Chapter 30

Wang Yang said: “Yes.”

“My master does not receive visitors.” The Confucian scholar flipped through his scroll, not glancing at Wang Yang.

The black-haired giant, angered by the scholar’s disdain for Wang Yang, stepped forward: “My young master is of the Langya Wang clan.”

The scholar still did not look up, only murmuring lightly: “Even the Lanling Xiao clan would be refused.”

Wang Yang was startled—the Lanling Xiao clan was the imperial surname of the Southern Qi! This was only possible in the Six Dynasties; in the Qing, to say “Even the Aisin Gioro are not allowed” would have meant execution.

The black-haired giant retorted: “Even the Prince is of the Lanling Xiao clan!”

The current Inspector of Jingzhou was the Emperor’s fourth son, Prince of Badong Xiao Zixiang; whenever Jingzhou people said “Prince” without specifying which prince, they meant him.

In the Southern Dynasties, princely titles were “food fiefs”—meaning they received tax revenues but held no governing authority over the land. Actual power depended entirely on official rank.

Thus, although Xiao Zixiang was Prince of Badong, he had little connection to Badong Commandery. Now stationed in Jingzhou, and further, his uncle Prince of Yuzhang had once governed Jingzhou, and Xiao Zixiang had been adopted by the Prince of Yuzhang as his son—these layered ties gave Jingzhou people a peculiar fondness for the Prince of Badong.

The black-haired giant’s point was: You claim even the Lanling Xiao clan cannot gain entry—so if the Prince of Jingzhou himself came, you’d still refuse him?

The scholar replied coolly: “In an academy, seniority and virtue are ranked, not rank or title.”

The black-haired giant did not understand this, but he refused to believe the bookish fool would truly block the Prince.

Wang Yang, however, knew this was a tradition among some scholars: “Not ranking by title” meant they honored “seniority” and “virtue,” not princely rank.

Wang Yang was known for his eloquence and could have refuted the scholar, but he chose not to. He halted the black-haired giant’s advance and bowed to the scholar: “I have a letter here. I beg you to deliver it to the Dean.”

The scholar did not look at Wang Yang nor return the bow, replying dismissively: “I am not a messenger. Confucius said: ‘Do not meddle in affairs outside your station.’ The Book of Changes states: ‘The gentleman’s thoughts do not exceed his position.’”

He first cited the Analects, then the Book of Changes—meaning it was not his duty to act.

Wang Yang responded immediately: “Confucius said: ‘The gentleman helps others to achieve goodness.’ The Book of Changes states: ‘With sincere and benevolent intent, no inquiry is needed—it is supremely auspicious.’”

Again, he cited the Analects first, then the Book of Changes—meaning the sages taught that one must aid others.

The scholar finally lowered his scroll and looked up at Wang Yang: “Are you using the Langya Wang clan’s name as leverage?”

“What leverage?”

“If you’re not a messenger, why seek out my master?”

“To discuss scholarship.”

The scholar laughed: “You’re not worthy.”

Wang Yang did not anger; he asked calmly: “Then what would make one worthy?”

“I will pose three questions. If you answer them correctly, I will announce you. If you fail, never set foot in my commandery academy again!”

Wang Yang extended his right palm upward, palm facing the sky—a common martial arts gesture from dramas—and said: “Proceed.”

“Quickly! Master Yu has blocked someone!” Inside the gate, seven or eight students called to their companions and hurried over.

“The Analects, ‘Learning’ chapter, says: ‘A disciple, at home, is filial; abroad, is respectful; cautious and truthful; loves all; draws near the virtuous. When these are done, then he studies literature.’ Thus, literature is the final pursuit. Yet the ‘Shu’ chapter says: ‘The Master taught four things: literature, conduct, loyalty, trust.’ Here, literature comes first. Why?”

The scholar spoke without pause, fixing Wang Yang with a challenging gaze.

The students nodded eagerly, all agreeing the question was cunning.

Wang Yang thought a moment, then replied: “The first refers to the disciple’s personal order of practice after receiving instruction. The second refers to the teacher’s order of instruction.”

The scholar’s smug expression froze.

Wang Yang continued: “Literature is the classic texts of the ancient kings, from which virtue naturally arises. One first studies ‘literature’ to cultivate ‘conduct’; once conduct is refined, ‘loyalty and trust’ can take root. Once loyalty and trust are established, the disciple must make virtue his foundation—being filial at home, respectful abroad, loving all, drawing near the virtuous. If one cannot achieve these, what use is mere literary study? Thus, in Confucius’s four categories, virtue and conduct come first, literature last. Yet when teaching disciples, one begins with literature—as with fishing: one uses the rod to catch the fish. Is that strange?”

So that’s how it is!

The students nodded in unison, silently awed by his ingenuity.

The scholar was also startled—he had never thought of this interpretation!

This question had been meant to trap others; even he himself did not know the answer. Yet this young lord had solved it—and with such logic and depth! The Langya Wang clan’s scholarly heritage was truly remarkable!

The scholar immediately shed his condescension and asked seriously: “How many instances are recorded in the Spring and Autumn Annals of feudal lords relocating their capitals on their own initiative?”

Wang Yang closed his eyes and calculated silently; the students began whispering among themselves.

After a moment, the scholar sneered: “If you cannot answer, go home. My Jingzhou Commandery Academy is not open to just anyone.”

The black-haired giant said: “My young master has not yet answered—how do you know he cannot?”

“Should I wait until dusk if he thinks until dusk?”

Seeing Wang Yang silent with eyes closed, the giant worried he was stumped and blurted: “It’s unfair you chose the questions! You prepared them in advance! My young master must think on the spot! If my young master were to pose the questions, you wouldn’t answer a single one!”

The scholar made no rebuttal: “If I visited him, he could choose the questions. But now—”

“Seven.” Wang Yang opened his eyes.

The scholar was startled: “Which seven?”

Wang Yang smiled: “Is that the third question?”

“Of course not. Asking ‘how many’ requires you to name them. What if you guessed?”

Wang Yang did not wait for him to finish: “Xing relocated to Yiyi; Wei relocated to Diqiu; Cai relocated to Zhoulai; Xu first moved to Ye, then to Yi, then thirdly to Baiyu, fourthly to Rongcheng.”

Shock flashed in the scholar’s eyes; all the students fell silent.

The scholar regrouped and asked: “The Zuo Commentary records Jin relocating to Xintian, Chu first relocating to Zhu, then to Yi—why does the Spring and Autumn Annals omit these three?”

In scholarship, “proving something exists is easy; proving something does not exist is hard.” It is simple to explain why something is recorded, but difficult to explain why it is omitted.

To ask why the Spring and Autumn Annals omits these events—whether one answers “perhaps it was forgotten” or “too many events to record fully”—is mere speculation, and thus invalid. This was why the scholar chose this difficult question as his final trap, determined to bar Wang Yang from the commandery academy entirely!

This time, Wang Yang did not pause—he answered directly: “The Spring and Autumn Annals never records feudal lords relocating their capitals voluntarily. It records only relocations forced by external threats. Xing relocated to Yiyi under pressure from the Di; Wei relocated to Diqiu for the same reason; Cai relocated under Wu pressure; Xu’s four relocations were three times ordered by Chu. Only the move to Ye was to escape both Zheng and Chu—but even then, Chu’s consent was obtained before acting.”

Wang Yang glanced at the stunned scholar and students and continued: “All seven relocations were not initiated by the lords themselves. The Spring and Autumn Annals records only the relocation without specifying ‘forced,’ first because it disapproves of lords relocating without reporting to the royal court. Second, it refuses to let the barbarian states of Wu and Chu gain legitimacy. This is precisely the enduring principle of the Spring and Autumn Annals: honoring the Son of Heaven and repelling the barbarians—the so-called ‘subtle words, great meaning.’”

The crowd stood frozen, silent for a long while. Wang Yang did not press them; he waited quietly.

The black-haired giant felt more certain than ever he had chosen the right master. He gazed at Wang Yang’s tall, elegant figure, his white robes fluttering, thinking: With such talent and character, my young master deserves to wear such fine clothes!

————————

Note: In the Southern Dynasties, princely titles granted tax revenues from designated lands but not full governing rights. In Western Jin, princes received one-third of the revenues; the remaining two-thirds went to the court. By Eastern Jin, with half the territory lost and northern enemies threatening, the share dropped to one-ninth. Do not think “one-ninth” is small—it still provided a life of great luxury, not counting other princely incomes.

Southern Dynasty princely fiefs typically numbered around two Battalion Commander, though actual income varied greatly depending on the wealth of the assigned region. Emperor Wu of Southern Qi, fond of his youngest son, once declared: “All good commanderies have been granted—so I shall grant him Xuan Cheng.” Meaning: all desirable fiefs were already assigned, so he gave his son Xuan Cheng Commandery.

Xuan Cheng lay within Yangzhou, the province containing the capital—meaning he intended to carve a commandery from the imperial heartland. Thus, when reading Southern Dynasty histories, one can gauge a prince’s favor by his title: the Emperor, to preserve state revenue, typically assigned princely fiefs to remote, underdeveloped regions along the middle and upper Yangtze—such as Badong Commandery, which was far from desirable.