Chapter 21: Caught in the Trap

Though Song Sanlang had been working as a carpenter in the Li residence for two months, the vast difference in their statuses meant he rarely crossed paths with Li Yishan. All household affairs were managed by the Li household steward.

Upon hearing Master Li invite him over for a drink, Sanlang assumed it must be about his son Chen’s apprenticeship, so he told Xiuniang to change the child’s clothes.

Little Song Jingchen was a bundle of energy, never still and often drenched in sweat. At home, Xiuniang dressed him in just a bellyband and short trousers, but such attire was unsuitable for visiting guests.

Xiuniang understood the Li family was prestigious but had no real grasp of just how high their status was, nor what influence it might have on her son or herself. She feared the bailiffs who demanded payment for meals, but Li Yishan’s noble rank left her indifferent.

It was like finding a silver coin—she would be thrilled knowing its worth. But if she found a thousand coins, she wouldn’t be that much more excited.

Still, since Master Li valued her little one, Xiuniang felt proud and delighted, hastily dressing her son in what she considered his finest clothes.

The outfit was a long robe with a right-over-left collar edged in soot-black silk, made from a piece of brocade they had bought together on Splendid Street near the Grand Prime Minister’s Temple. Madam Jiang had helped cut the fabric, and Xiuniang sewed it herself.

Though the cloth had some flaws and the color was not suitable for an active child, it was a renowned russet gauze. Expensive was always more handsome than cheap, no matter the fit.

In terms of aesthetics, Xiuniang was far behind Madam Jiang, but she relied on her own looks and whimsy. Having a son only made her more willful.

Mother and son never needed to worry about matching colors or styles.

Xiuniang smiled and asked her son, “Do you like the new clothes I made for you?”

At his age, Jingchen cared only for eating and playing. He couldn’t care less about clothes—wrap him in a burlap sack and he’d be fine—yet he chirped without hesitation, “The clothes you made are beautiful. Brother Chen likes them.” Then he gave his mother a big hug.

Seeing her son’s delight, Xiuniang was overjoyed. She tidied his hair again, and Song Sanlang handed over two red silk ribbons. Xiuniang tied two small hair buns atop Jingchen’s head, letting the rest flow freely.

This was a custom of the Great Xia dynasty: children wore their hair unbound, symbolizing freedom and innocence.

Ready, Jingchen hopped along, holding Sanlang’s hand as they left their home. Visiting the Li estate was his favorite pastime. He never thought of himself as a child—he and Li Yishan were old friends in his mind.

In the Li estate’s small flower hall, Li Yishan sat opposite Xiao Yanzong.

Xiao Yanzong hailed from the Xiao family of Pingzhou, one of the seven great clans of Great Xia. Unlike the newly risen Chen family, the Xiaos were a centuries-old aristocratic family with deep roots. Their vast library alone made Chen Yanan, the Confucian scholar, envious.

Simply put, Xiao Yanzong had the luxury to study for pleasure. A devotee of Laozi and Zhuangzi, he was carefree by nature, fond of wine but with poor tolerance—he got drunk easily. When intoxicated, he would play the qin and xiao flute masterfully, earning the title “Xiao of the Three Perfections.”

His fourth perfection was painting, for which Li Yishan sought his guidance.

Unlike Chen Yanan, a paragon of Confucian orthodoxy, Xiao Yanzong was half a Daoist recluse. As the eldest legitimate son bearing the family’s heavy responsibilities, he refused the imperial exams, officialdom, marriage, and children—living only for himself.

His father, the clan patriarch, indulged him by banishing him from the household.

Thus, though the Xiao clan was fabulously wealthy, Xiao Yanzong was penniless.

But having no money didn’t mean he lacked spending power. If broke, he sold paintings; if tired of painting, he sang in brothels; if too lazy even for that, he gave lessons.

He could effortlessly uplift any scholar preparing for the imperial exams with a few offhand remarks.

If he didn’t even want to teach, he simply came to the home of an old friend to freeload—such as coming to Li Yishan’s.

At first, upon hearing Li Yishan wanted to introduce a student, Xiao Yanzong was uninterested—especially when told it was a little brat. He said he had no time, no interest, and didn’t want the hassle of coaxing a child.

Li Yishan urged him to meet the boy first. By chance, they met at a bathhouse, and Xiao Yanzong became somewhat intrigued. After all, he was the inheritor of the “Three Perfections Xiao,” and at least the boy’s appearance was decent. Hearing the boy was Song Yulang’s grandson, he understood.

That led to Li Yishan sending for the Song father and son.

The two arrived at the Li estate and were led by servants to the small flower hall by the lotus pond in the rear garden. Song Sanlang and his son bowed, and Li Yishan introduced them before inviting them to sit. Thoughtful as ever, he had arranged a high stool for little Jingchen.

Carried up by his father, Jingchen naturally said, “Thank you, Uncle Li, for thinking of Brother Chen so thoughtfully. Brother Chen also has a gift for Uncle Li.”

Song Sanlang was puzzled. His son had prepared a gift? He had no idea.

Li Yishan was amused by the child’s words and curious, “Oh? Brother Chen has a gift for me? What is it? Let me see.”

Xiao Yanzong was disinterested—a child’s gift could only be candy or something trivial. Yet the boy was confident and unshy, understanding the etiquette of reciprocity.

Though uninterested, Xiao Yanzong’s gaze dropped to the child to see what candy he held out.

The adults leaned in. The boy stretched out a small arm; his clenched fist slowly opened, revealing a dead dragonfly lying in his palm.

Li Yishan was speechless.

Xiao Yanzong was stunned.

Song Sanlang thought, “The brat must have an explanation.”

Sure enough, the boy’s soft voice explained, “I caught a live one for Uncle Li, but it died after only being in the jar for a short while.”

Xiao Yanzong, curious, asked, “Little one, why give Uncle Li a dragonfly?”

“Because I noticed the dragonfly in Uncle Li’s painting looks different from the ones I see. I want to give one to Uncle Li so next time when he paints, he can look at this and not make a mistake.”

Li Yishan’s face flushed. Xiao Yanzong was amazed. In painting, keen observation and perception were paramount—not everyone possessed such talent.

This little child didn’t even understand painting; he couldn’t have scrutinized Li Yishan’s work closely. He merely glanced and saw the dragonfly was wrong.

Xiao Yanzong, excited, urged, “Yishan, quickly fetch your painting with the dragonfly.”

Li Yishan was curious himself since he had copied from a famous master’s work. The child wouldn’t lie, so he ordered the painting brought.

When the servant presented the grape and worm painting, Xiao Yanzong examined it closely. The dragonfly lay in a corner, perched on an inconspicuous vine. The shock on his face was unmistakable.

He marveled: Such a subtle error, so easily overlooked, yet this child caught it—was this still human?

Suppressing his astonishment lest the boy become overly proud, Xiao Yanzong recalled many prodigious children who later faded. Such a promising talent must be carefully nurtured.

In truth, Xiao Yanzong had overestimated Jingchen; it was all chance.

Firstly, Jingchen was too short to see the whole painting, even on tiptoes. The dragonfly happened to be right before his eyes.

Secondly, the boy was playful. The toys his father made couldn’t satisfy his curiosity, so he loved catching insects. He feared bees because he once tried to catch one with a small net and was stung.

Familiar with dragonflies, he noticed the mistake but was too polite to spoil Li Yishan’s appetite.

It was coincidence upon coincidence: Sanlang bringing his son to the Li estate, Jingchen’s accidental entry into Li Yishan’s study, and Li Yishan’s mistaken dragonfly painting.

Fate, whether chance or destiny, remains unknowable.

Xiao Yanzong pointed to the dragonfly’s wing on the painting, explaining the upper edge’s vein pattern was incorrect.

Li Yishan gasped, then compared the wing with the dragonfly Jingchen had given him, taking a deep breath, “This child—”

He paused, noticing Xiao Yanzong’s knowing glance, then admitted, “This child is truly right.”

Song Sanlang, a man versed in both letters and arms, wasn’t a master painter but had a keen eye. He found it amusing how his son had astonished the two men.

Who would have thought a child playing with bugs would bring such fortune?

Compared to Chen Yanan, he naturally preferred his son to apprentice under Xiao Yanzong.

Xiao Yanzong resolved to get along well with the boy. He had already seen that Jingchen’s eyes held no interest in anyone but the feast before him.

He skewered a roll of lamb tongue and offered it to Jingchen with a wolfish smile, “Brother Chen must be hungry. Eat something first.”

Jingchen recalled a storyteller’s saying: “No good deed goes unpunished.” But with his father present, he wasn’t afraid.

“Thank you, Uncle Xiao,” he said quickly, grabbing the meat. He glanced at his father as if to say, “Dad, it looks delicious. Can I eat it? I’m eating it.”

Ignoring his father’s reaction, the boy bit delicately, mindful of appearances.

“Oh, what divine flavor! How can such delicious meat exist? This must be immortal’s meat!”

Jingchen instinctively raised the remaining roll to his father’s lips. “Dad, you must try it. Uncle Li’s meat is the best.”

Xiao Yanzong admired the boy’s generosity. For a greedy child to offer his favorite food first to his father was impressive. At the same time, he felt a pang of shame—his own son constantly drove him to frustration.

Sanlang’s heart was warmed. He remembered when Jingchen was a year old, he would fiercely protest if anyone dared to eat his food, tugging at their mouths demanding compensation. Only in moments of joy would he share a tiny bit—the size of a pinky nail.

Now Jingchen shared his favorite food with family and showed kindness—waking up quietly, helping tuck in covers, patting chests softly, and tiptoeing away to play.

Children were pure: give them love, and they returned the most sincere affection. Sanlang, having seen humanity’s worst, knew the world’s eternal law was survival of the fittest. Yet he wanted to teach his son kindness, to give him a foundation of goodness. Children need not understand human cruelty—that was an adult’s burden.

Sanlang took a modest bite from his son’s piece. The taste was fine—authentic lamb tongue, expertly prepared. The chef had fried the meat just right: the outside crisp, the inside tender.

The lamb tongue, sliced thin and marinated in the ice cellar, was wrapped in lard, flour, and egg white before frying to golden perfection. The tongue tip, the most active and tender part without connective tissue, offered a delicate texture.

Xiao Yanzong disliked rigid Q&A and preferred to see the child’s true nature. Taking advantage of the moment to offer more food, he began chatting.

“Brother Chen, do you study?”

Jingchen replied, “I’m still little, still growing. My teeth, bones, and head need to grow. My father says I should grow well first, then start studying in a couple of years.”

Sanlang frowned: Since when had he said that?

The child’s innocent words made Xiao Yanzong smile. He asked, “Brother Chen, have you thought about what you want to be when you grow up?”

Jingchen pondered, “I have, but not anymore.”

“Oh? Why not now?”

“Because I’m still little. Why worry about the future? Then I’d have to worry about being old, and then about dying. Worrying all the time would be so tiring.”

The three adults exchanged looks—how did a three-and-a-half-year-old speak with the wisdom of a sixty-year-old?

Xiao Yanzong now understood why his old friend had urged him to take this child as a student.

Suddenly, he remembered something: yesterday, Chen Yanan unexpectedly gifted him a jar of century-old immortal wine, claiming he favored one of Xiao’s students and wanted to recruit him.

Xiao Yanzong’s students were just a small source of income, fleeting relationships. He didn’t even bother learning their names—pay up, you’re a good disciple; no money, then the mentorship is over.

With that thought, Xiao Yanzong felt a creeping dread...