Chapter 547: The Fallen Zhong Mo

At the Southern Market of Kaifeng, traffic was heavy and crowds flowed like a tide. Along the long street, vendors' stalls were densely packed, shops welcomed customers—a scene of bustling market clamor.

At a street corner, next to a steamed bun shop, there was a small stall. The stall was very simple: a narrow wooden table covered with an old, worn tablecloth, a bamboo pole tied to the table's corner with a hanging sign, a neat stack of white paper on the table, along with brush and ink.

The stall's owner was none other than Zhong Mo, formerly a Hanlin Academician and Vice Minister of Rites of the fallen Tang. At this moment, Zhong Mo had lost all bearing of a high official and famed scholar. His head was wrapped in a gray cloth, he wore plain cotton garments, and he was bent over, writing letters furiously with his brush.

Before him, a young man spoke without pause: "... I'm now serving in the Kaifeng government office. Tell my mother I'll be home soon. With the pension the court gives, it's enough for both us brothers to each marry a lady. Have my mother look at the young ladies in the nearby villages for us brothers. When I get back, I'll hold the wedding.

Also, if I return to my hometown, I can receive fifty mu of land. Then I won't have to worry about going hungry, and I can still serve in the village. The squad leader said that with my merits, becoming a village head shouldn't be a problem.

Tell my elder brother that once I'm home, we'll be able to live well. Have him take good care of Mother. If he lets Mother suffer any grievance, I'll beat him when I get back.

Also..."

Soon, three sheets of letter paper were covered with writing. Zhong Mo set down his brush, folded the letters skillfully, sealed them, and asked the man before him: "May I ask the esteemed name of the recipient?"

The young man standing before Zhong Mo had rough skin, a tall stature, and a sturdy, powerful build. He stood as straight as a pine, though his right hand was missing two fingers, which only added to his fierce, valiant air. He was clearly a soldier retired due to injury. His rambling words, however, were especially plain and honest.

As the young man spoke, tears glistened in his eyes. Hearing Zhong Mo's question, he was startled for a moment, then said: "What?"

Zhong Mo said: "The name of the person receiving the letter!"

"Oh, you literati types—a name is a name, why call it an 'esteemed name'! My elder brother is called Zhou Zhang—Zhang as in the camphor tree!" the young man complained in his gruff voice.

Seeing this, Zhong Mo couldn't help but smile wryly: "You're right. I was being pedantic!"

With that, he quickly wrote the name on the envelope, picked it up, and blew on the wet ink.

"Everything I told you—did you write it all down? Anything left out?" the young man asked Zhong Mo, unable to help himself.

Zhong Mo said: "Not a single word missed. If you're worried, you can have someone check!"

The young man chuckled: "No need! No need!"

As he spoke, he took the letter and pulled six copper coins from his bosom, handing them to Zhong Mo: "Thank you, sir!"

"That's one extra! A letter only costs five wen!" Zhong Mo said.

The young man replied: "Sir wrote so many words for me—consider it my thanks!"

Having said this, he tucked the letter into his bosom as if it were a treasure, his face full of smiles, and took his leave, heading for the postal station to send the letter back to his hometown. As a retired soldier, sending letters through the official postal relay gave him both a discount and security, and it was fast too.

In recent years, under Liu Chengyou's attention, the Great Han court's postal reporting system had grown more and more complete, and local governments were quite cooperative in building postal roads and stations.

On Zhong Mo's side, he unhurriedly put away the copper coins, picked one up to look at it, and gazed at the four characters "Qianyou Tongbao," momentarily lost in thought. But he quickly tucked it into his bosom.

By now, Zhong Mo had grown somewhat accustomed to his fallen, impoverished life...

During Liu Chengyou's southern campaign, two Tang ministers had been detained—one was Sun Sheng, and the other was Zhong Mo himself. After Sun Sheng saw the peace treaty concluded between Han and Tang, unable to bear the "humiliation" and feeling he had failed the Tang court, he fell into despair and took his own life.

Zhong Mo lacked that courage. He drifted with the current, among the ranks of the Han army returning north. As a minister of a defeated state, as someone's war trophy, it was quite humiliating. But in the Northern Han army, at least he had food and clothing without worry.

After arriving at the Eastern Capital, Zhong Mo's days turned hard, as if he had been abandoned. The military side handed him directly to the Ministry of Rites. The official in charge there didn't pay him any mind—just a captured minister, and expecting treatment as a state guest? No such thing. He was passed off to the Kaifeng government office. There, too, no one bothered to manage him, letting him fend for himself. Because of his identity, he was only subject to periodic inspections by minor clerks.

And so Zhong Mo began his impoverished, destitute life in the Eastern Capital. Anything of value on him had long been stripped away or used up to bribe officials. Penniless, he had no choice but to pawn his three sets of clothing, exchanging them for some cash, buying a set of old clothes, and renting a room in a household near the Southern Market to lodge in.

After that, the esteemed Vice Minister Zhong, a man of letters and refined taste, began worrying daily about firewood, rice, oil, salt, eating, drinking, and other necessities—bitter indeed. Fortunately, he still had his writing brush. With the remaining money, he had someone make this table and bought some paper. In ordinary times, he made his living by writing letters and legal petitions for people, all the way to the present.

This kind of fallen life was extremely hard for Zhong Mo, who had been accustomed to comfort and ease. But helpless as he was, after casting aside the "proud backbone" of a scholar-official, he had to bow to reality and endure for the sake of his stomach.

Zhong Mo had not considered fleeing. The clerks of the Kaifeng government office were quite lax in watching him. But whenever he thought of the thousand-li journey, the long road ahead, and most importantly, the problem of his identity—once he left the city, within the borders of the Great Han, how could he get past all those checkpoints and walled towns? If he were inspected and had no travel permit, the result would likely be the loss of his life.

The sun climbed higher, and the blazing light fell on the table, gradually growing hot. Zhong Mo sat there, eyes closed, resting, not moving a hair. Nearly an hour had passed since that soldier seeking a letter had left, and no one had come. His business was quite dismal. He didn't take the initiative either—he just sat there...

The market street remained as lively as ever. As the temperature rose and he was baked by the sun, Zhong Mo could no longer bear it. He opened his eyes, his mind somewhat dazed—from hunger.

He let out a heavy sigh, glanced at the sun, gave a bitter smile, and rose to start packing up his things.

"Master Zhong, heading back so early?" The owner of the neighboring steamed bun shop noticed and called out loudly.

Zhong Mo looked up, pointed at the sky overhead, and said: "That fellow up there is vicious—hard to endure!"

Seeing this, the shop owner came out, holding an oil-paper bundle, and pressed it into Zhong Mo's hands, saying: "These are the four steamed buns left over from this morning. If you don't mind, Master Zhong, take them and eat!"

The shop owner was a thin, middle-aged man, short of stature, with a simple, honest face that was somewhat greasy. His steamed bun-making skill was excellent—Zhong Mo had tasted them before, and they were very good.

Zhong Mo immediately reached for his money, but seeing this, the shop owner hurriedly stopped him: "No need! No need! They're leftovers—can't sell them anyway, and keeping them would just be wasteful..."

After all this time, they had become somewhat acquainted. But looking at the calm gaze the man fixed on him, Zhong Mo couldn't help wondering whether the man wanted something from him. Yet the thought barely passed before Zhong Mo laughed at himself—having fallen to this state, was he still afraid of some common market folk scheming against him?

He didn't refuse. Zhong Mo took the bundle and bowed to him: "Should there come another day, I will repay this a hundredfold!"

Hearing this, the shop owner waved his hand dismissively, looked at Zhong Mo, and said: "Master Zhong, I can see you're a man of learning, and you can write legal petitions. Why not go to the government office and seek a position?"

Zhong Mo only sighed, said nothing more, and clasped his hands in salute: "I take my leave!"

With the shop owner's help, Zhong Mo packed up his table and stool, bound them with a hemp rope, hoisted them onto his back, and walked step by step out of the market...

The place Zhong Mo lodged in was also an ordinary household, quite far from the Southern Market. For this reason, every trip back and forth was a hard walk.

Returning to his lodgings, panting and drenched in sweat, the mistress of the house heard him and came out. Seeing Zhong Mo, she immediately planted her hands on her hips and said: "Master Zhong, back so early again!"

A helpless smile appeared on his face. Even though the room was humble, he was still living under someone else's roof. Wiping the sweat from his face, he said to the stout, plump woman: "The weather is too hot—truly hard to bear..."

"I wrote one letter today!" Zhong Mo pulled the six copper coins from his bosom, stepped forward, and handed them all to the woman: "For the next two days' meals—I'll trouble you!"

As he spoke, he took out the steamed buns and gave half to the woman, accompanying it with a smile: "For the children—they're meat-filled!"

The woman sized Zhong Mo up for a moment, then took everything without hesitation, shaking her head and letting out a sigh.

After washing up a bit, he returned to that bare, sparsely furnished little room. Two steamed buns went into his stomach, restoring some of his strength. He spread out paper, ground ink, dipped his brush, pondered for a while, and set brush to paper. During his time in the Eastern Capital, besides eking out his bleak days, Zhong Mo spent his leisure hours in this quiet room writing his "Record of What I Saw and Heard in the Eastern Capital."

Before long, the door was pushed open, and the woman barged straight in.

"What instruction does the good sister-in-law have?" Interrupted, Zhong Mo wasn't annoyed, and asked.

The woman held a bowl of rice with some vegetables on top, with flecks of oil and meat. She set it directly before Zhong Mo, pressing it down on his manuscript paper, and said: "Give me your dirty clothes—I'll wash them for you while I'm at it. You literati types always make such a fuss about propriety, yet you haven't washed your clothes in all this time. How can you stand the stink..."

Hearing the woman's words, Zhong Mo's old face flushed slightly. With no one to attend to him, in this past month or more, he had washed his clothes only twice... Giving himself a subtle sniff, the odor on his body was still quite noticeable.

He rose and bowed deeply to the woman: "I am truly ashamed! Thank you!"

Seeing him like this, the woman shook her head again, tidied his room a little, and took the dirty clothes out. At the threshold, she suddenly turned her head to look at Zhong Mo, looking somewhat embarrassed: "Master Zhong, when you have free time, could you teach my children to read and write? Our family is poor—the teacher's fee will be made up later. But from now on, every day, our household will cover two meals for you."

Zhong Mo was briefly startled. Noticing the faint hint of hope in this coarse woman's eyes, Zhong Mo gave her a kind smile: "A trifling matter—hardly worth mentioning! I am alone in the world, and lodging in your honorable home is already something I'm grateful for. Let's not speak of teacher's fees..."

Hearing this, the woman immediately broke into a smile, very pleased, even a little excited: "I've been watching you for a long time, Master Zhong—you're a good man!"

For some reason, being handed a "good man card" by this coarse woman stirred in Zhong Mo a rare feeling of being moved.

The door was gently closed by the woman. Zhong Mo lowered his head, sniffed at himself, and smelled that sour stench—yet felt not the slightest discomfort. Gazing at the bowl of rice and dishes on the table, still steaming, he didn't even blame it for having dampened his manuscript paper. He picked up the bowl and shoveled food into his mouth, wolfing it down...