◎Living Father!◎
Grandfather was like a Doraemon—whatever he wanted could magically appear, so it wasn’t as if they truly lacked jars. But one made by Old Dad’s own hands was different after all.
Chen Yan fetched a pair of Sleeve Loops from the shelf on his own, tied his wide sleeves behind his back with a reverse hand motion, exposing half his forearms, and sat down before the Potter’s wheel.
The workshop was too hot. Chen Jingshi had followed them in, worried the child might get thirsty or suffer heatstroke, and sent someone to buy an Ice bowl from the street.
Ping’an obediently expressed thanks and quietly sat on a small stool eating his Ice bowl, watching as a lump of clay spun at Old Dad’s fingertips with skilled, clean movements.
Chen Yan’s gaze remained fixed on the Clay blank. Having grown up in affluent circumstances, he had wide-ranging interests and wanted to try everything, but his busy studies left little spare time. In his youth he particularly enjoyed working with clay, firing small objects to share with classmates—until his teacher accused him of neglecting proper studies and reported him to his mother. After being scolded, he largely stopped.
Zhao Shi, having married a playful husband who disliked studying, feared her son would neglect his studies and grow up like his father, so she was especially strict with Chen Yan.
In this household, only his uncle could truly understand his perspective. Within the Chen family, the hardest burden wasn’t studying for the Imperial Exam, but carrying the expectations of several generations of underachievers all resting on one person’s shoulders.
“Ah Yan, your son is really well-behaved,” Chen Jingshi remarked again.
Chen Yan joked half-seriously: “If Uncle likes him so much, why not have one yourself?”
It had been over five years since Meng passed away, yet Chen Jingshi showed no intention of remarrying.
“Pass,” Chen Jingshi declined politely. Young children were experts at using cute appearances to deceive people—raising them was actually quite troublesome.
Ping’an sat backwards on his chair, leaning over the backrest like a puppy watching the Potter’s wheel spin. Seemingly struck by another thought, he said to Old Dad: “Father, teach me to make porcelain. What if our family runs out of money someday…”
Chen Yan didn’t know whether to laugh or cry: “Why do you keep worrying about this lately?”
“The Storybooks all say so,” Ping’an analyzed seriously. “Families like ours may be wealthy, but we have many expenses too. Adults don’t do proper work, children don’t like studying—the whole family relies on one or two people supporting everyone. Sooner or later, it’ll collapse.”
His words struck right at the heart of the matter, leaving both Chen Yan and Chen Jingshi momentarily stunned.
The Chen family business was large, but so were its expenses. Many clan members idled about, living off dividends from clan properties—this was true. Several of Ping’an’s cousins were endlessly mischievous and, with indulgent elders, performed terribly in their studies—this was also true.
The entire Southern Chen Family relied on Mother managing accounts, two or three capable youngsters running businesses, and him alone to pass the Imperial Exam and enter officialdom. Top-heavy with shallow roots, if these few people fell ill, aged, or passed away without outstanding younger generations to take over, the family would instantly collapse.
Chen Jingshi clicked his tongue in amazement: “It’s just remarkable that even a child listening to Storybooks can understand principles many people never grasp their whole lives.”
Chen Yan could only use a child-soothing tone: “Don’t worry, with your father here, our family won’t collapse.”
Ping’an: …
Chen Yan lifted his foot, letting the Potter’s wheel stop, and instructed Ping’an: “Bring the dish on the table.”
Ping’an set down his Ice bowl, stood on tiptoe to fetch the Paint dish.
“You paint the blank,” Chen Yan said.
Ping’an took the painting brush, raising his head to ask: “Paint what?”
Chen Yan helped him roll up his sleeves while saying, “Draw whatever you like.”
Ping’an rested his chin in his hands and thought for a moment, then very seriously painted three stick figures on the vase. After examining it, he added a stick-figure dog beside them.
He pointed at the vase and explained: “Dad, Mom, me, and Aji.”
Chen Yan looked proudly at Chen Jingshi: “Uncle, look at this composition. My son truly has talent in calligraphy and painting.”
“…”
After a long silence, Chen Jingshi said: “Are you serious?”
Chen Yan was clearly serious. He carefully arranged the clay base, then switched to a breathable, water-absorbent clay to mold a cricket container in the southern bamboo-joint style. The lid was carved with Qinghua patterns of melons and fruits, with a small hole in the center for installing a copper ring. Even just as raw pottery, it looked exquisite.
He planned his father’s future with utmost seriousness: “Dad, you could also change careers and become a writer or painter.”
Chen Jingshi was tickled by this and chuckled.
Ping’an continued questioning: “I’ve heard that officials’ salaries are very low. Our family isn’t short of silver, so why take the Imperial Exam?”
Leaning against the wall with crossed arms, Chen Jingshi gazed at the eaves: “Yes, why indeed?”
Chen Yan laughed: “You were just complaining that children in our family don’t study properly, and now you don’t want Father to take the Imperial Exam. Listen to yourself—isn’t that contradictory?”
“It’s not contradictory,” Ping’an said. “My mother said studying is to understand principles and become a good person, while the Imperial Exam is to become an official.”
Chen Jingshi laughed heartily: “Ayan, your son is quite hard to fool.”
Chen Yan laughed along, meeting Ping’an’s gaze: “There are many things in this world that can’t be solved with money alone. You’ll understand when you’re older.”
“What else could there be,” Ping’an muttered, “I understand.”It’s nothing more than improving social status, changing the family’s fate, pursuing fame and fortune, and ultimately becoming a great traitor! (It’s nothing more than improving social status, changing the family’s fate, pursuing fame and fortune, and ultimately becoming a great traitor!)
Chen Yan had no idea what he understood, and simply urged him: “Hurry up and help clean this area.” Don’t cause trouble for Uncle.”
Ping’an responded with an “Oh” and busied himself alongside his father.
…
As dusk fell, Uncle prepared to finish work and rest. Father took out a book from his sleeve—Ping’an recognized it as the recently popular serial novel “The Three Heroes Quelling Demons,” whose author was Chen Jingshi, pen name Kongshan Xianke.
Ping’an immediately said: “Mother is following this book too. She likes it very much.”
No writer dislikes hearing such words. Chen Jingshi looked slightly surprised: “Really?”
Chen Yan nodded slightly, opening the title page and handing it to him: “Here, make your mark.”
Chen Jingshi gave him a somewhat disdainful glance: “This feels like you’re trying to sell me off.”
But he still flamboyantly signed his pen name in the blank space.
Ping’an stood on tiptoe to look—so Father had come today to get a personal autograph for Mother…
After Uncle returned to the backyard, Ping’an sat in the small courtyard with his father, waiting for Mother to pick them up.
Chen Yan suddenly asked him: “Ping’an, have you been preoccupied with something lately?”
Ping’an was taken aback, then smiled: “I’m still just a child.”
“Children can have worries too,” Chen Yan said. “But since they’re worries, you don’t have to speak them aloud. Tell Father when you feel ready.”
Ping’an was silent for another moment before nodding.
“Don’t worry, Ping’an. No matter where Father’s official post takes him, I’ll always keep you by my side,” Chen Yan added.
Ping’an muttered, “Then it’s easy…”
“What?”
“I mean, that’s good, that’s good.”
Lin Yuebai, tired from shopping, came by carriage to pick up the father and son to go home.
In the carriage, Ping’an rummaged through the pastries and new toys his mother had bought him while sharing his new discovery: “Mother, I think I got a different dad today.”
Lin Yuebai frowned, “What nonsense are you talking now?”
“I’m not talking nonsense. The dad at home is different from the dad outside.”
The two maids were horrified—if outsiders heard this, it could cause serious trouble!
Oblivious, Ping’an exclaimed excitedly, “The dad outside is alive—a living father!”
Chen Yan, who had been gazing at the street scene outside the window, turned and asked curiously, “So the one outside is alive—is the one at home dead then?”
“Bah, bah, bah!” Lin Yuebai glared, “The more you talk, the more absurd it gets.”
“Well, not exactly dead, just a little s…”
“Shut up!”
“Okay.”
…
Following Sun Zhixian’s advice—whether it worked or the child was simply worn out from playing—the little one slept until the sun was high in the sky, allowing Chen Yan to finally study in peace.
Ping’an woke from a bed bathed in warm sunlight, his hair a tousled mess. Lifting his chubby little face, he smiled at Lin Yuebai, “Mother, happy birthday!”
It was his dear mother’s birthday, and he decided to take half a day off in celebration.
Lin Yuebai couldn’t resist pinching his cheeks, then dragged him to the dressing table to comb his hair herself.
Ping’an squirmed restlessly, making Lin Yuebai break a sweat, but she finally managed to tie two pretty small hair buns.
Jiu Huan fanned them with a palm-leaf fan nearby, while Mo Lu handed over a red silk ribbon, “The mistress truly has skillful hands.”
Ping’an had never liked having his head shaved since he was little. Every haircut turned him into a catfish out of water—impossible to hold still. With the razor being sharp, the barber, afraid of nicking him, had no choice but to let his hair grow.
At his age, having hair did look better than being bald. Combined with his delicate features, a little grooming made him appear as lovely as jade and snow. Lin Yuebai grew even more enthusiastic about dressing him up, styling his hair into various buns—three, five, or even a whole head full.
Ping’an checked himself in the mirror and was fairly satisfied with today’s look—at least she hadn’t made him resemble a router.
After breakfast, he played for less than two hours before, unprecedentedly, carrying his Tiger-Head Pillow back to his room for a nap. He planned to sleep soundly so he’d have energy not only to celebrate his mother’s birthday in the evening but also to continue his mischief.
As Jiu Huan untied his hair and changed him into a fresh cotton summer outfit, she muttered, “The sun must be rising from the west today… Oh, it’s overcast…”
It was indeed overcast. A drizzling autumn rain didn’t let up until evening.
The whole family gathered to celebrate Lin Yuebai’s birthday. Ping’an’s gift was a vase he made with Old Dad; Chen Yan’s was a copy of “The Three Heroes Quelling Demons” with the author’s personal signature, though he concealed the author’s true identity, merely saying a classmate knew “Kongshan Xianke.” Grandfather and Grandmother stuck with their uncreative but practical red envelopes.
Glasses clinked, laughter and cheerful conversation filled the room—everyone was thoroughly enjoying themselves.
After dinner, Chen Yan returned to the front courtyard to study, this time locking the study door from the inside.
No matter how stuffy it got, he endured it, telling himself that heaven was testing his resolve with hardship.
As night deepened, all grew quiet except for the chirping of insects. The only sound left in the study was the soft rustle of writing.
“Creak, thud, thud…”
The only drawback of absolute silence is that any slight disturbance can easily distract one.
Chen Yan looked up at the closed window, then lowered his head with a hint of self-mockery.
“Creak, thud, thud…”
A restless irritation stirred in Chen Yan’s heart. When he looked up again, he saw the window being pushed open from outside, and a disheveled little child in red clothes climbing through.