Chapter 1977: The Flowing Light Garden

At the Duke of Wu's estate, the Flowing Light Garden was built by Liu Hui at enormous expense. It was completed no more than three years ago, yet exactly how much money and grain it cost remains a mystery. All that is known is that in that single year, over a thousand craftsmen and laborers were hired, working day and night without rest.

Cart after cart of stone, timber, and tools were hauled in, so heavily that the paving on the two long streets outside the Duke of Wu's estate was crushed, and the estate ultimately had to pay out a sum of money to repair the roads—yet somehow still earned a fine reputation for "charitable generosity."

With so much manpower and resources expended, the Flowing Light Garden that rose up was naturally magnificent in scale and resplendent in splendor. At the same time, in building such a garden, Liu Hui also harbored the intention of "building a nest to attract phoenixes"—from the moment it was completed, he began vigorously recruiting scholars of the literary world and masters of classical learning.

Liu Hui's "reputation for virtue" among the literati was illustrious, not only because of his status as an imperial prince, but even more so because of his own accomplishments in the literary and poetic worlds, which won him great esteem from traditional Confucian scholar-officials.

When he issued an invitation, virtually no one refused. Confucian scholars from all directions vied to gather, and the Flowing Light Garden quickly became a brilliant landmark within the city of Luoyang. Never was literary vitality greater than this, and the fame of Duke Wu, Liu Hui, grew ever more resounding.

Over the past several decades, although Liu Hui had been active in appearance, in terms of politics and people's livelihood he could basically be counted as having accomplished nothing—indeed, he had even caused some harmful consequences. Yet Liu Hui's reputation had never once been "stained"; a great many literary men and poets, using their ink as clear water, ceaselessly washed Liu Hui clean.

By now, in Liu Hui's Flowing Light Garden, he maintained ninety-eight retainers, most of them "men of talent" with a certain background and reputation. The dignified Duke of Wu was not someone just anyone could see; with his pride and talent, he looked down on ordinary people, and those who could hold a place in the Flowing Light Garden always possessed some "special skill" that could catch Liu Hui's eye.

At the same time, among those guests there was one common trait: most were men who had been disappointed in politics. Either they were dissatisfied with the current court's political environment and selection policies, or they had simply failed the imperial examinations and were unwilling to settle down and walk the hard, fiercely competitive path of a "clerk." Those who truly came because of shared ideals were as rare as phoenix feathers and unicorn horns.

Basically, every month Liu Hui would hold a grand banquet for his guests in the Flowing Light Garden. It was truly a literary gathering and a social event. Besides the estate's own guests, many literary giants and great Confucian scholars who were on good terms with Liu Hui would attend, and even some holding high office at court would receive invitations and come; those whose hunting instincts were stirred might even leave behind some works.

Thus, the "Flowing Light Gathering" quickly became a famous assembly comparable to the Peony Poetry Gathering. Laughing and talking with great scholars, coming and going without common men—though its scale naturally could not match the former, for that one had been a brand incubated over more than twenty years and wielded great influence.

But in terms of prestige, the Flowing Light Gathering was even higher, and the quality of works it produced far surpassed the other. To say nothing of others, Liu Hui and Li Yu—the "King of Poetry" in the north and "Emperor of Ci" in the south—had left behind a great many beloved poems, ci, and rhapsodies.

The pens of Confucian scholars are always somewhat hypocritical, and this was displayed to the fullest on Liu Hui. The same singing stages and dancing pavilions, the same vermilion gates and wine-soaked meat—when it came to Duke of Chu Liu Shu, it was "lavish construction and extravagant dissipation"; when it came to Prince of Qi Liu Yun, it was "clever contrivances and a disgrace to refinement"; but when it came to Liu Hui, it was "snow in spring and highbrow elegance, pure and refined."

In the most recent several Flowing Light Gatherings, the atmosphere had become even more harmonious and lively. The reason was simple: Liu Hui had become a chancellor. This could be said to complete both name and reality. Even some ministers who had previously been relatively cautious set aside their reserve and proactively attended, conversing at length and singing and dancing with the "Flowing Light Academicians."

The poems, ci, and essays produced had also changed somewhat. The most representative among them was a long narrative poem with an equally long title: "Hearing That His Highness the Duke of Wu Has Become Chancellor, I Rejoice Wildly and Write This Piece in Drunken Celebration to Congratulate Him." This was composed on the spot by a scholar from Jiannan named Li Dan, drawing a round of applause. It was filled with the most extravagant flattery and sycophancy toward Liu Hui, enough to make one nauseated, and its florid style could be called the pinnacle of the contemporary "Xikun style."

Then this Li Dan's fame suddenly "broke out of the circle." Quite a few praised his dazzling literary talent, but more scorned his base flattery, and there was no lack of those who envied him. Because not long after, Li Dan was first appointed as a clerk in the ducal estate, completing his transformation of status, and then promoted to Investigating Censor. Behind this, no one believed there was no direction from Liu Hui.

In keeping so many people, besides producing works to win fame, cultivating usable talent was clearly also one of his aims. And in the few months since entering the Hall of State Affairs, thirteen people had been sent out from the Flowing Light Garden to take official posts. Although none of the positions were very high, they all demonstrated the "positive" significance brought by Liu Hui's becoming chancellor.

The Duke of Wu truly could bring these disappointed poets and wandering men of the rivers and lakes political advancement and a leap in their prospects. Li Dan licking his way into an official post with a single poem was the most conspicuous example.

The poetry and prose reform movement advocated by Liu Kai, Wang Yucheng, and others was aimed precisely at people of this sort. And among these "like-minded men," the brightest star happened to be Liu Hui. It could be said that in the literary world, Liu Hui was regarded by the literati of aristocratic, bureaucratic, and landlord origins as their leader, and they supported him in debating with Liu Kai, Wang Yucheng, and their ilk.

This was not merely a question of poetic and prose creation concepts and direction, but also a question of political positions and policies. The realm had been at peace for so long that having the rulers and exploiters focus their main energy on the common people, with political policies leaning more toward the toiling masses—that would truly test their consciences.

As time passed, the contradictions and conflicts between the old and new factions grew ever more intense. Wang Yucheng rose and fell several times, not only because of Emperor Liu's shifting likes and dislikes, but also because of the attacks and ostracism of many officials at court. With Wang Yucheng's temperament and positions, it was truly hard for people to feel fond of him.

As for reform on the level of poetry and prose, although Liu Kai, Wang Yucheng, and others had made many efforts and vigorously appealed, stirring no small response, from a higher and broader perspective, those who opposed them were more numerous and stronger. Duke Wu, Liu Hui, was merely a representative figure pushed to the front stage.

This was also tied to the overall environment and atmosphere of society. The Great Han was currently in the flourishing period of a feudal dynasty, and still gradually climbing—a traditional "golden age" under the era of autocratic monarchy.

Externally, although campaigns of conquest were unending, the constant victories suppressed the problems that arose. External crises existed but were not severe, like scratching an itch through a boot—they could not generate real pressure on the Great Han's powerful and noble families.

Internally, although various problems and ills had bred during the long period of peaceful development, this did not hinder the overall pattern of a thriving nation. Everyone was still living in a glorious era.

Under such circumstances, having those in power lower themselves to consider the common people, to care about the hardships of the folk, to reflect on the gains and losses of governance—was a very unrealistic thing. That the meat-eaters had not sunk entirely into the splendor of the golden age and directly, thoroughly, and rapidly degenerated was already quite rare.

And even this was the result of the old emperor's unremitting urging for twenty or thirty years. Campaigning north and south, venturing overseas to expand—these had certainly caused some hardship to the nation, but without them, who could say what sort of face the upper ruling class of the Great Han would have shown after nearly thirty years of peace.

Even Emperor Liu, who had once taken self-reflection as his motto, had gradually lost that habit, and since Empress Fu's passing, he no longer knew what reflection even was. If Emperor Liu was like this, how much less could others be expected to do better? Relying only on the warnings and appeals of a few "men of insight" like Liu Kai and Wang Yucheng was clearly insufficient—it could have some positive effect, but could not steer the overall situation.

However, although Emperor Liu himself had grown lax, he still supported the ideals of Liu Kai and Wang Yucheng. Whether they could be put into practice was a question for later—but they had to be publicized. This too was a kind of political correctness.

And Liu Hui, as an imperial prince, had become embroiled in such disputes. Perhaps he would become, in the eyes of later generations, a representative of the greedy, hypocritical, rotten, and degenerate exploiting class. How could Emperor Liu feel any fondness toward him or hold high expectations? Had it not been for the shock of Liu Xu's death, and Liu Zhao's humble refusal, Emperor Liu would never have placed Liu Hui in the Hall of State Affairs—the consequences of virtue not matching position were very severe.

In fact, there had always been one question surrounding Duke Wu, Liu Hui: keeping so many famous scholars, holding constant banquets large and small, and on top of that this magnificent and grand Flowing Light Garden—where did Liu Hui get the money and grain to support it all?

Relying only on the annual salary issued by the court and the manors and lands bestowed by Emperor Liu was far from enough. Of course, on the surface there were still some plausible reasons, such as the ducal estate being well managed, or reaping generous profits from overseas trade—but as for the actual situation, those who understood, understood.

It was just that many people remained tight-lipped, unwilling or rather daring not to expose it. Otherwise, the face of the imperial house could be greatly damaged. To be fair, in certain respects, the always profligate and dissolute ninth son Liu Shu had more of a bottom line—he was at least candid, doing things out in the open. But as for Liu Hui, beneath his beautiful garments and within his gorgeous poems, how much disgrace was hidden, no one knew...

Emperor Liu had many eyes and ears, and the Duke of Wu's estate was certainly not lacking in informants. Though he might not know the estate's situation in complete detail, he had some understanding of it. Yet perhaps out of fondness for this son's literary talents, or perhaps out of guilt toward his mother Pure Consort Zhou and his sister Liu Xuan, Emperor Liu had always been lenient, turning a blind eye to many matters.

But this leniency had its limits. A single memorial from Liu Hui touched his bottom line, and even drew out in one stroke the dissatisfaction that had been buried in his heart for many years...