Which Wagon Is This?
"What wagon is this one?"
"Medicinals? That's the second wagon. Handle it carefully; it's fragile."
On the way home from a successful trading trip with the caravan, I clutched the ledger in one hand while inspecting the goods being loaded onto the wagons. Once everything was secured, I climbed onto the horse up front. Still small, Father lifted me into the saddle first, then mounted behind me. He'd nearly fallen off a horse once before, so he never let me ride alone. With Father holding the reins, I flipped through the ledger, mentally calculating market prices.
"Be careful on horseback."
"Didn't you let me read the classics before?"
Father snatched the ledger away as he spoke. I turned to him, asking for it back without saying it outright.
"You can't afford to miss even a moment of the classics, but a ledger? That's different."
Father appreciated his second son's eagerness to help with the business, but he disapproved of me shunning the classics. He kept trying to put the scriptures in my hands instead of the ledger, but I had no time for that.
The Yellow Turbans will rise in less than ten years. I need to build a foundation now if I don't want to die a pointless death.
"If you promise to read the classics, I'll give it back right away."
"I'd rather practice archery than read the classics."
Unaware of my worries, Father spoke casually. I twisted my face into a clumsy frown to show my displeasure. Lately, thoughts of the short arrows and tubes nagging at the edge of my memory had left me no rest. My fingers weren't deft enough, and I kept getting shoddy results. At this rate, it'd take another two months of tinkering.
"Is that how you really feel?"
Father furrowed his brow at my refusal to touch the classics. It would've terrified an ordinary child. But combining my past life, I was nearly forty—more than enough to face it calmly.
"Did something disagree with you at breakfast? Why the frown?"
"You're a child who grasps ten things from one hint. Learn from the sages, and you'll surely go far."
Seeing me respond coolly without changing expression, Father sighed as he spoke. It was simple: You're smart, so pick up those neglected classics again.
If only I'd been born a century earlier, maybe.
"Father, I'll tell you everything when we get home, so please give me the ledger back."
This wasn't the place to explain fully. Father was busy handling the horse, and plenty of other merchants from the caravan were around.
"Fine, if that's how you want it. But you have to tell me at home."
"Understood."
Father handed the ledger back, and I resumed reading while doing mental arithmetic. Food prices showed no sign of dropping—a stark reflection of a rotting society in those numbers.
A few days later, the caravan passed through Xu Province Langya Commandery, completing our journey home. After unloading, Father summoned me to his room right away. It was time to deliver the answer I'd postponed.
I took a deep breath, steeling myself, and entered.
"Well? The spark in your eyes tells me you're ready to speak."
"Yes."
Even if Father was full of anticipation, I'd scrap the plan if I couldn't convince him. If I couldn't sway my own parent, how could I reshape the world? This room would decide my fate.
"Before I answer, Father, a quick question. Do you remember how many corpses we saw on the road?"
My response would be long, so I started with a leading question. Father knew I wasn't nitpicking and answered directly.
"Around fifty, I think."
"Precisely sixty-four. All starved or injured—not a one died of old age."
No matter the distance, that many bodies fit a time of chaos, not peace.
"As you've seen, Father, the sages' words have lost their power. Money and authority prop each other up, toying with the realm. The people's hearts will soon turn, plunging the world into turmoil. We must prepare our lifeline now to escape the flames."
Father had called the Ten Attendants puppeteers when I was six. He couldn't claim peace now.
I held up three fingers and continued.
"The lifelines to survive chaos are three: first, authority; second, arms; third, wealth. But our house holds no office, so authority is out of reach. Even if we gained it, we lack the time and resources for a true lifeline."
Our family wasn't a titan like the Mi of Donghai Commandery, but we were local notables. While others fretted over today's meal, we could worry about next year. Yet that also meant we weren't built to weather decades of strife. In ten years, even governors would lose their heads; in twenty, families of regents would crumble.
Chaos loomed too close for an office-less house to rely on appointments, and starting from some minor post was absurd.
"Arms are the same. Raising a few hundred locals would just sweep us away in the storm. No salvation there."
Had we been martial like the Sun family, I'd have sought solutions there—as their advisor, plotting strategy when they led troops, we might survive. But our weight lay in commerce, not war.
"Fortunately, wealth is within reach, and I have a knack for business. So I'll study the ledgers, amass fortune, and forge a lifeline of gold."
I laid out the answer I'd refined sleeplessly for years, waiting silently for Father's response.
"Is that your will?"
"Yes. Understand it's not mere pursuit of glory—permit me to focus on trade."
No matter how capable, I couldn't overrule the family head. Without his blessing, I'd chew dead words until chaos claimed me.
"Even so, shunning the classics neglects virtue. You may not become a sage, but a gentleman at least?"
My honest thought: Will being a gentleman save your life in chaos? But that wouldn't satisfy Father, so I gave my prepared reply.
"Learning knows no fixed time. I set aside the classics not from disdain, but because graver matters press. I'll evade the coming calamity first, then pursue studies once the realm stabilizes."
I added that I'd still read histories to know propriety. Father nodded.
"One more question. You're just entering your boyhood years. Why not focus on scholarship now, and take up trade after coming of age?"
"By my reckoning, the people will rise in earnest after five full seasons. Even studies won't suffice as preparation then."
I couldn't wait until fifteen to polish scholarship—the Yellow Turbans would erupt nationwide just as I hit that age, crippling trade and wealth-building.
"Very well. I understand your intent; I'll say no more."
Father recognized I acted not from dislike of study, but compelling reason. He gestured for me to leave. I bowed and exited.
Back in my room after the talk, I mulled it over. Reborn at an unwanted time, I still preferred long life to pointless death.
What a wretched era.
Yet its ambiguity stalled me. The Yellow Turbans would rise in Guanghe 6 (184 AD), my fifteenth year. Whether fate intended it or not, I was too young to orchestrate anything.
Leading heroes? Out of the question.
Commanding others was talent I lacked. Even if I had it, rivals like Jojo, Liu Bei, and Sun Quan left no room for me. Survival by my wits alone? Laughable.
Martial prowess? Feeble.
From my past life, cursed genes had forged a frame unfit for generalship. Well-fed, I outdid peasants, but crossing blades with true warriors? Impossible.
Advisor's seat appeals, but starting now is tough.
Fools think a sharp mind makes an advisor. Wrong. With no proper channels, it was all connections: "Studied under the same master—talented fellow," "Acquaintance I visit often—quite learned," "Clever kin of mine." I'd neglected scholarship, building no scholar networks. Too late now; no one to recommend me.
I'll aim for backer when they first rise.
Thus, my path: support rising warlords like Lu Su, Mi Zhu, or Jo Hong for a spot. Once in, offer foreknowledge as counsel, rise as strategist.
"Life's a grind."
I muttered into the room's silence. Solitude weighed heavy with no one to share burdens.
Jojo, Yuan Shao, Liu Bei, Sun Jian... Whatever.
To clear my cluttered mind, I stepped into the courtyard. Sitting on a stone, gazing at the night sky washed away indescribable emotions, refreshing my head. People mistook it for reading the stars, but the rumor bolstered my claims, so I let it stand.
Oh, a shooting star.
Time passed; my mind cleared. Drowsiness tugged my eyelids, so I returned to my room. Thoughts of remaking the bow faded—too risky half-asleep.