Chapter 2: The Name-Changing Maniac

"When other people transmigrate, they break off an engagement. Me, I'm here to drop out of school."

Having finished his business, Diwu Lun didn't linger. He swung himself onto his yellow pony — no name; what decent person names their mount?

Right next to the official school was the South Gate. Once outside the city wall, a turn of the head still revealed the three characters "Changping County" dead center on the two-zhang-high wall.

When Diwu Lun first arrived, he'd assumed it was the Changping of the Qin–Zhao Battle of Changping. Only later did he discover it wasn't.

This county belonged to the Left Pingyi, one of the Former Han's Three Adjuncts. Its old name was Changling County; it had been changed to Changping only three years ago. Its location was roughly east of what would later be Xianyang City in Shaanxi Province.

So the wall was ancient, but the characters were brand new — exactly as Wang Mang wished. The new Emperor treated the realm like a house to be renovated: by hammering, chiseling, and slapping on a fresh coat of paint, he erased every trace of the old Han.

And so Wang Mang overhauled the empire's entire bureaucracy and place names: commandery governors became Grand Governors, county magistrates became County Magistrates, the Three Adjuncts became the Six Commandants.

Diwu Lun had long since figured out the pattern of Wang Mang the name-changing maniac: reverse everything. Ling meant "lofty," so he changed it to ping — as in, "a flat chest is how you pacify the world."

There was a place in the Yang Province Inspectorate called Wuxi — "No Tin." Wang Mang disliked the word wu, "none," so he changed it to its antonym: Youxi — "Has Tin."

But after asking around with merchants from east of the passes, Diwu Lun was disappointed to find that Changshan was still Changshan — it hadn't been changed to Shijiazhuang!

And Lanling had only been renamed "Landong," not Zaozhuang.

"What happened to the theory that Wang Mang was a senior transmigrator? If he really were one, he'd have left some kind of code in the place names, wouldn't he?"

Diwu Lun stopped his wild speculations, spurred his horse south, and left the county seat.

In his previous life, by thirty his strength had failed him. Now, the feeling of having a seventeen-year-old body again was wonderful. Best of all, he'd shed his severe myopia — the world had become sharp and clear once more.

After leaving the city, Diwu Lun lifted his gaze eastward and could see a great mountain shaped like an inverted dipper, standing three li away. Pines and cypresses grew lush and dark upon its slopes, and temple halls were built around its base.

That was no mountain, in fact, but Changling — the tomb of Han's founding Emperor, Liu Bang. Though Wang Mang had changed every old name, he hadn't dug up the old Liu family's ancestral graves. That was only because, when he usurped the Han, he'd played a trick: he had people present a golden tablet and bronze tally, claiming that "the Red Emperor manifested his spirit and transmitted the realm of Han to Mang."

So this abdication was supposedly Liu Bang himself passing the state to Wang Mang?

Word was that Wang Mang had even accepted the golden tablet before the late Emperor's spirit. To Diwu Lun, that was practically dancing on his grave. If Liu Bang knew what was happening beneath the springs, he'd probably be so furious he'd kick his coffin lid open and rise up.

Afterwards, Wang Mang designated Changling and the High Temple as the Xin Dynasty's "Temple of the Civil Ancestor" and maintained their sacrifices, keeping the incense burning without interruption.

After passing Changling, he followed the dusty dirt road straight south and entered Linqu Township, where Diwu Lun's family lived.

…

The Chengguo Canal, hundreds of li long, spanned the Weibei Plain, irrigating tens of thousands of qing of land. The best fields in Changling were all concentrated along the canal. Though they couldn't compare to the land near the capital, where a mu cost a jin of gold, they were still extremely valuable.

And distributed from east to west along the ever-flowing Chengguo Canal were this township's eight li, their names simple and clear: First Li, Second Li, Third Li… Fifth Li, all the way to Eighth Li. They were inhabited by various clans that had migrated here from Qi two hundred years ago.

Qin and Han li settlements were mostly small farming households of five to eight families, but there were exceptions. When the migrants from east of the passes were forcibly relocated into the pass, they initially couldn't communicate with the Qin people. To survive on this unfamiliar land, they had no choice but to band together. A hundred families gathered, uniting into a clan — somewhat like the later Hakka people of the south, with a very strong sense of clan identity.

Passing by First Li, one could see from afar the tall ancestral hall the First clan had built. Diwu Lun also encountered two sons of the First clan riding a carriage to the county seat. He reined in his horse and cupped his hands in salute, but the other party merely nodded casually, their attitude extremely arrogant — as if Diwu Lun's salute was only to be expected.

This so infuriated Diwu Lun's companion and servant, Diwu Fu, that he spat at their retreating backs and cursed, "The First clan still thinks they're the main branch! They didn't even return the young master's salute!"

Diwu Lun merely frowned and stopped his servant. "Wufu, save the cursing for home."

He called his servant Wufu because his big, pancake-flat face was so jovial — he looked like a Five Blessings doll, stocky and stout.

To make things easier to remember, Diwu Lun had mentally tagged all his distant relatives. The First clan was undoubtedly the most arrogant. As descendants of the legitimate son of Tian Guang, King of Qi, they had been ranked first during the migration and had the largest population and most land. During Emperor Wu's reign, their family had purchased an office and served as court gentlemen, producing two county magistrates. Now, though their official posts had grown smaller and smaller — the First clan head was only a Township Elder — they still treated the other families as minor branches.

Riding west all the way, the other families each had their own distinct character.

The Second clan was the most diminished. During Emperor Wu of Han's crackdown on powerful families, the Second clan, because of their dealings with the great knight-errant Guo Jie, had been singled out as a criminal example and crushed. They were then relocated to Fangling in Hanzhong to clear wasteland, cutting off all contact with their relatives. This led to the common local saying that there were only seven of the eight great families in the township.

The Third clan was the smallest. For some unknown reason, almost every generation produced only a single male heir, so their population was sparse — no more than ten households, barely a hundred people. They were dependent on the First clan.

The Fourth clan was the shrewdest. This family had taken a different path, choosing commerce. Can merchants be anything but shrewd?

The Fifth clan was the fiercest. Diwu Lun's family was famous for its ferocity, because Diwu Lun's grandfather had been a military man. In his youth, he'd even gone with Chen Tang to fight in the Western Regions and knew something of formation tactics. When it came to brawls over water during the busy farming season, no one in the township could beat them.

The Sixth clan was the most honest. This family lived next to the Fifth clan, buried their heads in farming, managed their fields, and rarely got involved in disputes.

The Seventh clan was the most vicious. The Seventh clan was a notoriously evil local power. Their household was full of young bravos who spent their days brandishing swords and bullying the weak. It was said they even had dealings with the Maoling great knight-errant Yuan She and secretly engaged in illegal activities.

The Eighth clan was the most Confucian. This family had migrated last; all the good land had already been taken by their relatives. Their population couldn't match the First clan's, they couldn't outfight the Fifth or Seventh, and in business, the Fourth clan had them beat. So their ancestors had paid their own way to Chang'an to study the classics and reaped the benefits of classical scholarship. During the reign of Emperor Yuan, they'd produced an Erudite disciple — back when Imperial Academy students were still a rare and precious commodity.

Thus, the Eighth clan placed the greatest emphasis on education, passing down one classic through the family. But lately they had fallen into decline, having produced no Imperial Academy students for a long time. This year, Diba Jiao had even had his slot snatched away by Diwu Lun, leaving relations between the two families somewhat strained.

In short, though the several families were nominally still relatives, in reality they were a sheet of loose sand, even forming feuds and fighting for their own interests.

"That's the situation now, but in a few years, it won't necessarily be the same."

With this thought in his heart, Diwu Lun had already left the main road and turned onto the village path leading to Fifth Li.

Along the path were fields clearly divided by footpaths and ridges, likely totaling over a hundred qing. His family alone owned half; the rest was divided among several dozen households. Small ditches diverted water from the Chengguo Canal for irrigation. The millet had already been harvested, and the winter wheat hadn't been planted yet — preparations for plowing were just getting underway.

Several men, leaning on their farm tools, were drinking water from a gourd ladle by the field's edge. Their wives and daughters, hairpins of thorn-wood and skirts of rough cloth, were arriving with meals. Seeing Diwu Lun ride by, they all stood and bowed to him.

"Greetings, young master!"

Diwu Lun responded with a smile. These people were still toiling in the heat, wearing only calf-nose breeches. The sun had baked their backs and faces a dark, swarthy brown, and their shoulders bore the rope marks from pulling plows — not every family could afford an ox, after all.

Most in the li were yeoman farmers, but many had already had their land annexed by the Fifth clan. Some refugees from outside, fleeing government corvée and taxes, had also sought refuge with the powerful family, becoming tenant-serfs and slaves.

Near the li settlement, on slopes that couldn't be turned into farmland, mulberry trees and hemp fields were thickly planted, and people were working among them as well.

If the fields provided food, these cash crops guaranteed clothing. The brocade robes Diwu Lun wore and the fine grains he ate every day were all the fruits of labor created by the hands of tenants and slaves — a thought that left him somewhat uneasy.

Still, though one's class was determined by birth, where one's heart inclined depended on one's later actions.

Just then, Diwu Lun heard a series of agonized wails coming from the orchard.

A villager picking pears had carelessly fallen from a tree and was now clutching his leg, howling. Diwu Lun parted the crowd and leaned in for a closer look. He found a large wooden splinter deeply embedded in the man's bare, shoeless sole; quite a bit of blood had already flowed.

Looking closely at the man's pain-twisted face, Diwu Lun recognized him. Though thirty or forty years old, in terms of seniority he was a distant nephew. Diwu Lun called for bystanders to help pull out the splinter and find a cloth to bandage the wound and stop the bleeding. Seeing that the injured man didn't even have shoes and would likely struggle to hobble back to his home two li away, he told Diwu Fu to carry him back on the horse.

"Young master, if I lead the horse and carry him, what about you?"

Diwu Fu's pancake face was filled with reluctance. Within the li, clan members were divided by closeness — status was determined by blood proximity to the family head. Diwu Fu's family was close to the main branch, still within the five degrees of mourning. He'd been at Diwu Lun's side since childhood: a playmate when young, accompanying him in his studies, and a servant now that he was grown. In the future, he would help Diwu Lun manage the estate, living off its labor without toiling himself.

To be asked to lead a horse for a distant relative of low status — of course Diwu Fu was unhappy. The injured man, too, repeatedly protested that he dared not accept.

Diwu Lun rubbed his backside. "The horse was chafing me sore. I feel like walking back."

He helped the injured clansman onto the horse and sent Diwu Fu on his way. As he strode toward the li gate, the men and women of the clan in the orchards and mulberry groves exchanged glances. "This past half-month, the young master has been much more amiable than before."

"That's right. In the past, he'd walk the road with his head held high. Now he stops and cups his hands in greeting, and often has a smile on his face."

This would have been unimaginable under the past few generations of family heads.

The li settlement was located on a slightly elevated plateau. Earthen-yellow walls ringed it, with only two gates, north and south, both guarded by li gatekeepers. The gates opened at dawn to let the clansmen and servants out to work and closed at nightfall to keep out bandits and petty thieves.

Here, travel permits, tallies, and tokens were all useless — coming and going required only one thing: face recognition.

A stranger's face or a foreign accent would be guarded against like a thief. Even government tax clerks, without the nod of the Diwu clan head, could forget about getting in.

It was said that during the Zhao and Xuan reigns of the former dynasty, imperial authority could still reach down to the villages, but after the Yuandi and Chengdi eras, the Han emperors ruled the realm by virtue, and control gradually slackened. This led to rampant annexation: the rich held fields stretching ridge after ridge, while the poor lacked even a sliver of standing room. After the Xin Dynasty was founded, it issued the "Royal Fields and Private Dependents Decree," proclaiming the nationalization of land and banning the buying and selling of slaves — yet covert transactions continued despite repeated prohibitions.

After Diwu Lun entered the hamlet gate, he received even more frequent courtesies. Everyone recognized this young gentleman, and they were secretly delighted by the gentle manner he had suddenly adopted over the past half-month. A main-line clan head who was easy to talk to and considerate of his kinsmen meant that the clan's life could be a little easier for the next ten years, even decades.

What the people did not know was that Diwu Lun was actually counting his own blessings — blessing that he possessed such an enormous clan.

Diwu Lun had seen the hamlet's household register — the one held in his grandfather's hands, the scroll with the true figures, not the false accounts the hamlet chief showed the government tax clerks.

The hamlet contained fifty-seven households in all, with a population of four hundred sixty-nine men, women, and children. Among them, adult males — that is, able-bodied men — numbered one hundred ninety-seven, and more than half bore the surname Diwu.

If they could be diligently trained and enough weapons procured to arm them, they would make a military force not to be underestimated.

Diwu Lun's extra care for the hamlet folk stemmed not only from an exploiter's guilty conscience, but also from his sober assessment of the shape of things to come:

"Winter is coming. The lone wolf dies, but the pack lives."

…

The dirt roads inside the hamlet were rutted and uneven, a morass of mud after a rain. Household wastewater flowed through the little ditches beside the paths. Arrogant, swaggering black-headed pigs, chickens, ducks, and geese relieved themselves everywhere they pleased — the smell was foul — and the soles of running children tracked filth all over the place.

The twisting, turning lanes led to every household, the houses built with no regularity at all. Unless you had walked them three or four times yourself, you were sure to get lost the moment you stepped out the door.

Only one road was paved with cobblestones. Starting from the north hamlet gate, it passed a level clearing beneath a great banyan tree, then arrived at the main clan's fortified manor.

The fortified manor was actually a separate structure standing south of the hamlet settlement, occupying the highest ground on the plateau. Its walls were sturdy and tall, its gate lintel imposing and lofty. Looking up, one could see a row of iron-grey eaves tiles.

By the gate rested a few crudely made spears. Four gatekeepers stood chatting and laughing; when they saw Diwu Lun, they broke off at once and ushered him inside.

"The old master gave orders: the young gentleman is to go see him the moment he returns."

Diwu Lun had rushed all the way back from the county seat. He reckoned that news of his withdrawal from school could not yet have reached his grandfather's ears.

"Good. There can still be half a moment of peace at home."

Once through the gate, he saw that the compound was laid out in three sections: front, middle, and rear. The front courtyard was where the privately owned slaves lived, in crude earthen huts. On either side stood stables and a cart shed. Compared to the spacious stables, the horses were pitifully few — only a single aging red steed stood with its head lowered, chewing fodder grass of scant nourishment.

The middle courtyard held the two-story main building, which contained the master's living quarters and the reception hall. But Diwu Lun made a round and did not see his grandfather.

"Where is Grandfather?"

"In the rear courtyard. The orchard sent over a fresh harvest of chestnuts."

A side door in the central building led into the rear courtyard, which was divided among pigsties, workshops, a kitchen, and other structures. Beyond the wall lay a garden plot, its vegetable beds neatly arranged, winter mallow and chives growing gratifyingly well. Beside them were a well and irrigation ditches for watering — the master household's daily vegetables came from here.

Diwu Lun's grandfather, however, was in the kitchen. The old man loved chestnuts and at that moment stood by the stove, waiting for them to roast through.

Diwu Lun could not help softening his steps. He was still a little afraid of his grandfather. He walked up behind him and bowed with clasped hands: "Grandfather."

The old master turned around. His face, usually set in a stern expression, broke into a smile at the sight of his grandson, his features crinkling into a mass of wrinkles.

"Lun'er, you're back."

The old master had a very imposing name: he was called Diwu Ba, the ninth-generation head of the Diwu clan since their migration west.

From his looks alone, no one would ever guess that Diwu Ba was already seventy-one. On days when Diwu Lun rose early enough, he could still see him in the courtyard, bathing with cold water, then taking up his long sword and practicing for a quarter of an hour. The result of such diligent daily exercise was that the old master, in his seventies, still had a body of solid muscle.

Other landlords hunched their backs and clasped their hands behind them as they made slow, leisurely inspections of their fields. Diwu Ba, however, rode out with a sword at his side and his clan's braves in tow, swaggering through the countryside with such presence that the bandits for ten villages around dared not stir up trouble in Diwu Hamlet.

And his hands bore thick calluses from years of sword and blade work, practically a pair of iron palms. Using fire tongs, he fished a scalding chestnut from the ash pit, gave it a casual puff, split it in two, and handed the kernel to Diwu Lun.

Diwu Lun took it and ate in small bites, finding it too hot. Diwu Ba, meanwhile, popped two at a time into his mouth and chewed with bulging cheeks — it was a mercy his teeth had not all fallen out yet.

The chestnuts of this age were nowhere near as sweet as those of later eras. Diwu Lun merely thought that he might, some other day, get hold of a little syrup and make his grandfather some sugar-roasted chestnuts to try.

Diwu Ba handed him another handful of shelled chestnuts. "Well? Just as the County Magistrate said — the court sending a grandee to inspect and examine was nothing but going through the motions."

"It was indeed so."

Diwu Lun, his mouth full of chestnut, could only mumble his assent. When Diwu Ba asked which grandee had come today, he answered honestly.

Diwu Ba still did not know what great deeds Diwu Lun had done in the county seat, so his mood was excellent. Stroking his greying beard, he said, "Come the tenth month, you'll be off to the Imperial Academy. This calls for celebration! Last year's wine has matured. I'll have the cook slaughter a chicken and cut a side of meat — you can keep your old grandfather company over a few cups."

It was already afternoon. The women had begun washing rice and cooking; the cook bustled about. The faint fragrance of meat drifted from the earthenware pot. Diwu Lun, however, thought to himself: "Tonight's main course will probably be a bamboo-slab roasting."

Diwu Ba pointed his little finger toward the hamlet at the far western edge of the township and said smugly, "That old man Diba has always prided himself on his family's hereditary expertise in one classic and on having produced an Imperial Academy student, looking down on our house. Now his youngest son, Diba Jiao, has been bested by you. What a delight! It was well worth all the favors I did for the County Magistrate."

Diwu Lun smiled and said nothing, until grandfather and grandson had sat on the kitchen threshold and finished a whole big handful of chestnuts.

He personally handed Diwu Ba a cup of water, watched his grandfather swallow it down and made sure he would not choke, and only then said, unhurried and unruffled: "Grandfather, actually…"

Diwu Ba raised his head to listen to his grandson.

"I… the Imperial Academy place…"

Diwu Ba nodded, a smile on his face.

"…gave it to Diba Jiao!"

"What did you say? Say that again!"

Diwu Lun retreated two steps, ready to bolt, but his voice rose a notch: "I declined the opportunity to go to the Imperial Academy and yielded the place to the Diba clan."

Crack! A perfectly good pottery cup shattered in Diwu Ba's grip. The kindly smile on the old man's face instantly turned to uncontainable fury.

"Rebellion! Rebellion!"