Chapter Twenty-Eight: A Daughter’s Thoughts

“You… are you, young master?!”
“Ah, it’s me…”
The young girl finally recognized the unmasked voice of Zhang Yu, and, eyes reddened, flung herself toward him.
“Wait… put that thing down first, let’s talk calmly!”
At his words, Han Yan tossed aside the shard in her hand and ran to Zhang Yu’s side, nestling into his arms as tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Oh dear, what’s all this? I was just teasing you for a bit—why are you crying?” Zhang Yu gently stroked her head and asked.
“Yan’er… Yan’er just didn’t recognize you.”
Well, if she recognized me, how could she live up to her nickname, Silly Yan?
“Could it be that after I’ve been away these days, you’ve forgotten what I look like?” Zhang Yu cupped her cheeks in jest.
“No! How could I!” Han Yan, like a startled, bristling kitten, leapt from his embrace. “How could you think that, young master? Do you despise Yan’er…” Even beneath the tip of her delicate nose, beads of tears seemed ready to fall.
“No! How could I!” Zhang Yu echoed her words, then removed his mask and pulled her back into his arms. “Yan’er is wonderful in every way, and even when you’re a little silly, it’s quite endearing. It’s just that I haven’t seen you for so long—I wanted to give you a surprise.”
If Ying’er were here, she would probably pout and throw a little tantrum, insisting that the surprise was anything but a delight. But Han Yan’s innocence was her charm—her stammering revealed a gentle compliance, and a girl so easily satisfied and comforted… ah, a true blessing of the age.
At this moment, Han Yan’s heart fluttered like a startled fawn. In fact, this was the first time she’d ever been so close to the young master. Having endured chaos and hardship since childhood, and being just a young girl, she naturally longed for a broad and mature support. Yet the feeling Zhang Yu gave her was strange—unlike the security her brother provided, there was a faint joy and expectation mingled in, making the atmosphere between them suddenly ambiguous.
Ambiguous as it was, Zhang Yu had not the slightest ulterior motive. Had these two girls been ten years older, how could this bullying young lord, this overbearing heir, have let such an opportunity slip by? But they were far too young, and for the sake of the next generation’s well-being, for the healthy growth of the country’s flowers…
Just as his thoughts wandered, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed from not far away. Han Yan, mortified, cried out and dashed away, returning with Ying’er to bring in the bathing tub.
Ying’er, seeing Han Yan’s tear-streaked face, pouted and glared at Zhang Yu. “It’s my fault, I was too quick with the preparations and let the young master and Sister Yan down.”

“Ah! Sister Ying’er, what are you saying? The young master and I—”
“All right, all right, you little ones sure know how to get jealous quickly! Out you go, the young master needs his bath!” Zhang Yu feigned sternness.
“Who are you calling a child? Ying’er is already fifteen! And you’re only sixteen, young master, yet you’re already so fickle… When you grow up, who knows how many women you’ll—”
“Out, both of you! I’m taking off my clothes!”
“Go ahead, go ahead, what hasn’t Ying’er seen before!”
Ying’er was not truly impertinent; she quickly tossed off the words, grabbed the blushing Han Yan, and left the room.
“This little minx is growing bolder by the day. Fifteen… In two more years, I’ll have you begging for mercy, just you wait!”
Life continued in leisure—daily exercise, reading—Zhang Yu was hardly one to idle away his days.
It was now the year 190, and at sixteen, it was far too early for him to take up an official post. Besides, who would want someone for fame earned by just two poems? Zhang Yu did not believe these strategists and civil officials of antiquity were that easily impressed.
If he could choose, he would far rather have crossed into the Tang or Song dynasty, to experience the unparalleled splendor of the Great Tang, or the Song, where culture and economy both reached their zenith, despite its flaws. To wander mountains and rivers, compose poems and paintings, drink wine and admire the moon—living as a literatus in an era of peace and gaining renown would have been a fine thing indeed.
As long as one avoided the An Shi Rebellion or the Jingkang Disaster, that is.
But in these waning years of the Eastern Han, there was nothing but endless chaos and calamity—trouble upon trouble!
Realizing the usefulness of masks, Zhang Yu had Zhang Shuo gather a few household servants to accompany him into Zhongshan City in search of skilled craftsmen, hoping to commission several more exquisite masks of his own design. As expected, the mask-making techniques of this era were wondrous indeed, and soon he had several new masks, each as cleverly crafted as the first.
Unfortunately, when Zhang Yu tried to ask about their methods, the craftsmen could not comprehend. When he pressed further, they grew wary, suspecting he meant to steal their business. Had it not been for the servants by his side, they would have shown him the door.
Such caution was understandable—even in later ages, many craftsmen fiercely guarded their skills. Techniques like these, often passed down only to sons or within families, led to the loss of countless priceless cultural legacies in the river of history—a cause for deep regret.
Before long, autumn deepened, winter approached, and a faint frost had recently descended. The New Year was drawing near.

Wu Ji County, the Zhen family residence.
“Fifth Sister, come, come, Second Brother has good news for you.” Having just returned from his travels across Hebei, Zhen Yan wasted no time in pulling Zhen Luo along as soon as he got home.
“What could be so urgent that Second Brother won’t even freshen up first?” Looking at Zhen Yan’s slightly disheveled appearance, young Zhen Luo could not stop giggling behind her hand, not realizing that her every movement and smile already carried a captivating charm.
She poured her brother a cup of tea, and they sat together on the couch. Resting her chin in her hands, her limpid, expressive eyes fixed on her second brother. The sight made Zhen Yan pause in a moment of daze before he smiled and said, “Every time I return from my travels, I find my Fifth Sister more beautiful than before. Now you are truly a peerless beauty.”
Zhen Luo blushed and replied, “Second Brother is teasing me again. What is this good news you wished to share?”
Zhen Yan sipped his tea and looked at her. “That Zhang Yu is truly fortunate, to be betrothed to such a lovely sister of mine. But you needn’t worry—he’s not much less handsome than you, so you two do make a fine pair!”
“Oh! Why are you bringing that up, Second Brother!” Zhen Luo, unsure what to say, blushed shyly. Yet when she recalled the rumors about her unseen fiancé… she could not feel the least bit sweetness in her heart, and could only take a small sip of tea as well.
“Have you really not heard?” Zhen Yan asked in surprise. “Surely Wu Ji isn’t that isolated.”
“Heard what?”
“The Jade Young Master of Zhongshan, the Jade Gentleman—has his poetry not spread here yet?”
“Of course I’ve heard! ‘Song of the Artemisia Fields,’ and ‘Farewell to My Sworn Brother.’ My favorite line is, ‘Do not fear the road ahead, for in all the world, who does not know you?’” As soon as the Jade Young Master was mentioned, Zhen Luo’s words tumbled forth with enthusiasm. “They say the Jade Young Master is gifted in both talent and appearance, sincere and virtuous, a prodigy blessed by the heavens, like an immortal descended. At just sixteen, his fame already resounds throughout Hebei. I cannot tell you how many of my friends dream of seeing him just once—Second Brother?!”
“Hm…” Zhen Yan had not expected his usually shrewd little sister to be so oblivious when it came to her own future.
“The Jade Young Master… is that Zhang Yu, my betrothed?”