Chapter 2: Whoa, There’s Unofficial History!

Just as Mengde looked up at the sky, her face filled with despair, a voice suddenly rang in her ears.

“Xiaomeng, what are you doing?”

It was the voice of her eldest brother, Cao Bin, whom she affectionately called Binbin.

When Mengde first learned she had an older brother, she had been quite confused.

After all, she clearly remembered that Cao Cao didn’t have a brother older than him.

Cao Cao’s courtesy name was Mengde—Meng meaning “eldest.”

‘How could there be someone above him?’

It wasn’t until much later that the girl learned she was actually born in the seventh year of Yanxi.

Historically, Cao Cao was born in the first year of Yongshou under Emperor Huan, which was the year 155 CE.

But she herself had transmigrated into the year 165 CE—nearly a decade later than the historical Mengde.

Tsk.

When Mengde found out about this, she immediately clicked her tongue in frustration.

‘Dad… what exactly were you doing that night ten years ago? Practicing abstinence or something?’

That was the first time Mengde truly began to doubt her identity.

Was she really the Chancellor Cao?

If she had mistaken Li Kui for Li Gui, that would be truly embarrassing.

And with that doubt came her first real sense of crisis.

In feudal society, the distinction between eldest and second sons carried real and lasting weight.

The original Cao Cao was able to rally the full support of the Cao family—both in manpower and financial backing—precisely because he was Cao Song’s firstborn son.

After Cao Song’s death, the family’s assets were naturally inherited by him.

But now? If Cao the Entrepreneur was actually the second son, there was no way he would’ve had access to all that capital to start a rebellion.

And as for her current self? Forget rebellion.

She had better start thinking about how to avoid becoming a pawn in some inter-family marriage alliance.

In her previous life, Mengde had been a history buff and remembered clearly that Cao Cao once married his daughter off to Yuan Shao’s son.

Now, with her brother Cao Bin becoming the legitimate heir, he might one day replace Cao Cao in history—and she, as his sister, could very well be offered as a bargaining chip to another powerful faction.

Even if she were willing to marry, let’s not forget what happened to those groups in the end.

All the factions that received Cao Cao’s daughters—including the Yuan family and even Emperor Xian—were ultimately wiped out.

If she didn’t want to become a widow in the future, then she had to act now.

The first thought that came to Mengde’s mind was to demonstrate her precociousness to her father—to increase her perceived value in his eyes.

In the Han dynasty, beliefs in spirits and omens were widespread.

If she could exhibit some supernatural talent—paired with that dream her father once had before her birth—she might just earn herself a more prominent position in his heart.

And with that, gain at least some leverage in deciding her own future.

Having made up her mind, Mengde immediately stretched her arms toward her brother Cao Bin.

Now one year old, she could speak fairly fluently, which wasn’t surprising given her adult soul.

In a soft, childish voice, she said, “Brother, I want to go to the study!”

“The study?”

Cao Bin blinked in surprise, not understanding why his baby sister would want to go there.

‘Probably just curious…’ he guessed silently.

And so this boy, barely eight or nine years old himself, awkwardly picked up his one-year-old sister and began walking toward the study.

Cao Cao, as the eldest son of Cao Song, was born in 155 CE.

As the second son, Cao Bin could not possibly be older.

Now that the year was 165 CE, even the “original” Cao Cao would have just turned ten.

Cao Bin, being slightly younger, couldn’t be much older than eight or nine himself.

The boy walked carefully, carrying her for several minutes before finally arriving at their father’s study.

***

That day, Cao Song was taking a rest day.

“Rest day” or xiumu was the equivalent of a government holiday.

In the Han dynasty, officials were entitled to a day off after five consecutive days of work.

In the Eastern Han, in addition to those rest days, officials also received fixed holidays on the first, middle, and last day of each month.

On top of that were official holidays and mourning leaves.

Frankly speaking, Han dynasty officials lived a pretty relaxed life—one that would make even Ming dynasty bureaucrats weep with envy.

At the moment, Cao Song was flipping through a book in his study.

When he saw young Cao Bin carrying an even younger Mengde into the room, he quickly got up from his seat.

He walked over and took Mengde into his arms, then scolded Cao Bin.

“Why are you wandering around with your sister like that?”

Cao Bin immediately looked aggrieved.

“It was Xiaomeng who asked me to bring her here…”

“Xiaomeng? Mengde?”

Cao Song looked down at the little girl in his arms, confused.

Mengde nodded solemnly at her father, who held the title of Inspector of the Capital.

“Yes, Father. I asked Brother to bring me here.”

“I see… I misunderstood you,” Cao Song said, ruffling Cao Bin’s hair in apology.

Then he turned back to Mengde, still puzzled.

“So why did you want to come here, Mengde?”

“I want to read!”

“Read?”

“Mm-hmm! I want to learn how to read!”

“You… do you even know what you’re saying?”

Cao Song looked at her, visibly surprised.

“Of course I do!”

Mengde answered with absolute certainty.

This was exactly the kind of extraordinary trait she wanted her father to notice.

As a reincarnated adult in a child’s body, she was highly precocious.

Learning to read some basic characters was no challenge for her at all.

Once her father realized how special she was, she’d finally have the grounds to negotiate her future—however modestly.

Cao Song, now even more intrigued by her confident answer, carried Mengde over to a chair and sat down with her on his lap.

He gestured to the massive collection of scrolls and books in the study.

“Which book would you like to read?”

Cao Song currently held the position of [Colonel-Director of Retainers], which in Mengde’s pre-transmigration world would be roughly equivalent to the Chief of Public Security and Chief Prosecutor of the capital.

To have risen to such a high post in his early thirties, Cao Song must have walked a long, hard road filled with tireless effort.

Naturally, this had absolutely nothing to do with the recent death of Mengde’s grandfather, the Marquis of Feting.

As the Colonel-Director of Retainers, Cao Song’s study was filled with an extensive collection of books.

The Confucian classics like the Book of Songs, Book of Documents, Book of Rites, Book of Changes, and Spring and Autumn Annals were all present.

So were Daoist texts such as the Huangdi Sijing and the Dao De Jing.

Historical works like the Strategies of the Warring States and the Book of Han, poetic masterpieces such as Li Sao and Nine Songs, and economic writings like Guanzi, Biographies of Wealthy Merchants, and Discourses on Salt and Iron could all be found there.

There were also many miscellaneous works.

Contrary to what many people in later generations believed, knowledge in the Han Dynasty was not monopolized by powerful noble families.

In fact, both the central government and aristocratic clans were eager to promote education among the common people.

Knowledge was widely accessible, and it was common for young people to travel in search of education.

Renowned Confucian scholars often had hundreds or even tens of thousands of students.

After all, the louder your voice, the greater your influence.

These Confucians understood that to spread their teachings, they needed as many students as possible.

‘Why did Confucianism succeed in outshining all the other schools of thought?’

Simply put, because it was the most aggressive in spreading its ideas.

When every official in court was a student of the Confucian school, and most scholars outside the court were too, even without Dong Zhongshu’s policies, the Han emperors would still have “honored Confucianism alone.”

So, if both the court and society placed such a high value on education, why were there still so few scholars in the Han Dynasty?

The answer was simple: limited productivity.

Though ordinary farmers respected scholars, few were willing to let their sons study.

Reading books didn’t put food on the table.

Look at Fan Jin in The Scholars—how many years did he study before finally passing the imperial exam?

And that was with an examination system.

In the Han, where no such system existed, what were the odds of a poor commoner achieving success through reading?

Close to zero.

So what was the point of reading for the average person?

The only practical benefit was exemption from corvée labor.

According to Han law, those engaged in scholarly study could be excused from forced labor.

However, compared to the Qin Dynasty, Han’s system was far more lenient.

Corvée duty wasn’t entirely unbearable.

For farming families with several strong laborers and land of their own, it simply meant one fewer pair of hands at home for half a year.

But reading required a family to forgo a strong, working male entirely.

As a result, most land-owning farmers were unwilling to let their children study.

The ones who turned to books for exemption from labor were often those from families with no other working-age males, especially those with elderly parents to support.

If they went off for forced labor, their parents would be left with no one to care for them.

That’s why these men would join the ranks of great scholars’ students.

Many of those tens of thousands of disciples under great Confucians were actually just trying to avoid forced labor.

The scholars were happy to take them in, too—after all, it was a way of doing good within the rules.

This created a unique phenomenon in the Han Dynasty: many officials came from poor backgrounds, some even tenant farmers.

Notable examples include Zhu Maichen, Wang Fu, and the future refugee-turned-scholar Xu Shu.

Even someone like Xu Shu, who had a criminal past, could still study under a great Confucian.

That alone said volumes about how much the upper class valued education in the Han.

***

Mengde scanned the bookshelf stacked nearly to the brim with bamboo scrolls.

Though she was eager to begin reading, it would be absurd to assume she was born literate.

She scrunched up her little face and looked up at her father.

“Father! I don’t know how to read yet! I want to learn to read first!”

“You know you need to learn to read first, do you?”

Cao Song chuckled as he pinched his daughter’s cheek affectionately.

Then he pulled out a scroll from the shelf and said, “Let’s start with this, then. It’s the Rapid Primer, used for teaching characters.”

During the Eastern Han, the two main literacy texts were the Rapid Primer (Jijiupian) and the Cangjie Primer.

The former taught commonly used characters through names of everyday things to aid children in recognizing words.

The latter organized characters by radicals, more like a dictionary.

Cao Song pointed at the characters in the Rapid Primer and read aloud, one by one.

“Rapid Primer’s unusual style differs from the rest; it lists names and words of all things.”

“Rapid Primer’s unusual style differs from the rest; it lists names and words of all things,” Mengde repeated in a soft, childish voice.

“Grouped by sections and clearly arranged; for daily use, concise and pleasing.”

“Grouped by sections and clearly arranged; for daily use, concise and pleasing.”

“If you work hard at it, you’ll surely be rewarded…”

“If you work hard at it, you’ll surely be rewarded…”

***

After reading through the entire piece once, Cao Song smiled and asked the girl in his arms, “Want to go over it again?”

“No need,” Mengde shook her head.

“I already memorized it.”

“Already?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Really? You’re not fooling your father?”

“I’m not!”

“Then let’s hear it again. The whole thing.”

Somewhat skeptical, Cao Song handed the scroll back to her.

Mengde then recited the entire passage from beginning to end, flawlessly.

The common script in the Eastern Han was clerical script—blocky, square-shaped characters that were nearly identical to modern Chinese.

Mengde recognized most of them thanks to her previous life.

The few she didn’t know, she’d memorized just moments ago, since her memory had greatly improved since transmigrating.

That’s how she managed to read the Rapid Primer in full.

Cao Bin stood nearby, eyes wide in disbelief.

‘Once?’

‘She got it after one reading?’

How long had he struggled when he first started learning?

Thinking back to the painful process he went through two years ago, and then looking at his little sister’s composed, confident expression, Cao Bin felt, for the first time in his life, that the difference between people might be greater than the difference between humans and dogs.

Nestled in her father’s arms, Mengde glanced smugly at her brother.

‘Look at this Binbin. What a loser!’

Cao Song, meanwhile, was bursting with pride.

“Ha! Just what I’d expect from my daughter! So, what would you like to read next?”

“I want to read the Book of Han!”

Mengde answered without hesitation.

There had to be a reason why she transmigrated from Cao Mengde to Cao Mengde—something important, even huge.

And the best place to search for answers was, of course, in the historical records.

“Very well.”

Cao Song took down the first scroll of the Book of Han and opened it in front of her.

The opening volume of the Book of Han was the Annals of Emperor Gao, which focused on the life of Liu Bang, the founding emperor of the Han.

Mengde read for a while…

And then her eyes were practically blinded by the dazzling brilliance of ancient gossip.