Before dawn on the first day of the new year, all Lin clan males aged two and above arrived one after another at the main courtyard of the ancestral hall. As the hour of chen approached, they stood arranged by generation: first the Bing generation, then Cheng, Fang, and finally the Xiu generation.
With the rising sun, the doors of Chongben Hall slowly opened. Morning light spilled across the incense table; the ancestral tablets on the offering altar faced the newborn sun, their backs resting in shadow.
Eight hundred and forty-six tablets—eight hundred and forty-six forebears—stood poised at the boundary between light and dark, watching over the rise and fall of the Lin clan of Wuyi County.
The courtyard fell utterly silent.
Standing among his cousins, Lin Fangxu could not help wondering: in his previous life he had died in such disgrace—would his spirit tablet even be admitted to this hall?
The youngest boys of the Xiu generation stood properly at the very rear. No one dared chatter or chase; the elders had clearly warned them. Even two-and-a-half-year-old Sanmu stood quietly beside Ermu.
Great-Granduncle acted as ritual officiant and intoned, “The ancestral rite of the Lin clan of Wuyi County’s Chongben Hall now begins. Let the ninth-generation grandsons of the main line—Lin Chengwen of the eldest branch, Lin Chenggui of the second branch, and Lin Chenghong of the third branch—step forward.”
In the Lin clan, the principal and assistant officiants were always drawn from the direct line. The main line comprised three branches; in each branch, the eldest son of the Cheng generation served as ritual grandson. The three stepped forward and took their places.
“Purification water. Purification cloth,” the officiant called.
Two cousins brought forth water and three towels. After washing hands and face and wiping clean, the three stood solemnly.
“Light the candles and incense. Invite the ancestors.”
The principal officiant from the eldest branch lit the incense; the assistants lit the candles. Once done, Lin Chengwen circled the incense outward in a half-arc and proclaimed:
“On this auspicious day and hour, the Lin clan of Wuyi County’s Chongben Hall conducts the ancestral sacrifice and genealogy renewal. We respectfully invite our forefathers to partake of these offerings and witness the updating of the clan register.”
The three officiants approached the central altar.
“Present the candles.”
Lin Chenggui and Lin Chenghong bowed toward the tablets, raised the candles above their heads, and placed them into the holders.
“First incense.”
Lin Chengwen divided two sticks between the assistants, bowed, raised his incense high, and inserted it into the burner.
“Second incense.”
He accepted a stick from Lin Chenggui, bowed again, raised it overhead, and placed it.
“Third incense.”
He received the final stick from Lin Chenghong and repeated the gesture.
After the third incense, the three performed full prostrations. The Cheng generation and all descendants thereafter knelt and kowtowed three times; the elders of the Bing generation and above bowed three times.
“Rite complete. Present offerings.”
Young clan boys brought forward the pig’s head, whole chicken, whole fish, flowers, fruits, and vegetables. The officiants knelt again and performed the wine-offering ritual.
Afterward, Lin Chengwen read the sacrificial text. Once finished, the entire clan once more paid their respects.
“Bring forth the genealogy. Distribute copies.”
Each branch received its register. Afterward, paper money was burned; clan members approached in turn to kowtow.
Finally, the ancestors were ceremonially dismissed, firecrackers sounded, music played. The sacrificial text and incense were carried to the brazier and burned; afterward, the officiants faced south and north in triple bows.
Near midday, the rite concluded. Each branch moved to the side rooms to inscribe newly added names into the genealogy.
A child’s name could not be formally entered until age three.
Mu-mu and Ermu’s formal names had long been chosen—Xiu’an and Xiuhao. The delay in inscription traced back to Eldest Cousin’s household.
Eldest Sister-in-law had long competed, one-sidedly, with Zhao Shiyue. After Zhao Shiyue bore Ermu, she resented having only daughters and refused to record Zhaodi and Pandi in the genealogy. As they were of the same branch, Elder Brother could not bypass the girls and record Mu-mu and Ermu alone. The matter dragged on until Bao-ge reached three this year; the children were finally entered together. For this reason, relations between Zhao Shiyue and Eldest Sister-in-law had never been entirely harmonious.
Once the registers were returned to the ancestral hall and the doors of Chongben Hall closed, Lin Fangxu went home with his brothers and nephews.
923925194366
After lunch and a few pages of reading, Fangxu stepped outside. By the riverside threshing ground, a temporary stage had been erected. Upon it stood an elderly bearded general, four banners fixed to his back, wielding a broadsword against a ring of opponents.
Several rows of chairs had been set before the stage. The first three were occupied by clan elders. Ermu and Mu-mu sat in the fourth, cheering wildly at the somersaulting actor. Beside them sat Elder Brother holding Sanmu; next to him Zhao Shiyue and Zhao Nainai cradled Simu and Xiaoshitou, conversing quietly.
Ermu, too short to see while seated, dared not stand lest his father scold him. Spotting Fangxu, he sprang up eagerly.
“Little Uncle, sit here! I’ll give you my seat. Will you hold me? Higher!”
He even wiped the chair with his sleeve.
Suppressing laughter, Fangxu obliged, lifting the boy onto his lap.
As the performance continued, villagers from neighboring hamlets gathered in growing numbers.
The troupe had come from Jinhua Prefecture, originally hired by a wealthy patron to perform in Wuyi County for the New Year. Chenggui Uncle knew the troupe leader; the three branches of the main line pooled funds to invite them to perform half a day in Lin Family Village.
Only when dusk deepened and the moon rose did the crowd gradually disperse.
923925193999
As for Ai Xiaoya—
She had been jolted awake at midnight by New Year firecrackers. Barely asleep again, she was roused at dawn by the drums and gongs of the sacrificial rites. Resigned, she rose with the others.
Ah—this detestable feudal society.
Women and shuang’er were barred from entering the ancestral hall. Ai Xiaoya did not particularly mind; as a modern materialist, she felt little affinity for elaborate ancestor worship.
When the ceremony ended, she accompanied Zhao Shiyue and the others eagerly to watch the opera. Unfortunately, she understood little of the archaic singing. After a few minutes of unintelligible warbling, she lost interest and excused herself.
Back home, she found both Lin Fangxu and Lin Fangming in their respective studies.
From the original host’s memories, she knew Ai Xinghua had never favored Lin Fangxu. The reason? Elder Brother doted more openly on his youngest sibling, while her own husband was frequently reprimanded.
Ai Xiaoya dismissed such favoritism. Lin Fangxu, in modern terms, was barely a middle-school boy—hardly someone she could converse with. She went straight to Lin Fangming’s study.
The door stood ajar. Through the gap she saw him reading. Intending to speak with her nominal husband—and fearing he might evade her—she pushed the door open without announcement.
Startled, Lin Fangming nearly dropped his book. Seeing it was his wife, he snapped, “Can’t you make a sound before entering? Give that back—and don’t tell anyone!”
Ai Xiaoya inwardly sneered, flipping through the thin volume. “I thought you weren’t afraid of Elder Brother. Shouldn’t you be preparing for the county exam? Yet you have time for this?”
“A woman need not concern herself with such matters,” he retorted.
She skimmed quickly: a tale of a talented scholar meeting a beauty. Trite.
Closing it, she tossed it onto the table. “Even I find this dull. And you read it in secret?”
She did not know that the manuscript was his own work, intended for a storyteller—who had rejected it as stale.
Stung, his face flushed. “Bold words. Do you even understand what you read?” “Isn’t it just another scholar-and-beauty romance? I could tell you a better story.” He leaned back, fanning himself lazily. “Very well. Let me hear your superior tale.” She had been seeking a chance to grow closer to him. Here it was.
She chose the story of Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai. As far as she knew, it did not exist in this world.
Seating herself on the couch in the study, she began:
“In Yuezhou there was a young woman named Zhu Yingtai. Fond of poetry and books, she longed to study abroad. But women were not permitted such freedom. So she disguised herself as a man with her maid Yinxin and journeyed to Hangzhou to study…”
At first indifferent, Lin Fangming soon listened with growing absorption. Just as she reached Ma Wencai’s proposal, she stopped.
“And then?” he demanded. “Surely she doesn’t marry him?”
Smiling, Ai Xiaoya said, “If you wish to hear the rest, take me to the county town for a few days. I haven’t properly explored it yet.”
He hesitated. “But on the third day we must visit your parents. And Second Sister returns home tomorrow…”
“Mother said Simu was weak and should be carefully raised. We needn’t go this month. As for Second Sister—Zhao Shiyue and the others will host. Do you fear a lack of courtesy?”
Already inclined to slip away, he was easily persuaded. He told her to pack while he harnessed the cart.
Seated in the carriage, he suddenly remembered to inform the family. Calling out toward Fangxu’s room, he shouted, “Xu-ge’er! I’m taking your sister-in-law to see the lanterns in the county. We may stay two days. Tell Elder Brother!” Before any reply came, he drove off.
Hearing his name, Fangxu stepped out. The cart was already disappearing.
“When will you return?” he called.
No answer came—whether unheard or ignored.
Leaning against the study doorframe, Fangxu watched thoughtfully.
In his previous life, Second Brother and his wife had not enjoyed such harmony.
Since his rebirth, he had not intentionally changed anyone—save for a single remark regarding Simu. Yet that small alteration had already sent lives down a wholly different course.
Rather than unease, excitement stirred in him.
Had he been a modern man, he might have called it the butterfly effect. If a mere wave of one’s hand could stir a storm half a month later in distant lands—who would not feel exhilaration?
