Ye Caiqian's earliest memories beyond infancy were colored by the familiar warmth and gentle voices of his family. He belonged to the Ye clan—a modest but respected household in their riverside village. Five members made up his world: his father, mother, two elder brothers, and himself, the youngest.
His father, Ye Shentong, was a man of imposing stature but gentle disposition. Years of bartering and travel had lined his face with both sun and wisdom. Though they lived simply, Ye Shentong's reputation as a shrewd trader and trustworthy man was widely known, and his presence in the trading markets always attracted curious glances and respectful nods.
His mother, Ye Qiumei, rarely left their home. She was the heart of the family, her days spent weaving, cooking, tending the small vegetable patch, and caring for her children. Patient and steady, Ye Qiumei's laughter brought warmth to their modest home even on stormy nights.
Caiqian's brothers were both older and stronger, their bond forged by countless days spent side by side in the forest. Ye Xuan, the eldest, was seven years older than Caiqian and had inherited their father's quiet strength. He was a skilled hunter, known for his patience and accuracy with a simple bow. Ye Rong, four years older than Caiqian, was more daring, always the first to track new prey or brave unfamiliar territory. Together, Xuan and Rong provided for the family, their skills a pillar of their household and a resource for their father's trading business.
Caiqian himself was still young, his role within the family yet undefined. But unlike most children his age, he possessed a watchful curiosity—absorbing every detail, every conversation, every technique his brothers and father demonstrated.
Often, Caiqian would accompany his father to the bustling market at the village's heart. The trading grounds were a lively mess of shouting, laughter, and the earthy scent of goods—furs, wild meats, dried herbs, pottery, and tools. His father's stall always held the choicest furs and smoked meat, prized trophies from his brothers' hunts. But Ye Shentong's reach extended beyond just his sons' skills: he partnered with many hunters throughout the village, buying whatever they brought in and trading with neighboring settlements. His small workshop at home became a hive of activity, with skins tanned and beast parts sorted and prepared for sale.
It was in these market trips that Caiqian first began to sense the limitations of the world around him. Though the trading business was lively, everything from tallying sales to tracking debts was managed with bundles of sticks or notched bones—primitive, awkward, and prone to mistakes. He noticed traders struggling over larger deals, their faces drawn in concentration as they worked out sums with counting rods much like those used in ancient China during his previous life.
Even the concept of zero seemed absent from their world. If there was nothing to count, they simply left a space—an emptiness that sometimes led to costly confusion. Caiqian's mind, sharpened by both his extraordinary comprehension and the buried memories of his past life, immediately saw the inefficiencies.
He would watch as men counted rods to add and subtract, laboriously grouping and regrouping bundles just to keep up with sales and inventory. On more than one occasion, he quietly corrected his father's sums, earning a bewildered look and then a fond, if slightly nervous, smile.
As he watched, Caiqian remembered the story of numerals from his previous life—the slow evolution from crude marks to the numbers that shaped the modern world. He remembered reading how the concept of "zero" was first formalized in ancient India, then carried by Persian scholars and spread westward, eventually becoming the Arabic numerals that revolutionized Europe and, in time, the whole world. That journey had taken more than fifteen centuries.
Could he really bring such change to this world? The thought both thrilled and sobered him. He knew that the right idea, if properly nurtured, could alter the fate of generations. Still, he hesitated; how would his family, or the traders, accept something so foreign and abstract?
One evening, as the sun set and the family gathered for a meal, Caiqian broached the subject with his father. He picked up a stick and drew lines and circles in the dust outside their home, quietly explaining the notion of using distinct symbols for numbers—one, two, three—and then the revolutionary idea of "zero."
At first, Ye Shentong frowned in confusion, even suspicion. "How can nothing be a number?" he asked, rubbing his brow. Caiqian smiled, patient and clear, showing with simple examples how debts, emptiness, and the passing of seasons all needed a symbol for "nothing." It took time—days, then weeks—but slowly, Ye Shentong began to see the subtle brilliance behind his youngest son's teaching.
As the trading season wore on, Ye Shentong noticed fewer mistakes in his records when he used Caiqian's system. Intrigued and then convinced, he brought the method to his partners and other traders in the market. Some were skeptical at first, but when they saw how much easier it was to keep track of goods and coin, they too began to adopt the system.
Months passed, and before long, Ye Caiqian's numerals—especially the use of zero—began spreading beyond their little stall. Traders who once balked at the strange new method now came to ask the boy for lessons. At his father's urging, Caiqian began teaching the basics to others, demonstrating over and over how these symbols could simplify their lives.
For the first time, Ye Caiqian saw how even a small idea, shared in the right moment, could ripple outward—changing not just his family's fortunes, but the destiny of an entire community.