Diary (I)
A faint scent of sandalwood permeated the entire antique little room. Morning sunlight filtered in through the intricate latticework of the carved window, casting dappled patterns on the floor.
Little Dao Yi sat atop a square wooden stool, holding a brush, earnestly writing something.
“August 1st, clear skies. Nothing happened today, the world is at peace. Well, I can’t say for sure whether the whole world is peaceful, but I myself am certainly bored. Anyway, in short! Yes! I’m going to start keeping a diary, to record every day I spend in this world! It’s been over three years now since I arrived here. Father said that when I turn eight, I can begin cultivating immortality. I don’t know why I have to wait until I’m eight, but I’m a little excited! Hehehe!”
Though he appeared to be only three years old, Little Dao Yi closed his small notebook with a grin creeping onto his face—a grin with a hint of mischief. It was truly difficult to imagine how such an expression could appear on a soft and tender child’s face.
“August 2nd, clear skies. The world is at peace. A gentle breeze, radiant sun, not a cloud in the sky. Old Master Zhou must be thinking of me—it’s the perfect weather for a nap.”
“August 3rd, clear skies. The world is at peace. Napping.”
“August 4th, clear skies. The world is at peace. Napping.”
“August 5th, weather—huh, it’s raining! Wonderful! The drizzle is persistent, my mood is a bit fickle. Tsk tsk, scholars really are different. Alright, napping.”
“August 6th, clear skies. That rain didn’t last at all—gone as quickly as it came. Not like me, who lasts forever. Hm? No, that’s inappropriate (strike all of the above). A gentle breeze, radiant sun, not a cloud in the sky. Off to discuss life with Old Master Zhou—napping.”
“August 7th, clear skies. The world is at peace. Napping. Hmm? Am I being too much of a slacker?”
“August 8th, clear skies. The world is at peace. No, no, I can’t keep sleeping like this. Am I really that good at sleeping? I need to make a change! Yes, tomorrow! Well, for today, I’ll nap.”
“August 9th, clear skies. The world is at peace. I went to my dear mother and got my silly little brother. He smells sweet and milky—hugging him to sleep.”
“August 15th, clear skies. The world is at peace. Suddenly, I realized that as a transmigrator—and a bona fide scholar at that—I shouldn’t just muddle through life. Before beginning cultivation, I should set myself a little goal. In a few days, I’ll show off my deep cultural knowledge to my parents! Soon enough, they’ll surely devote themselves to nurturing me. Maybe, thanks to my prodigious talent, Father will let me start cultivating ahead of time! I’ll learn a few little spells, after all, I am a transmigrator! My silly little brother, look up to your handsome, learned, all-capable big brother in the future! Soon I’ll get promoted, raise my salary, become a general manager, CEO, marry a rich beauty, and stand at the pinnacle of life—just the thought makes me a little excited. Hehehe. Alright, time to sleep.”
Year Two.
“August 23rd, clear skies. It’s been exactly one month since my silly little brother was born—today is his full moon. Hmph! Today’s protagonist is me! It has nothing to do with you, stinky little brother! It’s time to dazzle my parents with my breathtaking talent. Maybe, shocked by my brilliance, they’ll bring out a secret cultivation manual, declaring me a true prodigy who doesn’t need to wait until eight to start cultivating. Then I’ll be miles ahead of my peers, soaring to the heavens and basking in the admiration of all the kids around me! Hahaha! Wait, why would I want to show off to a bunch of little brats?”
“Missy, your adorable Dao Yi is here!”
“September 11th, clear skies. It’s been half a month since I last wrote in this diary. If some shameless author went this long without updating, his house would be flooded with razor blades. Hm, I’d send some too—not razor blades, but actual knives.”
“After using my little brother’s full moon celebration as an opportunity to tell my parents the story of Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai—a simplified version, since I’m only three and a half and shouldn’t know too many words—my parents were utterly stunned. My father watched as my mother was moved to tears. Then… he thrashed me, because the only one allowed to make Mother cry is Father.”
“I don’t know why, but I suddenly felt disheartened and stopped writing for half a month to adjust my mood. More importantly, I needed to recover physically.”
“What kind of father hits this hard! How can you bear to hit a three-year-old child! And so viciously! What kind of reason is ‘the only one allowed to make Mother cry is me’? I seriously suspect you have ulterior motives, though I have no proof!”
“October 17th, clear skies. I’ve found several more chances to show off in front of my parents. Every time I see their dumbfounded faces, I feel a surge of accomplishment as a three-year-old. Yet, each time afterward, Father seems to have discovered the key to a new world—he always finds new reasons to thrash me. Heh. I think he’s just jealous I’m outshining him in front of Mother. This path won’t work anymore, at least not in front of my parents. Even if they are cultivators, their brains are missing a screw, unable to see the brilliance of the prodigy right before their eyes.”
“November 20th, overcast. I just can’t swallow this indignation! I’m so talented, why can’t my parents see it? I braved the edge of another beating several more times—persistence pays off! Father and Mother admitted they underestimated me, not realizing how thick my skull is. Then they found even more refined ways to thrash me, and with perfect justification. Mother, watching from the side, even seemed eager to join in! I’m such a fool for believing these two could ever recognize my talent!”
“December 19th, overcast. After many lessons in ‘love,’ I’ve finally given up. More importantly, it seems I helped Father unlock some special skill—he invents new reasons to thrash me every day. In his words: ‘A father beating his son is only natural.’”
“I really am a fool. Would it have killed me to just live quietly until eight and start cultivating? Wouldn’t sleeping soundly in bed be nice? Now look, I get beaten every day—can I even live to eight? Boohoo…”
“December 27th, clear skies. I subtly asked the little maid who takes care of me why no one has recognized her young master’s brilliance. Are my poems not worthy of passing down through the ages? She replied that as the child of the master and mistress—cultivators themselves—it’s only natural that I’m gifted and quick-witted. She said it as if it were obvious.”
“Oh? So all the children of the cultivation world are this smart? Those novels I read in my previous life, where the protagonist gets by in another world on the strength of his old-world knowledge, are all lies! No wonder Father, seeing my talent, just assumes I inherited his superior genes. Aside from me showing off too much in front of Mother, he must be thinking deep down that I’m truly his son! Ugh, damn it! My best path to fame and fortune is gone, why! Is five thousand years of Chinese culture really so powerless here? How can it be!”
“Fine, I give up. Time to sleep.”
The Second Year.
“February 13th, snowy. I’ve completely abandoned my hopes of standing out through poetry and literature. Today it’s snowing, thick flakes swirling outside. Watching a plum blossom bloom proudly in the corner of the wall, I’m struck by a sense of familiarity.”
“Ah.”
‘Several branches of plum blossom by the wall, blooming alone in the cold.
From afar it seems not to be snow, but the faint fragrance gives it away.’
“How poetic! I truly am a scholar.”
“My little brother is now half a year old. As his ever-present big brother, the first word I taught him to say was ‘brother.’ Felt a bit proud, until Father found out and thrashed me again…”
“Damn it!!!”
“March 3rd, clear skies. The world is at peace. Old Master Zhou comes for me again—napping.”
“April 4th, clear skies. The world is at peace. Napping. Ah, the life of a scholar is so simple and dull. Father overheard and thrashed me again. Damn!”