The carriage left the Su residence, and Song Mao lifted the curtain to glance out at the wind and snow before turning to confirm the prepared gifts with Song Kai once more.
“That ginseng root we bought last time… and then the calligraphy written by Lin Fu of the Lin family… mm, put the ginseng in the middle, nothing too conspicuous — Master Qin’s favorite is calligraphy and paintings, and this piece of calligraphy should suit his taste well…”
Song Kai had served at Song Mao’s side for many years now, careful and reliable, and there was little chance these long-arranged matters would go wrong. Song Mao’s double-checking was really just a way of occupying an otherwise idle moment. As for the earlier conversation with Su Wenxing, he genuinely felt some regret over it — his nephew’s limited ability and narrow perspective were a real source of disappointment to him, though for now there was nothing to be done about it.
Of course, as far as blood ties went, close as Song Mao’s relationship with the Su family might be, it wasn’t truly a case of deep familial affection with this younger cousin and nephew. Even back in their hometown, he’d had little contact with his cousin — now the Su family’s second wife — and it was only later, after his own fortunes rose somewhat, that the Su family had invested heavily in him. He remembered that kindness — help offered in hard times mattered more than favors added to abundance — but really, that debt of gratitude was owed to old Patriarch Su and the Su family as a whole.
Time had passed, and now that he held the position of prefect, the Su family, once a major source of backing for him, had become little more than an added convenience. If the Su family’s second branch could eventually gain control of the whole household, that would naturally bring him some benefit, though the connection wasn’t especially significant either way. Su Wenxing was, after all, a closer relative to him; if his nephew could gain control of the Su family, their interests would align more closely — but given the young man’s abilities, whether he could actually manage the household well enough remained genuinely uncertain, and might even end up dragging Song Mao down with him someday.
Whereas if it was Su Tan’er who ended up controlling the family — that young woman clearly had ability, and a sharper sense of how to read a situation. She would surely court his favor as prefect regardless, so this particular source of advantage wouldn’t really change either way. And because of his own position, even if his cousin and nephew’s branch failed to gain control of the household, they would still retain their status within the Su family, along with some minor privileges and a comfortable life — which would mean, in a way, that he could remain a bridge between himself and the Su family. For Wenxing, whose talents were limited, this might not even be such a bad outcome after all.
He turned the matter over in his mind, weighing which path to favor. Of course, with old Patriarch Su still alive and well, he naturally still had to consider the ties of kinship, showing more warmth toward his cousin and nephew for now. He had heard of the reputation surrounding that “Prelude to Water Melody” before, and having asked around more recently, the information he’d gathered was somewhat suspicious. If the man truly was a fraud chasing false fame, then for his nephew’s sake, he would gladly expose him himself. But that was a matter to consider this evening; for now, he looked over the gifts, shook his head, and put the thought aside.
Seeing his expression, steward Song Kai handed over the gift list, then smiled. “My lord, Master Qin has been retired from office for some years now, but I’ve heard that with the situation up north growing complicated of late — the Jin and Liao locked in frequent conflict — there’s talk at court of recalling Master Qin to office. Do you think he might return, my lord?”
Song Mao shook his head, pausing a moment before speaking. “Unlikely. The circumstances surrounding Master Qin’s departure were complicated. With the Black Water Accord, he took on the blame for everyone else’s failures. If it were an ordinary matter, that might be one thing, but given how things have developed these past several years, I doubt he’ll be recalled…”
The Wu Dynasty had been in gradual decline for nearly a century now, with the Liao repeatedly encroaching on its borders; twice the Wu Dynasty had sued for peace, and both treaties had drawn widespread condemnation. The Chanyuan Accord sixty-five years earlier had been a humiliating surrender that all but extinguished any hope of reclaiming the Sixteen Prefectures of Youyun. Then, six years ago, the Black Water Accord had raised the annual tribute payments by nearly double, cutting deep into the hearts of countless patriots.
At the time, with Liao forces advancing south, Qin Siyuan — then serving as Minister of Personnel — had been a strong advocate for resistance, even personally traveling to the front lines to oversee the campaign. But after several defeats, the faction favoring peace gained the upper hand, and once the decision to negotiate had been made, Qin Siyuan, said to have grown thoroughly disheartened, rushed back from the front lines day and night to personally take on the burden of negotiating the peace settlement.
It was said that on the day he entered the imperial court, he still wore his battle armor, unkempt and disheveled, his robes torn in several places, smoke-stained, his hand injured — a genuinely tragic sight. Everyone assumed he had come to argue against the peace terms, even to the point of risking death in protest, and the emperor — who had only taken the throne a year earlier — hastily sent men to restrain him. But it turned out he had no intention of opposing the peace at all — instead, he insisted on personally shouldering this thankless burden of negotiating the settlement himself.
Naturally, there were voices of opposition in court at the time, arguing that since he had failed to lead the front lines to victory, how could he now be trusted with the responsibility of negotiation — clearly, some said, he meant to sabotage the peace talks from within. But those with any real understanding of the situation knew well enough that those battlefield defeats had never truly been the fault of this lifelong civil official. After two days of deliberation, the responsibility for the negotiations was indeed handed over to him.
The resulting Black Water Accord raised the annual tribute payments by nearly double in total, though given the Wu Dynasty’s circumstances, the Liao agreed that shortfalls in coin and cloth could be made up with porcelain, curios, and other goods. By this point, sixty years had already passed since the Chanyuan Accord, and the Liao state had grown prosperous, with rising demand for such goods. Although the emperor showed no intention of punishing him once the peace was concluded, Qin Siyuan, utterly disheartened, took full responsibility for both the military defeats and the terms of the peace settlement. After a month’s imprisonment he was released, but he still resigned his post and left in quiet despair, never even returning to his hometown, saying only: “This shame will follow me through the ages — I have no face to show the elders of my home village.” He had lived in seclusion in Jiangning ever since, and to this day had never been recalled to office.
“…Even if the court truly wished to recall Master Qin, given his state of mind these past years… I doubt he’d be willing to return to public life anytime soon.” Song Mao mused, shaking his head. The carriage fell silent for a moment, and then Song Kai, seeming to recall something, lowered his voice.
“My lord, I’ve heard that Master Qin was once extremely capable in handling affairs, unconventional in his methods perhaps, but no one ever dared criticize him for it. With the ongoing conflict between the Jin and Liao these past few years, I’ve also heard some talk — that the Black Water Accord back then was in fact designed with foreknowledge that the rising Jin state, having repeatedly sought trade rights from the Liao without success, might be provoked into conflict between the two nations by using a flood of luxury goods as bait. In the years leading up to the Black Water Accord, there was already black-market trade flowing between Wu and Jin, and after the accord was signed six years ago, the court not only paid tribute to the Liao but secretly shipped out large quantities of porcelain and curios as well — even cosmetics and rouge, apparently, flowed into Jin territory. Some even say the emperor personally selected a batch of items from the palace treasury to be sent out. And the following year, half of…”
Song Mao frowned. “Who told you this?”
“The young master, our fourth young master, was discussing this matter with someone. It seems to be his own theory…”
“The fourth one.” Song Mao sighed. “Using an entire nation’s fortunes as bait to provoke conflict — what a wildly fanciful notion. A’Hui doesn’t attend to his proper duties and spends all his time on idle speculation like this… but whether it’s true or not, make sure this isn’t repeated to anyone else.”
“Understood, my lord.”
As they spoke, the carriage arrived at its destination. As it happened, Song Mao and Qin Siyuan were not truly bound by a formal teacher-student relationship — it was simply that Qin Siyuan had once headed the Ministry of Personnel, and Song Mao had later cultivated some connection with him. After Qin Siyuan’s retirement, though many had cut ties with him over the Black Water Accord affair, the ever-thorough Song Mao made a point of visiting whenever he came to Jiangning, always observing the proper courtesies of a student toward his teacher.
By his own guiding principle in life, help offered in hard times outweighed favors added to abundance. Qin Siyuan’s two sons were now themselves in official positions — still below the fourth rank for now, but with their father having once shouldered blame on behalf of so many others, the chances were good that they might one day be put to significant use by the emperor. Particularly given how things had been developing recently, the possibility that Qin Siyuan himself might be recalled to office in a few years’ time was not out of the question.
Since retreating into seclusion in Jiangning, Qin Siyuan had lived modestly, in a simple scholar’s courtyard residence. Song Mao, observing the courtesies due a teacher, sent in his calling card and was soon invited inside. Once there, he discovered another guest already present — an elderly man in fine, elaborate clothing whom Song Mao had never met before, though clearly a person of some standing. After Old Qin’s introduction, Song Mao finally understood who he was.
Kang Xian, styled Kang Mingyun, consort to Princess Chengguo — though this elderly man held no official position at court, he was uncle by marriage to the reigning emperor and enjoyed enormous prestige in literary circles. To make his acquaintance was, for an official like Song Mao, a genuine boon, and he hastened to pay his respects with full formality.
Old Qin’s relationship with this particular student was not especially close under normal circumstances, but since Song Mao made a point of visiting every year, Old Qin naturally showed him warmth on this occasion as well. He had been examining paintings and calligraphy with Kang Xian, and now drew the conveniently-arrived Song Mao in to join them. Song Mao, rather flattered by the invitation, nonetheless recognized how far his own talents fell short of these two men’s, and so did not presume to interject, standing respectfully to one side, listening to their discussion, occasionally offering a word when asked. In his mind, he was already thinking of paying a visit to Princess Chengguo’s residence in the coming days.
It was in this atmosphere that footsteps sounded from outside, followed by the voice of Old Qin’s concubine, Yun Niang: “They’re admiring paintings in the study — you can just go on in… oh, this is…” Old Qin and Kang Xian were at that moment examining a long scroll together; Kang Xian studied it closely while remarking idly, “So he’s arrived. I truly wonder what sort of object could possibly surprise this old man…” Old Qin laughed at this. Then, the half-closed door was pushed open, and someone stepped inside.
This newcomer was clearly well acquainted with both Qin and Kang. He wore a blue robe and carried an earthenware jar in his hand. To Song Mao’s surprise, the man appeared to be barely twenty years old. As he entered, he had been about to speak with a smile, but upon seeing Song Mao, he paused in mild surprise. Song Mao assumed this must be some junior relative of Qin or Kang’s, and was about to introduce himself when Old Qin spoke first.
“Ha ha, Liheng, you’ve arrived! Come, come and meet someone — this is a former student of mine, Song Mao, styled Yufan…”
The young man smiled and cupped his hands in greeting. “Brother Song, a pleasure.”
Then Song Mao heard Old Qin continue: “Yufan, this is a young friend of Kang and myself…” he went on, “Ning Yi, styled Liheng.”
Song Mao’s eyes widened slightly, then he broke into a look of genuine, simple delight. “Master Ning… could this be the very Ning Yi, Ning Liheng, of ‘How Rare the Moon’? Ha ha, I’ve long admired your name.”
After a few pleasantries, Kang Xian and Ning Yi fell into casual conversation. “Didn’t you say you had something good to bring along? Is it in that jar, perhaps?”
“Ha ha, of course.” Ning Yi set the jar down casually on the table. “And since Brother Song is here too, let’s all try these preserved eggs together today…”
Kang Xian paused for a moment, then shook his head, seeming almost caught between amusement and exasperation. “Here I was wondering what novel treasure you’d brought, only to find it’s something to eat. Ning Yi, my boy, I say this without any false modesty — there are very few delicacies and dishes in this realm that this old man hasn’t already tasted or seen. You’re likely to embarrass yourself today… oh, these look like salted duck eggs. Though they look different, however you’ve prepared them, they’re still just salted duck eggs in the end. Surely you haven’t managed to preserve a flower out of them, have you…”
Ning Yi laughed. “Well, I did manage to preserve a flower, as it happens — see for yourself…”
Song Mao had little particular interest in sweet or salted eggs of any kind, and being in the presence of these two men, he found himself somewhat constrained regardless. As he watched the others chatting and laughing, the concubine Yun Niang came in from outside carrying a basin of clean water and a few sets of bowls and chopsticks, appearing quite familiar and at ease with Ning Yi as well. Thinking back to what he had witnessed at the library earlier that day, Song Mao found himself still quietly astonished…