Chapter Twenty-Five: Father’s Rebuke (4,000 words; please keep reading)

Liu Xian's premonition seemed not to have come to pass; the two days of hunting that followed were devoid of any misfortune. By day, they caught hares, shot deer, trapped geese, and fished; by night, they drifted wine cups down the stream, roasted meat, and gazed at the stars—a truly joyous time. When the time came to part on the fourth day, Liu Xian had become completely familiar with these scions of meritorious families. Their words and conduct were like those of brothers, and they bade each other farewell with a genuine reluctance, all agreeing that when two months had passed and summer brought the world into full bloom, they would return to Mount Wan'an to hunt once more.

Before departing, the youths divided the game they had bagged. Liu Xian received two deer hides and three variegated rabbit skins. He folded these soft pelts neatly, tied them to his saddle, and said goodbye to his new friends one by one.

"When you return to Luoyang, we shall play *chupu* together," said Zhang Wei.

"If we have time, we will go to pay our respects to the Younger Master Ruan," said Chen Zhi, Pei Gai, and Xun Chuo.

"We shall spar with swords again in the future!" declared Wang Zhou.

Only when bidding farewell to Jia Mi did the beautiful, delicate youth simply wave in acknowledgement without speaking. Liu Xian thought he had no intention of befriending him and was just about to leave when, unexpectedly, Ai Yu, who stood nearby, called him back, saying that Jia Mi had a gift for him. He retrieved a long object from the luggage, tightly wrapped in cloth and about three feet in length. Liu Xian unwrapped it to find, to his surprise, a long sword.

The scabbard was lacquered black, and the hilt was made of iron, decorated with dark patterns painted in lacquer—it was clearly no ordinary piece. Like the Fubo sword, this blade had two lines of characters inscribed upon its hilt: "Valorous Beyond the World" and "Merit Shining Alone." Through Ai Yu’s explanation, Liu Xian learned that this was the Zhaowu Sword, the personal weapon of Duan Jiong, the famed general who pacified the Qiang during the reign of Emperor Huan of Han a century prior.

Liu Xian dared not accept such a precious item and declined repeatedly. Yet, despite Jia Mi’s delicate appearance, his resolve was firm. With great finality, he said, "A precious sword is easy to obtain, but a true friend is hard to find. I see that your swordsmanship is exquisite, yet you lack a fine blade, which is why I offer this gift. If you consider me a friend, you will accept it; otherwise, throw it away, and let us never meet again!"

Faced with such an ultimatum, Liu Xian could no longer refuse. Furthermore, he truly loved the Zhaowu Sword, so after some inner turmoil, he finally accepted it.

On his way back to the Eastern Manor, Liu Xian reflected on the journey, feeling as though it were a dream. Whether it was hunting in the forests with the other youths, chasing the white deer with Shi Chao, or sparring in public with Wang Zhou, every moment was worth savoring, and he could not help but smile. Though to others Liu Xian appeared to possess a composure and rationality beyond his years, he was, after all, an eleven-year-old boy, and he still felt the excitement and happiness that came with play and new friendships.

At that moment, Liu Xian’s mind was filled with thoughts of telling his mother everything; he knew she would be happy for him, too.

Time always moves like a waterfall once one is filled with anticipation. In the blink of an eye, Liu Xian found himself approaching the Eastern Manor. The willow trees along the road were budding, and as they swayed in the spring breeze, they looked like thousands of young maidens beckoning to him.

Liu Xian spurred his horse to a gallop, reaching his home. After dismounting and unloading his luggage, he held his bow in one hand and his sword in the other, then knocked on the gate and called out, "Mother! Mother! Piji is home!"

Soon, the gate opened. Zhang Ximiao appeared, but her expression was not the usual joy; instead, her brows were slightly furrowed with a hint of melancholy.

Liu Xian’s heart skipped a beat. He was all too familiar with this look; it usually meant that someone was in a fit of temper.

Indeed, as Zhang Ximiao took the luggage from her son, she whispered, "Your father is waiting for you inside. Be careful—do not talk back to him."

Liu Xian’s mood plummeted. He nodded to his mother, kicked off his boots at the door to change into wooden clogs, and walked straight into the main hall. Sure enough, he saw his father sitting in the seat of honor.

Liu Xun, the Duke of Anle, sat by the brazier, his face as gloomy as ever. Curiously, he was holding a book, appearing surprisingly serious. This struck Liu Xian as odd; he had thought his father would never be associated with the word "serious."

Liu Xun heard Liu Xian’s footsteps but did not look up. His voice seemed to rumble from his belly: "You’ve returned?"

"Yes, Father." Liu Xian walked before Liu Xun and performed the great kowtow, pressing his forehead to the ground three times with due respect. But in truth, Liu Xun’s image in his heart was dismal.

It was not that Liu Xian had never longed for fatherly love. After all, a child does not only yearn for the warmth of a mother’s embrace but also for the sturdy, mountain-like strength of a father’s arm. Yet for years, Liu Xun had offered Liu Xian nothing but disappointment: first, his inhuman abuse of servants like Zhu Fu and A-Chun, which had terrified the boy; later, his debauchery with concubines and his alienation of his mother, which left a deep resentment in Liu Xian’s heart. Even now, as he studied under a tutor, he saw no sign of his father fulfilling any parental duty—only his mother worked and sacrificed. This had led to a cold, distant relationship between them.

Consequently, Liu Xian performed the rites with visible reluctance.

Liu Xun noticed this at once and sneered, "Sit! Don’t put on airs in front of your father."

The tone was grating, hardly the way a father should speak. A flash of anger ignited in Liu Xian, but remembering his mother's advice, he thought it better to avoid unnecessary trouble. He suppressed his rage, rose without a word, and sat down to the lower left of Liu Xun.

Hardly had he sat when Liu Xun asked, "You have been gone for four days. Where did you go? Why did you not tell me?"

Liu Xian was stunned, then realized that Liu Xun was asking a question to which he already knew the answer, merely to assert his authority as a father. He lowered his head and explained, "Father, I told Mother. You were in Luoyang at the time..."

Before he could finish, Liu Xun interrupted, "She is she, and I am I. Does the boy not even understand the most basic of proprieties?"

"Yes... I was wrong."

Seeing that Liu Xian did not talk back, Liu Xun’s expression softened slightly. "I heard from your mother that this trip of yours was to go gallivanting with those brats from the Jia, Shi, and Wang families?"

He described a simple hunting trip with such malice. Liu Xian did not know where his father’s hostility came from, so he replied sullenly, "That is correct. We went to hunt on Mount Wan'an."

Liu Xun nodded, set down the book, and finally raised his head. "From now on, do not associate with them again."

"Ah!" The father’s words caught Liu Xian completely off guard. He could not accept them and blurted out, "Why?"

The moment the word left his lips, Liu Xian regretted it. Liu Xun despised being questioned, as he viewed it as a challenge and insolence; as a parent, he demanded only obedience. Yet Liu Xian was genuinely confused. Although Liu Xun was not a good father, he rarely interfered with his son’s life or his studies. What had changed today? Why was he breaking his pattern to intervene in his son's friendships?

What followed was even more unexpected. His father did not fly into a rage as he had anticipated. Instead, he looked at him and explained slowly, "Their family upbringing is poor."

"Since you follow Chen Shou to study history, you should know how the Jia clan of Pinyang and the Wang clan of Taiyuan rose to power, shouldn't you?"

"I do..."

"Then tell me."

"In the fifth year of Ganlu, the Duke of Gaogui, Cao Mao, led the Imperial Guard to attack Sima Zhao. At the time, the Attendant Wang Chen betrayed the Duke of Gaogui and informed Sima Wenwang of the plot in the dead of night. Jia Chong then led troops to intercept the Duke of Gaogui and killed him on the spot. It was from this that both families prospered..."

After hearing Liu Xian finish, the Duke of Anle let out a cold laugh. "Since you know, you should understand that if the Jia and Wang clans are such, the Xun and Shi clans are no different... These so-called meritorious ministers and sages of the Eight Dukes who founded the dynasty are, plainly speaking, a group of two-faced, treacherous villains who sold their masters for glory! What would they not be capable of?"

At this, Liu Xun paused, took a sip of water, and fixed his gaze on Liu Xian again. "If the fathers and grandfathers are like this, the descendants will naturally be no exception. If you mix with them now, what good end can you expect in the future? Think about it carefully."

Liu Xun believed this argument to be highly persuasive, but to Liu Xian’s ears, it was deeply ironic. His father had never even met Shi Chao or the others, so how could he judge them based solely on their ancestors? It was utterly absurd. Not to mention others, Xinu had been his friend for two or three years; he had long aspired to serve his country and pursue a military career—was that not worthy of admiration?

As for "family upbringing," even if the Duke of Leling’s upbringing was poor, could it be worse than that of the current Anle Manor? Others betrayed their masters and at least gained glory and wealth; his own father was infamous throughout the world for his lechery and debauchery, gaining nothing but scandal.

And the claim that children are no different from their fathers—if the Duke of Anle were a true descendant of Liu Bei, he might set a good example. His teacher often taught him: "As heaven maintains vigor through movement, a gentleman should constantly strive for self-improvement." Yet his father was so decadent and depraved, spending his days in drunken revelry with prostitutes, tarnishing the reputation of their ancestors to the point of nearly being stripped of his title by the court. People whispered about him whenever he walked in the streets—what right did he have to criticize others? But these words were too harsh to speak aloud, and Liu Xian held his tongue.

After some thought, Liu Xian replied, "I do not know about the others, but Xinu’s character is fine; he is certainly not as you describe..."

"Fool!" The Duke of Anle grew impatient and shouted, "They may not be like that now, but they are young and successful, surrounded by sycophants and tainted by their environment—sooner or later, they will become just like that!"

"Then..." Hearing this, Liu Xian finally lost his patience. He looked up and asked, "When I grow up, will I become like you, Father?"

Liu Xun was stunned for a moment, then realized his son was mocking him—mocking him for also tarnishing the family name and for being unfit to lecture others. This sent him into a towering rage.

"You scoundrel!"

Liu Xian instinctively recoiled, but his left cheek was already struck by a fierce slap—his father’s harsh reprimand.

"Hmph! Say it again."

"I can say it a thousand times. According to your words, does it mean that when I grow up..."

Before he could finish the sentence, his right cheek took another stinging blow, and a burning pain spread across both sides of his face. He fell silent, but his eyes remained bright as he stared directly at his father. Liu Xian witnessed his father’s latest outburst, saw him trembling with agitation and heard his labored breathing. He knew he had struck his father’s sorest spot.

"Liu Xian!"

"I am here!"

"Who do you think you are? You are merely a child who understands nothing—a boy who has never seen war, never seen the dead, and knows nothing of the wickedness of the human heart. Yet for the sake of a group of strangers you just met, you dare to mock your own father in his own home?!"

How could he say Liu Xian had never seen such things? Liu Xian still clearly remembered the bloodshed in front of their gate—the flash of blades, the gore, the corpses, and his father’s cowardly and fearful expression when questioned by the authorities. This only deepened the contempt in his heart.

"I was merely speaking the truth, based on your own words," he said.

Liu Xun flew into a rage. With bloodshot eyes, he grabbed his son by the collar and began to beat him without restraint. Only when blood flowed from Liu Xian’s nose and lips onto his hands, the searing heat of it shocking Liu Xun, did he stop. Throughout the ordeal, Liu Xian did not utter a word, his gaze fixed unblinkingly on his father.

By then, Zhang Ximiao had heard the commotion and rushed into the hall. Seeing the scene, tears instantly welled in her eyes. She hurried forward, interposing herself between father and son, and pulled Liu Xian into her arms. While wiping the blood from his nose with a silk handkerchief, she scolded Liu Xun, "Do you have no heart of a father? Others pray for the safety of their children, yet you have the heart to strike him with such cruelty!"

Liu Xun knew he was in the wrong, but refusing to lose his authority as a father, he stubbornly retorted, "He does not have the heart of a son! He went off to gallivant with those wretched boys without permission and dared to talk back to me. How could I have the heart of a father?"

Zhang Ximiao defended Liu Xian again: "I agreed to Piji going to Mount Wan'an. No matter what, he must eventually serve the court. If he does not take the chance while he is young to build connections, is he to rot in this manor for the rest of his life? You are driven mad by confinement and vent your anger on everyone else; I have no power to stop you. Even when you strike me, I offer no complaint. But as a father, if you cannot think for your child, the least you can do is not vent your rage upon him! Do not let him become like you!"

His wife’s words pierced deeper than the son’s, leaving Liu Xun speechless and even more incensed. He wanted to lash out at Ximiao as well, but seeing his son’s blood-stained face, he realized he had gone too far, and his fury began to dissipate.

He stopped looking at his wife and son but said with finality, "Whatever you think or say, I am the head of this house, and there is no room for argument! You are forbidden from associating with those people again. The descendants of Liu Bei mixing with the descendants of Jia Chong, Shi Bao, and Wang Chen—are you not afraid of becoming a laughingstock?" With that, the Duke of Anle hurried out of the hall.

After the bleeding stopped, Liu Xian told his mother he was fine and went up to the loft alone.

Once the door was bolted, he locked his luggage away. Taking only the Zhaowu Sword, he lay on his bed, silently gazing at the inscriptions on the hilt. He gripped the hilt and drew the blade, revealing a biting, cold gleam.

The blade was engraved with dragon and tiger patterns, and there were inscriptions in seal script, which were clearly more refined and delicate than those on the hilt, possessing a classical elegance. Liu Xian read them, deciphering the four characters starting from the hilt:

"His will shall not change."

He turned the blade over and discovered four more characters amidst the dragon and tiger motifs. He read them aloud:

"His heart is ever diligent!"

Liu Xian drew the sword with force. A clear, metallic ring echoed like a dragon breaking through the void; the sword sang in the hands of its new master. He held the blade level with his eyes, the cold light reflecting his tear-filled gaze.