Chapter 2: The Eleventh Son of the Ye Family

“Did a jinxed comet truly fall... on that brat’s head?”

“There’s no doubt about it—I saw it with my own eyes. When that comet fell, I wondered if it was the Star of Misfortune, and before I knew it, it struck that boy. Ha! Serves him right—even the heavens can’t stand to look at him. It’s just a pity it was a star and not a lightning bolt, or else he’d be nothing but ashes by now!”

“And what if he were struck to ashes? The estates of the third branch of the family wouldn’t end up in your hands anyway.”

“That’s true... But life is getting harder these days.”

Their voices faded into the distance. Behind them, a little girl listening to their chatter spat on the ground, her face clouded with displeasure.

She threaded her way through the narrow passage, pausing at the side door. Lifting her small, worried face, she sighed toward a dull patch of sky, then stepped through the low doorway.

This two-courtyard house was cold and desolate, with emptiness at every turn. The little girl turned and locked the side door behind her, hurried over to the well to set down her basket, and then tiptoed quietly into the house.

Inside, the room was pitch-dark. Having just come in from outside, her eyes took a moment to adjust. She groped for the window, pushed it open, hooked it in place, and turned—only to see a shadowy figure.

“Aah!”

“Aah!”

Both cried out at the same time.

“Eleventh Young Master!”

“Daughter!”

Again, their exclamations echoed each other.

A mist welled up in the girl's eyes. She’d just heard the neighbors gossiping about her own young master, which had already upset her. Now, seeing him like this—could it be, as some claimed, that he was truly possessed by evil spirits?

“Eleventh Young Master, are... are you alright?”

The boy tossed the stick he’d been holding back onto the bed and stared dazedly at the girl for a long moment. This wasn’t his daughter—not the girl who’d been born at his lowest ebb and brought him endless joy and happiness... She was from another time.

Wait—she was from another time?

He stepped back and slumped onto the bed: a person from the past!

His mind was a jumble of thoughts, but then he heard soft sobbing. The little girl was weeping into her hands, and his heart softened.

His own daughter hadn’t been so quick to tears at this age.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry. I’m not dead yet—why are you crying so eagerly?” Out of habit, he reached for his pocket for a cigarette, only to remember that in this era, such luxuries as tobacco didn’t exist. He sighed.

In this world, he hadn’t died—but in the other world, he was surely dead beyond recall. His daughter had no family left. After a lifetime of struggle, in the end, he’d left her nothing.

No sooner had he spoken than the girl covered his mouth with her small hand.

“Eleventh Young Master, don’t say such... unlucky things!” she pleaded, eyes wide with worry. “May the Heavenly Lord protect us—spit on the ground quickly!”

Her dark, shining eyes compelled him to obey her instructions.

“Eleventh Young Master, did you really run into some evil spirit? Otherwise, why would you be so strange?” She wiped her tears and asked in a trembling voice.

“Evil spirit?” Eleventh Young Master murmured, then laughed wryly. “No evil spirit—I met an immortal.”

He was not the sort to panic in a crisis. Now, he’d more or less understood his predicament.

Thanks to those time-travel dramas that women liked, he surmised he’d been transported to some point in history, becoming this “Eleventh Young Master” the girl spoke of. But he had no memories of this person’s past, nor did he recognize the girl before him—except that she reminded him of his own daughter.

That was unfair—wasn’t it said that after transmigrating, one would inherit at least some fragments of the body’s past memories? Why couldn’t he recall anything useful?

“Met an immortal? Really?” The girl’s eyes grew round.

She glared at him, her tiny nose wrinkling—a look almost identical to his daughter’s. Eleventh Young Master gazed at her, and a wave of tenderness welled up inside him.

“Heh—what is your name?”

“Eleventh Young Master... are you... are you possessed by a demon?”

“Oh? Why do you say that?”

“If you weren’t possessed, how could you forget even my name?”

“Well, if I were possessed, wouldn’t I know your name even better?”

She tilted her head, considering. What he said made sense. That day, after the star fell from the sky and struck him, he’d been unconscious. The doctor said that even if he woke, he might suffer from soul-loss. This doctor was no ordinary man—rumored to be a disciple of Master Sun the Immortal—so his words must be true.

“Master, your surname is Ye, given name Chang, from Wuze Slope in Xiuwu County... Do you remember now?”

Wuze Slope in Xiuwu County—he’d never even heard of the place. Eleventh Young Master scratched his head. “Tell me more. Maybe it’ll come back to me.”

The girl suspected nothing and continued, “You are the only son of the third branch, third line of the Ye family. Your father’s given name is Si...” She hesitated, glancing at Eleventh Young Master.

Though he looked like a youth, his mind was much older. He’d once been a teacher in a remote mountain village for six years, teaching everything from elementary reading and math to junior high physics and chemistry; he’d run a small workshop to help his fellow villagers get rich, worked as a white-collar worker in the city, and started his own business. Such experience let him see from her brief hesitation that his relationship with his father was not harmonious.

“I am called Xianger, your humble handmaid, Master. Do you remember now?”

“Xianger... that name seems familiar.” Eleventh Young Master pressed his hand to his forehead. “Go on, maybe I’ll remember more.”

“You were born in the thirteenth year of the Kaiyuan era. Seventeen this year, and since you’ve not yet had your coming-of-age ceremony, you have no courtesy name.”

Her voice was clear and soft, with a trace of sweetness, pleasing to the ear. Eleventh Young Master frowned—he’d caught a key word: Kaiyuan.

“Something’s coming back... Are we under the Tang dynasty?” he asked. “Is the present emperor the son of Emperor Ruizong?”

“It’s the Tang dynasty... but who is Emperor Ruizong?” Xianger looked at him in surprise.

He gently tapped his head. Of course, this wasn’t the information-rich modern era. In this closed-off time, a girl like Xianger living in a backwater would have no idea who the previous emperor was.

“Seventeen years old, born in Kaiyuan thirteen. Seventeen must be by nominal age, so it should be the thirtieth year of Kaiyuan... but there was no Kaiyuan thirty. This must be... the first year of Tianbao?” He knew a bit about Tang history, so after mulling it over he asked, “Is it now the first year of Tianbao?”

“I heard it’s been changed to Tianbao. Master, have you remembered everything?”

Eleventh Young Master drew a sharp breath—indeed, the Tianbao era, the late years of Emperor Xuanzong’s reign, was the turning point from the Tang dynasty’s golden age to its decline—the moment when the outward expansion of Chinese civilization turned inward.

It was the best of times, when the finest artists composed celestial dances in the imperial palace, the greatest poets traveled the world, and ambitious heroes flocked to the imperial examinations. But it was also the worst of times, for the seeds of decline had already been sown, unrest was brewing on the borders, and two defeats in the northwest and north would soon imprison Chinese civilization.

But these thoughts only flickered in Eleventh Young Master’s mind before he buried them deep. He was no longer an impulsive or ambitious youth. Now was not the time for grand plans, but to understand his real circumstances and figure out how to survive.

This was not the later, battered—but largely safe and stable—harmonious age. In this era, a single misstep could see him destroyed by the clan chief, local gentry, county yamen runners, or government officials.

Even if he avoided disaster, his family’s situation looked precarious—they would be hard-pressed to resist any natural calamity.

While he was pondering these things, Xianger, seeing him lost in thought, assumed he’d fallen ill again. Tears welled up once more.

“No need to cry. I’m fine—I was just thinking over what you said, to see if I can remember,” Eleventh Young Master reassured her, gently patting her head as he would his daughter in another world.

The gesture startled her, but it stopped her tears. She began chattering again.

She was still young and inexperienced, and failed to notice anything amiss in his behavior. She rambled on haphazardly, but Eleventh Young Master gleaned his basic situation from her words.

The Ye family was the largest clan in Wuze Slope, with over eighty households in the village, half of them surnamed Ye, all descended from the same ancestor, divided into four branches. Eleventh Young Master was of the third branch, but that line was thin, with only father and son. His father, Ye Si, was often away, supposedly working as a shopkeeper in Luoyang, the Eastern Capital, and hadn’t been home for three years. Many said he’d made a fortune and was afraid to return for fear of being pestered for money.

From Xianger’s words, Eleventh Young Master surmised his relationship with his father was not close. If they were, how could father and son go three years without meeting?

Xianger talked for a long while, but seeing that Eleventh Young Master still remembered nothing and only sat there dazed, she reached out and felt his forehead again. Finding no fever, she said, “It must be hunger. I’ll go cook some millet porridge for you.”

Her fingers were rough, not the delicate hands one would expect from a girl her age. Eleventh Young Master caught her hand and saw the scars and calluses before letting her go.

Xianger, still young, blushed at his touch. Once released, she turned and darted out, her little feet pattering away.

Girls of this era were not yet entirely shackled, and a young servant like Xianger was especially lively. In no time, she was bustling about the courtyard, softly humming a rustic tune.

His apparent recovery had clearly lifted her spirits.

This warmth of affection moved Eleventh Young Master. He was the sort who, when shown kindness, would always repay it doubly.

Soon, the unusual aroma of millet porridge, mingled with the scent of burning wood, drifted in. The smell soothed him, and he leaned against the wall, eyes half shut.

As the fragrance grew stronger and Xianger was washing bowls to bring him some, the door suddenly burst open.

“Is he dead yet? Has the Eleventh finally breathed his last? No one survives being struck by a jinxed star... Xianger, you wretched girl, sneaking food in here!”

A shrill woman’s voice rang out. Eleventh Young Master frowned slightly—just by her voice, this woman was trouble. And who was she to scold Xianger, his own servant?

Xianger’s face turned pale as she shrank before the woman, who stood arms akimbo, cursing.

“You lazy, gluttonous little wretch—one day I’ll sell you off, before you bring shame to the family...”

As she railed, she snatched up a broom and raised it, swinging down at Xianger.

With a thud, the broom struck someone, but not Xianger. Eleventh Young Master stood between them, arm outstretched to block the blow.

Xianger stared at his back in shock. Was this still the timid Eleventh Young Master she knew?

The shrill woman, too, was surprised. After staring for a moment, she exclaimed, “Why, you’re awake?”

Eleventh Young Master narrowed his eyes, his gaze so deep it made the woman uneasy.

“Xianger is my servant. It’s not your place to discipline her,” he said coldly, ignoring her question. “Now, leave.”

“What did you say?” The woman’s brows shot up—never had this meek boy dared to speak to her thus!

“Out.”

His voice was icy.

He could ignore her noisy shrieking, even her insults. But to raise a hand against Xianger—that he would not tolerate. Even if Xianger were in the wrong, it was for him, her master, to deal with, not for others to strike her.

“You tell me to get out? You dare tell me to get out?” the woman screeched. “I heard the jinxed star struck you, and out of kindness came to check on you—this is how you repay me? You bastard, born of a mother but not raised by a father—”

Smack!

Her curses were cut off as a mattock nearly jammed into her mouth.

“You... you dare treat me like this?”

“Heh. You can try and see whether I dare use this mattock to smash every tooth in your mouth,” Eleventh Young Master replied with a cold smile.