Chapter Ninety: The Road Ahead

The methods of sending messages in the Song Dynasty were nothing more than urgent horse couriers, carrier pigeons, beacon fires, and the like; the main method used by the imperial court was the express foot messenger. With so many ways to deliver messages, there was never one involving a sachet...

Li Sanjian held a sachet that had been thrown in from outside the door, scratching his head, thoroughly puzzled.

"Sanlang, what is this thing?" Madam Fu, his mother, asked upon seeing him.

"Mother, who knows what this is?" Li Sanjian replied, handing the sachet to her.

It was a delicate little sachet, shaped like a gourd, in pale pink, wrapped in a layer of cotton cloth, with a beautiful pattern embroidered on it in colored silk threads.

"What do you mean, what is this thing?" Madam Fu smiled as she examined the sachet. "This is a lady's item, perhaps even something she keeps close to her body."

She opened the sachet, finding a small jade slip inside with words written on it.

"It even carries a faint fragrance. Sanlang, take a look—your mother cannot read," Madam Fu said, handing the slip to him.

Li Sanjian nodded and took the jade slip, seeing a line of graceful, neat small script upon it.

"Hearing you failed the examination, I too am saddened. Your talent and learning, I have already witnessed. I hope you will try again next year—do not give up."

The handwriting was delicate and precise, clear as a mountain brook, unmistakably from a woman's hand.

Li Sanjian grew even more bewildered after reading it. Up to now, in the capital city of Kaifeng, he knew only three women: his mother Madam Fu; Little Sprout, who could hardly be called a woman—at best a young girl; and Madam Fu herself could not read, let alone write. Little Sprout had learned many characters from Li Sanjian, and he was all too familiar with her handwriting.

The only other was Li Qingzhao, but he was certain this note was not from her. He had seen her writing and retained some impression of it. Moreover, if Li Qingzhao had anything to say to him, she would have spoken directly; there was no need for secret letters, as they were already on familiar terms.

Where was Li Qingzhao now? What was she thinking? As Li Sanjian pondered, her lively figure seemed to appear before his eyes.

Li Qingzhao seemed to stand, hands on hips, pointing at him and laughing until she could barely catch her breath.

Not only did Li Sanjian feel ashamed to face his mother, he was embarrassed even to meet Li Qingzhao...

Who could have written this note? Li Sanjian was utterly at a loss.

...

"Mother, I'm going out," Li Sanjian called several days later on a fresh morning, having changed into straw sandals. He greeted Madam Fu and turned to leave.

This was a long-standing habit of his: every day, he ran for exercise, whether it was windy or rainy.

He particularly enjoyed running while thinking, finding his mind especially clear during those moments.

To survive in this world, no matter what one did, a strong body was essential—even if he ended up carrying heavy loads for a living.

Shoes of this era were nothing more than boots or simple shoes, be they leather boots, cloth shoes, cotton shoes, or straw sandals.

Exquisite, expensive leather boots were out of reach for a family like his. Running wore out shoes quickly, so even cloth or cotton shoes were a luxury he could not afford to waste.

All he could do was run in straw sandals, which chafed his feet and often raised blisters. But fortunately, these sandals were woven by Madam Fu herself from soft material, which made things somewhat better.

If the streets of the capital were not paved with hard bricks, he would have run barefoot.

"Come back early," Madam Fu called after his receding figure.

...

To many, Li Sanjian's daily running seemed idiotic or the product of madness, but Madam Fu had long grown used to it; she was no longer surprised after so many years.

After years of training, Li Sanjian had grown from a frail youth into a tall, upright young man. Though he still bore traces of boyishness, his skin was dark as ink, his eyes bright as morning stars, his nose high and straight, his figure upright and spirited.

Soon, Li Sanjian would be seventeen.

This was Madam Fu's greatest joy. What mother would not hope her child would grow into such a spirited young man?

"That child, why does he run so fast?" she said as he vanished from sight.

...

A March morning in Kaifeng.

The first hints of dawn tinged the sky, and though the air was still a little chilly, the breeze by the Bian River was fresh and uplifting.

Most riverside shops had yet to open, and the streets were nearly empty. A young man in short sleeves and straw sandals running along the riverbank caught the attention of the few passersby.

Not only did he draw their gaze, but even the city patrols with halberds eyed him curiously.

The patrollers considered questioning him, but, seeing his harmless demeanor, thought better of it. Though he might appear to be seized by madness, he was hurting no one—why invite unnecessary trouble?

Li Sanjian was long accustomed to such stares and ignored them, running with vigor and enthusiasm.

Because of this, he would later earn himself the nickname "Li the Runner" in Kaifeng Prefecture.

But that is a story for another time.

As he ran, Li Sanjian pondered the words on the jade slip. The writer urged him not to give up on the imperial examinations, to try again next year.

But the triennial examination was a long wait. And if, next time, he failed once more, what then? Where would he go from there?

Such things happened often—the scholar's leap through the dragon gate was achieved by only a rare few. Those who failed time and again were legion.

Li Sanjian considered his future path seriously. Should he keep preparing for the next examination, or turn to something else?

For someone as poor as he, there seemed no other way but the exams.

In the Song, there were routes besides the imperial exams, such as official recommendation or the "grace of privilege," but these were out of reach for someone like Li Sanjian.

The remaining options were military service or commerce, and he began to consider whether he might pursue either.

But whatever he did, he must first fill his belly and support his family. This was the resolve he set in his heart.

"Ow, be careful—!" Lost in thought, he nearly ran headlong into a man of about fifty.

Li Sanjian was half a head taller, and his chin almost collided intimately with the man's head.

"Sorry, sir, I was reckless—my apologies!" Li Sanjian, sweating profusely, stopped and steadied the man, who looked about ready to topple.

"No harm done," the man replied with a smile. "In fact, I was looking for you."

"Looking for me?" Li Sanjian asked, confused. "Sir, do you know me?"

They were strangers—what business could this man have with him? Li Sanjian wondered.

The man shook his head.

If you don't know me, why seek me out? Seeing the man was unhurt, Li Sanjian cupped his hands in a polite farewell and prepared to resume his run.

"Hey, wait! Why are you running off? My master wishes to see you. Please, don't run," the man called out as Li Sanjian moved away.

...

Before the Song, ordinary people (except for the royal family and nobility) typically ate only two meals a day—one at noon and one in the evening—to conserve grain.

After the Song, the custom gradually shifted to three meals: morning, noon, and evening. With the rise of the night market—also called "ghost market"—some even added a late-night meal, making three or four meals a day.

With this change in eating habits, establishments specializing in breakfast sprang up—restaurants, taverns, tea houses, and inns all offered early meals.

"Young sir, my master is upstairs. Please, come in," the man led Li Sanjian to a teahouse.

The teahouse was bustling with people drinking tea, eating breakfast, and chatting—the scene was much like morning tea in Lingnan.

Private rooms were available for a different price.

"Master, I have brought him," the man announced respectfully to an elderly gentleman in a private room.

This old man, hair and beard mostly white, wore a blue "Dongpo scarf" on his head and a scholar's robe of the same color, exuding an air of refined elegance.

But what struck Li Sanjian most was the man's extraordinary bearing—an aura that spoke of long years in a position of authority.

"Zeng Fu, fetch him a fresh set of clothes," the old man ordered, seeing Li Sanjian drenched in sweat from his run.

"At once, sir," Zeng Fu replied, bowing and exiting.

"Please, take a seat, Scholar Li," the old man said with a smile.

"Thank you, sir," Li Sanjian replied, bowing instead of sitting. "But may I ask, how do you know my name?"

At the doorway stood two of the old man's attendants or guards, both strong and imposing, with bulging waists. Li Sanjian was no fool; he could see this was someone of importance.

So he was unfailingly courteous—he was no pedant or braggart.

Over the years, he had mastered these formalities, which secretly pleased the old man.

The old man did not answer, but stroked his beard and asked in return, "Never mind how I know your name. Tell me, Scholar Li, why do you run every morning?"

"Well..." Li Sanjian thought for a moment. "It is simply a method I use to strengthen my body, sir. I hope you do not find it laughable."

"A method for strengthening the body?" the old man asked.