmetic benefits had been discovered.

Compared to such refined dishes, dried fish was made from finger-length fish, salted and preserved. It was said, “A thousand fresh fish, but dried fish is cheapest.” Poor families who could not afford fresh fish would pick through the market for these leftovers.

Such food was beneath the dignity of the once-glorious Xu clan. Xu You had never eaten it before—not for lack of appetite, but for pride.

But times had changed. To fill one’s belly was blessing enough. Not wishing Qiu Fen to blame herself, Xu You deliberately changed the subject, pointing to the water shield soup. “Did you know this dish is famous?”

Qiu Fen shook her head in confusion. Xu You explained, “In the Wei dynasty, there was a scholar named Zhang Heng. When he served in Luoyang, the autumn wind would remind him of his hometown’s water shield soup and perch sashimi. He said, ‘Life is best spent following one’s heart—why seek fame and rank a thousand miles from home?’ And so he resigned and returned, and from then on, water shield soup and perch became renowned.”

Water shield, also known as horse’s hoof vegetable, was popular in the Wei, Jin, and Northern and Southern Dynasties. Many officials and scholars loved it, preparing it with various meats and mushrooms, or, for the most refined, as Zhang Heng did, with perch. What Xu You ate now was merely water shield boiled in broth, with barely any seasoning.

He spoke thus only to comfort Qiu Fen.

She stared at him in a daze. After a moment, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” she stammered, turning away. After a while, she couldn’t help but say, “Young master, you seem… different from before.”

Xu You laughed inwardly. Having inherited both body and memory, he knew well what sort of person the former Xu You had been—not wicked, but willful and quick-tempered, often scolding and even beating the servants. Only Qiu Fen, who had grown up with him, had never truly seen his temper, but even she had never seen him so gentle and patient.

“After what’s happened, nearly losing my life, it’s only natural to change a little. Now, let’s eat. No talking at the table—no speaking until you finish that bowl.”

Qiu Fen obediently lifted the bowl and took a bite of barley rice. The coarse grain was bitter and scratchy, a far cry from the fragrant rice they once ate, yet, in this moment, she felt a quiet happiness.

Perhaps it was because her young master, for the first time, was smiling with such gentleness, and spoke with such calm and warmth…