At high noon, sunlight fell across the bright courtyard of the Grand Princess’s residence. In the main hall, where more than fifty guests had gathered for the feast, the Emperor’s tone remained gentle, and Huang Shengyuan couldn’t help but lift his head and look around at the others present—several familiar faces met his eyes almost instinctively, and it became clear that something was, indeed, off.
“…For a great family to prosper, for a clan to endure—these are all perfectly natural, proper human desires. After all, once your families have endured and prospered, the nation’s fortunes improve as well. And so, on this matter, I’ve sought advice from a great many people. Today, I’d also like to share with all of you some thoughts I have on how a clan can endure…”
“First, there’s a story about the Zuo family…”
At the front of the hall, Jun Wu smiled, looking around at everyone.
“…Speaking of the Zuo family, none of you are strangers to it—it’s a great clan passed down since the founding of this dynasty by Lord Zhenglian. The previous head of the family, Lord Duanyou, all of you have heard his name too… Last year’s great stir, when a group of Zuo family members came from the southwest, and I entrusted them with important responsibilities, upsetting quite a few people in the process—ha, there’s no need to turn your heads away. Today we won’t speak of politics, only of clans. These Zuo family members are true talents—they’ve been to the battlefield, fought the Jurchen, and handle their affairs cleanly and capably…”
“…But why does the Zuo family have so many talented people? Some say the Zuo family produces many great scholars, that their children grow up steeped in learning from a young age, giving them a solid foundation. Some say it’s simply that dragons beget dragons and phoenixes beget phoenixes—even the Zuo family’s daughters-in-law must be well-read women, and combined with marriages into equally distinguished families, the children born naturally turn out no less impressive—that it’s simply natural talent…”
“…But actually, none of that is quite right. When Lord Zuo was still alive, I once had the honor of receiving his instruction, and he once spoke to me about the children in his own household, only with a sigh, saying that by his grandchildren’s generation, most had already become ignorant, incompetent wastrels of pure pleasure-seeking, and that if things continued this way, the Zuo family might not even manage to hold on to what it had. It was around that time, when the Central Plains had fallen and the Zuo family fled south as a whole, that he made a decision no one could have anticipated…”
“…He selected, from among the direct and collateral branches of the family, some one hundred twenty-odd children and young people, and sent them off to what was then the Xiaocang River’s Huaxia Army—donating some grain along with them—entrusting them to Ning Yi, who is now in the southwest, to look after amid the fighting against the Jurchen on the front lines.”
The Zuo family was now, arguably, the single great clan closest to the Wu Dynasty, and there had long been rumors circulating in the world about its history—occasionally whispered about in private—but for the Emperor to bring up the matter of Xiaocang River so openly, even willing to lay bare in front of everyone the fact that the Zuo family might have once “consorted with rebels,” still left those at the banquet exchanging uneasy glances.
Jun Wu waved a hand from above.
“As I said, today we’re not discussing politics, only clans…”
“…Whether Lord Zuo’s decision at the time was right or wrong, many who know the story have debated it. But first, the Zuo family originally came from Hedong, a great clan with a blood debt against the Jurchen from the fall of the Central Plains—when he sent his family members north and west, his thinking was, wherever the Jurchen were, that was where he wanted his family to be. Second, Lord Zuo had also made a three-point agreement with Ning Yi—that the Zuo family would never become an enemy of the Wu Dynasty. And in the time that followed, many things happened, one of which moved me deeply…”
“…It was the autumn of the third year of the Jianshuo era. The Jurchen had begun mobilizing troops in force, besieging the northwest, and the Huaxia Army knew this coming battle would be brutal. Ning Yi contacted Lord Zuo, asking whether the children still remaining there should be brought back early, since it seemed unavoidable that some would die otherwise… Lord Zuo refused. This part, some of you may have heard before, but what fewer of you know is that by the fifth year of Jianshuo, the northwest had been reduced to scorched earth, and Xiaocang River itself had already been besieged and battered nearly to ruin. At that point Ning Yi reached out to Lord Zuo once more, saying… the sons and daughters of your clan have suffered nearly fifty percent casualties, but they have also tasted battle now, been forged in it—should they be brought back?”
“…By then Lord Zuo’s health had already deteriorated badly, and he was near the end. The clan elders felt that yes, it was time—bring them back, and let them see the old man one last face as well. Some of the children’s parents, weeping, begged for their little ones to be brought home. When Lord Zuo regained lucidity, everyone tried to persuade him, saying—the Huaxia Army is unreasonable, still fighting the Jurchen to the death out there in that mountain hollow—Lord Zuo, upon hearing this, raised his hand and struck it forcefully against the bed.”
“…He laughed loudly and said: my clan’s able-bodied sons fight the Jurchen and will not retreat even in death! They fight to the death and will not yield! How dare you bring them back and ruin them for life! They—will fight to the death and never yield—”
Jun Wu slapped his palm on the table, again and again, and for a moment it seemed the whole hall could see, before their eyes, the scene of that dying old man laughing and slapping his bed. The dragon-robed Emperor, in the midst of his own laughter, seemed to have a mist in his eyes as well—though of course no one dared look too closely.
The crowd only listened as the sound echoed through the hall.
“…And so Lord Zuo had Zuo Jiyun write back, telling Ning Yi—wherever your Black Banner fights on to, my Zuo family’s people will fight on to as well. Ning Yi readily agreed.”
“…They went on fighting for another year after that, until the Huaxia Army finally marched south and reached Liangshan. At that time, of the one hundred twenty-seven Zuo clan members originally sent to the southwest, only fifty-five remained… This was the hardest stretch. And then they took part in the great battles of the southwest as well, and in the end, thirty-seven survived—these thirty-seven, having lived through the fires of war, having learned the crafts and sciences of the southwest, with the blood of Jurchen fighters on their own hands, were, when Zuo Xiuquan traveled to the southwest, finally brought back to the Wu Dynasty.”
“…On this matter, some say the Southwest’s Black Banner and our Wu Dynasty carry an irreconcilable enmity. But I believe that in a time when the nation was shattered and the homeland lost, the greatest enemy was the foreign invader. Lord Zuo placed the children of his clan on the front lines against the Jurchen, and nearly a hundred of them died there—did it not pain him, in his heart? I believe it certainly did. Yet they fought the Jurchen to the death, without retreat, and in the end brought back what was good and useful, and gave it to the Wu Dynasty. I consider this the wholehearted devotion of a great clan, to the Wu Dynasty, to the nation as a whole… This is the first story I wished to share with you all today.”
Jun Wu paused a moment here.
“There’s a second story, one I probably shouldn’t be telling you at all…”
“This one concerns my own reflections…”
“…When I was young, I was just the son of an idle prince in Jiangning. My elder sister kept me under fairly strict discipline, so I never picked up any truly serious bad habits, but honestly, no one placed much hope in me either. Cockfighting and dog-racing, I had no talent for, and even poetry and arithmetic I never learned well. Back then, plenty of people judged me to be a man of only middling talent…”
“…Middling talent isn’t so bad, really. A minor prince, after all, wouldn’t have to bear too much responsibility in the future. But little by little, responsibility came anyway. My father became the Emperor, I became the Crown Prince, the Central Plains fell, and we retreated to Lin’an…”
“…While I was still Crown Prince, I was thrust, unprepared, into managing military affairs… Do you all know what it feels like when hundreds of thousands of troops are massed against each other? Countless men simply dying, one after another, blood flowing like rivers. I didn’t know how to fight a war—even as I kept telling myself, this is a matter of national vengeance, of homeland lost—standing on the battlefield, where death could come at any moment, my heart, still, was afraid…”
“…Do you know when it was that I stopped being afraid?”
Jun Wu’s gaze swept over the crowd below.
“…While defending the Yangtze, the fighting was going badly. I rode about on horseback trying to rally the troops from breaking and fleeing, and then an arrow suddenly flew in and lodged itself in my belly—right… here.”
He raised a finger and slowly pointed to a spot on his abdomen.
“…From that time on, whether going into battle or doing other things ordinary men wouldn’t dare attempt, I was never afraid again. I charged through Jurchen battle lines outside Jiangning, and here in Fuzhou I’ve fought in two battles large and small, as you all know… I won’t claim to be some brilliant, visionary conqueror—many things, whether they can succeed or not, we only find out by trying. But if you gave me a small clan to manage, whether to expand it or simply preserve it, I’d truly have some confidence in myself…”
Jun Wu chuckled to himself.
“These two stories I’ve told today are both rather grim, but I am still young, and this is simply the kind of man I am—I ask you all to bear with me… So what, in the end, are these two stories about? What is it that a great clan needs, truly, to endure and flourish? It isn’t scheming, and it isn’t connections—at bottom, what’s needed is young people capable of becoming true talents…”
“Many of our clans, in the first generation, clawed their way up through hardship and struggle. But once the first generation had suffered and endured, they began to dote on the second generation, and by the third, the children could no longer be scolded or disciplined at all—with wealth beyond measure but children who amount to nothing, once the elder generation dies, the pillar of the family is gone, and sooner or later it all scatters to nothing. The saying that wealth rarely survives three generations largely comes from exactly this…”
“All of you gathered here today, I know, are heads of households who’ve had far from an easy time of it. You want to secure hereditary office for your children, want a bit of power—everything recorded in this little book, I’ve read it, and honestly, it’s all the aching, careful concern of parents for their children… Are the children in your own households, perhaps, already being spoiled, unable to accomplish anything—or perhaps merely of middling talent, which is why each of you worries so, every day?”
He looked at the shifting expressions on the faces below, and sighed.
“…What I’ve just said, these two stories, both came from exactly this reflection… All of you know, in truth, a great deal of this already—I know that in every great clan and household, if a child emerges who’s gifted at scholarship, if a true prodigy is born, the whole clan rejoices, takes pride in it—why? Because everyone knows a child like that can secure the clan’s prosperity for a generation to come. But is it really true that only prodigies can achieve this?”
“…Never mind me—take the Zuo family’s people. Were they prodigies? Actually, no… When Lord Zuo selected children from his main and collateral branches back then, his greatest criterion wasn’t how clever the child was, but whether the child could endure hardship. He sent one hundred twenty-seven children into the Black Banner, and thirty-seven remained—having endured the hardest of hardships to rise above ordinary men. All of you, if you took whatever prodigies you know of today and set them against these Zuo family survivors in a contest, there is no prodigy who could surpass them…”
“…I said at the start—one person’s marriage is a small matter.” Jun Wu paused. “But the hopes of the whole realm—that is a great matter… When my elder sister brought this little book into the palace, I could sense, in reading it, just how difficult things have been for all of you. You wish for your clans to have a good future, wish for your children to have a stable path forward, and for this, many of you have truly given everything you could spare…”
“…But even so—this matter of choosing a few consorts, even if it truly amounts to selling official posts, how many among you could truly be satisfied by it? That all of you would offer so much for this shows, clearly enough, the wholehearted devotion you bear toward our Wu Dynasty—and this devotion, I do not wish to see go unrewarded for even one of you. And so, these past few days, I have discussed the matter further with several of the elder ministers, and we have finally decided—for all of you, we will open a special new intake at the Military Preparation Academy…”
“…Whichever of your households has outstanding young talent, or children capable of enduring hardship, send them to me… I cannot promise them wealth and status right away, but I will have Li Guang, Li Pin, and Zuo Wenhuai—our very best teachers—instruct them. I will send them into the harshest environments to be tested and tempered, I will make them useful men, and then I will entrust them with real responsibility. In time, some among them will become the true pillars of your own households!”
“…Since taking the throne, I know there have long been two complaints circulating outside. One, that I push reform relentlessly, will listen to no one’s counsel, that I am a tyrant acting alone; two, that I favor scholars with no background at all, and refuse to employ anyone from the great established clans, unwilling to share power. But in truth, the realm is mine, and all of you are my subjects—what distinction is there, really, between the gentry and the common people? A commoner who becomes an official gradually becomes gentry himself. If the gentry can help me govern the localities well, why would I insist on using some green, untested youth instead?”
“…The state’s affairs are difficult, and I truly thirst for talent. But what, in the end, is talent? Is it merely securing a hereditary post for your child through marriage ties, granting them office, guaranteeing them a lifetime of peace? On this point, I won’t hide it from you—I am quite exacting. But I believe that even ordinary people, if placed into the fire, will inevitably produce refined steel. And I know, too, that your hopes for your clans’ continuation and prosperity must surely rest on exactly this kind of refined steel!”
“…In the past, we were kept at quite a distance from one another—you didn’t know what kind of man I truly am, and I haven’t understood you clearly enough either. But this time, I have laid my heart bare before you—what kind of talent I want, how I mean to go about it, all of it, laid out plainly here before you. After this midday feast, each of your households will have two to three places. They will come to Fuzhou to study—it won’t be easy, but they will, in time, be granted office, and I hope that the children of your households will become true pillars of the court, and that your clans will become pillars of the realm. To this—let us raise our cups together.”
Jun Wu, from above, raised his wine cup.
Below, at the banquet, everyone happily raised their own cups in praise, and Huang Shengyuan too wore a broad smile on his face, though his mind was in some disorder, thinking only: here we go again with this…
No sooner had the wine gone down than, at the front table, an old man burst into tears and fell to his knees, saying, “To see His Majesty’s countenance today is to know that His Majesty truly is a wise and sagely ruler, and that the Wu Dynasty still has hope of rising again. This humble old one is willing to hand over every child of his household into Your Majesty’s hands, to be disposed of as Your Majesty sees fit…” What followed was, naturally, a jumble of further flattering praise. The man was a wealthy landowner from the countryside who had never seen such grandeur before, and though his words fell rather short of refined, the crowd took it as nothing unusual—until, partway through, his tone began to shift oddly, and he suddenly slammed his forehead against the floor.
“…This humble one… after deep reflection, still has one more matter he must, even at the risk of death, report. Your Majesty, this old fool has long heard that among those who traveled to the capital together with us this time, there are wicked men, men plotting treachery, Your Majesty—”
The hall fell silent. Everyone exchanged glances, then turned to look up toward the throne, only to see the Emperor’s expression gradually settle into something calm and grave, before he raised a hand slightly.
“Since it’s a matter of this nature, please, come to the back hall to speak of it…”
Guards then came forward and led the weeping old squire into the back hall.
The man had barely left when Huang Shengyuan heard a thump—another man nearby had dropped to his knees. “This lowly one is also at fault—I too have heard something of this matter, and am willing to explain it to His Majesty and the Princess…”
Arranged in advance…
Two of them, arranged…
So fake, so obviously fake…
Huang Shengyuan looked around, nearly wanting to cry out. His eyes darted about restlessly.
Here we go again…
Here we go again…
…
In the distance, a temple bell rang out. Noon had passed.
News of the Emperor’s first move that day, made in response to the great gathering of the fifth month, had not yet spread widely. Cao Jinlong’s carriage crossed through the city streets and arrived at Xiangyu Ward, in the south of the city.
This was an ordinary district within Fuzhou where commoners lived. Having once more confirmed his disguise was secure, Cao Jinlong walked down the long street and sat for a while in a simple teahouse, watching the goings-on at a courtyard across the road.
Past midafternoon, some particular movement began to stir in the courtyard—the person he was waiting for had returned.
Cao Jinlong left the teahouse, entered the old, worn courtyard next door, and made his way along a sealed, darkened corridor to a room at the very back of the second floor.
The room was pitch dark, the street-facing window unopened, but the room adjoined, through the wall, another building belonging to a neighboring courtyard. He pulled a cord on the wall, and after a moment, someone on the other side came over and knocked lightly on a wooden panel in the wall; Cao Jinlong knocked back.
A small wooden panel in the wall was then opened.
Cao Jinlong stood there, looking at the side of a face revealed through the wooden frame, catching a faint, enticing scent. He was silent a moment before speaking. “Frost…”
“…Cao, my love.”
The voice came back from the other side.
It was Chen Shuangran.
…
Schemers have their schemes; adulterers have their sordid tales. Through the sixth-month afternoon, countless great and small causes, carried along on the endless sunlight, poured down over the bustling, crowded city of Fuzhou, gradually gathering into the noise of the streets, the rumble of carriages, stretching on, endlessly connected, out toward the distance.
Ning Ji and Qu Longjun, having bought some vegetables for dinner at the market, were walking back toward Huaiyun Ward, arms full of bags, when, in the crowded market beside them, two men in short jackets, men of the greenwood, suddenly threw open their robes and rushed toward a green-robed official who was buying goods at a stall with his child.
In an instant, chaos erupted—in broad daylight, the two greenwood men struck several blows in quick succession, cutting the official down onto the steps beside the road, then plunged into the crowd and fled amid the confusion.
Blood spread across the street; the child, who had been with the official, stood wailing in the pool of blood.
Ning Ji and Qu Longjun watched the scene, both somewhat bewildered.
The same kind of incident occurred several more times across Fuzhou that day.
…
The sunlight slanted west; evening fell over the world.
The weather remained hot.
At the mouth of Yinqiao Ward, Auntie Pang, in the midst of lighting her stove, had already broken into a heavy sweat; by the time she’d set out the tables and chairs, she was thoroughly worn out and sat down by the roadside, panting.
“This wretched weather… might as well have a great gale blow through…”
She chatted and laughed with a fellow vendor at the next stall, who leaned in close and made as if to swat her mouth.
“Pah, pah, pah, children’s words mean nothing—don’t say things like that, no wishing for a gale…”
“Heh heh heh, I was only saying…”
Those who scraped out a living in this seaside city, however unbearable the heat, never wished for a typhoon to come.
But they all knew.
The typhoon would come.