Chapter Thirty-Eight: Reincarnation Is a Skillful Art

Speaking of being born into the right family, it truly is a matter of skill. Landing a good life from birth depends entirely on one's fate. Among the second generation of the Song family brothers, none had chosen better than the fourth, Song Zhiyu.

Unlike his older brothers, Song Zhiyuan and Song Zhicheng, who both knew the taste of hardship and had waded through difficult days, and even the third son, born just as the Song family was beginning to prosper, Song Zhiyu entered the world at the very height of the family's glory. He was a true child of fortune, born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and as the youngest, cherished all the more for it.

At birth, Song Zhiyu's destiny was predicted by a revered monk—he was fated for wealth and ease. Luck seemed to follow him; he was the sort of person for whom even a flower vase falling from above would be blown harmlessly aside by the wind. Yet, officialdom was not written in his stars, and so Song Zhiyu, to this day, had passed only the children's examination, failing twice to become a scholar, and was currently studying at Qingyang Academy.

Still, no one in the family saw this as any shortcoming. For Song Zhiyu to pass the scholar or even the provincial exam would be but another feather in the family's already resplendent cap. His role was that of a gentleman born to leisure and prosperity, needing no struggle to secure a life of comfort.

Even if he wished to strive, there was little necessity for it—after all, with two jinshi in the family, the eldest being a pillar of the state as the Prime Minister, and even the legitimized brother holding a fifth-rank official post, the Song family's fortunes were already blazing, with no need to draw further attention.

Thus, under the deliberate or inadvertent guidance of his family, Song Zhiyu grew up pampered and carefree. He was hopeless at studies and calligraphy, but unmatched when it came to rolling up his sleeves for a brawl, climbing trees, or pitting crickets against each other. He was, in truth, a little tyrant among the young scions of the capital's nobility.

Yet the Song family was unconcerned by his mischief. This was a common feature of great houses, and, in fact, the most reassuring type in the emperor's eyes. After all, if your family stands alone in both power and reputation, surely the nation would worry you harbor ambitions beyond your station?

Moreover, though Song Zhiyu was a rascal, he lived by a code—never stooping to truly evil deeds. He wouldn't commit atrocities, not with an elder brother more intimidating than any parent keeping a watchful eye on him.

Within the home, Song Zhiyu understood his place, shaped by the teachings of his family. He lived cheerfully, unburdened by cares, convinced that any disaster would be shouldered by the taller ones above him. His optimism and generosity made him universally liked.

And he was a handsome youth as well. When he smiled, there was a tenderness in his eyes that made the young maids blush.

Song Ci looked at her youngest son, who was grinning like a blooming chrysanthemum, and thought that the genes from that plump old man were not so bad after all—every child, young and old, was easy on the eyes.

“Mother, why have you gone quiet? Are you still angry that I returned late? Honestly, except for the time on the boat, I hurried back as fast as I could. My legs are rubbed raw from the journey,” Song Zhiyu said with a pitiful air.

Song Ci handed him a cup of tea. “Why would I blame you? It's mostly that you chatter so much, I can't get a word in edgewise. Enough now—I'm parched just listening to you. Drink some water, moisten your throat. Nanny Gong, have someone help the fourth master bathe, and add some herbs to the bath to ease his fatigue.”

She paused, remembering her eldest grandson. “Did you come back alone? Where's your nephew?”

At that very moment, a delighted maid entered to announce, “Madam, the young master has returned as well.”

Song Ci looked up to see a handsome young man stride in, quickly kneeling before her. “Grandmother, I beg your pardon for being late.”

What a polite and beautiful youth, she thought. Her grandsons could form a troupe and take the world by storm.