Chapter Six: About the Future, About the Present

Did Xiao Chengru really not want Xiao Yao to learn martial arts from Old Liu? Of course not.

Old Liu’s full name was Liu Zhongwen, born into a family renowned for martial arts. He was a direct disciple of Liu Yunqiao, a grandmaster of martial arts and follower of the legendary spear master Li Shuwen, representing the authentic lineage of Baji Quan. Liu Zhongwen himself had retired from his position as a national martial arts team coach. Though martial arts had long since lost its glory with the advent of firearms, gradually becoming more of a performance art, Liu Zhongwen’s abilities were undoubtedly impressive. Xiao Chengru was more than happy to have his grandson learn some genuine skills from him.

However, it was not so easy to get the old man to teach real techniques.

A few years ago, a renowned international film director from Hong Kong wanted to make a martial arts movie and specially sought Liu Zhongwen to gather material. Liu Zhongwen and the director got along well, but when the director suggested that a rising young male actor from Taiwan, slated for a leading role, learn a period of Baji Quan from Liu, the old man flatly refused to teach casually. After observing the actor for a month, he insisted that the actor perform a traditional ritual to formally become his disciple before he would agree to teach him. Xiao Chengru, who was also in the entertainment industry and a longtime friend of Liu Zhongwen, knew all the details.

As the saying goes, old dogs are clever and ghosts are tricky. Xiao Chengru purposely taught Xiao Yao Tai Chi in front of their old friends, partly to show off his grandson’s quick wit and partly to see if Liu Zhongwen recognized any martial aptitude in the boy. The subsequent act of deliberately provoking Liu Zhongwen, seemingly to prevent teaching, was actually a subtle way to challenge the old man’s personality. The tactic seemed to work. Although Liu Zhongwen didn’t take Xiao Yao as a disciple on the spot nor reveal his most formidable Baji Quan, he did teach a set of Shaolin Long Fist—a style not given out lightly—and since the child was still young, there was a real possibility of further progress once Xiao Yao grew older and spent more time with Liu.

Shaolin Long Fist had far more moves and techniques than Tai Chi. Tai Chi was overly common in both Xiao Yao’s past and present lives. Although Xiao Yao had never formally learned Tai Chi before, he had seen several famous moves—such as “Cloud Hands,” “Grasping Sparrow’s Tail,” “Sealing and Closing,” and “Advancing Step with Blocking Fist”—many times on TV or in real life. His memory was indeed stronger than that of ordinary adults, but not yet eidetic, so he couldn’t memorize the entire Shaolin Long Fist routine in one go. Still, Liu Zhongwen was already impressed with his performance and was in no rush to have him master all the moves immediately. Seeing that it was getting late, he agreed with the Xiao family grandfather to come every morning to teach Xiao Yao martial arts, then happily went home.

After lunch and a brief rest, Xiao Yao clung to Xiao Chengru again.

“Grandpa, didn’t you promise to teach me calligraphy? Are you free this afternoon? How about we start now?” Xiao Yao tugged at Xiao Chengru.

“Oh, so you still remember,” Xiao Chengru chuckled. “I thought with Old Liu teaching you kung fu, you’d have forgotten your grandpa.”

“That sounds almost jealous,” Xiao Yao rolled his eyes inwardly. “Maybe it’s because great actors hold onto their childlike innocence more—no wonder the media calls Dad childish. Looks like I got it from you, Grandpa.”

“No way!” Xiao Yao shivered at the thought, then coquettishly tugged at his grandfather’s sleeve. “You’re my grandpa; how could I forget you? Please teach me.”

Xiao Yao had thought about the present and the future. Being reborn into this family was like hitting the jackpot in reincarnation. Both his grandfather and father were accomplished in their respective fields. At Xiao Chengru’s age, with his experience and skills, he held considerable weight in the entertainment industry. Xiao Siqi, though his album sales were declining, was still a successful music producer. Though Chen Zilin had passed away, her shares in the modeling agency remained intact.

Financially, the family was comfortably well-off, not extravagantly rich but far from struggling. In other respects, the family faced no major difficulties or crises. So, for Xiao Yao, it seemed all he needed to do was enjoy life. And to enjoy life essentially meant to play! But what could a three-year-old body with a thirty-year-old soul do for fun? Playing in the mud with kids his age? His mind couldn’t handle that. Adult activities were off-limits for his young body.

Since he couldn’t play now, he’d have to wait until he grew up. To prepare for better enjoyment later, there was really only one thing left to do now: learn! Not academic studies—being thirty with a university degree from a prestigious school, Xiao Yao wouldn’t need to study school subjects until university. That freed up over a decade of time. He couldn’t waste it. He decided to use his childhood and youth to explore and develop his interests.

Though the studious Li Hao from his past life wasn’t exactly clueless, he hadn’t mastered anything impressive or stage-worthy. Xiao Yao was determined to make up for that regret. So when he met Liu Zhongwen teaching martial arts, he was eager. His grandfather, a master calligrapher and traditional painter, was another treasure he couldn’t pass up. And there was his father Xiao Siqi’s musical talent, which he wouldn’t neglect, though that had to wait until his injuries healed. These were the three main skills in his current plan, though he remained open to other interesting pursuits.

For most children, this might seem exhausting, but for a thirty-year-old mind, it was the only way to fill the coming years of boredom and emptiness. Besides, Xiao Yao had discovered his memory was far better than ordinary people’s, so it might not be as hard as he feared.

“All right, all right, teach, teach, teach,” seeing his grandson rare in both coaxing and charm, Xiao Chengru gave in and led him to his study in the east wing.

Opening the door, Xiao Yao was immediately enveloped in a scholarly atmosphere. Except for the wall with the door and window, the other three walls were adorned with scrolls of calligraphy or ink paintings. Against one wall stood a cabinet for antiques and a bookshelf packed with books. The antique cabinet held jars and pots of uncertain age, while the bookshelf was filled with traditional thread-bound books. A dark red rosewood desk was fully equipped with the four treasures of the study, behind which stood a matching rosewood grand chair. Along the eastern wall were two rosewood official hat chairs flanking a small rosewood table set with a purple clay tea set.

Entering the study, Xiao Chengru said to Xiao Yao, “Bayi, I don’t know how many Chinese characters your mother has taught you beyond your own name, Xiao Bayi. But at your age, the number you know must be limited, so Grandpa can’t start teaching you calligraphy just yet. Calligraphy is basically writing characters, but you have to recognize them before you can write them. So you’ll first learn to read characters with Grandpa, then write them.”

“Okay!” Xiao Yao nodded, a bit resigned. Though he had a college-level education, his body was still just over three years old.

Xiao Chengru had him sit down, then pulled a copy of the Three Character Classic from the shelf, opened it to the first page, and handed it to him. “Come, read after me: ‘At the beginning of man, nature is good; nature is similar, habit makes them different...’”

Looking at the Three Character Classic, Xiao Yao momentarily felt like he had traveled back to an ancient private school classroom. He smiled wryly and followed along, nodding his head.

After eight lines, Xiao Chengru stopped and asked Xiao Yao to recite them on his own. Without missing a word, Xiao Yao did so perfectly. With the morning Tai Chi session as proof, Xiao Chengru was unsurprised by his grandson’s excellent memory. Taking two brushes—one thick, one thin—he laid out two sheets of paper, prepared ink by grinding an ink stick with water, and said, “Grandpa will teach you to write these eight lines first. I write a stroke, and you copy it.”

Xiao Yao nodded, picked up the thinner brush, held it in the familiar grip, wrist raised and ready.

“Well, looks like you already know how to hold a brush,” Xiao Chengru smiled. He had planned to teach the grip first but was pleased to see Xiao Yao’s posture was quite correct.

Grandfather and grandson began carefully writing on the white paper stroke by stroke. Xiao Yao had never used a brush pen before and could only write straight horizontal and vertical lines. Though impressive for a three-year-old, Xiao Chengru, a skilled calligrapher who had seen Xiao Yao’s advanced talents for his age, was not satisfied with mere straight lines. He meticulously explained and demonstrated how each horizontal and vertical stroke should be made, detailing the starting point, movement, and ending with precision.

Fortunately, Xiao Yao’s learning ability was good. After about ten repetitions, his writing of the twenty-four characters began to take shape. But he thought to himself, if this was how he practiced every day, a single Three Character Classic might keep him busy for a long time.

Two hours passed as Xiao Yao wrote. Noticing that his grandson began rubbing his right wrist with his left hand, Xiao Chengru scolded himself for being too absorbed in teaching and neglecting that the child was only just over three years old. Two hours of writing was bound to tire him out. He quickly told Xiao Yao to stop and rest, to relax his wrist.

Obediently, Xiao Yao put down his brush and moved his wrist. But he couldn’t sit still. Holding his right wrist, he wandered over to the large bookcase. Glancing over the collection, he resisted the urge to pull out a book he couldn’t yet read and turned to Xiao Chengru. “Grandpa, tell me a story.”

Meanwhile, Xiao Chengru, sitting by the small table brewing tea, was a little surprised by the request. He beckoned Xiao Yao over to sit and have some tea.

Once Xiao Yao settled into the official hat chair across the table, Xiao Chengru handed him a warm cup of tea and smiled, “A story? Like the fairy tales your parents tell you before bed? Grandpa won’t do that.”

“I don’t want fairy tales,” Xiao Yao said disdainfully, sipping the tea. “I want history stories—ones my parents can’t tell.”

“History stories? Grandpa knows plenty and can tell you. But there are so many, I don’t know where to start. What kind of history do you want to hear?”

“Start with ancient Chinese dynasties,” Xiao Yao tilted his head, thinking, then decided, “Forget just stories—just teach me history like a class.”

“All right,” Xiao Chengru smiled. “If we’re talking about Chinese history, we have to start with the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors...”