Chapter 43: Variations

Yu Qianlou corrected him: “He doesn’t resemble the Bashong Prince as we imagined. Of course, I’m only speculating. I’ve served as Registrar for so long, yet I’ve met the Prince no more than twice—I dare not claim to understand him.”

Now, assuming the Bashong Prince seeks to consolidate his own power, whom would he recruit?

Liu Tan is an excellent choice. More importantly, if we can truly win favor with Lord Liu through him...”

Yu Qianlou’s face wore a meaningful expression.

Yu Yuling, solemn, picked up his brother’s thread: “So because of Lord Liu, he will certainly support Wang Guan Academy. And because he seeks to build his own faction, he will certainly strike against the Jing land gentry!”

“Strike? That’s too strong—the Prince won’t rashly stand against the Jingzhou gentry. But the Prince represents the interests of the capital gentry; all his officials came with him from the capital, so the capital faction’s weight will inevitably outweigh the Jing land faction—that’s obvious. Moreover, beyond the six imperial princes, there is another figure of extraordinary status, yet critically important. His influence sometimes surpasses even that of the Crown Prince and Prince Jingling...”

Yu Yuling immediately recognized the man’s identity: “Grand Marshal Prince of Yuzhang!”

“Correct.”

“It’s Prince of Yuzhang!”

Prince of Yuzhang, honored as the Emperor’s beloved younger brother, holds the posts of Grand Marshal and Governor of Yangzhou, stationed at the capital. His position is of the utmost weight!

The Emperor once, when Prince of Yuzhang had no son, adopted the Bashong Prince as his heir. Though the Bashong Prince has since returned to his birth lineage, the bond of nurture between them is not something any other imperial prince can match.”

“So Prince of Yuzhang and Bashong Prince are allies?” Yu Yuling was confused—wasn’t the court in complete chaos then?

“Thus, Wang Guan Academy, established by Prince of Yuzhang, now seeks to displace your county academy and become Jingzhou’s sole official school. From the perspective of the Hedong Liu clan or Prince of Yuzhang, from ties or interests alike, the Bashong Prince will tacitly approve—or even support it.”

“And other factions, eager to court or at least not alienate the Bashong Prince and Prince of Yuzhang, will remain silent on this matter—that’s why Liu Zhao and Xie Siniangzi’s pleas are doomed to fail; that’s also why Father has always refused to intervene. Do you understand now?”

Yu Yuling had never imagined the abolition or establishment of the county academy could involve such complexity. He stared blankly for a moment, then asked in bewilderment:

“But if the court’s situation is truly as you say, doesn’t the Emperor know?”

“Do you think why the Emperor appointed Xie Fei as Minister of the Central Secretariat? He’s a remnant minister of the previous dynasty. When the former Emperor received the Mandate, Xie Fei held the post of Minister of the Palace and Director of the Imperial Library, tasked with handing over the Song Emperor’s jade seal. Yet Xie Fei replied, ‘The Qi dynasty should have its own Minister,’ and simply lay down with his pillow! After waking, he donned his court robes, walked out the eastern side gate, and went straight home.”

Yu Yuling’s mouth fell open in shock at this long-buried secret.

Yu Qianlou, as he spoke, sighed:

“This is why the Xie clan of Chen Commandery is famed as great scholars. Had it been anyone else, they’d have lost ten heads by now.”

“Xie Fei kept his life, yet given his lineage and prestige, five years idle, three years exiled to the provinces—that’s cold bench sitting to the extreme. So why, suddenly, is he recalled to the capital and offered a chancellor’s post?”

“Precisely because Xie Fei is unaffiliated with any faction, and his nature ensures he will never join any party.”

“So tell me—does the Emperor know about the factional struggles? Or doesn’t he?”

“Knowing is one thing; dealing with it is another.”

“The Emperor has poured years into the household registration inspection, yet this year it ended in total failure.”

“Even the Son of Heaven cannot have his every wish fulfilled—how much less us?”

Yu Qianlou gave his younger brother a meaningful look.

“But Father and the Emperor have private friendship—if Father would only—”

“Foolish!” Yu Qianlou cut him off sharply. “Is that private friendship? That’s the Emperor using Father to win over the Jing land gentry, and to gain a reputation for seeking out the virtuous and learned!”

“Precisely because Father refuses office, the Emperor is willing to speak with him casually. And Father, freed from personal gain and court politics, can speak truly beneficial words for state and people—but on one condition: absolutely no mention of imperial princes or kin, and no entanglement in factional strife!”

“Do you believe that if, back in Yongming Third Year, Father had accepted the imperial summons to serve as Taizisheren , the Emperor would ever have exchanged private letters with him again?”

Yu Yuling said bitterly: “So according to you, our county academy is definitely going to be abolished?”

Yu Qianlou looked up at the sky, hands behind his back: “Lately I’ve reread the Records of the Grand Historian and the Book of Han, and I’ve learned one truth: nothing is certain. Variations always exist—only we don’t know where.”

Yu Yuling’s expression darkened; he murmured: “Where is the variation for our county academy...”

“...Errors in manuscript copying, lacking solid evidence, are judged by textual logic—this is called the ‘rational collation method.’ The most refined method, yet also the most perilous. If modern readers misunderstand ancient intent and mistake what is correct for error, confusion deepens! Thus I believe errors in exegesis harm more than errors in manuscript copying...”

Wang Yang stretched out a huge yawn and said: “Done.”

Liu Zhao put down his brush, looked at Wang Yang, eyes wide: “Done?”

“Yes, finished.” Wang Yang yawned again.

“How can it be finished?! You haven’t even elaborated on exegetical errors—how can you stop?!”

“This book is about the Book of Documents, not exegetical studies. Adding more would violate its structure.” Wang Yang evaded.

“What structure?!” Liu Zhao grew agitated. “At this point, you must continue discussing exegetical errors! You can’t leave half a sentence!”

“Then just add one line: ‘To be detailed elsewhere.’”

Liu Zhao: ???

“Exegetical studies are vast and complex. They cannot be carelessly appended after the Zhi Xia. A separate book must be written.”

Wang Yang knew this was how to calm Liu Zhao.

Liu Zhao nodded after hearing it: “Makes sense.”

Seeing Liu Zhao finally pacified, Wang Yang turned to return to his room and sleep—only for Liu Zhao to lay out fresh paper and say: “Then let’s continue.”

Continue what?!

Wang Yang immediately explained that exegetical studies were profound and intricate, requiring original insight beyond Han Confucians, demanding deep study and careful thought—no hasty writing.

Liu Zhao then remembered Wang Yang was only eighteen, and he himself had been too eager.

Besides, even the greatest scholars never composed books offhand. The ease with which Wang Yang spoke of the Book of Documents concealed years of cold winters and scorching summers. How could he still press for exegetical studies?

Moreover, he greatly admired Wang Yang’s cautious scholarly attitude, and permitted Wang Yang to freely browse his collection. As for organizing the Zhi Xia manuscript, he would handle it entirely himself.

That night, Wang Yang slept less than two hours—under four hours.

He didn’t need to write today; his appointment with Ah Wu was at noon—he didn’t need to rise so early. But Wang Yang wanted to rise early to read.

Yes, to read.

Wang Yang loved reading, but not enough to force himself up right after staying up all night.

He did it because he felt an urgent need to read—especially after yesterday’s events with Du San and Tong Luo.

What book should one read first after reincarnation?

Everyone’s answer might differ.

But to Wang Yang, it should be law.