The Most Powerful Young Master of the Northern Song Dynasty

Chapter 3: Got Kicked in the Head by a Donkey

After tidying up a bit, he headed out with the little girl and ran into a middle-aged, overweight man. He looked very scruffy, and his clothes were filthy. Xiao Wang, who was a bit of a neat freak, was about to slap the man on the back of the head. But then he heard the little girl say happily, “Daddy, you’re back!” “Huh?” Wang Bang felt a chill run down his spine. His outstretched hand didn’t land on Wang Anshi’s head because he wasn’t tall enough. Although this body was supposedly ten years old, he looked no taller than eight. It was hard to imagine that this unremarkable, scruffy, chubby boy was the very same Wang Anshi who would one day be renowned throughout the land. Even now, he was a powerful figure holding great authority. Wang Anshi looked visibly exhausted, but when he saw the strange expression on his beloved son’s face, he crouched down and asked gently, “What’s on your mind, Yang’er?” Wang Bang, with the mischievous yet clever demeanor of a young boy, ruffled his loving father’s hair. Wang Anshi really did have a big head—no wonder he would later be able to persuade the emperor to go against the entire bureaucracy of the realm. It was rather strange—and somewhat improper—for a son of this age to touch his father’s head like that. Fortunately, Wang Anshi doted on this, his only son and child prodigy; besides, the boy often did surprising things—he was a child who didn’t follow the beaten path. Wang Anshi said, “Mang’er, don’t be naughty.” With that, he stood up and said, “Bring Wenan in to eat.” Wenan was the little girl; her name was Wang Wenan. As the youngest in the family, she could also be called “Wang Xiaoya” or “Erya.” Hearing that it was time to eat, Erya began clapping her hands and hopping up and down. In her life, mealtime was the happiest moment. Her dad had told her that there were still many people in the world whose bowls were empty… Seated at the dinner table were Grandma, her scruffy dad, and her beautiful mom, Wu Qiong. And then there was a young woman with an amazing figure. Wang Bang had no idea who this beauty was. With just this meager group of people, it didn’t look like a powerful, influential family at all. The old woman was Wang Anshi’s mother. Because of this, Wang Bang had no choice but to fulfill his filial duties, doing his best to sweet-talk the elderly lady with flattering words, which made Grandma smile from ear to ear. She praised him, saying, “My grandson has grown up and become so sensible.” So, does that mean the Da Bang of the past wasn’t sensible? The shrewd Old Wang had, of course, noticed some changes in his son. He took note of them but said nothing for the time being, merely uttering, “Everyone, take a seat.” Immediately afterward, Wang Bang nearly fainted. Not only had last night’s tonic been embezzled, but now he was being served plain, simple fare? Aside from common vegetables like greens and radishes, there was nothing but two chicken drumsticks in a clay bowl. Where’s the main course? It was clear that Wang Anshi was the patriarch of the family. After glancing around the table, he was the first to pick up his chopsticks and say, “Let’s eat.” Once the order was given, Wang Xiaoya buried her entire face in the large earthen bowl to eat. She was such a glutton, yet she didn’t pick up any food with her chopsticks, so Wang Bang could think of only one explanation: she didn’t dare. Her beautiful mother, Wu Qiong, watched Wang Xiaoya’s manner of eating and revealed a barely perceptible hint of disdain. From this, Wang Bang deduced that Wang Xiaoya wasn’t Wu Qiong’s biological daughter. Instead, she was the child of the young beauty sitting at the table who dared not speak—a concubine. Right from the start, Wang Bang gleaned nearly all the information he needed from this young girl. No wonder Wang Anshi—the future “Demon King”—would one day sigh, witnessing the vicissitudes of life, “Even an upright official finds it hard to settle family matters.” Indeed, this famous saying actually originated from Wang Anshi, the great thinker and reformer. The young beauty watched Erya’s manner of eating with a heavy heart. Unfortunately, she could not speak; concubines held little status in the Song Dynasty to begin with, and the fact that she was even allowed to dine at the table was solely because Wang Anshi was not a corrupt Confucian scholar. Wang Anshi sat upright and composed, picked up one of the two chicken drumsticks, and placed it in his grandmother’s bowl, saying, “Grandmother, this is for you.” Then he picked up the remaining one. Put it down! That’s mine! Although Wang Bang wouldn’t be burned to death for speaking up now, he would be flogged to death, so he could only watch and think to himself. Actually, he was overthinking it—Old Wang had intended to put it in Wang Bang’s bowl all along. With that, the expression on his overprotective mother, Wu Qiong, softened slightly. Even the vegetarian dishes were rationed, with the “Demon King” father calling all the shots. The shrewd Wang Anshi kept a straight face on the surface, but Wang Bang noticed that he’d secretly added a few extra servings of vegetables to the little girl’s bowl. “Heh, this household is really something else.” As Wang Bang thought this, he pulled off a triple play—hiding the chicken drumstick—while also wondering why his family was so stingy… In the afternoon sunlight, many little native chickens were running around the courtyard, pecking at the ground for bugs. There couldn’t possibly be that many bugs for them to eat—it was actually Erya, looking carefree as she used her mouth to coax the little native chickens into eating rice. This was the ancient saying, “Feeding a golden chicken with a measure of rice”—it was far too inefficient, the chickens grew too slowly, and the cost was too high. In ancient times, chicken was an absolute luxury; chicken soup was used as a “tonic,” and ordinary people couldn’t afford it. So you can’t really say Wang Anshi was too stingy—being able to serve two chicken drumsticks at a dinner party was, for him, a sign of taking responsibility for his family. It’s clear that if it weren’t for the old lady’s advanced age and her “frail and sickly” son, given that “Demon King” Dad’s sleazy style, expecting him to serve up the chicken for a meal would have cost him his life. Wang Anshi’s expression at the dinner table was a sight to behold—a classic blend of being under his wife’s thumb, being a penny-pincher, overflowing with love, yet utterly powerless. “Don’t be naughty. You’ve already eaten plenty—let Huahua have some.” Erya kicked the little rooster away with her foot, then scattered a handful of rice on the ground for the other two little hens to eat. “Erya, come here,” Wang Bang began calling the little girl. “No way! I’m feeding the chickens. If they don’t grow up, I’ll get scolded.” She looked very dedicated. “Come here, and I’ll teach you how to feed the chickens.” To help Anshi’s dad relieve some pressure and boost his political achievements, Wang Bang decided to start with the poultry farming business. This piqued the little girl’s interest, and she ran over—only to find Wang Bang pulling out a chicken drumstick and shoving it toward her. “Hurry up and eat it.” Wang Xiaoya clearly looked like she was about to drool, but she was too timid—she just bit her finger and watched, not daring to take the chicken drumstick. “What are you still standing there for?” Wang Bang pulled her finger out of her mouth and replaced it with the chicken drumstick. It was absolutely delicious; the little girl felt as if it were practically New Year’s. “Da Bang, did you get kicked in the head by a donkey last night to act like this?” the little girl asked curiously after finishing. Wang Bang was at a loss for words with this little girl. “You’re not even a cultivation-practicing loli—how dare you talk to me like that?” However, after he explained the situation, she realized she was stating the facts. Apparently, a ball of fire had fallen on the Wang family residence the previous day. Wang Bang, startled, had run around frantically and accidentally tripped. A frightened donkey had then kicked him in the head—which was why he’d lost consciousness. “So the saying about getting kicked in the head by a donkey comes from me?” “Da Bang, teach me how to feed the chickens,” the little girl said, her spirits lifted after eating her fill. Before he could teach her his magical skills, two middle-aged men approached and said, “Young Master, the Master is asking for you in the study.” These two men—one named Geng Tianji and the other Xu Langshan—were the aides Wang Anshi trusted most throughout his life… Upon entering the study, he saw tall, three-dimensional bookshelves lining both sides, stacked all the way to the ceiling. It was like a small library. In ancient times, books were luxury items; some poor scholars could only read by borrowing them from others. Even if these were the cheap mass-produced books of later generations, buying this many would still cost at least 150,000—and that’s without considering their collectible value or the fact that they’re “antique texts.” So, in this main hall steeped in the scholarly atmosphere of books, Wang Bang’s first thought was, “Buying a DSLR can bankrupt three generations.” It turned out that our family’s money had been spent by my “demon” of a father on luxury items. The so-called scholarly atmosphere is very real; after a certain number of years, the paper in the books gives off that rich, earthy scent of raw wood. At the same time, since these are luxury items, their preservation involves many meticulous details—expensive fragrances are placed throughout the bookshelves to absorb moisture and repel insects. This is what it means to come from a scholarly family—and the price is money. No wonder our family can’t afford to put a big feast on the table. “Ying’er, your father has been quite busy and hasn’t been able to look after you properly. Please don’t hold it against me. I heard a donkey kicked you in the head last night—are you feeling better now? Are you still having nightmares?” As he surveyed his surroundings and pondered, Wang Anshi’s voice reached his ears. Wang Bang snapped back to reality; his loving father’s voice sounded very soothing at that moment. At the same time, his words revealed something: even as a teenager, Wang Bang had already begun to show signs of mental instability and frequently suffered from nightmares. “Dad, I took a pretty serious blow to the head this time.” Wang Bang was exaggerating the facts, shifting the blame onto that donkey. Otherwise, there would inevitably be a test on his academic knowledge, and then, after getting kicked in the head by a donkey, he could naturally get away with it. Even though Wang Anshi looked exhausted, his paternal affection immediately showed on his face, and he hurried to take Wang Bang’s pulse. Most scholars in ancient times had some knowledge of medicine, and as a great scholar, Wang Anshi was certainly more knowledgeable than the average physician—with the exception of the imperial physicians in the Capital City. After a brief Shao Qing examination, Wang Anshi felt puzzled. In the past, Wang Bang had always suffered from excessive heart fire, which led to spiritual exhaustion and, subsequently, severe insomnia and frequent dreams, causing his mental faculties to gradually deteriorate. No treatment had ever cured him, and this had been a constant source of worry for Wang Anshi for many years. Especially after overhearing those idle rumors before returning home, Wang Anshi—already under immense pressure—truly felt like crying. But now, strangely enough, his son’s pulse was steady, and his heart fire had miraculously subsided without any medication—yet his behavior and demeanor remained somewhat peculiar?