Shang Xueyan stared at the two thousand yuan for a few seconds. Shen Mengkun had been working just as hard as him lately holding down several jobs a day, taking whatever work came his way, but the treatment costs were, without a doubt, an astronomical sum for the two of them right now.
Shang Xueyan accepted the transfer. [Thank you]
Shang Xueyan: [You’ll definitely find a good job too]
Shang Xueyan scrolled for a while before finally settling on a satisfactory sticker. [Good luck spray, spraying hard JPG]
After finishing his exchange with Qin Ru, Shang Xueyan set his phone down beside his pillow, closed his eyes, and his body too exhausted to take even a single second fell asleep the moment his eyelids shut.
The café where Shang Xueyan worked was in the city center and catered to a high-end clientele. It had strict requirements for its staff: they had to be well-groomed, presentable, and handsome. The pay was better than average part-time work, considerably higher than his delivery gig, which was why no shortage of good-looking guys worked there and getting extra shifts was no easy feat.
Shang Xueyan’s shift ran from nine in the morning to two-thirty in the afternoon. After finishing his stint at the café, he quickly changed into a blue work vest, put on his helmet, and got ready to deliver food.
On his way to pick up orders, Shang Xueyan spotted a temple with thick plumes of incense smoke rising from its burners. He eased off the throttle of his electric scooter.
After dropping off a few orders, Shang Xueyan paused his incoming requests and rode his secondhand electric scooter to the temple.
He locked up his scooter, stowed his helmet, and took off his vest, arranging it neatly. After tidying his clothes and hair at the temple entrance, he took three sticks of incense, lit them, and stepped into the main hall.
After the person before him finished their prayers and rose from the kneeling cushion, Shang Xueyan stepped forward, dropped to his knees on the cushion, and looked up at the Guanyin Bodhisattva, solemn in bearing, compassionate in expression. He closed his eyes and made his wish.
His life a thousand years later was utterly miserable, and Shen Mengkun had it even worse. He didn’t know whether his eldest brother had also come to this era after death, but regardless, he hoped his brother would live well in this life, ideally with both parents alive and doting on him. Not necessarily wealth and prominence, but certainly food and clothing without worry.
Shang Xueyan gazed at the Buddha.
In his past life, he hadn’t accumulated much merit he’d spent his days eating, drinking, and having fun. But his eldest brother had become a jinshi at eighteen, remarkable even in youth, and within two years had risen to be a local magistrate. He’d overturned wrongful convictions, driven out tyrants, executed corrupt officials, and worked from dawn to dusk, beloved by the people. In the end, he’d died protecting the common folk under his charge. With such immense merit in his past life, was it too much to ask that his brother enjoy peace, safety, and good fortune in this one?
If…
Guanyin Bodhisattva’s features were kind and gentle. Shang Xueyan looked at her and prayed earnestly: if his brother still faced many trials in this life, he was willing to take all those trials upon himself. Shang Xueyan could remain poor and unlucky for this entire lifetime just protect his brother.
Closing his eyes, Shang Xueyan kowtowed three times devoutly before the Bodhisattva, then rose with the three sticks of incense in hand.
The main hall of Guanyin Bodhisattva had four grand front doors, but on the left and right sides there were also side doors leading to the inner courtyard. After standing up straight, Shang Xueyan didn’t look back he walked directly toward the eastern side door.
At the same moment, a tall young man holding three sticks of red incense stepped across the time-worn stone bricks in deep black leather shoes, crossed the threshold with its mottled patterns, and walked slowly into the Hall of Guanyin Bodhisattva.
The elderly woman finished praying for her wishes, her palms pressing against the cushion as she slowly straightened her aching back. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the young man entering through the doorway and froze for a moment.
There was no other reason this young man simply didn’t look like someone who believed in gods or Buddhas.
After the woman left, Shang Xianwang stepped forward. The crisp lines of his suit jacket curved slightly at the shoulders, and then, with a bend of his shoe tips, he slowly lowered himself onto his knees, the trousers of his suit creasing into uneven folds.
Shang Xianwang knelt on the cushion and made a wish to the Bodhisattva.
He prayed that his younger brother, Shang Xueyan, would live a life of peace, ease, and good health even if it meant a thousand years ago. After finishing his prayer, Shang Xianwang kowtowed three times with utmost sincerity. Rising to his feet, he took three sticks of incense and exited through the eastern side door of the Guanyin Hall.
Exiting through the eastern side door led to a courtyard with ancient charm, flanked by two other grand halls. On the left stood the Hall of Heavenly Kings, enshrining Maitreya Bodhisattva and the Four Heavenly Kings; on the right was the Medicine Buddha Hall, housing a statue of the Medicine Buddha.
Shang Xianwang entered the Medicine Buddha Hall first.
Shang Xueyan hadn’t gone to the Medicine Buddha Hall. He’d first visited the Guanyin Hall, and after coming out, he paid his respects at the Medicine Buddha Hall on the right, then proceeded to the Heavenly Kings Hall facing west. As Shang Xianwang stepped into the Medicine Buddha Hall, he caught a glimpse of a black silhouette flashing past the side entrance.
After Shang Xueyan finished paying respects to the Bodhisattvas in the temple, the incense in his hand had burned more than halfway. He inserted it into the large square censer in the middle of the courtyard. Because he was especially solemn about it, his sticks of incense stood perfectly straight and elegant. Shang Xueyan admired them for a moment, then left, thoroughly satisfied.
The temple also housed a thousand-year-old ancient tree. It was said that writing your wishes on it would bring them to fruition with the blessings of the tree and the Bodhisattva. Shang Xueyan spent twenty yuan to buy a red cloth strip, picked up the marker pen beside it, and wrote a line of words.
He hung the red cloth strip on the lush, leafy ancient tree, pressed his palms together in a devout bow, then lifted his feet and left Longxing Temple, jogging over to his electric scooter to deliver his takeout orders.
Shang Xianwang emerged from the Hall of the Four Heavenly Kings and inserted the three half-burned sticks of incense into the massive censer at the center of the courtyard.
Because of his solemnity, all three sticks stood straighter and more upright than anyone else’s. His peripheral vision caught three sticks nearby that had nearly burned to ash among the mostly crooked incense sticks, these three stood exceptionally straight and firm, almost identical to the ones he’d placed.
Shang Xianwang gave them a second glance, then turned and left Longxing Temple. His assistant had finished paying respects to the Bodhisattvas before him and was waiting in the car.
Shang Xianwang opened the rear door and got in.
The driver asked, “Where to, President Shang?”
“Back to the company.”
Shang Xianwang returned to the company. The moment he stepped out of the elevator, his assistant, Wang Song, hurried over with a flustered expression and reported in a low voice, “President Shang, the old President Shang has come to the company. He’s waiting for you in your office.”
The old President Shang was the grandfather of this body.
Shang Xianwang walked toward his office.
Before he even reached the office, Shang Huaimin having somehow learned of his return pushed open the office door with fierce momentum, leaning on his cane, and collided face-to-face with Shang Xianwang.
Shang Huaimin was past seventy, his hair dyed jet black, but his aged face was etched with wrinkles. Seeing Shang Xianwang return, he demanded in a stern voice, “Your brother’s trial starts tomorrow. Are you going to issue the letter of forgiveness or not?”
Shang Xianwang replied calmly, “I’ve answered this question many times already. I’m not issuing it.”
Shang Huaimin pounded his cane hard against the floor, his voice sharp and severe. “He’s your own flesh and blood brother. Can you really be so heartless as to send him to prison?”
Shang Xianwang’s expression was indifferent. “I don’t have a brother who tried to run me over with his car.”
Shang Huaimin was furious. “Aren’t you fine now? He knows he was wrong. Do you have to ruin his entire life over this?”
Shang Xianwang turned his head and called out to Wang Song. “Wang, escort Old Shang out of the company.”
Wang Song stepped forward with long strides, but Shang Huaimin shook off the hand offered to support him and stormed off in anger. “Get lost! Do I need you to escort me?”
He glared resentfully at Shang Xianwang, who had already begun reviewing documents, his fury blazing. “Your brother always said you bring death to your father and mother, that you’d sever ties with all your kin. I thought he was slandering you. If I’d known you’d kill both your parents and treat your own blood brother with such venom, I should have strangled you the moment you were born.”
Shang Xianwang didn’t lift his head, his gaze fixed on the computer screen. The cold white light reflected off his utterly unperturbed expression. He told Wang Song again, “Escort Old Shang out.”
Shang Huaimin cursed Shang Xianwang hoarsely for a long while, but seeing that he remained completely unmoved, Shang Huaimin leaned on his cane and left in a towering rage.
Shang Xianwang leaned back against his chair, his unfocused gaze resting on the monitor for a few seconds. Then he bent down and unlocked the innermost drawer with his fingerprint. Inside a transparent glass box lay a palm-sized polymer clay figurine.
The figurine was a young man not dressed in the exaggerated garb of a video game, nor in modern everyday clothing, but in Hanfu from a thousand years ago. His thick, jet-black hair was gathered into a topknot, adorned with an exquisite white jade crown.
The figurine’s expression was vivid and spirited, the corners of his lips slightly upturned. A crimson brocade robe made him look dashing and noble, as if born to gold and jade. A faint dimple marked his cheek.
Shang Xianwang raised his thumb and gently stroked the figurine’s face. He murmured, “Ayan, you’re the only brother I have.”
At ten o’clock that night, Shang Xianwang returned home from the company. The three-story villa, occupied by only him, felt especially vast and silent like a dead, lifeless castle.
Shang Xianwang opened the bedroom at the far end of the second floor.
He flipped the light switch, and the pitch-black room suddenly became bright.
Display cases lined the walls of the spacious room, housing all manner of polymer clay figurines. Some were palm-sized, others smaller, dressed in a variety of outfits moon-white robes, golden and crimson garments, most of them in various styles of An Dynasty clothing. Among the several hundred figurines carefully encased in glass, a rare few wore hoodies and black pants, as if they lived in the same era as Shang Xianwang.
Shang Xianwang swept his gaze across the figurines that filled the entire room. The vast majority bore the exact same face some smiling, some angry, their expressions lively. A couple of middle-aged figures served as foils, standing beside that one figurine.
Shang Xianwang picked up a figurine in navy-blue riding attire and tapped its head. A moment later, he sat down at the workbench and first made a phone call.
“President Shang.” A middle-aged man answered.
“It’s me.” Shang Xianwang’s Adam’s apple bobbed twice. “Have you found any historical records about Shang Heng’an’s younger brother yet?”
Professor Chen Jiaping, a specialist in An Dynasty history, said regretfully, “I’m sorry, President Shang, but we still haven’t unearthed any historical records about him.”
“Thank you for your hard work, Professor Chen. If any relevant historical materials are discovered, please let me know.”
After hanging up the phone, Shang Xianwang set his phone aside. The doll in his hand slightly lifted its eyelids, its gaze meeting his, smiling happily. Shang Xianwang’s throat moved uncontrollably as he lowered his eyes and kissed the cool, ceramic-like brows of the polymer clay doll.
Placing the doll on the workbench, he turned on the overhead light and began shaping clay. He had already molded the body and head of a new doll a few days earlier; all that remained was painting the clothes.
At three in the morning, Shang Xianwang opened the oven and took out the palm-sized doll.
The palm-sized doll had short black hair, sky-blue pajamas, and tightly shut eyes, clearly lost in deep sleep, yet a satisfied smile lingered at the corners of its lips, as if it were having a sweet dream.
Once the polymer clay had cooled, Shang Xianwang held the doll in his palm, gazing at its sleeping face for a long while before rising to place it on a golden nanmu canopy bed he had sculpted from clay. He covered it with a glass dome and stared at the sleeping Shang Xueyan for a long time, as if the boy were truly asleep before him.
Shang Xianwang whispered goodnight to him.
Half-asleep and half-awake, Shang Xueyan seemed to dream that he was lying on his familiar golden nanmu canopy bed.
Before dawn, Shang Xueyan crawled out of bed. He wasn’t working his café shift today, nor did he need to deliver takeout. Last night, he had landed a role not a one- or two-day extra part, but one requiring six days of filming. It was a fairly significant minor role, and the pay was decent.
After getting ready to head out, Shang Xueyan received a call from the casting director of that production. Thinking his role was important, he assumed the director was calling to remind him to arrive at the set on time.
Shang Xueyan: “Director Zhou, I’m already on my way. Don’t worry, I won’t be late.”
“You’re already on your way?” Director Zhou’s voice was startled.
Shang Xueyan chuckled sheepishly. “I live a bit far away.”
Director Zhou cleared his throat. “Well, uh, Shang Xueyan, you don’t need to come.”
Shang Xueyan’s steps toward the stairs halted abruptly. “Why not? Director Zhou, did you change the schedule today and aren’t filming my scenes?”
Director Zhou didn’t hide it from him and said awkwardly, “Did you offend General Manager Lu of Tianli? Our director has some connections with him, and your role has been recast.”
With that, Director Zhou hung up.
Shang Xueyan clutched the dead phone and cursed that bastard Lu Han a few times. To be honest, in his previous life, protected by his parents and eldest brother, even in the capital where nobles were everywhere, Shang Xueyan had never suffered much humiliation.
After traveling through a thousand years, being bullied wasn’t exactly a daily occurrence, but it had become routine after all, he was just a poor young man with nothing but his looks.
Shang Xueyan was broad-minded. After cursing Lu Han a few times, he turned his thoughts to today’s plans. Since he couldn’t act today, he’d go back to delivering takeout.
He figured his luck wasn’t too bad recently, several delivery platforms were running promotions, so he had no shortage of orders. Besides, the weather was good: not the snowy, blustery winter, nor the sweltering heat of midsummer.
Shang Xueyan quickly comforted himself.
Since he had assumed he’d be filming for the entire following week, Shang Xueyan hadn’t scheduled himself for any shifts at the coffee shop. After a few days of delivering food, he picked up a new part-time gig wearing a mascot costume and handing out flyers.
The costume was extremely heavy, but the boss was generous and paid exceptionally well. That day, Shang Xueyan skipped his delivery route and stood on the street handing out flyers for a new business.
He wore a bright Pikachu mascot costume that drew the eyes of children and passersby alike. Whenever he spotted an adult with a kid, he’d offer them a flyer; if he saw young men or women who looked old enough, he’d pass them a flyer for the art training center as well.
The past few days had been on the cooler side, hovering around ten degrees, but today the temperature suddenly spiked past twenty.
Shang Xueyan, wrapped in the thick, heavy costume, diligently distributed flyers to pedestrians, sweat beading across his chest and back. An employee from the training center stepped outside, patted him on the shoulder, and handed him a bottle of water.
When the light turned red, Shang Xianwang pressed the brake. During the dozen or so seconds of waiting, his gaze drifted casually out the window. The pedestrians on the asphalt road were all dressed in muted, low-saturation colors nothing eye-catching. Then the man in the bright yellow Pikachu costume instantly caught his attention, becoming the most striking presence in his field of vision.
He happened to notice a young woman pat the mascot’s shoulder and hand him a bottle of water. The Pikachu, still clutching flyers, passed the remaining stack to the girl, then raised both arms to lift off the bright yellow Pikachu head.
A stretch of dazzlingly pale neck was revealed, followed by what must have been a jawline. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the red light ahead turn green, and the cars in front of him revved their engines. Shang Xianwang pulled his gaze away from the inconsequential Pikachu, released the brake, and lightly pressed the accelerator, driving forward.
On the asphalt road he no longer spared a single glance, the boy had fully removed the heavy Pikachu head, and under the golden sunlight, a face damp with sweat was revealed.