Chapter Sixty-Nine: The Steamed Bun's Richness Lies Within, Not in Its Wrinkles

Chapter Sixty-Nine: The Filling Makes the Bun, Not the Folds

Tie Xinyuan lay on his stomach in agony, while the fox stepped on his back, diligently kneading his rear with its paws in an attempt at a massage.

He had never expected that making a name for himself would earn him not praise, but a harsh beating. Earlier, his mother had smiled gratefully at Wang Jian, made a large pot of fragrant minced soup, cooked plenty of noodles to treat Wang Jian’s group, and even had Tie Xinyuan deliver leftovers to the family of Tongzi and other neighbors.

But once the guests had left and the neighbors returned home for dinner, his cheerful mother vanished. With a grim face, she pinned Tie Xinyuan to a stool and gave him a sound thrashing with a bamboo board.

She wouldn’t even let him explain afterward, demanding that he think it over himself. If he couldn’t come up with a reason by tomorrow, she’d thrash him again…

The fox wasn’t much of a masseur—its “massage” consisted of stepping on his wounds, making Tie Xinyuan grimace in pain.

Wang Rouhua entered with ointment in hand, shooed the fox away, and began applying medicine to her son’s bruised behind, scolding fiercely as she did. “Have you figured it out?”

Tie Xinyuan wailed, “It’s not tomorrow yet.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be a prodigy? You don’t need to wait until tomorrow.”

He curled his lips. “Mother, why are you so afraid of your son becoming famous?”

Wang Rouhua coughed, straightening up. “Son, you’re still young, but I want you to remember one thing for life—never forget it!”

Seeing his mother so serious, Tie Xinyuan quickly replied, “Tell me, Mother, I’ll remember it forever.”

“Good. Listen carefully. You, Tie Xinyuan, are from Tie Family Village in Kaifeng County. Your father is Tie Qi, a blacksmith. Your mother is Wang Rouhua, a farmer’s wife. You are the son of a blacksmith and a farmer’s wife. Can you remember that?”

Hearing this, Tie Xinyuan howled, “Then this beating was truly unjust! I’ve never once tried to change my ancestors’ wishes, not even after becoming famous.

I’m just a boy surnamed Tie. Of course, if you want me to take the name Wang, I suppose I have no objection. My life comes from you and Father; I have no issue with either surname.”

“Enough! Your father, Tie Qi, is an upright man. I married him, not the other way around. He’s not a humiliated son-in-law forced to take his wife’s surname. You are his son, so you must carry the Tie name. There’s no reason for you to take the Wang surname!”

Noticing his mother’s agitation, Tie Xinyuan replied seriously, “Do you think Grandfather’s family will try to take me away?”

Wang Rouhua curled her lip. “The Wang clan’s Three Scholarly Halls once produced the great ancestor Wang Dan. It’s said he consumed three generations’ worth of the family’s luck, leaving nothing but dullards now. Your grandfather and the rest have racked their brains over continuing the family line.

They’ve searched the entire Wang clan for promising talent—even back in their old home in Shandong.

In the end, aside from dullards, they found few who were useful.”

“But doesn’t Second Uncle do all right?” Tie Xinyuan frowned.

Wang Rouhua laughed. “He’s thirty-nine and, with the whole family’s support, has managed—after twenty years—to become assistant magistrate of Haizhou. Even that position is shaky. Without the Wang family’s backing, he’d be lucky to serve as a county magistrate, and even then only after careful grooming. Counting on him is like expecting a sow to climb a tree. No, wait—I actually saw a sow climb a tree during a flood, so he’s even less reliable than a sow.”

Tie Xinyuan scratched his itchy nose and smiled. “Mother, it seems you have no fondness at all for Grandfather’s family.”

Wang Rouhua shook her head. “The blood ties remain, but kinship is another matter. A great family on the verge of collapse cares nothing for affection if it means preserving its glory. Back then, they thought I’d bring misfortune to the Wang family and wanted to send me off to a nunnery…”

She caught herself, realizing she’d said too much, and quickly fell silent. Looking down, she saw a faint, mocking smile on her son’s face.

If he were any other seven- or eight-year-old, she wouldn’t think twice, but Wang Rouhua knew her son’s temperament. He was frighteningly mature and deep-thinking. If he bore a grudge, it would bode ill for the Wang family.

Not wanting to trouble his mother further, Tie Xinyuan grinned. “It’s settled, then. I’ll keep the Tie surname for life and never change it.

We won’t provoke the Wang clan, nor harm them. We’ll simply live our own lives, with no grudges or debts.

And your child is, of course, the number one prodigy in Dongjing…”

Tie Xinyuan hesitated. “How did you know? Just because I can write poetry?”

Wang Rouhua grinned mischievously. “My son stopped wetting the bed at half a year old. Tell me, what other child can do that?”

Tie Xinyuan: “…”

Listening to his mother’s complaints was a duty he took seriously. He firmly believed that if not for his own forbearance—able to endure any negativity—his mother might well have gone mad by now.

Having vented her frustrations about her family, Wang Rouhua contentedly went to sleep, feeling she’d had a full and satisfying day.

Not only had she secured a location for her shop—her three helpers were happily cleaning up the new place—but she’d settled the most troublesome matter, come home to find her son officially recognized as a prodigy by the emperor, received much praise, and administered a lesson to her son.

Both body and mind were thoroughly satisfied…

She went to bed, leaving Tie Xinyuan, his backside a patchwork of colors, alone with the fox curled up in its den, watching him.

Never before had Tie Xinyuan so dearly wished to grow up quickly…

“Sitting alone by the pond like a tiger, Resting my spirit in the shade of a tree, When spring comes, I do not speak first— Which insect dares make a sound?”

“Well?” Wang Su set the sheet of paper on the table, smiling. “With those last two lines, the poem’s brilliance is complete. This child’s reputation as a prodigy is well deserved.”

“The quality of the poem is secondary,” Wang Su continued. “What I value most is the unruly spirit it conveys.

It’s a pity there are no other poems or essays from this child. Otherwise, I could better understand his character.”

Master Ge Yuan smiled. “That’s unlikely now. His Majesty has already advised the child not to devote himself to poetry, but rather to study practical essays and principles. Besides, his teacher is Guo Yuqi, a strict Confucian scholar. Seeing even this one poem is rare.”

Wang Su chuckled, retrieving a thick stack of manuscripts from the shelf and handing them to Master Ge Yuan. “Read the boy’s essays. Most are responses and extensions of Han Changli’s classic ‘On the Way.’ Though written by a seven-year-old, they’re well worth reading.

His essays are full of fresh insights and new expressions. Though still childish, they possess a nascent spirit. Thus, I’m not surprised he could compose ‘Ode to the Frog.’ In terms of poetic achievement, I believe even Luo Binwang’s childhood ‘Ode to the Goose’ can’t compare.”

Master Ge Yuan set down Tie Xinyuan’s writings with a sigh. “Since he is not a creature of the pond, he will not confine himself to one.”

Wang Su laughed. “Since he carries the Wang bloodline, he cannot escape it. Even if the Wang family is a muddy pond, he will have to wade in and get muddy himself.”

Master Ge Yuan said worriedly, “This child seems to bear much resentment towards your family. Aren’t you afraid he’ll bring ruin to the Wang clan?”

Wang Su smiled. “If the muddy pond belonged to someone else, of course I’d want it gone. But if it’s my own, that’s another matter. To turn a muddy pond into a clear one, you must first remove the mud…”

Morning in Dongjing was dry and cold. Wary, Tie Xinyuan skirted the doorways of unscrupulous households, where large patches of ice made for treacherous footing.

Within the span of a single incense stick, several people had already slipped and fallen—men, women, old, and young alike. Tie Xinyuan certainly wasn’t about to help them up; who knew if some ruffian among them was just waiting to blackmail a good Samaritan and cause trouble for the homeowner? That would be most undignified.

“Yuan… Yuan… Brother Yuan…”

Fat Zhang stared at Tie Xinyuan with an unfamiliar look, stammering.

“Frozen your brain? Can’t finish a sentence?”

Seeing Tie Xinyuan unchanged, Fat Zhang’s expression relaxed, and he and his gang surrounded Tie Xinyuan, examining him closely.

“We thought you’d ignore us now that you’re a prodigy.”

“Who said that?”

“My dad. He said only when a star descends from heaven does the world gain a prodigy—once in a hundred years, like Lord Yan. Ordinary folks like us can’t get close to such people.”

“So, now that I’m a prodigy, did your father beat you?”

Fat Zhang gingerly rubbed his backside. “Gave me a good beating.”

Tie Xinyuan bared his teeth. “Don’t look at me—it wasn’t my fault. My mother beat me last night too, with a bamboo board.”

Hearing this, Fat Zhang was immensely satisfied. Grinning, he boasted to his friends, “See? Even prodigies get spanked. My dad only slapped me a few times, but his mother used a bamboo board! Hahaha!”

Tie Xinyuan gloomily eyed the crowded wonton stall run by Little Flower’s family, then pointed to the meat pie stall farther away, from which a rich aroma wafted. “Progenies are different after all. When eating meat pies, I have to eat two—one for myself, and one for the stars.”

Fat Zhang patted his round belly. “Of course! The prodigy gets two; the rest of us, one each—my treat!”

Through a gap in the crowd, Little Flower saw Tie Xinyuan and Fat Zhang heading for the Liu family’s meat pie stall. Disappointed, she fought back tears.

Brother Yuan doesn’t like my family’s wontons anymore… Little Flower thought sadly.