Chapter 14: Carving the World

The autumn She sacrifice originally fell on the fifth wu day after the Start of Autumn, but the Diwu clan were eastern migrants who followed the traditions of the Qi region, so their She day came a little later, set on the autumn equinox.

Under Diwu Lun's organization, nearly the entire hamlet turned out. Strong men drove the four black pigs out of the stockade pigpen, binding their front and hind legs together with hemp rope; shrill, piercing squeals rang throughout the hamlet.

The children, both frightened and curious, covered their ears and burrowed into the crowd to steal glances.

A group of people pressed the pigs firmly down while the cook aimed at the neck, gripped the sharp blade, and plunged it in white and drew it out red; someone beside him had already brought a basin to catch the blood. Once all the pigs had been bled out, the even more troublesome work of scalding, scraping, and gutting began. Everyone rolled up their sleeves and pitched in, the air all around thick with the smell of blood.

The pork was cut up by the crowd in a thatched shed set up beneath the trees. At the same time, another group lit the stove fires; several large clay cauldrons were filled with water and set atop them to boil fiercely over roaring flames. The meat, still bloody, was given a quick rinse with well water and then tossed straight in, in big chunks — and no salt yet.

Meanwhile, golden-yellow millet was put into the steamer to cook. The fragrance of grain drifted out with the steam, mingling with the smell of meat and lingering over the hamlet's She altar.

"God of the Soil, ancestors — may you feast!"

The autumn She sacrifice was, at its heart, a celebration of the harvest, an offering to the God of the Soil in gratitude. What the gods and ancestors savored was the aroma of the food and the fresh blood of the livestock. The two most venerable elders of the hamlet, hands trembling, carried the blood basins and slowly sprinkled the blood all the way from the foot of the great tree to the hamlet's She altar and the ancestral shrine.

A hamlet dog stretched out its tongue to lick the blood, but Diwu Ge roughly kicked it away; it could only slink off, tail between its legs, to eat the bloody filth left over from cleaning the entrails.

Once the gods and ancestors had "eaten," it was the living's turn. The cook skimmed the scum from the cauldrons, fished out the chunks of meat one by one, and spread them on the straw mats in the shed.

Plain boiled pork, without even salt — Diwu Lun had them add plenty of ginger, scraped and washed and tossed into the soup cauldrons to stew along with the meat, which at least somewhat neutralized the rank odor. It smelled as though it might actually be edible.

But Diwu Lun still had no appetite whatsoever, because he had long since discovered that the pigs his family raised ate more than just dregs and pigweed — they also ate that stuff...

The privy and the pigpen were connected; his family's latrine opened directly into the pigpen. Sometimes, glancing down, he would see a huge pig's head right below him, and it nearly scared him to death.

Diwu Lun suddenly recalled that a "God of the Privy" was worshiped at the hamlet's She altar, and from what people described, it actually looked like a giant pig! No wonder!

After discovering this, Diwu Lun swore that he would never, ever eat pig tongue in this lifetime, no matter how fragrant! From now on, he would eat more mutton, chicken, duck, and goose, and touch pork as little as possible.

But while he, a "meat-eater," had a choice, ordinary clan members had none. Commoners ate coarse grain and wild greens, and had no wine or meat except at the hamlet drinking ceremony, the Lou sacrifice, the La sacrifice, and other such rites. The Guanzhong environment was no longer as good as it once had been; wild game was hard to come by, and pork had become the most easily obtained meat.

And the She day of the year was an even rarer chance to eat meat. Looking around, there was not a single fat person in the entire hamlet; everyone's belly lacked oil and fat. Some poor families did not even have the choice between eating rice or eating chaff — how could they be picky about the meat being rank?

So the eyes of all fifty-seven households were fixed on the arranged sacrificial meat. They saw the cook hand a knife, rinsed with well water, to Diwu Ba and say, "Clan head, it is time to divide the meat."

"I am old; I cannot bend down."

Diwu Ba looked over at Diwu Lun beside him and passed him the knife. "Boyu, from now on, the meat shall be carved and divided by you!"

Though the knife was light, Diwu Lun knew its weight was immense.

Dividing the sacrificial meat was a crucial part of the ritual, something only the clan head or a person of high repute could do. Since arriving in this era, Diwu Lun had heard the story of Chen Ping dividing meat at his hamlet's She day sacrifice. Because he divided it so evenly, he won the praise of the hamlet elders, who said he was good at being the "carver."

At first hearing, it sounded like nothing difficult — I could do that too!

But after the business of repairing the ancestral shrine and the meals during the work a few days earlier, Diwu Lun had realized that managing people was a profound art. He set aside his transmigrator's pride, abandoned fixed thinking, and more humbly sought to understand the various customs and conventions of this era. Only then did he grasp that the so-called "evenness" was absolutely not just about cutting the meat into pieces of equal size.

"Among the hamlet's fifty-seven households, some are of the same clan, some of different surnames; their kinship distance from the main lineage varies, and their status within the hamlet differs. On the other hand, though it is all pork from the same pig, different cuts have higher and lower grades, and even the same cut can be fattier or leaner. To satisfy every household — how difficult that is! It requires extremely high emotional intelligence."

No wonder Chen Ping later assisted Liu Bang and his son, became Chancellor, and governed the realm in perfect order. And if one cannot even carve a mere piece of meat, how can one speak of carving the world?

Fortunately, Diwu Lun had already consulted his grandfather and the cook in advance. After a moment's thought, under the gaze of over five hundred eyes, he began to cut.

In later ages, lean tenderloin would certainly be two or three times more expensive than fatty belly, but in this era, it was completely the other way around. When hosting guests, people often feared the meat was not fat enough; after all, fatty meat satisfied cravings and had far more oil.

Thus, pork belly had reached the pinnacle of pork cuts, becoming the most popular and most expensive part of the pig. Diwu Lun first selected large chunks of fatty belly, almost like layered cakes, cut them in two, wrapped them in leaves, and personally delivered them to the two households seated at the front.

These two were considered the hamlet's "elders," older even than Diwu Ba and of higher seniority. They had been the ones presiding over the sacrifices to the gods and ancestors just before. Taking the meat Diwu Lun handed them, they glanced at it and broke into smiles.

The old men's teeth were loose and could not chew lean meat, but the pork belly, stewed long enough, melted the moment it entered the mouth. They were thoroughly satisfied and simply praised, "The Diwu clan's ancestral shrine has an heir."

Next, Diwu Lun chose the pork collar, the marbled meat from the neck and upper back. This meat had fat and lean interwoven and, being closest to the pig's head, carried special significance. He gave it to the hamlet chief's family — the hamlet chief was essentially a figurehead, having to consult Diwu Lun and his grandfather on every matter great or small. This division of meat signified his status: beneath only the two of them, but above the hundred others.

To the steward Diwu Ge and his son Diwu Fu, he gave the shoulder cut, lean meat interspersed with fat, with a good mouthfeel. Diwu Ge had been playing the villain these days, earning plenty of curses behind his back from the hamlet folk. For someone who takes the blame, the treatment had better be a little better.

In this era, pigs did not eat feed and were nowhere near as fat as in later times. The cuts with fat were quickly distributed. When it was the turn of the honest and simple Diwu Pingdan, who stepped forward barefoot, he took what was handed to him and saw it was tenderloin. He could not help but freeze.

Tenderloin was the top grade among lean meats, the most tender cut. In previous years' She day sacrifices, it had always been given to the hamlet's Sergeant. How could it have fallen into his hands?

He looked up to refuse, but Diwu Lun said to him, "Pingdan, you have two sons. During the recent repair of the ancestral shrine and the hamlet's She altar, you and your sons labored day after day, rarely resting. Your family's diligence and willingness to work hard — I have seen it all with my own eyes. Keep it up! Take this meat."

Diwu Pingdan, who had worked the most but eaten the least during the earlier labor, and had been bullied and ordered around by the Sergeant, nearly wept. So the young master knew everything all along.

He simply held the meat and gave Diwu Lun a deep bow. When he turned and walked back into the crowd, he no longer hunched his back as usual, but instead held his head high and chest out, brimming with pride.

The hamlet had only so many people; they saw each other every day. Face was extremely important. The few bowls of rice he had missed out on earlier could never compare to the fine cut of meat he had been publicly given on She day. Diwu Pingdan could boast about this for a whole year!

And that greedy, contemptible Sergeant who had bullied Diwu Pingdan and stolen from what he was supposed to guard — he too craved the meat terribly and had been craning his neck the whole time. But he waited and waited, and still his turn did not come, until all his own clansmen had received their meat, and only then was his name called.

The crowd exchanged glances, their eyes full of schadenfreude, silently saying, so you get yours too! The order of dividing the meat was profoundly studied; who came first and who came last carried meaning. Back in the day, it was precisely because Confucius did not receive the sacrificial meat the Duke of Lu had promised him that he left in disappointment and traveled through the various states.

Diwu Lun had learned and applied this flexibly, embedding his praise, censure, reward, and punishment toward the hamlet folk all within the sequence of the meat distribution. He neither spoke it outright, nor did it need to be said to be understood.

And what this Sergeant received was the worst cut from an old sow: the rump, tough in texture and dry when eaten. In later ages, if a great chef patiently cooked it into twice-cooked pork, they could still turn dross into gold, but now, merely boiled, it was so tough it was hard to swallow.

He froze at once. "Young master, this meat..."

"What about this meat?"

Diwu Lun raised his head and looked at the man, still smiling genially, but his gaze told him unmistakably: You used your position to secretly take advantage for a few mouthfuls of food, you bullied your neighbors — I saw it all!

The Sergeant's heart quailed. He dared not say another word, but simply held his meat and, like the dog that had been kicked away earlier, slunk back to his seat with his tail between his legs, feeling as though everyone was pointing at his spine. His family could not lift their heads either.

Next came the turn of those with other surnames. When all the meat had been distributed, Diwu Ba stroked his beard, extremely satisfied with Diwu Lun's performance.

It seemed that if chaos truly engulfed the world in the future, and the day came for the Diwu clan to raise troops, which people in the hamlet were trustworthy and could be used, and which were unreliable and must be kicked aside — all of it was now clear in Diwu Lun's mind. He could rest assured in gradually handing over the clan's full authority to him.

Diwu Ba then smiled and asked the crowd, "Elders, how was Boyu's dividing of the meat?"

Everyone was filled with respect and admiration. Over five hundred people, men and women, young and old, all cupped their hands and praised from the heart: "The young clan head as carver — most even!"

By the time the sacrificial meat was divided, it was already cold. Though it lacked color, aroma, and flavor, everyone still ate it with great delight.

Some dipped it in black bean sauce, cutting it into small pieces with the knives they carried to share with their families. Some had brought their own small pouch of salt and very carefully sprinkled a bit on top, eating it as a dip; if a grain of salt accidentally fell, they would so regretfully pick it up, dirt and all, and pop it into their mouths.

Diwu Lun only tasted a little and still found it quite unpalatable.

"Compared to that 'Li Village White Pork' I once ate in the later age, it's far, far inferior!"

It had to do with the cooking method, but there was also a problem with the pigs themselves. It seemed that if he had any leisure, he ought to research pig-castration techniques with the tenant laborers and bring down his cruel hand upon the innocent piglets in the pen.

By now, the crowd had fished out the kidneys, tripe, lungs, and other offal stewing in another cauldron, cut them into small slices, mixed them with sauce and fermented beans to blend the flavors, and then combined them with the cooked millet to distribute to each household. This was the day's staple, the "She rice."

There were also jujubes gathered from the orchard, and She cakes that each household had molded themselves, all brought out and laid forth, neighbors tasting each other's. Only after busily laboring for more than half a year did they have a bountiful harvest. She day was just like New Year's; today, every single person could eat until they were stuffed.

Since there were no outsiders, there was no need to hold back on the drink. Diwu Ba had them bring out the yellow wine stored in the fortified compound's cellar, along with the cloudy homebrew each household had made. After the meal, everyone simply raised their bowls and drank together.

Men and women sat mixed at the feast, cups and plates strewn everywhere. As the wine cups passed back and forth, once that horse-piss went down, voices grew louder among those who had been a bit reserved, and legs could no longer stay seated. One after another they rose and began to sing and dance.

What they sang was neither the Greater or Lesser Court Hymns, nor the popular tunes of Zheng and Wei — it was nothing more than common street ballads and folk ditties. There wasn't even instrumental accompaniment; they just clapped their hands, stamped their feet, and sang together in unaccompanied chorus.

The song, however, was one that had grown popular in the Guanzhong region during the Yuandi and Chengdi reigns of the former dynasty: "The Crow Bears Eight or Nine Chicks."

"The crow bears eight or nine chicks, perched among the Qin family's cassia trees. Alas for me!"

"The Qin house has a wandering, roving son, skilled with a Suiyang crossbow and Suhe pellets. Left hand gripping the crossbow, he shoots two pellets, darting east and west of the crow. Alas for me!"

"One pellet flies and strikes the crow's body; the crow dies, its hun-spirit soaring to the heavens. When its mother bore the chick, it was among the crags of the Southern Mountains. Alas for me!"

"How are common folk to know where the crow chick dwells? The winding paths run deep and hidden — how can they be reached? The white deer dwells in the Western Park of the Shanglin, yet the bowman still makes white deer jerky. Alas for me!"

"The yellow swan soars scraping the heavens in highest flight, yet the rear palace still manages to boil and cook it. The carp dwells in the deep abyss of the Luo River, yet the hook still finds the carp's mouth. Alas for me!"

"Every person born has their own allotted span — why must we speak again of death and life, before or after!"

Listening to this call-and-response song, Diwu Lun was rather surprised. The song was in fact an allegory: it told of a crow born among the crags of the Southern Mountains that later moved to nest in the Qin family's cassia tree, only to be killed by the Qin son with a pellet, losing its life. As migrants, the people of Linqu Township must have felt this song deeply.

"On such a fine day, why sing this kind of song?"

Diwu Ba, perhaps finding the tune too sorrowful, took the floor himself and performed for everyone "Entering the Pass," a melody from when the Han army fought in the Western Regions. It did add a measure of fervor and valor, but the tone of the previous song lingered long in Diwu Lun's ears.

That ballad seemed to sing out the current state of affairs at the end of Han and under the Xin: the times were harsh, chaos sprouted on all sides, and the world was full of peril and tragedy.

Diwu Lun had also drunk some wine. He stood up, seeming to want to say something, but those around him could not make it out. Laughing heartily, they pulled the young clan heir into the dance with them.

The way they waved their arms and stamped their feet looked exactly like crows spreading their wings, desperate to flee.

They ran around the bonfire like white deer frantically dodging pursuit.

Their bodies moved nimbly, whirling and leaping like carp in the deep.

Lifting their voices in a high song, they were like yellow swans soaring to the heavens, yearning for freedom!

The applause was like thunder, the dancing faster and faster. Men and women, young and old — everyone joined the revelry. Heaven and earth seemed to spin together, yet Diwu Lun grew more and more sober.

The crow, the white deer, the carp, the yellow swan — they were the embodiment of the common people. Edicts that changed overnight, harsh governance fiercer than savage tigers, imperial relatives and powerful local clans whose greed knew no bounds — these were like pellets, bows and arrows, bird nets, and fishhooks, following like shadows.

No matter how well the common folk hid, how deep they concealed themselves, how far they migrated, they could never escape the fate of being seized, shot down, and butchered by the strong.

Unable to resist, they could only sigh helplessly: "Life and death are ordained by fate; wealth and honor lie with Heaven."

"Not necessarily!"

Diwu Lun shook off the hands of those beside him and walked out of the dancing circle.

When Diwu Lun had first arrived, he had acted only for himself. Later, as his bond with Diwu Ba gradually deepened into that of grandfather and grandson, he began to consider the clan — though it was still largely a matter of utility. Now, through the sharing of meat and the communal sacrifice, the harmony and shared song of the clan folk had stirred in him a stronger sense of belonging — this was his clan!

But looking across the realm, the tiny Diwu hamlet was still weak, a little ant. For now, with "all under heaven at peace," they could still live quietly day by day. But once the coming chaos arrived in a few years, could they escape the fate of being slaughtered by the strong?

"If you don't want to become the fish on the chopping board, you must become the cleaver yourself!"

His plans for the future grew clearer.

Not far away, the hamlet gatekeeper came running over in haste. His words brought that night's revelry to an end.

"Clan head, young master — there are people outside the hamlet gate! It's the township Bailiff, Diyi Liu, and an official from the commandery office!"

"The Bailiff? A commandery clerk? What do they want!" Diwu Lun immediately called a halt to the celebrations.

"Everyone stop!"

With his forceful shout and shoving, the crowd slowly ceased their singing and dancing, looking at one another in bewilderment.

After his grandson came over and whispered a few words in his ear, Diwu Ba jolted alert and at once gave the order: "Quick, put all the wine away!"

…

PS: When he first became Commander of the Yumen Garrison, a toilet spirit manifested in the outer stables. It had the form of a large pig, with eyes all over its body. It went in and out of the privy and roamed about the courtyard. — Taiping Guanglan, Scroll 333, "Ghosts 18"

Begging for recommendation votes.