Chapter 260

As a concubine’s son, Li Nanyi had never considered what kind of wife he should find. When Wang Xiujin asked him, he was momentarily lost, then only replied that he would defer to his elders’ wishes. Wang Xiujin curled his lips; he dreaded such answers most. If the elders chose the wife and the new couple got along well, all was fine; but if things went awry, it would be blamed on the elders’ lack of care during the selection. “Start thinking now. Tell me before the coming ceremony, or you’ll stay a bachelor your whole life!” With that, Wang Xiujin swept his sleeves and departed.

Upon seeing Li Linshan, Wang Xiujin said nothing. If he had, Linshan’s dislike of his younger brother would only deepen, and after the coming-of-age ceremony, the boy might well be sent away. For Linshan’s reputation—and since it wasn’t a major issue—Wang Xiujin kept silent.

Setting aside his eldest brother’s marriage matters, Wang Xiujin began to consider his son’s education. Yachang had already passed his second birthday, spoke fluently, and it was time for him to start learning. Wasn’t it said that one must not lose at the starting line? To outsiders, Yachang’s status was somewhat awkward, but Wang Xiujin saw it differently. Since Linshan intended to raise Yachang well, cultural studies could not be neglected. As the saying goes, a rogue with learning is far more dangerous than one without. Training a commanding general was not hard; cultivating one who could duel scholars in debate and lead troops in battle was difficult, but not impossible. For a well-rounded education, finding a suitable tutor for Yachang became paramount.

Wang Xiujin had wanted his own father to teach Yachang, but only as a fleeting thought—he knew too well how busy his father was, with no leisure for such duties.

There were many renowned scholars in the capital, but Wang Xiujin was reluctant to invite them. The reason was simple: their ideas did not mesh. Old-fashioned teachings were too rigid, their hierarchies too pronounced, the doctrine that all trades were inferior and only scholarship was esteemed too narrow. He did not want to raise his son into an old pedant. Wang Xiujin considered inviting a teacher from the New Tower Academy, but could not decide whom to choose. He deeply understood why Mencius’ mother moved three times for her son’s education.

When Linshan returned, Wang Xiujin mentioned seeking a tutor for Yachang. Linshan felt they should consult his father-in-law. Even if the elder lacked time, if he could recommend someone as Wang Xiujin required, that person would surely be genuinely talented and fit to guide Yachang. Wang Xiujin lightly tapped his forehead, realizing how simple the matter really was. “I overthought it. When’s your next rest day? Let’s go together.”

“The day after tomorrow.”

Yachang, the subject of their discussion, sat on the floor with his toys, ears perked as his two fathers spoke, chin propped as if pondering. Both adults were amused by his little pose. Linshan went over and picked up his son. “What’s Yachang thinking about?”

“Father,” Yachang replied solemnly, turning to look at his papa, reaching up for a hug—father’s body was hard and uncomfortable.

Wang Xiujin picked up his son. “Yachang is getting heavier. If he gets any heavier, papa won’t be able to carry him.” Just as he finished speaking, Wang Xiujin felt a twinge in his back. “Ah—”

“What is it?” Linshan hurried over, taking Yachang and setting him down, then supporting the stiffly standing Wang Xiujin. “Where’s the discomfort?”

Wang Xiujin hissed in pain. He truly did not learn his lesson; after Linshan’s exertions last night, his back was already sore, yet he insisted on carrying his son—no wonder he strained it. “My back, I’ve pulled it.”

Linshan carried him to the soft couch. “I’ll call the physician.” He was about to leave when his eyes caught Yachang, standing frozen, worry and guilt written across his face. Linshan went over, ruffled his son’s hair. “Yachang, Father’s going out now. Papa will be in your care. Can you do that?” Yachang nodded vigorously.

Wang Xiujin glared at Linshan, urging him to fetch the doctor quickly. Then he looked at Yachang, reaching out his hand. Yachang immediately grasped it, obediently standing by the couch. Wang Xiujin’s heart ached at his son’s little face. “Be good, Yachang. Papa is fine.”

“Papa hurts—wah…” Yachang’s cry shook the heavens. Wang Xiujin was startled; since bringing Yachang home, he had rarely cried, never so sorrowfully. His back had hurt so much he couldn’t straighten, but seeing his son’s distress, he forgot the pain, gritted his teeth, picked up Yachang, and sat him on the couch, wiping his tears and soothing him. “Be good, Yachang. Papa’s fine, don’t cry.” Wang Xiujin ignored the usual taboo against touching a boy’s head, stroked his son’s hair, held him close, kissed his forehead, gently patted his back, murmuring “don’t cry.”

Focused on comforting his son, Wang Xiujin forgot his injury. When Linshan returned with the doctor, he found Yachang leaning against Wang Xiujin, whose chest was noticeably damp. Linshan looked at Wang Xiujin, who shook his head softly; Linshan nodded gently. “Please have the doctor examine my spouse.” Linshan stepped aside to let the doctor in.

When the doctor entered, Linshan tried to move Yachang aside, but the boy clung to his papa’s collar, refusing to let go. “Let him sit here. It won’t interfere,” Wang Xiujin said, so Linshan allowed his son to stay. The doctor praised the child, then after a short rest began examining Wang Xiujin’s back. With Yachang nearby, Wang Xiujin endured the pain without a sound. Yachang watched, eyes brimming with tears; Wang Xiujin feared even a single groan would set him off again.

The doctor’s technique was skillful; after a few presses, Wang Xiujin’s back felt much better. Once finished, he exhaled deeply, only to feel a sudden warmth at the injury site, as if something had been steamed there, making him gasp. He turned to look—the doctor was already washing his hands. Wang Xiujin could not see his own back, so he looked at Linshan. “Doctor, how long must this medicine stay on?”

“Remove it after three hours.” The doctor gave a few more instructions and took his leave.

Linshan had a servant lead the doctor to collect his fee, then turned to the father and son on the couch, seeing Yachang draping a blanket over Wang Xiujin’s waist, blowing gently onto the medicated spot. Wang Xiujin softly soothed his son; Linshan’s heart warmed—this was what a family should be.

Because of Wang Xiujin’s back injury, they did not dine at the old man’s house that night. Linshan explained to his grandfather, dined with him, then returned to the courtyard. When he entered, ready to feed Wang Xiujin, he saw Yachang, hands trembling, spoon-feeding his papa. The scene made Linshan’s eyes sting, as if his heart had been struck. He stepped inside. “Yachang, let Father do it.”

Wang Xiujin saw Linshan come in and asked him to feed their son first; he was not in a hurry and could eat on his own. He had let Yachang feed him only because refusing made the boy tear up and threaten to cry; to avoid that, he had nodded in agreement.

“Papa eats first. Yachang’s not hungry.” Yachang puffed up his little belly, but it betrayed him, growling loudly after he spoke, making both adults laugh. Yachang looked aggrieved; Wang Xiujin hurriedly stroked his head. “Be good, Yachang eats first. When you’re full and strong, you can feed papa.” Yachang nodded and urged his father to feed him.

With his injured back, Wang Xiujin got a taste of his son’s filial piety ahead of time, and it pleased him.

When his back healed, Wang Xiujin and Linshan took Yachang to the Wang family, seeking advice from Wang Xiujin’s father about a tutor. After hearing the request, Wang Senior thought for a moment. “Starting tomorrow, bring Yachang here every morning; pick him up in the evening.” Wang Xiujin and Linshan were surprised, then understood—Wang Senior intended to teach Yachang himself. They wanted to protest but were stopped by a wave of Wang Senior’s hand.

Yachang obediently blinked his big eyes at his grandfather, who held him close. Though Yachang was adopted from the Li family, his origins meant he would not grow divided in loyalty; caring for Xiujin as his birth father, Wang Senior’s guidance would only be fitting, and it would affirm the child’s status.

Leaving the Wang household, Linshan carried Yachang, walking shoulder to shoulder with Wang Xiujin. Both were surprised at Wang Senior’s decision. Having their son taught by his grandfather was certainly good, yet Wang Xiujin still felt uneasy—his father was so busy, would it be too much to handle Yachang’s education as well? And what about Yachang—being brought to the Censorate, crowded and full of gossip, might someone say something to hurt his young heart?

Back at the Li household, Linshan went to his grandfather’s courtyard. Wang Xiujin wanted to carry Yachang back to their rooms, but the boy refused, insisting on walking himself. Wang Xiujin relented, slowed his pace, and accompanied him. Since Yachang was to begin his studies, he needed supplies—brush, ink, paper, inkstone? Not yet; picture books? The illustrated storybooks from the academy were good, but they were mostly narrative.

Previously, Wang Xiujin had recounted the story of Nezha and the Sea to the academy teachers, who then adapted it into a new tale. After reading it, Wang Xiujin was pleased and had several skilled artists illustrate it as a picture book. This was likely the first book especially made for young children. For his son, he spared no effort.

Looking at the picture book, Wang Xiujin considered whether he should have some introductory texts illustrated as well; they would surely attract children’s attention more than plain text. Still, perhaps this was not something he should personally oversee. He decided to give Yachang the picture book on his first day at the Wang household, letting his father see it.

Wang Senior, upon seeing the book, did not react as Wang Xiujin expected; he did not extrapolate that children would prefer such works. Wang Xiujin felt disappointed—he always thought his father was quite progressive, and indeed he was, but he was still a man of his time. This sort of picture book likely seemed trivial to him, just something to amuse children. But Wang Xiujin’s conclusion was premature. At first, Wang Senior paid little attention to the book’s uniqueness. But at the Censorate, after finishing his duties, he saw Yachang quietly sitting on a soft chair, absorbed in the picture book. Wang Senior looked closer and was soon drawn in by the content.

Within a few days, Wang Xiujin was summoned to the palace. On his way, he could not guess why the emperor had called him. He asked the attendant, who could not answer, only that the emperor had issued the order. Judging by the emperor’s demeanor, it seemed to be good news. Had the overseas expedition returned? Unlikely, or he would have heard rumors. If not the return of the fleet, what could it be?

Only after meeting the emperor did Wang Xiujin learn the reason. Seeing the picture book in the emperor’s hands—surely Yachang’s own—he wondered how it had ended up there. Once the emperor explained, Wang Xiujin had only one thought: his fortune finally had somewhere to go.

After reading his grandson’s picture book, Wang Senior felt it should be promoted, that the book could evolve from simple stories to a wider range of content. He took it to the palace for the emperor to see; the emperor endorsed the idea. Since the book came from Yachang, its origins had to be traced to Wang Xiujin, who was then summoned.

Wang Xiujin explained to the emperor that the book had been illustrated by academy teachers, with stories written by them. The original intention was to help children who could not read—by looking at the pictures and hearing the story once, they could remember it. He further hoped the teachers could illustrate some introductory texts, making them simple and clear, ideal for children just beginning their education.

“Excellent, truly excellent. This should be spread throughout the land,” the emperor praised. “I have asked the Imperial Merchant to gather artists for the task, appointing the Fourth Prince to oversee it, and requesting the Imperial Merchant’s assistance.”

Wang Xiujin immediately agreed. The emperor’s choice of the Fourth Prince was a matter of politics, to win favor; saying Wang Xiujin would assist likely meant he would not even be credited, but Wang Xiujin did not mind. He simply wanted to spend some of his wealth—a surplus of money can be a burden.

Leaving the palace, Wang Xiujin was joined by the Fourth Prince at the academy. The prince felt Wang Xiujin had been wronged; it was his idea, yet the credit would go to the prince, making him feel guilty. He wanted to say something several times, but seeing Wang Xiujin’s utter indifference, he felt even worse, unable to speak.

The Fourth Prince felt Wang Xiujin regarded him as a friend, yet he constantly benefited from Wang Xiujin’s good ideas—first with salt production, now with picture books, and perhaps more to come. With each instance, he worried their friendship would grow increasingly strained.