Liang Shanbo, the Poor Boy

In the second year of the Ningkang era of the Eastern Jin Dynasty, the year was Jiaxu, in the third month.

Shanyin County, Kuaiji Commandery.

The spring rain has just stopped; the distant mountains are like dark eyebrows, and the nearby waters are shrouded in mist.

Outside the county town, deep in an inconspicuous alley, there is a low-lying courtyard with earthen walls.

There were three thatched huts in the courtyard, their mud walls mottled and the moss under the eaves a dark, almost blackish green. In the corner of the courtyard grew a clump of green bamboo, which was growing very well, its stalks upright and its branches and leaves lush, as if it were supporting the last bit of dignity for this dilapidated courtyard.

A woman is busy in the kitchen.

She was wearing a slightly worn blue cotton ruqun (a type of traditional Chinese dress), with two patches on the hem, the patches sewn with fine stitches.

Her face was slender with slightly high cheekbones, and one could vaguely imagine the beautiful features of her youth between her eyebrows and eyes.

She was surnamed Lu, Liang Shanbo's mother.

Rice was steaming in the earthenware pot on the stove, the steam rising and filling the room with the aroma of grain.

Madam Lu then took a small piece of cured pork from the beam, cut it into several slices, and placed it on top of the rice to steam. This cured pork had been pickled during the New Year, totaling only one piece, yet three months later, a small piece was still left. Her son was going on a long journey, and he needed some meat along the way.

Her hands slowed down, and she stared blankly at the stove fire.

The flickering firelight illuminated her expression, making it impossible to discern whether it was joy or sorrow.

My son is setting off today to study at the Wansong Academy in Qiantang. This matter was decided by my husband, Liang Yuanqing, on his deathbed, and twenty-seven months have passed since then. My son's mourning period is finally over.

She was originally the daughter of a scholar from a neighboring county. Years ago, she admired Liang Yuanqing's talent and wanted to marry this poor scholar.

Her father was against it, advising her: "Although Yuanqing is talented, his family has no surplus wealth, and he is arrogant and unwilling to bow down to others. How can such a person live a peaceful life? If you marry him, you will inevitably suffer a lot in the future."

She wouldn't listen and still got married.

As expected, her marriage brought her a life of hardship. Her husband was reduced to making a living by writing for others. In addition to managing the household chores, she wove cloth to supplement the family income.

Two years ago, her husband passed away from illness that winter.

Before her death, the husband called his son, Liang Shanbo, to his side. Leaning against his pillow, he recounted the Liang family's past to his son in broken sentences:

"Shanbo, listen carefully. My Liang family originally lived in Anding County. We are an old clan from Guanzhong and Longxi, and our family has been known for farming and studying for generations. In the fifth year of Yongjia, Liu Yao of the Xiongnu captured Luoyang, and the world was in chaos. Not one in ten of the people in the Central Plains survived."

Your great-grandfather fled south with his family, enduring a long and arduous journey, barely escaping death before finally crossing the river to Jiankang. The brothers Wang Dao and Wang Dun seized power, and your great-grandfather, renowned for his talent, was recruited by Wang Dun into his court. He refused to serve and was subsequently murdered. From that point on, the family declined and never recovered.

Although my Liang family is poor, the seed of education must not be extinguished. Your great-grandfather died to uphold his principles, refusing to bow to the powerful and wealthy; you must remember this integrity. But... but integrity alone is not enough. You must study, you must enter officialdom, you must have a foothold. Our family has been in decline for far too long!

He reached for a slender bamboo tube beside his pillow and continued, "Here is a letter of recommendation, addressed to Mr. Meng Wenlang of the Qiantang Wansong Academy. Your grandfather was kind to him in the past. After your mourning period, take this to him, and he will most likely be willing to accept you. You must go to Wansong Academy, study hard, and in the future..."

His voice grew softer and softer until it was almost inaudible.

That year, Liang Shanbo was only twelve or thirteen years old.

Now, more than two years have passed.

……

……

Madam Lu carefully packed the steamed rice and cured meat, and also wrapped a few millet cakes, stuffing them all into her son's rattan satchel. The satchel wasn't large; it contained a few changes of clothes, a pair of newly sewn cloth shoes, a bag of copper coins, and the crucial letter of recommendation.

"Mother." A clear voice came from behind.

Lu turned around.

Liang Shanbo stood at the door of the kitchen.

He wore a dark blue headscarf, a beige short jacket with a cross-collar and right-fastening front, and off-white trousers with cloth strips binding his calves. He wore straw sandals and a simple cloth belt around his waist. Although his clothes were rough, he was handsome, with clear features and a straight nose.

"Mother, is dinner ready?" Liang Shanbo glanced at the luggage and smiled slightly. "You brought too much. I told you to bring less; it's only a two-day journey, enough to eat on the road."

"When traveling, it's better to have too much than too little." Madam Lu picked up the luggage and handed it to him. "Try carrying it, is it heavy?"

Liang Shanbo slung his bag over his shoulder, took a couple of steps, then turned back and laughed, "It's not heavy. My mother's cooking skills can handle anything perfectly."

Looking at his smile, Lu felt a sudden pang of sadness, and her eyes welled up with tears. She quickly turned away, pretending to tidy up the stove.

Her son's voice came from behind: "Don't worry, Mother, I'll take care of myself and study hard. You're home alone, so please take care of yourself and don't stay up too late weaving."

Lu nodded without turning around.

She knew her son was watching her, and she didn't want him to see her tears.

She wiped away her tears, calmed herself, and turned around: "Let's go, let's set off as soon as possible."

The two walked out of the courtyard gate.

Madam Lu stood at the door, the morning breeze ruffling her clothes. She brushed a stray hair behind her ear, smiled at her son, and her smile seemed to hold a thousand unspoken words.

Liang Shanbo, carrying his luggage, bowed deeply and said, "Mother, I'm leaving."

"Go," Madam Lu said calmly, adding as a final reminder, "Don't let your father down."

Liang Shanbo turned around and strode towards the alley entrance.

The alley was short, with low earthen walls and tightly closed wooden doors on both sides. At the entrance of the alley stood an old tree with a canopy, its new leaves just beginning to sprout, a tender, vibrant green.

Madam Lu stood at the door, looking at him with teary eyes.

……

……

Liang Shanbo walked out of the alley and came to the main road.

The road was made of rammed earth, and because of a recent spring rain, the surface was still muddy, with ruts and hoofprints intertwined, creating a mess.

On both sides of the road were vast fields of farmland, the wheat seedlings had sprouted ears, green and yellow. In the distance, a water buffalo lay on the edge of a field, lazily swishing its tail, occasionally letting out a low moo.

Liang Shanbo walked at a moderate pace.

As he walked, he felt the weight of his baggage on his shoulders, the softness of the soil beneath his feet, and the gentle spring breeze on his face.

Everything is real.

He, Liang Shanbo, was also a real person.

He was originally Liang Mu, a 36-year-old head of the strategic investment department of a certain group.

That day, he was in the banquet hall of a five-star hotel, amidst dazzling lights, elegant attire, and clinking glasses. A billion-dollar acquisition deal, after eight months, countless sleepless nights, and countless cups of coffee, was finally settled.

The chairman personally raised his glass to congratulate him, smiling broadly as he said, "Thank you for your hard work." Colleagues surrounded him to offer their toasts, and the smells of perfume, alcohol, laughter, and applause mingled together.

He smiled and maneuvered, but a dull ache lingered in his chest, as if a stone were pressing down on him, heavy and sluggish. He thought he was probably just too tired; he would definitely get a good night's sleep after this celebration banquet.

and then?

Then everything went black, and I knew nothing more.

When I opened my eyes again, instead of a crystal chandelier overhead, I saw a thatched roof; instead of luxurious fragrances, I smelled the scent of aged straw mixed with herbs; instead of the sounds of clinking glasses, I heard a strange woman calling out "Shanbo"...

And so, he became the Liang Shanbo of this world.

Of course he knew the name "Liang Shanbo".

Who doesn't know Liang Shanbo? Who doesn't know Zhu Yingtai?

It is a tragic love story that has been passed down for thousands of years, a poignant legend of transformation into butterflies, and an eternal lament of "not sharing a bed in life, but a grave in death."

Countless people shed tears for this devoted couple in the theater, and countless people sighed over this poignant story in front of the television, engraving that tragic imagery in their hearts.

However, Liang Shanbo was a simpleton and an unlucky fellow.

When Liang Shanbo went to Qiantang to study, he met Zhu Yingtai, who was disguised as a man. They became sworn brothers at the grass bridge and studied together for three years. They were deeply in love, but he did not know that she was a woman.

After learning the truth, Liang Shanbo rushed to the Zhu family to propose marriage, but Ma Wencai beat him to it. He met Zhu Yingtai on the pavilion, poured out their hearts to each other, and was filled with grief and despair.

Liang Shanbo died in melancholy, and Zhu Yingtai jumped into his grave, dying for love and transforming into butterflies.

And he, Liang Mu, actually became Liang Shanbo!

Fortunately, since his transmigration, his poor physical condition has improved significantly, and his physical strength is much stronger than before. Moreover, he not only fully inherited the original owner's memories, but also gained an extraordinary memory. He can memorize books after reading them once and can clearly remember almost all the knowledge he learned in his previous life.

This gave him confidence. In this world dominated by powerful clans and in chaos, in the Eastern Jin Dynasty where "the upper class has no poor families and the lower class has no powerful clans," a story of a poor boy's rise to power unfolded!

In the first two months after becoming Liang Shanbo, he had already memorized dozens of old books that his father, Liang Yuanqing, had treasured.

……

……

It takes only two days to travel from Shanyin County to Qiantang County.

The sky was overcast that day, and it looked like it was about to rain.

Liang Shanbo arrived at the ferry crossing on the banks of the Qiantang River.

Once you cross the Qiantang River, you'll reach Qiantang.

The river is wide, and both banks are lined with weeping willows, their branches as thin as smoke, hanging down to the water's surface.

A simple bamboo pavilion stood by the ferry crossing, and several people sat waiting for the boat: a peddler carrying a load on his shoulder, a young couple with a child, and an elderly man with gray hair and beard, leaning on a bamboo cane and dozing off with his eyes half-closed.

Liang Shanbo found a clean spot by the bamboo pavilion and sat down. He placed his bag at his feet, took out his water pouch, and took a sip. The water was boiled and cooled by his mother before he left; it had a slightly earthy smell from the earthenware pot, but it was exceptionally thirst-quenching. He drank two more sips, then stuffed the water pouch back in place, leaned against a pavilion pillar, and gazed absently at the distant mountains on the opposite bank.

After a short wait, the ferry slowly sailed over from the other side.

It was a small wooden boat, its hull coated with tung oil, giving it a yellowish-brown color. A boatman stood at the bow, poling a long bamboo pole, pushing it forward rhythmically.

He suddenly remembered a line of poetry from his past life:

"There will be times when the wind will break the waves, and I will set sail to cross the vast ocean."

The ferry is about to dock.

Liang Shanbo stood up, dusted off his robes, slung his bag over his shoulder again, and walked toward the ferry.

The boatman laid the boat planks on the shore, and everyone boarded the boat.

The spring river ripples, and the willows sway gently.

What he has to cross is far more than just the Qiantang River!