Chapter 1: Shoushi Lacks Longevity?

According to the original course of history, His Highness Prince Qi of Jin, Sima You, resented by Emperor Wu and ordered to leave the court, was supposed to die in a fit of rage, coughing blood halfway on his journey. Yet in the timeline into which the heroine transmigrated, not only did this man seemingly return from the dead, he marched back to Luoyang, forced Emperor Wu to abdicate, weakened the imperial clan, and executed countless traitorous courtiers, including the infamous Jia Nanfeng.

From there, history split as if a mighty carriage veered off, traveling ever farther down an uncharted road.

It is now the fifth year of the Jiànshèng era. The usurper Sima You has already passed away and received the posthumous title of Emperor Cheng. The reigning emperor’s name is some Sima—of this, the heroine has yet to learn. All these deductions she pieced together over the ten years since she, now known as Wang Ge, was reborn as a village girl in the remote Jia House Village, gathering fragments as she could.

Without the War of the Eight Princes, is this Jin dynasty a parallel world, or entirely fictional? Regardless, just knowing that the darkest, most humiliating era for the Han people will never come to pass is, to Wang Ge, the best consolation for the misfortunes of her previous life.

Thus, in this life, she is determined to live well.

"Wang Ge! You’re stealing sheep’s wool—I’m telling on you!" The shepherd boy was indignant.

Half the people in Jia House Village bore the surname Jia; the Jia patriarch’s family was the only local landowner. The shepherd boy was named Jia Sanyang, just seven years old.

"I won’t do it again." Taking advantage of the landlord’s family is never so easy. With a sincere attitude, Wang Ge returned the wool to Jia Sanyang, opened her cloth bag to show it held only sheep pellets, then placed the beautiful straw hat she’d woven on his head.

The boy, pacified by the gift and her fair, lively face, lost his anger for reasons he couldn’t explain. He stuffed the wool back into her hands and murmured, "Just avoid others next time, don’t take too much, and don’t pick on just one sheep."

"Understood, Ah-Yang. Thank you."

Jia Sanyang heaved a grown-up sigh, herded his sheep, and left.

Her younger brother, Wang Xing, had been sleeping in the basket. Awakened by the commotion, he asked drowsily, "Sister, were you talking to me?"

"No, I was thanking your brother Sanyang." She lifted him out of the basket, where fresh wild greens lay, and hid the wool beneath them.

In the distance, a few village children gathered sheep droppings. Once dried, they would serve as fire fuel. The siblings continued collecting as well.

Meanwhile, Jia Sanyang, heading down the hillside, admired the straw hat. No wonder people praised the eldest daughter of the Wang family from the north end of the village for her deft hands—she could weave anything, be it bird or plant, into useful things. This hat, with flower-like knots spaced every fist’s width, was not only beautiful but sturdy, unlike others’ hats with protruding sticks that scratched head and hand and fell apart easily.

As he examined the hat, his gaze was drawn to two men leading horses up the slope—both so strikingly handsome he was quietly amazed.

These two, plainly scions of noble houses out traveling, made their way up the mountain at leisure.

The older, sporting a short beard, was Zhang He, styled Jiying. He carried himself with elegant dignity, his eyes at times shadowed by sorrow. Upon his head he wore the latest fashion—a black silk scarf—beneath which a few silver strands peeked out at his temples.

The younger was Huan Zhen. Though only eleven, he had begun his studies early and already wore his hair bound, secured with a finely carved bone hairpin. He wore a white jacket with subtle beige patterns, a collar trimmed in indigo, and a two-toned skirt: black silk at the sides, indigo elsewhere. For such a youth, his gaze was piercing and cold, as if he were born with a frosty disposition.

As they drew near, Zhang Jiying called out to Jia Sanyang, "Young man, is there a ‘Longevity Stone’ on this hill?"

Noble youths had visited Jia House Village before, all seeking the "Longevity Stone" on the slope. Jia Sanyang quickly bowed and replied, "Yes, sir. Not far ahead, you’ll see it."

"Thank you." The two continued on.

Zhang Jiying remarked, "What a remarkable place—so even a mere village boy knows the rites. Little Beard, did you ever expect that Buzhi Township would have such a landscape by mountain and water?"

"Little Beard" was Huan Zhen’s childhood nickname; at birth, his grandfather’s beard had fallen victim to the baby’s grip.

Huan Zhen replied, "In your eyes, Master, mountains and rivers are scenery. But to me, a place with a natural waterway and rich grass is perfect for a military outpost."

"Impulsiveness makes for poor discipline. When we return, you’ll copy the ‘Letter of Admonition’ by Marquis Wu five times. Now look—gaze from here across the fields. Isn’t it beautiful?"

"It is."

"Six times, then."

"Yes, Master. This place is most beautiful!" Huan Zhen, dropping his pretense of maturity, bowed properly.

"A teachable child," Zhang Jiying said approvingly.

Huan Zhen nearly grimaced—with another word, he feared he’d be writing until his brush wore out.

Buzhi Township, famed for brewing sauces and making jars, had filled the two travelers’ nostrils with the scent of ferment for two days, leaving their spirits dull. Jia House Village, by contrast, boasted fresh air: the land was broad, the vegetation lush, and sauce-making—wasteful of salt—was a luxury only the Jia landlord’s family could afford.

At the summit, as expected, stood a massive slab of grey rock, jutting from the earth, its black-veined patterns winding in ancient lines, resembling—if one looked closely—a reclining "Longevity" character.

Zhang Jiying circled the stone, then returned to the front, sighing, "A natural longevity pattern, but as others have said—it’s missing something."

It turned out that in the character for "Longevity," the "mouth" radical was perched above the "inch" component. Thus, the "inch" was especially prominent—lying down, its hook pointed powerfully skyward, reaching the stone’s very top.

But the "inch" lacked a dot!

A fine omen turned inauspicious: missing a dot of longevity.

Zhang Jiying lowered his eyes; in this moment, the sorrow he carried threatened to tie itself into a fatal knot. In his weariness with the world, did this ill-omened stone portend his fate, his final end?

"The character is whole—there’s no flaw!" A clear, youthful voice called out.

They turned to see a delicate young girl leading a small child. She wore her sleeves tied, a large basket on her back, a cloth bag in her hand; the boy, hair in fine braids at each temple, looked neat and fresh. Though their clothes were patched, they were spotlessly clean and bore none of the timidity of peasant children. Instead, they inspired a quiet fondness.

Zhang Jiying asked earnestly, "Oh? How so?"

The siblings, of course, were Wang Ge and Wang Xing.

Wang Ge beckoned with a gentle smile, "Sir, come stand here and look at the stone again."

Obliging, Zhang Jiying stepped over, looked up, and exclaimed, "Ah! Zhen, come see—the character is complete!"

From this angle, another large and jagged stone atop the higher slope behind seemed to sprout a sharp point, filling in the missing dot of the "inch."

Huan Zhen, naturally reserved, came over in silence. Sensing his master’s expectant gaze, he raised his voice to praise, "It truly is marvelous!"

Nodding in satisfaction, Zhang Jiying asked Wang Ge, "Young lady, how did you know this secret?"

"Because longevity is fated for you, sir! And, well, I’ve spent five years gathering sheep droppings from this very spot."

What a clever tongue. Only now did Huan Zhen take a closer look at her.

But Wang Ge did not look back, merely continued with a bright smile, "Sir, you’re tall—if you step back a little, the character will be even more complete." With that, she took her brother down the slope—the sun was setting; it was time to prepare supper.

Zhang Jiying mused, "Step back a little, and longevity is full?"

He moved back step by step, and sure enough, as the distant stone’s tip shrank, it matched the Longevity Stone all the more perfectly. What a perceptive girl!

"Step back a little, and longevity is more complete." The more he pondered her words, the more profound their meaning seemed—indeed, a great truth.

At the same time, he felt a deep sense of shame: a child who had spent five years collecting sheep droppings, living in hardship, could still discover the beauty around her—her heart was open and clear. Was his own heart less so than hers? If his mother were alive, would she wish to see him wallow in self-pity, ambition lost?

Sensing his master’s inner turmoil, Huan Zhen dared not disturb him. His master was unfailingly filial; since his mother’s death, sorrow had made him ill and weary of life. All his disciples worried, but none could comfort him.

If not for Wang Ge dispelling the stone’s inauspiciousness, Huan Zhen would have sworn to have it destroyed.

"Little Beard!" Zhang Jiying’s voice suddenly rang with new vigor. "I have decided—we will not return to Wu Commandery. By His Majesty’s decree, we shall go to Luoyang!"