Chapter Three: The Butterfly at the Talent Exhibition

It was the twelfth lunar month once again. Unlike the fierce storms that had arrived unexpectedly the previous year, the twelfth month of the ninth year of the Taishi era was much more tranquil. The sky was clear without a single wisp of cloud, and the air was nearly silent. The winter sunlight quietly draped over the houses and streets, casting willow shadows by the roadside that looked as if painted on a canvas. Only the flowing water between the streets rippled faintly, rendering the Anle Duke’s residence exceptionally serene.

With the three-year mourning period coming to an end, the manor began to be festively adorned once more.

Dozens of silk lanterns were hung from the eaves on either side of the main gate, embroidered with exquisite patterns resembling clouds and waves. These were all meticulously sewn by Lady Zhang Ximiao herself. When lit from within, the lanterns cast a soft, hazy glow that evoked the gentle warmth of a tipsy haze. Upon hanging them, the household praised sincerely, saying that nowhere in the capital could be found a lady more skillful and artful than their own.

The news reached the neighboring residence of the Chancellor Zhang Hua, whose wife, Lady Liu, took offense. She requested twenty imperial lamps from Empress Yang herself to adorn their gate. Their craftsmanship and splendor were naturally unmatched by the Anle Duke’s silk lanterns. Soon, other high-ranking officials followed suit, each household displaying lanterns at their gates to flaunt their wealth. Ironically, the earliest lanterns of the Anle Duke’s house began to seem plain and modest in comparison.

Yet, to Ximiao, this was no cause for worry. Firstly, because a life carefully prepared by her own hands, even if simple, was enough to bring joy; secondly, because the “Trial of the Child” was approaching for little Bi Ji.

During the Wei and Jin periods, the rites of passage for infants had not yet developed into the elaborate ceremonies of later generations. Specific rituals like the third-day, third-month, full moon, and hundred-day celebrations were still in the making. However, the one-year anniversary ceremony for infants, known today as the “Zhuazhou” or “grasping the future,” was then called the “Trial of the Child,” and it originated in this era.

People believed that one’s fate depended on the heavens’ blessing but was not left to chance alone. History showed that even the most fortunate rulers, such as Duke Huan of Qi, who found wise ministers like Bao Shuya and Guan Zhong, and united the lords of the realm to achieve hegemony, ultimately died lonely behind high walls due to a flawed nature.

Therefore, people placed great emphasis on personal character.

At the child’s first birthday, parents and relatives would place various treasures—silks, scriptures, writing instruments—around the infant, hoping to discern their inclinations toward greed, wisdom, or folly, and thereby forecast their future path.

Of course, then as now, this ritual was often just a formality. Regardless of what the child grasped, guests offered heartfelt blessings, and the hosts laid out a feast to celebrate. But for the mother, especially for Zhang Ximiao, any matter concerning the child stirred deep unease. In the month before Bi Ji’s first birthday, she found herself restless and sleepless, pondering what to prepare for the ceremony and what gifts the visitors might bring.

Her anxiety was not about fearing the child’s failure but about fearing that she had not done enough for him, and that in many years to come, she might regret it.

Fortunately, she was a beloved woman, and besides her husband, everyone in the household understood her worries and did their utmost to fulfill her wishes.

On the day of the trial, the weather was clear and sunny, with shadows so crisp they seemed almost tangible. The gates of the manor were thrown wide open early, revealing freshly cleaned halls and blooming plum blossoms. Servants lit incense in bronze burners, hoping to lend the occasion a more solemn and grand atmosphere.

As hosts, the Anle Duke, Liu Xun, and his brothers came out to greet the guests. According to protocol, they invited their old retainers, current dignitaries, and even notified the emperor himself. Yet Liu Xun’s reputation was modest; the emperor did not reply, nor did many neighboring dukes respond with visits. Only those old ministers who remembered past loyalties came to congratulate. Even so, the presence of families and children brought a rare liveliness to the Anle Duke’s estate.

“I never expected this! After two years away, the manor now has a young master—the bloodline of the late lord continues!” exclaimed Zong Ming, son of the former Shu Han General Zong Yu.

“If the lord does not object, I would be honored to take the boy and teach him archery, horseback riding, and spear fighting, ensuring he grows into a true and upright warrior,” offered Zhang Tong, a former palace commander who had followed the late Anle Duke to Luoyang during Shu Han’s fall.

“Lady of the house, you are well, I hope. How time flies—the late lord is gone, but the young master is already one year old. If possible, I would love to watch him grow,” said Deng Liang, son of the late Shu Han General Deng Zhi and soon to be governor of Guanghan.

Many others, varying in age and temperament, were present—undeniably descendants of Shu Han’s founding heroes. But after Shu Han’s fall, these people, like many descendants of a fallen state, gradually faded from public memory and would soon be lost in the dust of history.

Yet this was a slow process, so slow that they themselves were unaware. For now, they still felt joy.

Though called guests, these men were more like long-lost kin to the Anle Duke’s household. Old grievances vanished upon reunion. Liu Xun and his brothers greeted them at the gate, their spirits lifted by the bustling atmosphere, laughing and chatting as they ushered the guests inside. Meanwhile, Ximiao, busy within the main hall, felt content just hearing their voices. She understood their earnest wishes and believed this day would be a perfect one.

When Fei Xiu brought the child inside, Zhang Ximiao couldn’t help but pinch his nose and smile: “Bi Ji, do you know how many people care for you?”

Bi Ji responded with wide, innocent eyes full of curiosity. At one year old, he had a fine layer of hair that couldn’t hide his prominent forehead or his deep, gleaming black eyes.

Whenever she looked into those eyes, Ximiao would quell all her emotions. Even when Bi Ji made no sound, simply waving his tiny fingers in the air, she felt a profound calm.

She pressed her palm to the child’s hand and smiled at Fei Xiu: “Dear sister, Bi Ji can’t wait!”

“He’s only one, what would he understand?” Fei Xiu disapproved but indulged him from another angle: “He hasn’t even learned to walk yet—be careful he doesn’t fall.”

“With so many watching, nothing will happen,” Ximiao replied.

As the two women discussed the child, the lively chatter suddenly hushed, as if a huge bucket of snow water had been poured over the fire, reducing it to mere embers.

What mishap had occurred? Ximiao went outside to see and found an unexpected visitor—an uninvited guest.

Chancellor Zhang Hua’s arrival was unforeseen by anyone. Renowned throughout the capital as a talented scholar, universally recognized as a kingmaker and leader of the literary world, and a rising star in the court, he was deeply trusted by the emperor and often summoned to the palace. Zhang Hua was even called the “Contemporary Zhuge Liang.” Looking back, such a figure firmly tied to the Western Jin court should have had no connection with the fallen Anle Duke’s house.

Yet, in reality, Zhang Hua was closer to the Anle Duke’s residence than anyone else. As mentioned before, they were neighbors, only separated by a single wall. On moonlit evenings, Ximiao often heard Zhang Hua playing the qin. His music was clear and lingering, like a small stream beneath a bridge with mandarin ducks calling, imbued with an enchanting charm that might make one mistake him for a recluse like one of the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove. Yet he was a quintessential Confucian scholar.

Dressed in a white silk cap, a blue silk gown, and an otter fur coat for warmth, Zhang Hua alighted and carefully tidied himself, exuding a faint fragrance of incense. His meticulous attention to detail marked him unmistakably as a man of letters and protocol.

The moment he stepped down, his eyes scanned the crowd while a smirk curled his lips—an expression tinged with mockery.

“Oh, Anle Duke, I heard there is a joyous feast today. As your neighbor, I simply could not miss it!” His overly familiar tone was abrupt. Though they had been neighbors for years, their interaction had been limited to polite greetings during festivals; they had never been close, nor entertained each other formally. Liu Xun did not even know how many wives or servants Zhang Hua had.

Yet Zhang Hua was the emperor’s trusted confidant. Despite Liu Xun’s higher rank, he could only respond with a forced smile, faltering for words.

Noticing the awkwardness on Liu Xun’s face, Zhang Hua teased: “Allow me to add a table and seats; I hope it won’t trouble the Anle Duke.”

Only then did Liu Xun regain composure and reply smoothly, “Not at all! The Chancellor’s presence graces this humble abode.”

Though his words were polite, sincerity was lacking. Yet sincerity was a rare commodity in the world; people masked small displeasures with falsehoods to avoid greater conflicts.

The matter was thus settled. Zhang Hua arrived near noon, and all expected guests had gathered. The main hall was filled to capacity with about two hundred people, crowded like rows of rice seedlings in spring.

The scene was lively; these were childhood friends who had grown up in Chengdu, with countless stories to share. Yet as soon as Zhang Hua entered, the atmosphere shifted. Laughter abruptly ceased, replaced by hushed whispers, as if many had suddenly caught in their throats.

This subtle change was felt even by Ximiao in the kitchen. The scent of power, the unmistakable aura of the emperor’s presence, filled the air and brought with it a foreboding sense of destruction and pain.

Indeed, Zhang Hua took a seat near the front, pulled a small lacquer box from his sleeve, and surveyed the guests with an unchanging smile. In a casual tone, he said, “Anle Duke, His Majesty has heard of your son’s first birthday and has entrusted me to deliver this gift.”

“Your Majesty’s grace humbles me, your servant is unworthy!” Liu Xun was startled, immediately dropping to his knees and bowing deeply. Carefully, he accepted the lacquer box from Zhang Hua, holding it high above his head.

Inside were a pair of enormous pearls from the Eastern Sea, nearly the size of walnuts—priceless treasures that were rare beyond measure.

Yet Liu Xun felt no honor. The moment he knelt, regret flooded him. All eyes were upon him—old ministers from Chengdu watching. As a descendant of the late lord, he had not knelt before the emperor himself, only before a pair of pearls! This was no gracious favor; it was a humiliation.

A feverish embarrassment surged within, as if he heard a sneer. Yet looking up, he saw only pitying gazes, which nearly drove him mad, tempting him to smash the pearls upon the dusty floor.

But he dared not. When he rose, he cautiously asked Zhang Hua, “Does His Majesty have any further instructions?”

Zhang Hua feigned surprise and replied, “Today is your family’s celebration. What instructions could the emperor possibly have?”

Then, pointing to himself, he wore an embarrassed look and sighed lightly, “The emperor merely complained to me that his duties have kept him from personally congratulating you. He regrets this deeply and asked that I convey his sentiments and the joy of this feast back to him.”

“I believe that seeing your lively gathering today will make His Majesty quite pleased.”

The hall fell almost silent.

Though these words ostensibly expressed the emperor’s goodwill toward the Anle Duke’s household, anyone with experience recognized them as a reprimand.

To the emperor, the Anle Duke should be a mere puppet residing quietly in his mansion—still a puppet, but one best kept hidden away on dusty shelves.

The congratulations from these old Shu Han ministers clearly did not meet the emperor’s approval.

Everyone understood this. They had come with a certain hope: that the emperor no longer cared for the new Anle Duke, and that their lowly status would not attract attention. Yet Zhang Hua’s arrival shattered these hopes, leaving the guests uneasy and restless.

Liu Yao, sensing the awkwardness, hurriedly stepped forward to smooth things over, feigning ignorance before Zhang Hua while comforting the old ministers to sit.

“The Chancellor conveys His Majesty’s heartfelt intentions. We are deeply moved and would gladly give our lives for the emperor. Surely you all share this sentiment!”

“Now that the time has come, why stand? Ximiao, bring out Bi Ji—let us begin!”

Despite Liu Yao’s efforts and the guests’ cooperation, forced merriment is never genuine. At times, strained smiles only deepen sorrow.

When Zhang Ximiao carried Bi Ji into the hall, she bore this heavy emotion. She only wished for sincere blessings upon her child, but instead felt the embarrassment it brought to others and to herself. She had seen her husband’s flushed, humiliated face when he knelt. The thought that her child would inherit such a fate left her bewildered.

The table for Bi Ji’s trial was set by the window, with objects such as a bamboo horse, Buddhist scriptures, paper and inkstone arrayed before him. These symbolized his future fate—the item he grasped would reveal his destiny. Ximiao had once dreamed of her son as a scholar or a warrior, but now she saw how weak and foolish such hopes were. Under the shadow of imperial power, becoming anything might matter little, for someone else always controlled one’s fate.

This thought filled her with both anger and sorrow. She wished to reject such a destiny. Yet as a woman, powerless even her husband could not change their lot. All she hoped was that her child would remain unaffected by this oppressive atmosphere and not become pitiful.

Fortunately, Bi Ji did not understand the mood. Placed on the table, he was not nervous but curious, sitting cross-legged and meeting the eyes of the guests.

Zhang Hua casually observed the young master. For him, the purpose of this visit was fulfilled. Though this reprimand tarnished his scholarly demeanor, as the emperor’s confidant he must share the emperor’s concerns. Yet in truth, he deemed the guests insignificant, incapable of causing any stir or deserving his attention.

Like the Anle Duke’s brothers just now, who failed to conceal their emotions, showing none of the late lord Liu Bei’s depth and dignity. Such men, though high-ranking, posed no threat.

And the child? When Bi Ji’s eyes met his, this thought flashed through Zhang Hua’s mind, making him smile wryly.

Perhaps the boy was clever, but a child born in Luoyang would ultimately become a true Anle Duke’s son.

Bi Ji could not yet read the thoughts behind others’ gazes. He clenched his tiny fists, a small dimple visible on the back of one hand. He looked up at the sky, then at the crowd, then back to Ximiao’s ear, his eyes constantly moving. Each time he raised his head, he furrowed his brow with a seriousness that revealed his natural innocence and slyness.

Yet in the end, he made no move toward the objects. After a long moment, he simply opened his hands and babbled, “Mama! Mama!”

Ximiao hurried to embrace him. Was he hungry? But Bi Ji did not cry. Instead, he waved his hands in the air and continued to say “Mama! Mama!” in his infant voice.

Zhang Hua teased, “The young master has high standards. He’s not interested in any of these things on the table!”

Liu Xun remained silent, while Liu Yao quickly added, “He’s just a child, what standards could he have? Ximiao, let him pick whatever he wants.”

Ximiao swallowed her frustration. She knew her brother was right, but inwardly she resented it: how could a child’s fate be left to chance? Yet she could do nothing but put Bi Ji down and gently tap his back, indicating the objects before him.

Bi Ji looked at the table, then at Ximiao. Finally, with unsteady steps, he stood on the table. His face was dazed but smiling, his hands moving freely in the air as his trembling legs carried him forward and back. What would he choose?

All eyes followed his steps, surprised to see the young master, though stumbling, neither curious nor lingering, pass by the bamboo horse, paper, and inkstone. Instead, with a plop, he leaned against the windowsill bathed in sunlight, gripping the ledge and peering up at the sky.

The old ministers’ hearts grew heavy. To Bi Ji, concepts of freedom or meaning likely did not exist. He was simply exploring the world with innocent curiosity. Though he had lived a year in the manor, he had not yet grown weary. But what of the future? Could he accept a life confined within such narrow bounds?

Ximiao’s heart ached. Wanting to end the awkwardness, she bowed to the guests and said hurriedly, “The child is not accomplished; please forgive us. It is late—let us begin the meal!”

She bent to pick up Bi Ji and turned to leave.

Suddenly, the young master in her arms laughed, tapping her chest with one hand while raising the other to reveal a small golden-and-black butterfly perched on his fingertip!

The scene was so unexpected that many gasped. How could a butterfly appear in winter? How could one land on the young master’s hand? Even Ximiao, close by, was startled.

Perhaps it was a special butterfly or the warmth of the winter sun confused its season, but the delicate wings fluttered softly on Bi Ji’s finger.

His eyes widened as he watched the butterfly’s wings, gently poking them with another finger. The powdery dust tickled him, causing a sneeze, followed by a triumphant smile.

The laughter startled the butterfly, which fluttered upward like a drifting yellow flower, carrying the scent and warmth of spring. It flew over the beams, the eaves, the bustling faces gathered below, then vanished into the sunlight outside the gate.

Everyone was momentarily stunned, as if in a dream. After a long pause, Zhang Tong finally said, “The young master is truly blessed!”

The old ministers echoed his sentiment, feeling joy they dared not express: how could a child born to the Anle Duke’s family lack blessing?

Zhang Hua stroked his beard, his expression unreadable, lost in thought: Is this an omen or mere coincidence? How should I report to His Majesty?

Unaware of others’ thoughts and uninterested in them, Ximiao’s once-empty heart was now filled with the child’s smile. Holding him close, she recalled the visions from childbirth and the silent summons she had felt—a premonition arose: no matter the hardships ahead, this child might face them with a smile.

Perhaps it was self-reassurance, but at least she now had a reason to remember this day in the future.

Bi Ji, oblivious to his mother’s thoughts, soon grew drowsy from her warmth and began to yawn. In his sleepy haze, he still heard the voices of his uncle and mother discussing: “Originally planned to name him Liu Yi, but today, perhaps Liu Xian would be better.”

He did not understand, nor did he remember the day’s events. Soon, he drifted into dreams.

There, with a green leaf in hand, he stirred sparks alongside the butterfly.