Usurpation and Seizing the Throne

After crossing the bridge, Chang'an Fang and his family got back onto the tricycle and headed south. In less than a mile, they reached their village. Chang'an's house was at the very northern end, so it wasn't long before they arrived at the front gate. His younger brother, Changming Fang, and little sister, Yanran Fang, were playing under the eaves across the street at the neighbor's main entrance—a space at one end of the row of village houses, used for vehicles and odds and ends.

Hearing the tricycle, Yanran stuck her head out and called out joyfully, "You're back!" Changming, along with Tiantian Fang and Dianzhou Fang from next door, all ran to the side of the road, sheltering under the eaves and peering their way.

Yanran called again, "Big brother, you’re back too? Aren’t you supposed to be at school?" Changming had already dashed through the rain to their wooden gate, unlocking it.

The tricycle stopped in front of the house. Chang'an jumped down with his parents. Seeing Yanran running over, he quickly held an umbrella for her. Yanran, standing under the umbrella, was a bit giddy with excitement to see her brother home again—she thought he wouldn't be back for another half month. She looked up and asked, "Big brother, how come you're back?"

Chang'an smiled, "School got flooded, so classes are canceled today."

The rain had eased up considerably. Lukjun Fang carried two white canvas sacks filled with his son's bedding from the tricycle and headed into the yard, urging, "Get inside! What are you standing around talking for?"

There wasn't much left in the tricycle; Chang'an grabbed his backpack and calmly took down their two stools. Lukyong Fang then called out, started up the tricycle again, and drove his wife home further south.

As Chang'an was about to help his mother with a stool, Changming had already dashed over and, eager to please, snatched it from her hands, running off towards the main room through the rain.

In front of her own house, Tiantian Fang yelled to Chang'an, "Where's my sister?"

Her older sister, Dianqiu Fang, was in the same grade as Chang'an and had also gotten into the town's Second Middle School, starting today as well. Their father had taken her, and the two families had bumped into each other at school. But at noon, Chang'an's family had eaten at his uncle Lukjun's, not returning together.

"She should be back soon! No school today for anyone! We're heading home now!" Chang'an replied, taking his not-yet-eight-year-old sister into the yard.

Chang'an had always been introverted and preferred solitude, never very close to his siblings. Changming was lively, even mischievous—a ring-leader among the neighboring kids, often inviting his big brother to play, though Chang'an almost always refused. Yanran, being a girl, was usually left out by Changming unless it was a group game like dodgeball or hide and seek. She had her own little circle, playing with Tiantian, Yanyan, and other girls her age when her brothers ignored her.

But ever since the Chang'an of the future arrived here a few days ago, he'd grown closer to his younger siblings, telling them funny stories—fairy tales, tales of the Three Kingdoms, Dream of the Red Chamber, and swashbuckling adventures. Yanran especially loved the fairy tales and Dream of the Red Chamber, and had been very attached to her big brother lately.

As for why their big brother had changed, neither Lukjun nor Congrong paid it any mind, and the two little ones, whose heads were full of nothing but food and play, wouldn't have noticed either.

The Fang family’s yard was quite large, divided into east and west by a fence. The west side was smaller, housing the toilet, pigsty, and a shed attached to the main room for their tricycle and other odds and ends. The eastern yard was larger; to the right of the main gate, against the east wall, was a simple asbestos-roofed kitchen, called the "stove house." The main room faced south, divided into five rooms: the east room was Lukjun and Congrong's bedroom; the west, spanning two rooms, was used for storage, with a corner partitioned off as a sheep pen. The central living room also took up two rooms, half separated by a cupboard to serve as a bedroom for the three siblings. There were two beds, one large and one small—the small one, of course, was Yanran's. Changming, still hazy about gender differences, often complained, insisting his little sister should sleep with big brother since she was small, and he should get the little bed.

Chang'an and his parents were soaked. After dropping their things, Congrong urged him to change into dry clothes and went to change herself. Chang'an took off his wet white T-shirt and pulled a new one from the clothing box—also white, with a childish picture of a puppy printed on the chest, the plastic print already peeling, leaving the puppy with only one ear. He didn’t bother changing his pants; tossing the wet shirt onto the rack behind the door, he found his father had already changed and now eyed his son: "Why not change your pants?"

"It’s just the cuffs that are a little damp—no need," Chang'an replied.

Lukjun didn’t press. Turning to Changming and Yanran, he said, "I bought fried buns for you..."

He looked around on the old couch, propped up with bricks, but couldn’t find the bag of buns. He shouted towards the bedroom, "Where’s the bag?"

Lukjun was a hasty man, impatient with everything and sometimes bossy at home, though deferential and even timid with outsiders. At home, he could be sharp-tongued when agitated, though generally good-natured.

Congrong, used to his temper, grumbled from the bedroom, "They’re cold now! Why let them eat at this hour? Heat them up for dinner."

Life in the village was hard—no one went hungry, but meat was rare. The fried buns from town were a treat that all the kids craved. Whatever flaws Lukjun had, he never stinted on spending when he had money—his wife and children never went wanting.

When they left town, it was already raining, but he insisted Lukyong stop the tricycle so he could run through the rain and buy four yuan's worth of buns—half to send back with Lukyong for his parents, half for his own kids.

After days of rain, it was chilly, and even the cloth bag Congrong had sewn was wet, so the buns inside were sure to be cold. Lukjun knew his wife's complaint was reasonable, but still said, "Let them have a taste first. Chang'an had a good meal at his uncle’s; Changming and Yanran missed out."

He searched again, but finding nothing, continued to call, "Where is it? Where did you put it?"

"In here!" came Congrong’s resigned sigh from the bedroom—not because she didn’t want the children to eat, but because she disliked Lukjun's impatient need to show off his love for them.

Lukjun fetched the cloth bag from the bedroom, took out the twenty buns, and set them on the small table in the living room. He handed one to Changming and said to Yanran, "Come have one—still a bit warm."

Chang'an reminded him, "Dad, don’t use your hands. Use chopsticks."

"A bit of dirt never hurt anyone," Lukjun brushed him off, laughing at his rare talkative son. "You're always putting on airs..."

"It’s just being clean—ask Mom if you don’t believe me."

From the bedroom, Congrong's voice came, half laughing, "Exactly! At your age, you should be more like Chang'an!"

Lukjun snorted, "That’s all for show. I never got sick from eating with my hands!"

The kitchen was in the yard, with a clay stove for wood, and a coal stove in the west room, where the cupboard stood as well. Chang'an went to the west room, washed three pairs of chopsticks, shook them dry, and returned, handing them to Changming and Yanran, saying sternly, "Use chopsticks—don’t copy Dad! That's an old-fashioned habit. We should be young people of the new era—clean and tidy!"

Both Lukjun and Congrong laughed, Lukjun feigning annoyance, "Listen to that! Not even in junior high and already looking down on his old man, calling me old-fashioned..."

Yanran obediently took the chopsticks. Seeing her hands greasy, she started to wipe them on her clothes, but Chang'an glared, "Where do you think you’re wiping those hands?"

"Oh." The little girl pouted, her mouth full of bun, cheeks puffed out, looking around for something to wipe her hands with, one hand holding the chopsticks, the other raised.

Chang'an had already fetched a half roll of toilet paper from the cupboard, tore off a piece, and wiped his sister’s greasy hands, then wiped again, but seeing they were still shiny with oil, said, "Wash your hands after you eat."

"Okay!" Yanran replied. Chang'an then glared at Changming, who was still using his hands.

Even though his big brother had started to play with him more and tell stories, he was starting to be a bit of a nag—a real pain!

Changming, rebellious by nature, didn’t want to listen, but when he saw Chang'an just standing there silently, staring at him, he felt a little guilty without knowing why. After a couple of seconds’ hesitation, he reluctantly picked up the chopsticks his brother had set on the bun bag.

Chang'an instructed, "Wash your hands after you eat!"

Changming grumbled, "You don’t even wipe mine..."

Want the same treatment as his sister? Keep dreaming!

Chang'an ignored him, took the last pair of chopsticks, picked up a bun, and brought it to his father, "Dad, have one."

Congrong, already changed, was tidying up the dirty clothes, keeping an eye on the three children. Lukjun watched them too, feeling the gloom of the rainy day lift.

When Chang'an picked up the bun with the chopsticks, Lukjun naturally thought he was eating it himself. But then, unexpectedly, Chang'an held it out to him. Never before had he experienced such a scene—a dutiful son, like something from a TV drama. Flustered, he leaned back and waved it away, "No, no, you eat."

"Dad, just try it—see if it’s different with chopsticks instead of hands."

Chang'an pushed the bun toward his father’s face. He wasn’t trying to make up for lost time or show filial piety with a bun, but he wanted to show in small ways that he was growing up—so his parents would slowly get used to it.

And in time, he wanted them to get used to listening to him—so that, little by little, he’d become the true head of the family.

As for his father, though he loved his wife and children, he drank, gambled, was timid, and lacked ambition—not the right man to run things. It was better for him to be a retired emperor, while Chang'an took on the role of regent.

Of course, for now, Chang'an was still young; his main task was to study. Earning money and hard labor would have to be his father's job for now—the emperor personally leading the troops, while the crown prince governed in his stead. Quite common, really.