But between the lines of her letters, there was always a hint of worry that didn't quite fit Fan Ruoruo's age. It must be that after the death of the First Madam in the Kyoto residence, that concubine who bore a son was becoming increasingly arrogant. The little girl was alone in Kyoto, and Si Nan Earl was busy with official duties, so her life might have some small problems.

Picking up a brush, dipping it in some ink, Fan Xian thought for a moment, then began to reply. In the letter, he wrote very subtly, telling his sister to first try to spend more time with Si Nan Earl, to appear weak and lovely in front of their father, never to complain, but to occasionally show a hint of melancholy.

The second step was to act tougher in front of that concubine and her spoiled younger brother. As the saying goes, people are bullied when they are kind. If you don't want to be bullied, you must at least show that you are willing to resist.

The third step was to be nice to the servants at home, especially to Si Nan Earl's advisors, using that innocent gaze, looking at the uncles and showing your boring admiration.

Then, try to slightly offend the current mistress of the Kyoto residence, suffer some minor hardships, and then find a way to let the master of the house know about it—any man will have a inexplicable desire to protect, especially for his daughter. Believing in the surrounding influence, Si Nan Earl will definitely remember that his deceased wife left him a daughter.

But this kind of domestic maneuvering also needed to be done with moderation. Fan Xian casually hinted at a few points, thinking that if Ruoruo was smart enough, she should understand what he meant, but he didn't know if this trick, which he learned from romance novels in his previous life, would be useful.

He waited anxiously for a reply, afraid that his reckless ideas would cause trouble for the eleven-year-old girl.

Two months later, Fan Ruoruo's reply came. Whether these tricks worked or there was no so-called stepmother-abusing-daughter incident in the Kyoto residence at all, in any case, Fan Xian could clearly see that his sister had been very happy lately.

But in the letter, Fan Ruoruo asked somewhat puzzledly why she should be nice to the servants at home. Fan Xian then realized that in such a hierarchical society, not everyone saw the relationship between people the same way he did. So he wrote another letter, telling a few short stories to show that respect was not only beneficial to others, but also to oneself.

Originally, Fan Xian wanted to copy some stories from *The Decameron* based on his memory and include them in the letter sent to Kyoto, because he remembered that when he was reading textbooks in his previous life, authoritative critics always praised Boccaccio for praising love in the book and advocating social equality and gender equality. But after a moment of reflection, Fan Xian was terrified, remembering that there were quite a few yellow jokes in *The Decameron*.

This was a small episode in Fan Xian's life, but it gave him some kind of spiritual sustenance. It seemed that whether the little girl in Kyoto was doing well or not also became an indicator of his life happiness.

Although Fan Ruoruo in Kyoto was young, she could also feel from these letters that the older brother far away in Danzhou seemed different from ordinary children. This pair of siblings with vastly different mental ages corresponded in this way. Obviously, Fan Ruoruo was also infected by Fan Xian a lot. Her words and demeanor in her letters were much more mature than those of ordinary little girls, and her view of the world began to have some very subtle changes.

Spring had kites, summer had fish, autumn had bluebirds, winter had geese. The days passed in this way, with letters going back and forth.

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Fan Xian would shake his head and smile wryly every time he wrote to Fan Ruoruo. His arm had basically not been well in these years, either swollen or painful, like being pricked by needles. Sometimes he couldn't even lift his right hand, so he had to write with his left hand, so that Fan Ruoruo in Kyoto was very amazed at her brother's carefulness, and would change his handwriting every other letter.

All this stemmed from that night six years ago.

After Fei Lao left, little Fan Xian was very lonely. One night, he sneaked out of the dog hole on his little legs and came to that strange grocery store that was often closed. He found the back door with familiarity, took the key from the thick grass leaves at the corner of the stone steps, and opened the door to go inside.

The grocery store was originally pitch black, until Fan Xian came to the back door, a faint oil lamp inside was lit. Little Fan Xian sniffed his nose and easily found the yellow wine that Wu Zhu had prepared for him. He smiled sweetly and began to pour himself a bowl of wine and drink it.

Wu Zhu didn't drink alcohol, and Fan Xian had never even seen him eat, so he was used to it. He drank heartily by himself, but this scene inevitably looked a little absurd. A six-year-old boy was actually chugging wine like a heroic wanderer in the world. Anyone who saw it would think they were seeing things.

But Wu Zhu just let Fan Xian drink, never interfering with him, and even consciously started preparing a few small cold dishes to accompany the young master's wine.

Although it was yellow wine, drinking too much would still make him a little dizzy. Fan Xian squinted his cute, drunk eyes and looked at the blind man whose face had never had any expression and who seemed to never age: "Uncle, why haven't you changed much over the years? It's like you won't get old."

He then answered himself: "It seems that peerless experts can really stay young forever... but, haven't you never practiced internal energy?"

"Uncle, how many really powerful people are there in this world? How are they ranked?"

"Ninth level? Why is it nine again?" The drunken little guy didn't notice the loopholes in his words at all.

"What level are you?"

"No level?"

"Then what level is that idiot in Dongyi City who practices Si Gu Jian?"

"No level either?"

"What level is that Uncle-Master of so-and-so in Kyoto, Ye Liuyun?"

"Still no level?"

In fact, all the words were Fan Xian asking and answering himself. Finally, he giggled and said, "Then no, I also want to practice to no level."

The blind man Wu Zhu's hands were slowly and steadily cutting radish shreds. He cut very quickly, but the blade would retract as soon as it touched the wooden board, with a precision that was terrifying. And the radish shreds that were cut out were the same thickness as if they had been measured with a tool, not a bit off, crystal clear and neatly arranged on the cutting board, very beautiful.

Wu Zhu raised his head, hesitated slightly, walked to Fan Xian's side, and stuffed the kitchen knife in his hand into his hand.