Chapter Four: The Years Streaked with Streamside Stones

For Liu Xian, whether it was the strange celestial phenomena at his birth or the butterfly at the naming ceremony, he had no recollection at all.

Although throughout his adult years, his parents, uncles, and many mentors repeatedly mentioned these two events to him, Liu Xian’s desperate attempts to recall his childhood memories could only trace back to when he was three years old. Memories before that seemed like a fleeting dream—something that should exist, but no matter how earnestly he searched, it was like trying to catch the moon’s reflection in water, leaving no trace behind.

After all, memory isn’t built in a day; organizing past experiences into recollections is not an innate ability. Why do flowers bloom so vividly? Why is fire scalding hot? Why is the night so tranquil? Children never question such things. They just stare wide-eyed at the world, recording these colorful scenes like stacking building blocks in their minds, casually colliding them until sparks called “logic” ignite, and only then do they begin to truly remember.

Liu Xian learned to remember while running.

It was a clear and transparent morning, probably in spring. At three years old, he followed two friends of the same age, Qi An and Zhang Gu, running through the courtyard. The reason for running had long been forgotten, as had how he came to have two such friends or why everything in this courtyard seemed destined. All he remembered was that at that moment, he was running; he recalled his breath, the taut muscles in his legs, the soft soil beneath his feet, and the grass fluttering in the wind.

The sunlight then was dazzling, filtering through the branches of the peach trees in the courtyard, casting halos among the leaves that shimmered gently like ripples. The forsythias on the courtyard wall were in bloom, their bright petals reminiscent of stars. There was a breeze, and somewhere nearby, the chirping of insects. In sum, everything was very quiet.

This quiet made the three of them unknowingly stop.

Then it seemed Zhang Gu suggested playing a game—hide and seek.

When choosing roles, Liu Xian lost, so he became the seeker while Qi An and Zhang Gu hid. He had no choice but to close his eyes against a mulberry tree and count loudly to one hundred before searching the mansion.

He started from the front yard, quietly passed through the inner courtyard, and went to the rear yard. Along the way, servants smiled and greeted him, and he cheerfully asked, “Have you seen A Tian or Zhi Nu?” A Tian was Zhang Gu’s childhood nickname, and Zhi Nu was Qi An’s.

“You want to find them yourself, young master!” said Lai Fu, the water carrier, as he ruffled Liu Xian’s hair and winked at him secretly.

Liu Xian immediately ran to the water vat, climbed up and peered inside, indeed spotting Zhang Gu curled up inside hugging his knees. They stared at each other for a moment before Zhang Gu loudly protested:

“That doesn’t count! Bi Ji, you were talking to Lai Fu—you’re cheating!”

Before Liu Xian could reply, Lai Fu lifted Zhang Gu up, grinning:

“You’re squatting there—I wouldn’t dare to pour water in. Isn’t that cheating?”

Zhang Gu dared not argue with the adult but glared at Liu Xian in annoyance. Liu Xian, undeterred, immersed himself in the simple joy of winning and said:

“It’s clearly you, A Tian, who can’t hide well. I’m not cheating!”

“The real good hider is the one no one can find—you’re far from that!”

This twisted logic convinced Zhang Gu, who hung his head thoughtfully and nodded in agreement:

“Okay, I’m not good at hiding, but don’t get cocky, Bi Ji—Zhi Nu has way more tricks than me!”

So Liu Xian and Zhang Gu continued searching for Qi An. Qi An was indeed clever; Liu Xian remembered looking for about half an hour, checking his uncle’s study, the artificial hill in the backyard, and the wardrobe in the inner courtyard, but to no avail.

Finally, upon reaching the left annex, Liu Xian still found nothing, feeling deeply discouraged. Fortunately, children’s happiness is easily swayed by other things—if he couldn’t find him, so be it! Thinking this, Liu Xian pulled out jujubes from his pouch to share with Zhang Gu.

Zhang Gu popped three into his mouth and teasingly mumbled:

“See, Bi Ji? I told you you couldn’t find Zhi Nu!”

“Can’t find him, can’t find him. Later I’ll admit defeat...” Liu Xian leaned against a tree, chewing the jujubes and, with childish stubbornness, declared, “But now I’m mad! I was going to give Zhi Nu half a pouch, but now I won’t leave him a single one!”

No sooner had he spoken than the golden straw pile in the corner stirred, and a voice called out loudly:

“I give up, I give up! Bi Ji, save me some!”

No matter how many years passed afterward, Liu Xian never forgot that moment: beneath the sharply defined shadows on the wall, a golden haystack stirred as a face covered with bits of straw emerged, exuding the warm, sunny scent of dried rice straw. Zhang Gu, startled, nearly choked on his jujubes; his square face flushed bright red, drool and snot dripped as he coughed, while Liu Xian, clutching the embroidered pouch made by his mother Zhang Ximiao, couldn’t help but laugh.

But this day was not special—days of carefree play were the norm in childhood. It only meant the beginning of Liu Xian’s memories. For some time afterward, such scenes continued. It was like a traveler coming across a mountain stream without knowing where it came from or where it would flow. But that was unimportant. What mattered was that the water was clear and transparent, the leaping droplets like pearls that didn’t obscure the pebbles beneath, while the sunlight cast brilliant, ever-changing patterns on the stones. This scene was no rare marvel of the ages, yet it inevitably stirred a warm current in the heart, washing away many stubborn, unforgettable memories in an instant.

At three, Liu Xian’s life flowed quietly, unaware of where his future would lead or where he had come from. He simply lived according to his nature, carefree and playful. Later, when he looked back, he was surprised; the Anle Mansion’s situation was quite oppressive and difficult, yet it left him with a feeling of ease. Upon reflection, he found this reasonable—life’s attitude is shaped by people. A child does not remember sorrow, and his elders cared for him.

Thus, in such an environment, young Liu Xian was brave, occasionally doing astonishing things.

He remembered a summer day playing hide and seek with more friends this time. Besides Zhang Gu and Qi An, his cousins Liu Xuan and Liu Ke joined. Liu Xuan was the seeker; four others hid. Zhang Gu chose to hide inside the large chest by the pond, Liu Ke squeezed into a crack behind the study door, while Qi An and Liu Xian both eyed the wardrobe in the right wing room—a perfect fit for a three-year-old to squeeze into.

But Qi An was quicker. After crawling in, he shouted to Liu Xian, “Bi Ji, it’s full here!” Then with a bang, the wardrobe door shut.

Liu Xian glared at the wardrobe but didn’t have time to be angry; time was running out.

Yet, stepping outside the door, he was troubled by where to hide next. Where else could he go?

He looked up at the sky and thought, If only I could fly.

But above him wasn’t the sky, but layers of mulberry branches and countless mulberry leaves like thousands of glowing green hands gently waving in the breeze. Liu Xian suddenly realized the mulberry tree stretched over the courtyard like a canopy, perfectly overlapping the southwest corner of the eaves.

If he hid there, no one would find him.

That’s what three-year-old Liu Xian thought—and he began to climb the tree.

There was a large fork in the middle of the mulberry tree, just right for his foot. Before him appeared two tree burls resembling wide-open eyes. Liu Xian took a deep breath, grabbed one burl with his hands, stepped on the other with his foot, and with a strong effort, climbed up to the next fork.

Using the same method, he climbed to the treetop. The mulberry tree creaked and groaned under his weight, and the trunk began to sway, making it hard for him to keep his balance. A child just over three feet tall standing on a nine-foot branch shaking like a bowl rim—if anyone had seen this, they surely would have been worried. But Liu Xian’s heart was filled only with excitement. Immersed in the joy of impending success, he lifted his hands, ran a few steps on the branches as if guided by divine help, then leapt.

The feeling at that moment was wondrous. Sounds vanished from his ears, or perhaps silence enveloped him so completely that he could only feel his own breath in his nostrils. The lightness before and behind him, with nothing to hold onto, made him feel as if a breeze had passed through him, dissolving him into the vast heavens and earth. Finally, the boundless blue sky appeared before his eyes, clouds scattered like scratches across the vast horizon. The sunlight was dazzling yet made the sky seem even more profound.

When he finally steadied his footing and his gaze settled on the densely packed eaves around him and the ancient city walls of Luoyang in the distance, an indescribable joy filled Liu Xian’s heart and soul, so much so that the child wanted to let out a long, triumphant shout.

Unfortunately, he was still playing hide and seek, and his competitive spirit urged him: he needed to hide; he could not shout.

So Liu Xian quickly lay down on the eaves, pulling a bunch of mulberry leaves over himself. Liu Xuan happened to pass below and did not see him.

Only then did Liu Xian realize a fact: his back was soaked through, and his hands and feet were somewhat numb and uncooperative. He had used all his strength to climb up, unconscious of his exertion.

But this did not lessen the little boy’s happiness. After Liu Xuan had gone to the annex, Liu Xian couldn’t help but recall the sensation and soon drifted into fantasies he himself could hardly describe. It was as if, closing his eyes, a final leap of his legs could carry him to the faint mountains on the horizon.

Fatigue soon crept to the corners of Liu Xian’s eyes. When the gentle cool breeze of the eaves slipped into his collar and the mulberry leaves exuded a rich, lingering fragrance, the sunlight faded through the speckled gaps in the leaves, and Liu Xian naturally fell asleep on the eaves.

In his dream, he stepped on the wind atop the treetops, flying from one end of the dream to the other.

When Liu Xian returned from that end to this one, dusk had already fallen. The sun hung on the western mountains, its glare softened, glowing red like his mother’s vermilion—a sight so endearing that Liu Xian couldn’t help but gaze at it a moment before being startled awake by his name.

It was not a lone voice but many calling: some shouted “Young master,” others “Bi Ji,” and others “Liu Xian.” Undoubtedly, all carried anxiety and worry.

It turned out Liu Xian had slept three full hours on the eaves. Three hours were enough to turn a game of hide and seek into a disappearance. After Liu Xuan spent an hour searching without success, even admitting defeat, Zhang Ximiao feared something had happened and brought servants to look. The search soon expanded, with great-aunt Fei Xiu, second uncle Liu Yao, twelfth uncle Liu Chen, Zhang Gu’s father Zhang Tong, and Qi An’s mother Kou Zhen all joining the hunt. Yet, unsurprisingly, none found him—no one thought to connect a child with the eaves.

Just as Ximiao’s anxiety reached its peak, about to send someone to inform the magistrate of Luoyang, Liu Xian stood up on the eaves. Bathed in the sunset’s afterglow, he joyfully waved to Zhang Gu below, saying:

“I’m here, A Tian, I won again!”

Zong Liu, the stable hand, was terrified seeing the young master so high up and hurriedly told Liu Xian not to move, then fetched a ladder to carefully bring him down.

Before Wang Qi could set Liu Xian down, Ximiao caught him in her arms, raising her palm high and then gently lowering it, laughing through tears:

“You little rascal! You scared me to death!”

But Liu Xian answered nonsensically:

“Mother, I won! Nobody could find me!”

Ximiao feigned reproach:

“How did you get up there?”

Liu Xian glanced at Zhang Gu and proudly pointed to the mulberry tree:

“I climbed the tree.”

“Then why didn’t you answer when we called?”

“Climbing the tree was too tiring—I fell asleep.”

Seeing her son’s self-satisfied expression, Ximiao finally gave him two hard slaps, unable to resist a mother’s authority. Yet Liu Xian kept laughing, especially when Zhang Gu and Qi An arrived, showing admiration and secretly giving him thumbs up.

This incident became a favorite story in the Anle Mansion. Even after Liu Xian reached adulthood, the stable hand Lai Fu would joke:

“If the young master wants to get on the roof, just ask for a ladder—no more climbing trees!”

But for the childhood Liu Xian, no matter how much his mother cautioned him, his youth remained lively and restless. Like a stream that, no matter what obstacles lie ahead or what shape it takes, always flows over them with ease. Moreover, Liu Xian lived surrounded by the care of those around him, so he had no worries or fears.

Yet, this clear and carefree time was ultimately born of childhood innocence. Whether children liked it or not, they would grow up, facing doubts and confusion—just as the stream would inevitably carry silt and merge into the great rivers and seas.

This was not instantaneous but happened unknowingly through the passage of growth. When people become accustomed to living with questions and mysteries, they look back and realize that those colorful days by the clear stream were a common yet irretrievable journey. Only then do they understand that their childhood has truly ended.

For Liu Xian, the beginning of this ending came when he was five, upon encountering a stranger.