Chapter 1660 – Extra: The Tale of Nie Yang and Nie Qing (Part 1)
In the sixth year of Tai Kang.
Spring was hesitantly approaching in the south of Yonggu, but the northern borders were still dusted with light snow, covering the ground to the ankles.
Nie Yang believed that after a person dies, their soul returns to the underworld, crossing the Bridge of Helplessness and sipping Meng Po’s soup to forget their past life and be reincarnated.
But in reality—
He was still too young.
As the legitimate son of the Nie family’s third branch, despite not being valued by his elders, Nie Yang had always enjoyed the finest clothes and food, never experiencing hardship.
He was sent to face death before Jiang Ji by Nie Qing, managing only to hastily deliver his last words before being executed—his neck went cold, and it was all over.
He didn’t know how long it had been until he regained consciousness, only to find that not only was his neck cold, but his hands and feet felt even colder, as if he were trapped in an ice cave.
Struggling to open his eyes, he immediately spotted a dilapidated thatched roof above him. Turning his gaze, he saw darkness enveloping the room. Shocked and astonished, he marveled at how such a place could resemble the underworld. With great effort, he pushed himself up from the bed, only to be astounded again.
Beneath him was a makeshift “bed” made of dry grass and firewood, and he was covered in something foul-smelling and pitch-black. His hands, exposed at the sleeves, were cracked and frostbitten. To make matters worse, he discovered his feet were bare, his ankles and soles bruised from the cold.
“Could it be that Lan Ting killed someone and burned their body, not leaving even a scrap of clothing behind?”
Nie Yang mumbled to himself, startled by the sound of his own voice.
In his previous life, Nie Yang’s voice was not as clear and elegant as Nie Qing’s, but it was full of youthful vigor. Now, what was this voice?
It sounded like that of a six or seven-year-old child—hoarse, yet undeniably childish.
At this moment, Nie Yang finally realized his hands and feet had shrunk.
With great effort, he sat up, and from the corner of his eye, he glimpsed outside the broken window, where the ground was blanketed in snow, and some common people bundled up were trudging by.
He felt dazed for a moment, panicking as he realized that the situation was perhaps far different from what he had imagined.
“Could it be that this isn’t the underworld?”
As he tried to step outside, a sudden sharp pain shot through his mind—a fragmented, unfamiliar memory flooded his thoughts.
“It truly isn’t the underworld.”
After some time, Nie Yang’s expression turned to one of both shock and confusion, his face resembling someone on the verge of tears, completely bewildered.
Nie Yang had died by Jiang Ji’s hand, but instead of returning to the underworld, he had been reincarnated in a completely unfamiliar era.
The body he inhabited was that of a beggar whose parents had perished from famine; he survived by stealing and relying on the charity of good-hearted people.
Life had been so difficult, and despite the beggar’s struggle to stay alive, he had succumbed to the cold from last night’s sudden snowfall.
Waking up again, his core had changed into Nie Yang’s.
While it was indeed a delight to live again, the current situation seemed less pleasant than death itself.
Nie Yang let out a scoff, “One who committed so many wrongs in life has the chance to live again… Haha, what a joke, heaven…”
He genuinely wondered whether heaven was favoring him or tormenting him on purpose. This body belonged to an orphan with no father, no mother, no name, and no home—dying frozen in this crumbling temple. The nearby common people called him “Dogzi,” while the children referred to him as “Fool.”
Such a miserable background—if there weren’t any fortuitous opportunities, he might not even rise in a whole lifetime.
Nie Yang was ultimately still an ancient soul, with thoughts leaning towards the notion that this beggar was indeed his reincarnation. He just didn’t know why Meng Po’s soup had failed, allowing him to remember his past life. Following this line of thought, his current circumstances began to make a bit of sense.
Having done many evil deeds in a past life, it seemed that in this life he was deprived of wealth and luxury, doomed to a life of poverty.
Nie Yang curved his lips into a half-sarcastic smile. He had once belonged to a prominent family, a genuine noble scion, but now he was reduced to a beggar. Even if he worked his way up, he might only arrive at the status of a humble commoner, subjected to scorn and disdain. With such thoughts, he felt an injustice stirring in his heart.
However, pondering these matters was premature; he first needed to resolve the more pressing issues of food and warmth.
After much consideration, Nie Yang made his way toward the only private academy near the village.
The examination system in this world was quite different from what he knew, resembling the imperial examination system instead.
The imperial examination method was somewhat akin to the educational promotion system implemented by Lan Ting in Wanzhou.
But thankfully, it was an imperial examination and not a direct assessment; otherwise, without his family’s backing, Nie Yang would have no way to succeed.
In a direct assessment system, background and appearance were prioritized, and talent came second.
In this life, Nie Yang’s identity was merely that of a beggar, not even qualifying as a humble commoner. He would be forever barred from entering the official ranks purely based on his origins.
With the imperial examination, however, he still had some chance.
Starving and freezing, Nie Yang secretly peered through the window of the private academy, catching glimpses of the lessons taught by the Teacher, feeling increasingly pleased in his heart.
Despite the historical content of this era being vastly different from what he knew, the characters remained the same—Nie Yang wouldn’t be reduced to being illiterate.
The Teacher also noticed the beggar outside the window but paid him little mind.
This beggar often came by, typically to scavenge the leftover food of students, appearing quite pitiful. Occasionally, the Teacher would feel sympathetic and offer some help.
The Teacher quizzed several students on their homework from the previous day, but each student stumbled through their recitations, leaving him quite disappointed.
At this juncture, he heard a murmur emanating from the beggar outside, reciting flawlessly. When he looked closely, it turned out to be that very beggar.
“You can recite?” the Teacher inquired.
Nie Yang felt a spark of joy but replied nonchalantly, “I just remembered it all.”
Upon hearing this, the Teacher was taken aback, intrigued, and asked, “What else can you recite?”
Nie Yang promptly recited several passages from the Analects that the Teacher had lectured on that day.
Strangely enough, even in this unfamiliar era, Confucius and Mencius still existed, showcasing their resilience.
The Teacher murmured, “Truly bright; it’s a pity…”
If only this child had the means to afford schooling, he might have had the possibility to become a scholar. However, as it stood, he was merely a beggar with barely enough to eat. Any talent he had would go to waste. Nie Yang then seized the moment to express confusion regarding one of the Analects to the Teacher.
The Teacher chuckled derisively, “What confusion could you possibly have?”
Given his ability to recite verbatim, how could he have his own insights?
Were it the former beggar, this wouldn’t be possible, but Nie Yang was different.
In terms of talent, there weren’t ten Teachers who could equal Nie Yang.
Why?
Because Nie Yang’s previous life came from a prestigious family, granting him access to the finest educational resources of the time. He had received elite education, never lacking in ink, paper, or brushes, under the tutelage of renowned scholars—materials that were rare treasures for commoners to learn from.
Nie Yang had exceptional talent, but even if he had been clumsy, the wealth of resources provided would make him fare better than the usual commoner. This Teacher, after studying hard for over a decade, had participated in multiple township exams only to return home defeated and disenchanted.
Nie Yang’s skills were indisputable; even in an unfavorable situation, he created the best opportunities.
The Teacher was left stunned.
Nie Yang added, “I’m capable of any dirty work. I humbly request you, Teacher, to give me a meal.”
The Teacher frowned, “This place isn’t a charitable establishment.”
Though he didn’t disdain Nie Yang, there was a heavy dose of sarcasm in his words, evident to anyone with functioning ears.
Nie Yang, both in this life and the last, was like a smiling tiger, masking all emotions deep within—externally, no one could glean anything.
He understood the significance of priorities; right now, survival was of utmost importance. A little setback or frustration was something he could endure.
“Though I lack great talents, I also know the meaning of shame,” Nie Yang lowered his posture, enunciating clearly, “If there are tasks like copying texts or carving seals, I’m also capable. In this cold weather, if I don’t find a way out, I fear I won’t survive until spring.”
Nie Yang’s ability to assess people was decent; he recognized that this Teacher had a good reputation in the area and could appeal to his feelings.
Sure enough, upon hearing this, the Teacher inquired, “You can copy and carve seals?”
Nie Yang nodded, exposing his frostbitten hands, awkwardly saying, “I can write; I used to secretly observe your teachings and practice for a long time with a stick. But my hands have become a bit stiff from the cold, so if I hold the brush, my writing probably won’t look very nice.”
The Teacher looked down at Nie Yang’s hands, nearly frozen and bluish, with cracks that stirred some sympathy in him.
On reflecting, he felt a measure of compassion rise in him.
If this child truly could copy reasonably well, giving him a meal wouldn’t be a bad idea.
Of course, mere words wouldn’t convince any kind-hearted Teacher; he needed to test Nie Yang’s writing.
The Teacher certainly didn’t believe that someone who had never received systematic education and only learned by stealth could write beautifully.
Nie Yang sensed the Teacher’s attitude softening and secretly sighed in relief.
He first endured the pain, using snow and ice to clean his hands and arms before rolling up his sleeves to write, ensuring he wouldn’t sully the table or writing materials. Nie Yang’s attitude was sincere and pure, earning him a great deal of goodwill from the Teacher. His handwriting was naturally decent, after all, he had been trained by calligraphers; he merely found the new body lacked the right feel and strength, failing to exhibit his past elegance.
Even so, the Teacher was still astonished.
Nie Yang hailed from a noble family and excelled at two styles of writing—one was the “Feminine Style,” well-regarded in Zhong Zhao, and the other was the “Ink Style.”
Both styles were birthed by renowned calligraphers of the modern era in Zhong Zhao.
The creator of the “Feminine Style” was a noblewoman, whose writing was incredibly beautiful and elegant, inspiring numerous noble girls to emulate her. Many trend-following noble youths aspired to learn from her, and Nie Yang was one such fan, writing the “Feminine Style” with even more charm than many girls.
The creator of the “Ink Style” was Nie Yang’s mentor, and it was equally the style he wrote the most.
This style was known for its weight and clarity, and Nie Yang diligently learned it to conceal his true nature.
After all, people said, “A person’s writing reflects their character,” and through one’s writing, others could discern someone’s heart.
As it turned out, that saying was worthless.
Nie Yang’s “Ink Style” captured about seventy percent of his mentor’s essence; outsiders believed him to be a gentleman, yet little did they know he was a calculating scoundrel.
In this moment, it was naturally the “Ink Style” that Nie Yang executed most proficiently.
“Are you truly… practicing this on your own?”
The Teacher gazed at Nie Yang with complex emotions, realizing he had nearly overlooked such talent in this beggar.
Nie Yang nodded, feigning innocence as he twisted his fingers, pleading sincerely, “I beg you, Teacher, to grant me a meal.”
The Teacher sighed, “Very well, I’ll assign you the task of copying and carving. You will get two meals a day; how does that sound?”
Nie Yang smiled, “Thank you, Teacher! If I ever find success in the future, I won’t forget your kindness.”
“Success?” The Teacher waved his hand with laughter, “It’s not so simple; focus on taking care of yourself first.”
Why did Nie Yang choose the private academy as his target?
Because he needed a way to survive, unwilling to remain an ordinary person; would he rather freeze or starve to death in a crumbling temple?
The academy had some books, and by helping out, Nie Yang could examine the texts to understand the nuances of this era while solving his issues of food and warmth.
He glanced at the xuan paper on the table, feeling a shallow sigh in his heart.
While there had been paper in his previous life, it was a precious commodity with low production; many small noble families were forced to use heavy bamboo slips and carved letters.
At this moment, even a humble scholar teaching at a private academy had access to such fine and delicate paper.
This indicated that the overall level of the era was likely much better than in his last life.
His frostbitten hands and feet itched and ached, but Nie Yang acted as if he were unaffected, maintaining a normal expression as he began to copy the texts.
Initially finding it somewhat uncomfortable, he grew faster after an afternoon of practice.
Not long after, the Teacher brought him a set of faded clothes, accompanied by two wooden boxes.
“Here, wear these clothes. I also have some ointment for your frostbite,” the Teacher inquired, “Do you have a place to stay?”
“I’m currently living in a ramshackle temple three miles away.”
“That broken temple is drafty; staying there is no different from living outdoors,” the Teacher frowned upon hearing this. The temple didn’t block the wind nor the rain; staying there was akin to signing his own death warrant, “If you don’t mind, you could stay in the Wood Room, and we’ll discuss your plans when the weather warms up.”
Gratefulness lit up Nie Yang’s eyes, and he earnestly replied, “Thank you, Teacher.”
From that day forward, Nie Yang settled into the academy’s Wood Room.
During the day, he diligently copied materials for the Teacher while silently memorizing the content within.
The Teacher provided two meals a day, with each serving generous. Before he knew it, March arrived. On that day after class, the Teacher went to town on errands, while Nie Yang had no assignments, so he lied down on the porch and napped for a brief moment. By the time he opened his eyes, the sky was painted in hues of red.
The Teacher sat beside him, “You’ve been here for over a month now, and I still don’t know your name.”
Nie Yang replied, “My surname is Nie, with a single character for my name—Yang.”
In this life, with his parents gone, they hadn’t even had the chance to name him. So, he decided to use the name from his past life.
“Nie Yang? The term “Yang” means many. The river flows abundantly and swiftly.” The Teacher laughed. “What a magnificent notion.”
After a pause, the Teacher asked, “Do you have other family members?”
Nie Yang was taken aback for a moment before shaking his head, “No…”
He was already a lone wolf, abandoned by relatives; how could he possibly have family?
“I heard you mumble ‘Nie Qing’ in your dreams earlier; I thought he was a relative of yours,” the Teacher remarked with regret. “Your talent is remarkable; if only you had a family willing to support your education, you might carve a path in the officialdom. Not to mention bringing honor to the family, at least you could live without worry.”
Upon hearing “Nie Qing,” Nie Yang’s face drained of color, losing all semblance of life.
Since waking up, he had been running around all for the sake of survival, suppressing his inner thoughts of the past during the quiet night.
To think… he had actually muttered in his sleep?
“What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”
“Thank you for your concern, Teacher. I’m fine, just suddenly recalled my cousin, and I’m feeling quite sad.”
Unsure of what the Teacher was imagining, he looked at Nie Yang with even more compassion.
