Chapter 26: Intercepting the Cart

Blue stone road, yellow ox cart, black-lacquered canopy, crimson silk netting.

A young girl sat inside the cart, her figure slender as a crescent moon, eyes like starlight, delicate brows slightly furrowed, as if painted in ink.

She wore a white gauze skirt, with fine silver-thread embroidery along the hem and cuffs; the collar overlapped gracefully, harmonizing with her pale blue undergarment, creating clear layers. Though only one maid accompanied her, her slender back remained straight—not to maintain an elegant posture, but because it had long become habit.

This was the renowned Xie family’s Fourth Lady—Xie Xinghan.

“Lady, you’ve done more than enough for this matter! Even if Master were here, he wouldn’t blame you,” said the maid Xiao Ning, her heart aching as she saw the unyielding worry etched into her mistress’s youthful brow.

Xiao Ning wore a pink dress, her hair tied in twin buns, eyes bright and face sweet; alone on the street, she would draw admiring glances, perhaps even be mistaken for a wealthy household’s lady—but beside Xie Xinghan, anyone could tell at a glance she was merely a maid.

Xie Xinghan frowned and shook her head gently: “Since I am here, I must see it through.”

As her lifelong personal maid, Xiao Ning knew her mistress’s nature well, yet she felt her mistress was still too young; no matter how gifted, she shouldn’t involve herself in such matters.

Just as she prepared to speak again, the ox cart came to a halt.

“I am Le Pang of Yuyang, seeking the honor of Lady Xie... Lady Xie... Fourth... Fourth Lady... greetings!” Le Xiaopang bowed in the middle of the road, his words stumbling from nervousness.

A group of aristocratic youths stood nearby, cheering, whistling, clapping—all manner of noise. Their gazes at Le Pang ranged from admiration for a true hero to pity for a rare fool.

Xiao Ning looked at Xie Xinghan; Xie Xinghan nodded.

Xiao Ning lifted the curtain and ordered: “Scatter.”

Four men in blue robes, short clubs at their waists, stepped forward swiftly, hands gripping their clubs, eyes cold, movements sharp—far from ordinary retainers.

Though they wouldn’t draw their clubs without orders, anyone seeing this stance would fear immediate blows.

“No, no, I—I came—I came to...”

The youths scattered. Le Pang felt his legs go weak; even the words Wang Yang had taught him failed him. He stepped back, wanting to flee, yet couldn’t decide.

Wang Yang, remembering the two thousand coins still unpaid, gritted his teeth and burst from the crowd, shouting:

“My master came to repay the debt! The Xie family, a lineage of scholars, dares strike a man in broad daylight?”

The four blue-robed men halted three paces from Wang Yang—not because of his words, but because their orders were only to scare them off; since they hadn’t succeeded, they waited for further command.

Hei Han stood before Wang Yang, facing the four. Le Pang clung to Wang Yang’s arm, barely holding himself upright, drenched in sweat, trembling on his feet.

Xie Xinghan whispered something to Xiao Ning, who called out through the curtain: “Clubs haven’t touched him—how can this be called striking?”

Le Pang heard the Xie family’s maid’s voice for the first time, thrilled beyond measure, hoping she’d speak more. He longed to converse, but her question wasn’t among the answers Wang Yang had prepared, so he could only plead with his eyes toward Wang Yang.

Wang Yang motioned Hei Han aside and said: “If a tiger chases you to bite, and its fangs haven’t reached you, can the chased man not cry ‘the tiger is attacking’?”

Xie Xinghan softly pursed her lips, her brows relaxing; a faint smile brightened her jade-clear face, illuminating the entire carriage. Xiao Ning couldn’t help muttering under her breath: “Clever little servant!”

Xie Xinghan spoke again; Xiao Ning raised her voice: “If you wish to repay, come to our mansion, submit your name and petition, explain your case—how can you intercept a cart on the road and exchange things privately?”

Wang Yang signaled Le Pang; Le Pang shook his head anxiously, unsure how to respond. Wang Yang sighed and answered for him:

“My master cannot submit a letter because you refuse private correspondence; he cannot present his name because you grant no access. A heart unclouded by selfishness knows no bounds. Now, beneath the open sky, on a public road, openly greeting and repaying a debt—how is this private exchange? If you insist, yes, exchange occurred—but ‘private’? That we cannot accept.”

Le Pang beamed, gazing at Wang Yang with gratitude and awe. Xie Xinghan frowned and spoke a word.

Xiao Ning said sharply: “My lady never lent any money! How then can anyone claim to repay?” She mimicked her mistress’s displeased tone almost perfectly.

“I never said my master owes your lady money—I said my master’s ancestor owes your lady’s ancestor. My master now repays on behalf of his forebear—please accept it on behalf of yours!”

“Nonsense!” Xie Xinghan’s expression turned cold; she struck the embroidered silver-thread cushion.

Xiao Ning immediately snapped: “Nonsense!”

The four Xie servants stepped forward together, eyes like hawks.

Le Pang retreated several steps; Hei Han tensed, shielding Wang Yang. With his military experience, he recognized these four were no ordinary men—if they fought, even one-on-one, he had no confidence of victory.

Around them, the crowd swelled. Wang Yang remained calm and replied: “I have proof!”

He whispered instructions to Hei Han. Hei Han looked doubtful; Wang Yang urged: “Hurry back!” Hei Han dashed toward the tavern.

“What proof?” Xie Xinghan asked through Xiao Ning.

Wang Yang turned to the dazed Le Pang and whispered: “Quick—give the letter!”

Le Pang finally snapped to, pulling out the letter Wang Yang had written for him.

Wang Yang took it and said: “Here is the written contract—verify it yourself.”

Xie Xinghan, skeptical, ordered a servant to pass it in.

Le Pang watched the letter enter the carriage, torn between joy and dread, his admiration for Wang Yang now absolute.

Wang Yang pondered: If the worst happens, how do I escape?

Xie Xinghan unfolded the letter and saw a poem:

“Wandering rivers and lakes with wine in hand, slender waists light as palm’s grace. East Mountain rises for the people’s sake, winning fame as the wind-flowing chancellor.”

“Wine turns to tears of traitors, chess moves shatter northern barbarian hearts. Fifty thousand palm fans break summer’s heat, half a moment’s breeze holds eternal grace.”

Beneath the poem, a small note: “Grand Tutor Xie aided my ancestor in selling fifty thousand palm fans—his kindness remains unrepaid. This poem honors Grand Tutor Xie’s noble virtue and reflects my soul’s bond. Soul-bonded means bound in heart, seeking only to repay! I beg Lady Xie not to refuse. Words fail to convey all—Yuyang Le Pang, bowing deeply.”

Grand Tutor Xie refers to Xie An.

Xie An was the legendary wind-flowing chancellor, leader of the Chenjun Xie clan—and thus a clansman and elder of Xie Xinghan. What Wang Yang didn’t know was that, by genealogy, Xie Xinghan’s father, Xie Fei, was the fifth-generation descendant of Xie Wan, Xie An’s younger brother; thus, though not a direct heir, Xie Xinghan’s line was close indeed, far beyond distant branches.

More importantly, Xie Fei revered his ancestor Xie An and often emulated him. Xie An greatly favored his niece Xie Daoyun, and Xie Xinghan was known as “Little Xie Daoyun.”

Thus, whether from clan glory or family education, it was clear how deeply Xie Xinghan revered this ancestor.

Hence Wang Yang’s poem “Ode to Xie An” struck the perfect note of flattery!

The first four lines adapt Du Mu’s “Reflections,” alluding to Xie An’s outings with courtesans to East Mountain, when scholars lamented, “If An won’t emerge, what shall we do for the people?” The fifth line refers to Xie An’s thwarting of Huan Wen’s imperial ambitions; the sixth praises the Battle of Fei River, where Xie An calmly played chess as troops retreated. The last two lines recount an anecdote about Xie An—the very inspiration for Wang Yang’s “letter scheme.”

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Note: ① In modern context, “wind-flowing” often carries negative connotations—a narrowing of meaning. In ancient times, especially the Wei-Jin and Southern Dynasties, “wind-flowing” described scholar-gentleman grace, not merely romantic affairs. Still, Xie An’s courtesan outings were indeed “wind-flowing.”

② At this time, poetic forms had not yet evolved into regulated verse, so tonal patterns were not yet codified. Yet in the capital, a poetic reform was brewing—the seed of later regulated verse. But with the protagonist’s arrival, this progression naturally diverges. Details will appear in the Jinling volume.

③ Though “xing” and “han” are familiar to modern readers, both were common in ancient names. “Han”: Emperor Wenzong of Tang was originally named “Han”; a scholar named Zheng Han changed his name to Zheng Han to avoid the taboo. The Youyang Zazu records a Northern Wei tomb discovery yielding a name “Cui Han.” Quan Zuwang’s “Shen Yin Biography” mentions a nun named Hanguang. As for “xing”: Tang poet Cui Shu’s only daughter was named “Xing”; Ming scholar Zhou Xing; calligrapher Chen Zhaolun styled himself “Xingzhai.”

Whether “Xinghan” as a name was used then, I have not encountered it—but it’s not invented. The Wuzazhu says: “Moon halo, star-han—wondrous beauty.” Liu Captain of Southern Liang wrote: “The morning star embraces auspicious light, thunder echoes far.” More famously, Han Yu: “Wait till nightfall, ride the moon—see how many stars swim within.”

In medieval times, women’s names sometimes matched modern expectations—Yang Yan, Rong Ji, Zuo Fen, Li Lingrong, Hu Fang—yet others seem utterly unlike female names today: Zhang Weide, Liu Duanyan, Zeng Mile, Wang Muzhi.