Lian Daozi had a master move, one that could help him deal with ninety-nine percent of the world's matters. This master move consisted of a single word, "Fine."
Father, fine. Stepmother, fine. Younger brother, fine. Moving house, fine. Changing rooms, fine. Not speaking Han language, also fine. The house cat causing trouble was truly annoying, losing it was fine too. Clothes with holes, no one to mend them, just fine, one always needs to change clothes anyway. Having one less mung bean pastry in his bowl than his brother, fine, he didn't like sweets anyway. Reading one less hour of books each day to pick up his brother from school was just wonderful, he didn't want to recite that bothersome Confucian text with the teacher anyway. Younger brother taking over the Winter Solstice stove offering and ancestral hall worship... fine, whoever wants to get up in the morning can get up, he certainly wasn't going to. After enough "fines," his agreeableness became a daily routine, as regular as the sun rising. He had a rather beautiful old pipa, given by his grandfather. He couldn't play complete melodies, but he always held it. Perhaps the tuning pegs were too tight or too old, when he held the pipa, it would sometimes creak and call to him, and he would respond, "Fine, fine." He and the pipa got along fine, so everything was still fine. Father did once say it wasn't fine, that he stood without posture, was sloppy, indifferent, said "fine" to everything, not manly at all. He shrugged, replied "Fine," and turned away.
Until one day, he returned home to find his pipa being loaded onto a merchant's cart. He rushed over, snatched back the pipa, his lips trembling, unable to utter a single word. His younger brother, however, clapped and cheered, while his stepmother urged him, saying he didn't play it anyway, it would just rot at home, wouldn't getting some silver for it be better? His father, as ever, scowled with anger, slapped him across the face, told him to take a good look at himself now, and to either put the pipa down or get out of this house.
The pipa, aggrieved, nestled in his embrace, creaking and complaining to him. Mr. Agreeable, good Mr. Agreeable, don't say that word...
He looked up. The sunlight was blinding.
"Okay."
