Quick Wear: Cousin, Come to the Bowl Quickly

Alas, though we share the same bed, we have never shared the same aspirations.

I'd rather have that beautiful appearance than this jealousy.

Young Wang Zhuo nestled in his mother's arms, pointing to Cao Zijian's "Jealousy Poems" on the scroll, looking up with a blank expression in his eyes.

"Mother, what is 'jealousy'?"

Queen Mother Cui Yu, born into the Cui clan of Boling, was well-versed in poetry and literature and had a reputation for talent. Upon hearing this, she pulled her young son closer to her and explained gently.

“Jealousy is when you see others have something good that you don’t have, or that they are more popular than you, and you feel sour, resentful, or even bitter.”

Wang Zhuo nodded, but his expression showed even more confusion. His fingertips slowly moved upwards, landing on the words "sharing the same bed." "Shouldn't those who share the same bed be the most intimate? Why would there be jealousy?"

Upon hearing this, Madam Cui paused slightly, a complex look flashing across her eyes. She gently stroked her son's soft hair and spoke in a gentle tone.

"Zhuo'er, the entanglements between people are very complicated. They are not just one color. There can be intimate love, but there can also be undercurrents of jealousy."

“For example, Jianwen Jun and his brother were born of the same mother and were blood relatives, but they could still doubt and suspect each other because of jealousy. The same is true for husband and wife. Today they may be deeply in love, but tomorrow they may gradually grow apart because of the word ‘jealousy’.”

"Is that so?" Wang Zhu blinked, seemingly trying to process this explanation, which was a bit too complicated for his age, and then casually asked, "Will Mother be jealous of Father too?"

But before he could even finish speaking and before the Queen Mother could answer, he shook his head with a smile.

How could that be? My father, Wang Xi, was the most outstanding member of the Langya Wang clan of his generation. Not only was he handsome and elegant, but his calligraphy and writing were also unparalleled. He was the dream man of many young women in Jiankang.

Her mother came from the prominent Cui family. She was exceptionally beautiful and talented, and her intelligence made her a perfect match for her father.

But when she looked at her father, his usually calm eyes would always overflow with a light that he couldn't understand, yet it shone with an astonishing brilliance.

Even if the two occasionally quarreled, as long as the father brought his face, which was praised as "bright as the sun and moon in one's embrace," closer to the mother and softened his voice to say a few kind words, the mother's cheeks would flush red and all her anger would dissipate.

How could such a look be "jealousy"?

Cui was amused by his childish words and gently tapped the tip of his nose with her fingertip, saying in a muffled tone, "You're so clever for your age. Your father and I... um... you'll understand these things when you grow up."

Wang Zhuo was clearly dissatisfied with his mother's answer, and secretly pursed his lips. See, when adults encounter difficult questions, they always try to evade them like this.

At that time, Wang Zhuo was nestled in his mother's fragrant embrace, with lush vegetation and flowing water in the courtyard of the Langya Wang clan's ancestral home outside the window.

He did not understand the sorrow of "sharing the same bed but having different ambitions" in the poem, nor did he understand why "beauty" would arouse "jealousy".

He vaguely thought to himself that if he ever found someone he wanted to share a bed with, he would give her the best of everything in the world and would never be jealous.

……

Time flows by silently, like water dripping from the eaves.

Wang Zhuo gradually grew taller, though he was still not as tall as his older brothers, but the roundness of his childhood had slowly faded, revealing the slender outline of a young man.

He seems to be slowly starting to taste the flavor of "jealousy".

He was the youngest child of his parents, with six older brothers and sisters. His father was handsome and his mother was beautiful and talented, so their child naturally inherited the best qualities of his parents.

The eldest brother, Wang Xun, was learned and had a strong memory, able to write eloquently; the third brother, Wang Min, was exceptionally handsome and had already made a name for himself in Jiankang before he reached adulthood; the fifth brother, Wang Shao, was exceptionally eloquent in conversation and was praised as "the best of his time"...

Even her only elder sister was intelligent and beautiful, proficient in all the arts, including music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. When she came of age, suitors practically wore out the threshold of the Wang family.

Only he, Wang Zhuo, seemed to be an exception.

He was not only the shortest among his brothers, but his appearance was also only barely considered handsome.

The eyebrows are not bold enough, the eyes are not bright enough, the nose is straight but lacks softness, and the lips are okay but slightly thin.

The best of both parents seems to have been somewhat diluted in him.

Whenever there was a family gathering, or when he stood side by side with his distinguished elder brothers, the awkward feeling of "a reed leaning against a jade tree" would always linger around him.

The admiring or envious glances of others would always skim over him like a dragonfly skimming the water before settling steadily on his older brothers.

He felt wronged and resentful, like a moth trapped in a transparent glass dome, able to see the dazzling light outside but unable to touch it or integrate into it.

He once asked his mother resentfully, "Mother, why are all my brothers like Father and you, but only I..."

His mother, however, took his questioning as a child's joke, stroking his head and chuckling, "Zhuo'er, why do you say such things? My son has his own merits, why compare him to his brothers?"

When his father found out, he called him to his study, patted his still thin shoulder, and spoke with his usual magnanimity and open-mindedness.

"Zhuo'er, physical appearance is nothing to worry about. We, the Wang family, should establish ourselves in the world with our literary talent and integrity. Instead of wasting time thinking about this, you should practice more calligraphy and read more classics. Your literary works will be passed down through generations, which is far more lasting than a pretty face."

Initially, Wang Zhuo believed his father's words.

Since his appearance was predetermined and he could not compare to his father and brothers, he decided to find another way.

My father is a master calligrapher of our time, his brushstrokes are powerful and his characters are worth a fortune. As the youngest son, I was exposed to calligraphy from a young age and I already have some talent for it. If I study as diligently as my father, I am sure I will surpass him.

Having made up his mind, Wang Zhuo became ruthless.

He locked himself in his study, letting the seasons change outside the window. Inside, he was the only one under the dim light, studying the rubbings of ancient inscriptions, exhausting his energy to write each stroke.

He studied all the famous calligraphic works he could find, filled his desk with his father's previous works, and pondered every stroke and turn of those ink-black brushes, striving to imitate their form and, more importantly, to capture their spirit.

The inkwell was black with ink, and piles of brushes were stacked up. His sleeves were worn from rubbing against the desk for a long time, and his fingertips had developed a thin layer of calluses.

Hard work pays off. After years of diligent practice, his calligraphy gradually gained strength and spirit.

The literati and scholars of Jiankang began to praise his calligraphy skills, saying that he had inherited his father's style and even believed that he had overshadowed his brothers who were known for their calligraphy.

It seemed that the pent-up frustration in Wang Zhuo's heart had finally found an outlet.

He was smug and proud, feeling triumphant. He couldn't help but think to himself, perhaps... perhaps he could already see his father's back, or even... surpass him?

One day, feeling in excellent condition, he burned incense and calmed his mind, spending several hours writing what he considered to be a masterpiece, "On Yue Yi." Before the ink had even dried, he couldn't wait to present it to his mother for her appreciation.

Madam Cui took the paper, a smile playing on her lips, and examined it carefully with loving eyes for a long time, nodding repeatedly.

Wang Zhuo's heart pounded as she awaited her mother's praise. However, after looking for a long time, she finally picked up the vermilion brush and gently drew a circle on one of the characters.

“Apart from this character,” Gu’s tone remained gentle and encouraging, “the rest of the strokes and structure are still lacking. Zhuo’er needs to practice more.”

The color drained completely from Wang Zhuo's face in that instant.

The reason is simple: of the hundred-odd characters in the entire piece, only the character "之" was added by his father, who happened to be passing by while he was writing and, in a moment of inspiration, casually picked up his pen.

I see.

It turns out that the results of his painstaking efforts were no match for his father's casual work. All his efforts, struggles, and self-righteous breakthroughs were nothing more than clumsy imitations in the face of true talent and greatness.

On the same day, his sixth brother, Wang Min, who most resembled his father, was the most handsome, and had the quickest mind, had just won over the crowd at a gathering of celebrities with his profound philosophical insights and sharp eloquence, further enhancing his reputation.

For a time, everyone in Jiankang praised Wang Jiayu as "a jade-like young man, a gem among men".

Wang Zhuo silently returned to his study, which was filled with the fragrance of ink. He unfolded the "Treatise on Yue Yi" marked with red ink, stared at the glaring red circle for a long time, and then slowly crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it into the bamboo basket in the corner, which was already full of waste paper.

In the desolate empty space of my heart, something cold and sharp seems to have silently taken root.

……

From then on, Wang Zhuo's personality became increasingly melancholic.

He stopped questioning his parents about the differences in appearance and talent, stopped enjoying poetry and wine with his brothers, and even gradually neglected to practice calligraphy, which he had once regarded as a lifeline.

He found himself a new, seemingly transcendent path—Taoist cultivation.

The Wang family of Langya, and indeed all the prominent families of Jiankang, revered Laozi and Zhuangzi, and were accustomed to discussing metaphysics and practicing health preservation through elixirs.

Scholars wandered among mountains and rivers, found solace in medicinal herbs, and pursued transcendence of form and spirit, regarding it as a refined pursuit.

Wang Zhuo's early immersion in this art was somewhat unusual, but in a family as open-minded as the Wang family, which even encouraged its members to have their own personalities, it did not cause much surprise.

Moreover, compared to those dissolute, alcoholic, drug-addicted, or even eccentric scholars, Wang Zhuo, who simply preferred to be alone in a quiet room, burning incense, chanting scriptures, and studying talismans and elixirs, was truly calm and composed.

In turbulent times, few renowned scholars survive unscathed. The lessons of Ji Kang and Ruan Ji are still fresh in our minds. In their parents' eyes, it is a blessing that their young son can stay away from the political vortex, not covet fame, and remain calm and self-disciplined.

Therefore, when Wang's parents saw this, they not only did not stop him, but also praised his behavior.

But is Wang Zhuo really as calm as his parents hoped?

No one knows what dark and turbulent waves are surging beneath the boy's tightly closed eyes, behind the rising wisps of smoke.

The frustrations, neglect, and ever-present sense of loss he experienced in the real world found a distorted projection within the small space filled with the smoke of cigarettes.

He recited the "Tao Te Ching" and the "Zhuangzi," but his thoughts drifted to more dangerous areas.

Wang Zhuo imagined himself as Zhang Tianshi, commanding ghosts and gods, controlling invisible forces, and his "ghost soldiers" conquering all directions, invincible. Those figures who once made him look up to them and feel ashamed of themselves were easily torn apart and annihilated in his meditation.

The more powerless we feel in reality, the more turbulent our fantasies become.

He constructs his own world in meditation, where he is the supreme monarch, relying not on his appearance, not on his father's influence, not on his ever-slightly inferior talent, but solely on his will and supernatural powers, possessing the power to look down upon everything and stand above all others.

Outsiders, unaware of the situation, only perceived the youngest son of the Wang family as calm and composed at such a young age, and their opinions of him gradually changed.

From the initial "plain", to the later "skilled in calligraphy and calm", until finally, it became "well-groomed, elegant and refined, with deep and ancient brows and a thoughtful gaze".

When he heard this sixteen-character comment from someone else, he was stunned for a long time, and then suddenly laughed softly. The laughter echoed in the empty room, mixed with an indescribable desolation and self-mockery.

Elegant and refined, with profound and ancient sentiments?

What they saw was the taciturn Wang Qilang, who spent his days with incense burners and scriptures. But no one knew that beneath this seemingly tranquil and indifferent exterior lay a heart full of resentment and jealousy.

……

He met Lin Xi at a family spring banquet that he had not wanted to attend.

He had already made an excuse to decline, but his mother came to summon him personally, saying that the Duchess of Anguo had come with her family and that he should not be impolite.

Lady Anguo was from the Xie clan, and she was a cousin of his aunt Xie Xi.

The Duke of Anguo was highly regarded by the Emperor, and the Wang and Xie families had always been close. Therefore, it was only right and proper that the Wang family should treat the Duchess with great hospitality. The eldest aunt had instructed in advance that all the family members should attend the banquet and should not refuse.

Left with no other choice, Wang Zhuo reluctantly went and sat in the least conspicuous corner, staring down at his blurry reflection in the sake cup on the table, his mind already drifting to the unfinished talisman diagram from yesterday.

He only casually raised his eyes when a faint tinkling of jade pendants and a low exclamation of admiration reached him.

Then, she saw a young girl being surrounded by her sisters as she slowly walked into the waterside pavilion.