News of Guo Yaoshi and the Ever-Victorious Army’s defection had spread through the whole city, and in the space of a day or two it had become the talk of every teahouse. Meanwhile, in Bian Liang, those at the very pinnacle of the Wu Dynasty’s hierarchy—the ones who had actually pushed this matter through—were savoring the fruits of victory in its afterglow.
Over the past year or so, the Jin forces had pressed their offensive with terrible force, having already seized nearly half of Liao’s territory. With one side rising as the other fell, it could almost be said that the death knell had already sounded for Liao. Within the Wu court, many held to the principle that “the righteous find many helpers, the unrighteous find few,” and winning over the Ever-Victorious Army now seemed the perfect proof of that very idea.
Since the war’s outset, the balance between the war faction and the peace faction at court had already tilted heavily, though the peace faction still retained a considerable following. Nor was the war faction itself unified—as the fighting turned into a string of subtle defeats, it had gradually split into two camps: one insisting the frontline forces fight on to victory to strengthen their hand in future negotiations with the Jin, the other, given the repeated losses, beginning to advocate conserving their own strength, employing strategy, watching from the sidelines while tigers fought, and reaping the advantage once both Jin and Liao had exhausted themselves.
Both views had existed from the start, only becoming clearly divided as the war situation shifted. Either way, the war faction’s bottom line remained recovering the You-Yan region, or at the very least, not letting the peace faction gain the upper hand. Now that Guo Yaoshi’s defection was confirmed, it was the latter camp’s voice that carried the day. With the north currently at a standstill, Tong Guan having marched the Imperial Guard north without yet renewing hostilities, Guo Yaoshi’s surrender fit perfectly the image of the Celestial Empire’s righteous, kingly army. To most, this marked the dawning of the Wu Dynasty’s revival.
With enthusiasm running high and everyone rallying together in spirit, the natural way to celebrate, of course, was through feasts and gatherings of every kind. Over these two days, the merchants of Bian Liang who catered such affairs had made a fortune, and the various pleasure houses had seen no small profit either. Several literary gatherings had been held to great acclaim; a talented young man named Yu Shaoyuan composed a “Rhapsody on the Kingly Way” at Jingsi Garden, praised as one of the finest works produced in nearly a century, carrying echoes of the Tang dynasty’s literary spirit. Written in ornate parallel prose, it argued at sweeping length for the inevitability of the Wu Dynasty’s coming golden age, its brilliance leaving readers in awe.
That literary culture should flourish was, naturally, also taken as a sign of the times prospering—no one would dispute that. After composing his rhapsody, this Yu Shaoyuan also won the favor of the capital’s reigning beauty, Ji Wanqing, and over these two days he became the talk of the capital, seeming almost ready to stand alongside the four so-called Great Talents of the capital—Zhou Bangyan, Zheng Shuhe, Wang Yuanshi, and Xie Daosan.
Such matters were simply the fashion of the age, unavoidable wherever one went. That afternoon, at the residence of the Right Chancellor, several men were passing around and discussing this “Rhapsody on the Kingly Way.” This was the eastern wing of the residence, close by the study where Qin Siyuan usually worked. The room was filled with books and documents, proof enough that these men were trusted aides or advisors of Qin Siyuan. Among them was a handsome middle-aged monk; the other three appeared to be in their thirties, forties, and fifties respectively, all carrying themselves with a mature, settled air, their ages plainly written on their faces at a glance.
“…Such sweeping, magnificent prose—this Yu Shaoyuan truly has heaven-given talent… barely past twenty this year, isn’t he? He reminds me of Wang Zi’an…” The one speaking after reading the rhapsody was the man in his fifties, shaking his head in admiration. The Wang Zi’an he referred to was Wang Bo, one of the Four Talents of the Early Tang, author of the “Preface to the Pavilion of Prince Teng.” Only men of considerable literary gift could serve as advisors in the Right Chancellor’s household, and for this elder to compare Yu Shaoyuan to Wang Bo was proof enough of the younger man’s achievement.
But no sooner had he said this than a note of disagreement came from nearby. The one speaking was a man in his thirties, bent over his writing desk, who raised an eyebrow. “The prose is fine, but it’s all empty sighing—weak on argument. If kingly righteousness alone could revive a nation and secure its people… well, it’s not entirely without reason, but if that were so, Elder Yao, what exactly are we doing here?”
“He’s barely past twenty—having talent is enough. Besides, reviving the nation and securing its people should indeed be rooted in the kingly way; there’s nothing wrong in that, ha ha. Zhouhai, no need to take offense.” The elder addressed as Elder Yao chuckled. By the window, the monk, who had been drinking tea, looked up. “As for literary talent, he might stand shoulder to shoulder with Zhou Meicheng. But… I doubt he could match the one currently making his way up here—the one who danced with fish and dragons through a single night.”
“That one is no ordinary talent—no point comparing him,” said the man in his thirties. The monk by the window chuckled and nodded.
Among them, the man in his forties had refined, dignified features but seemed comparatively reserved. Though he listened to the others’ talk, he had not joined in. Outside this room, every man present here was at least modestly renowned, even capable of intimidating people in more than a few places.
The elder called Elder Yao was surnamed Yao, given name Zunian. In his youth he had served as an advisor to Qin Siyuan; deeply learned, though he had always followed Qin Siyuan, he had also built considerable renown of his own in both officialdom and literary circles. After Qin Siyuan had resigned his post, Yao Zunian could easily have secured a future for himself—his own reputation alone would have been enough to attach himself to anyone he pleased—but after the Black Water Alliance, his ambitions had cooled, and it was only when Qin Siyuan rose again that he had come back to lend his help.
The man in his forties was named Ji Kun. He had originally been a servant taken in by Qin Siyuan in his youth, and later, having studied and learned his letters under Qin Siyuan, became one of his very first disciples. His talent lay not in poetry or prose but in the practical business of getting things done and directing others to do the same. Though his appearance was dignified, even somewhat wooden, in truth, during Qin Siyuan’s time overseeing the Ministry of Personnel, more than a few had learned firsthand just how ruthless this man could be. Years earlier, when Qin Siyuan resigned his post, not wishing for Ji Kun to follow him to Jiangning only to end up as a mere household steward, he had instead sent him north with the Secret Investigation Bureau. Only after Qin Siyuan’s return to office had Ji Kun come back from Liao. He seemed largely unchanged, only somewhat quieter than before.
The man in his thirties had also once been Qin Siyuan’s disciple; his surname was Cheng, given name Fang, courtesy name Zhouhai. He had studied under Qin Siyuan only briefly, but his cynical, rather contrarian temperament had earned him some renown in Daming Prefecture, and a few in the capital knew him as well. In earlier years he had bested others in poetry contests at literary gatherings and had once been a favored guest of a reigning beauty. His name had occasionally surfaced in certain circles, but by now he had made no great mark in either officialdom or literary circles—nor was that where his ambitions lay. When Qin Siyuan rose again and summoned him, he had simply come.
As for the monk, he was, in truth, the most famous of them all in the capital. His Buddhist name was Jueming. He had originally been the son of a commandery prince, handsome and brilliant in his youth, and his later decision to shave his head and take the tonsure had shocked the capital at the time. Though his scholarship did not run as deep as Yao Zunian’s, his talent in poetry and prose surpassed the other three combined. Because he had already taken monastic vows, no one in the capital counted him among the Four Great Talents, but compared to Zhou Bangyan, his reputation was hardly inferior. Though ordained, Monk Jueming did not live an ascetic life—he moved widely in society and loved making friends. His presence here at the Right Chancellor’s residence today was not in the capacity of an advisor, but simply as a friend paying a visit.
Qin Siyuan himself was not at the residence that afternoon. After the men had chatted for a while, a servant came to report something to Ji Kun. Ji Kun stepped out briefly, and before long returned, smiling, leading in a visitor. Yao Zunian glanced over and immediately broke into a laugh. “Buer! I nearly didn’t recognize you.”
The arrival was, naturally, Wenren Buer, who had just come from the docks. He stood at the door, cupping his hands in greeting. “Master Yao… Monk Jueming, it’s been too long, gentlemen. Ah, Zhouhai…”
Wenren Buer was roughly the same age as Cheng Zhouhai, though he looked younger. The men had met years before, and all of them, in fact, knew a good deal about the Secret Investigation Bureau’s affairs—indeed, Jueming’s background and connections, like Kang Xian’s, were among the protective umbrellas currently supporting the Bureau. They had all known Wenren Buer would be arriving, and were well aware of what he had accomplished in Hangzhou; they exchanged greetings with smiles all around. Cheng Zhouhai, though, kept glancing toward the door as if unconsciously. Noticing this, Wenren Buer asked, puzzled, “Zhouhai, what are you looking for?”
Yao Zunian laughed from the side. “He’s probably watching for that one who danced with fish and dragons through a single night. Since you’ve arrived, Buer, where’s this Master Ning?”
At the mention of Ning Yi, Wenren Buer smiled and explained that Ning Yi had gone to find lodgings, then glanced at Cheng Zhouhai and thought he understood the reason. “This Ning Liheng’s manner really does resemble yours a bit, Zhouhai—and you’ve always been known for your poetry and prose. Could it be you’re itching to test yourself against him?”
Cheng Zhouhai had a somewhat cynical temperament; though his poetry and prose were excellent, he had always shown a certain disdain toward literary contests of that sort. By his own account, he found it distasteful when writers of mediocre skill flaunted themselves and flattered one another—something Wenren Buer already knew well. But Ning Yi’s verse would surely be good enough to overcome that disdain. Thinking of this, Wenren Buer voiced it aloud, but Cheng Zhouhai only laughed and shook his head, waving a hand. “That’s not it… heh, looks like Young Master Sixteen is in for another scolding…”
He muttered this with a hint of mockery. Beside him, Yao Zunian and Jueming both frowned and exchanged a glance. “Ah, right—where has Shaoyu gone off to?”
Ji Kun said, “Probably out playing with those young masters again.”
Wenren Buer, somewhat puzzled, asked further, and only then learned that Qin Siyuan had long since arranged for someone to receive him and Ning Yi upon their arrival in the capital—a nephew of his from back home. Though during his years out of office Qin Siyuan had had little contact with his home clan, once he rose again, no small number of relatives from the Qin clan had come to the capital seeking his patronage—some after money and grain, some wanting official posts through his connections, and some sending along young sons and nephews for him to look after and, hopefully, set on a path to a proper future.
Once seated in the position of Right Chancellor, requests of this kind had come endlessly. Qin Siyuan had no way to refuse them all outright—though he could turn away some, there were always a few who ended up staying on at the residence, chosen as being of somewhat better promise than the rest. This “Young Master Sixteen,” Qin Shaoyu, was one of them.
The trouble was, these young men had already reached their teens or twenties by the time they were sent to him, well past the age where Qin Siyuan could teach them how to be decent men—all he could do now was teach them how to get things done. But however much authority he carried, he had no real power to overrule his own family. Over the past year, once these young masters arrived in the capital, the first thing they inevitably picked up were all the vices common to idle sons of privilege—running about in packs, attending literary gatherings, indulging in the pleasure houses, all while trading on the name of the Right Chancellor’s household. Qin Siyuan had disciplined a few of them, even resorted to household punishment once or twice, but with everything at the residence still in disarray—his attention these past months consumed by the northern campaign and by making up for years of neglected work—he simply hadn’t had the time to properly establish order among his own household.
This time, having estimated when Ning Yi and the others would arrive, he had instructed Qin Shaoyu to wait at the docks every day to receive his two “sworn brothers” promptly and bring them to the residence—likely hoping, in the old man’s mind, that Ning Yi and Wenren Buer might take his nephew under their wing a little; befriending capable men was always good for one’s own kin. But between the vague timing of the estimate and the various mishaps along the way, Qin Shaoyu’s temperament being what it was, he had hardly kept daily watch on the matter and had missed them entirely—no doubt he’d be in for a scolding from the old man.
Hearing this, Wenren Buer couldn’t help a wry smile; if Qin Shaoyu got scolded for it, the blame would inevitably fall on him too—blood being thicker than water was never good news in situations like this. But Yao Zunian and the others could read his worry, and Cheng Zhouhai waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it—he can’t do much good, but he can’t do much harm either, and Teacher can certainly tell the difference on this matter… Honestly, every powerful household has its share of relatives currying favor and pulling strings, that’s nothing new, but here at the Chancellor’s residence, it’s practically been rebuilt from scratch, and they’ve all come pouring in at once these past months. Teacher and his wife are worn thin by it…”
He paused. “Still, I really did want to be the first to meet this Ning Liheng. Teacher said the same, that he wanted him brought to the residence right away… though you’ve guessed the reason wrong.”
Wenren Buer frowned, thinking it over. “I know he and your teacher are friends across the generations, but… it’s not about the poetry?”
“Not the poetry, and not Liangshan either—though I’ll admit, in those matters, what he’s done far outstrips anything we could manage. But afterward, Teacher, Elder Yao, and Monk Jueming all discussed something else together—this Master Ning, the way he thinks… the way he cuts to the heart of a problem, it’s rather different from ordinary men. Teacher calls him an extraordinary man, but such people do exist. What’s truly given us pause is something else… something I myself didn’t even notice at first…”
Cheng Zhouhai spoke with a grave expression, then carefully took out a box from a nearby cabinet. When he opened it, Wenren Buer recognized it at a glance—it was a bundle of intelligence reports he himself had sent from Hangzhou. There was quite a lot of it, tied together in a bundle. These reports had been compiled mostly after the fall of the city, when there had finally been an opportunity to send them—most of what had reached the capital after the city fell had, in fact, been minor matters, sent along merely as supplementary material to the overall picture.
“What reports are these?”
“At first you only sent a few pieces, and I glanced at them and tossed them aside. Elder Yao and the others did the same.” As Cheng Zhouhai spoke, he pulled out the last few letters from the bottom and drew out the papers inside. Wenren Buer took them and read for a long while, his brow furrowing tightly. These pieces, in truth, were so unremarkable that it took him half the page to even recall what they were, before he read through the whole thing carefully. “These? Is there some hidden meaning in here?” To him, reading writing this crude and error-riddled was itself something of a torment.
“There’s a hidden meaning.” Cheng Zhouhai patted the large bundle beside him. “But it’s not something you can see at a glance. I didn’t see it either, at first.”
Yao Zunian shook his head. “I’m ashamed to say, I didn’t catch it at the time either.”
“I remember—these are the pieces Ning Liheng had produced back at the Overlord Blade Camp, isn’t that right? He forced those Confucian scholars to write essays, though the quality varied wildly, some of it plain nonsense. Is there some code hidden inside?” Wenren Buer read through them line by line for a while, then looked up. “But what use would that be now, anyway?”
“It’s not something you’d see at a glance…” Cheng Zhouhai rubbed his forehead.
“You can’t possibly mean…” Wenren Buer thought hard for a while before something began to take shape in his mind, though he found himself unable to put it into words. “These pieces… inside them…”
Cheng Zhouhai gave a meaningful smile. “The quality of these pieces varies wildly—judged purely on the writing, Ning Liheng shouldn’t have given those scholars so much as a single grain of rice for them. When you sent them over, none of us paid any attention—until, a few times, I noticed Teacher actually reading through these essays, even going so far as to dig out every single one of them and sort through them one by one. That’s when we realized something was off. Later, once Teacher explained it to us, we… were honestly a little frightened…” He paused, lowering his voice. “This is the kind of argument that judges a man’s very heart…”
“You must be joking.” Wenren Buer swept his gaze across the room. “At the time I knew he’d set up a scheme—that Liu Xigua at the Overlord Blade Camp believed it too. But given the circumstances back then, if he hadn’t set up that scheme, he’d have been a dead man. But you can’t possibly be suggesting this was actually real—in that environment, only two or three months after he’d been captured? Could this really be possible?”
“In the thirteenth year of Qizong’s reign, the great Confucian scholar of Huzhou, Lü Jifang, gave away his entire fortune and instituted ‘Great Unity’ in his local village—all things held in common among the people, eating together, living together, laboring together, with village affairs decided jointly by a council of appointed elders, so that the elderly might live out their years in peace, the able-bodied find useful work, the young grow up properly cared for, and the widowed, orphaned, childless, and disabled all find support…” Yao Zunian spoke up from beside him.
“This kind of thing has been tried before, more than once. The ideals were always fine, but it always came to nothing in the end. Lü Jifang’s attempt lasted three years—by the end, the villagers had reportedly grown ever lazier, the village fell into deficit, and when Lü Jifang urged the villagers to work harder and tried to use the authority of the ‘elders’ council to restrain them, it only provoked greater conflict. In the end, Lü Jifang was killed in the unrest, and the villagers scattered. The local prefect who later heard the case judged that Lü Jifang, though he’d had the aspirations of a sage, had been murdered after giving away everything he owned—and once the case reached the throne, twenty-three people were sentenced to execution, carried out that autumn…”
Wenren Buer said, “How can these two things possibly be the same?”
“But they really are similar, in essence,” Cheng Zhouhai said, looking at him. “Teacher went through everything he did at the Overlord Blade Camp in Hangzhou, link by link—it all connects. He wasn’t playing around, and he wasn’t fooling anyone. Wenren, he knew exactly what he was doing.”
Wenren Buer fell silent for a long moment. “Zhouhai, first tell me—is this a good thing or a bad thing?”
“A good thing, of course—how could it possibly be bad!” Cheng Zhouhai spread his hands.
Only then did Wenren Buer let out a breath of relief. Beside him, Ji Kun handed over a cup of tea.
“Teacher says that when he first came to know this young friend, he was already good at chess, playing unconventional moves. Later, he showed a real gift for poetry and prose. When the famine struck, he showed a talent for governing and providing for the people. And later still, facing the enemy, he responded with complete composure—the bearing of a great commander. Any one of these qualities, in any other man, would already mark him as a pillar of the state. But compared to what we’re looking at now, none of that amounts to much at all.”
Ji Kun spoke lightly but steadily, repeating Qin Siyuan’s own words. “Every man can become a sage-king… that is the transmission of the Way itself, Wenren. This Master Ning—he carries within him the aspiration toward Great Unity…”
He paused. “Though it is, admittedly, somewhat dangerous as well.”