Chapter 227: Rise and Stand

A residence whose gate opens directly onto the main road, not through the ward gate, is called a di, and these are further divided into jia and yi grades.

A jia-grade di is the closest thing Chang'an has to a mega-mansion.

They are concentrated mainly in two wards: Shangguan Ward by the eastern gate of Shoucheng Palace, and Qi Ward by the northern gate. These two wards share one defining trait — they press right up against the imperial palace. Physical distance here is also distance from the seat of power.

The people who could occupy such houses in Chang'an, where every inch of land was worth its weight in gold, were either great and noble clans or the Three Dukes and Nine Ministers.

The Diwu clan, mere local strongmen just a few years ago, had now joined their ranks. The jia-grade di bestowed by Wang Mang stood in Qi Ward, visible the moment you stepped out of Xuanwu Gate at the northern gate. Gone was the cramped crush of common city folk in their tiny homes. Here the residence faced the thoroughfare, its gate opening straight onto the avenue, the buildings spacious, the gateway tall and grand, wide enough for a horse-drawn carriage to pass through.

Though coming and going no longer required passing through a ward gate, Diwu Lun noticed quite a few people standing guard here — all unfamiliar faces, clearly not the family's own private soldiers.

"With bandits running rampant even inside Chang'an lately, the Son of Heaven specially ordered the Five Majesties Central City General to dispatch over a hundred men to protect you." The Fourth Diwu Xian, who had long been waiting outside the palace, told Diwu Lun this.

Protection? Diwu Lun could only recall an urban legend he had heard back in Chang'an: after the death of Han Xin, Marquis of Huaiyin, Liu Bang sent men to appoint Xiao He as Chancellor of State, increased his fief by five thousand households, bestowed upon him a jia-grade di, and ordered five hundred soldiers to serve as the Chancellor's personal guard and watch his house. Everyone at the time offered congratulations — only Shao Ping, Marquis of Dongling, came to mourn with Xiao He, saying: "Calamity begins from this."

This kind of protection was in truth a mark of wariness and distrust — keeping an eye on one's family so that you dared not act rashly. Yet it was hardly a treatment reserved for Diwu Lun alone. Grand Minister of Works Wang Yi, Grand Preceptor Wang Kuang, and Grand Chancellor Wang Xun, all living in the same Qi Ward, received the same.

Diwu Lun betrayed no emotion whatsoever. He walked straight to the gate and saw the faded old plaque of merit that once adorned this household.

Over two hundred years of Han rule, who knew how many high officials and nobles had lived here. Their rise had been sudden, their fall just as swift. Only the carriage ruts, worn deep into the stone by wheels, and the roof beasts, at once new and old after repairs, spoke of the glory this place had once known.

The Northern Army soldiers guarding the gate parted to let him pass. Diwu Lun offered a word of thanks for their hard work and, with a smile, ordered wine and food set out for them. Further in lay the outer courtyard and covered corridors. Side chambers, covered walkways, courtyard gates, and surrounding walls linked together to enclose a compound — the main residence of a great di.

To dwell in such a place, one could strike bronze bells and stone chimes in the courtyard, pluck qin and se in the hall. Yet the old man who had once envied the plaques of great houses, who had endlessly declared he would make the Diwu clan a household of "bells ringing and tripods feasting," had now utterly ruined the air of wealth and refinement here.

Diwu Lun had barely stepped through the gate when he heard the wild barking of fighting dogs.

"Blackie, bite it!"

Walking further in, he saw a burly old man, his beard and hair not yet fully white, standing shoulder to shoulder with a lord wearing brocade robes and a yuanyou cap. Before them, in a circular pit, a black fighting dog and a white one were locked in combat.

The old man was none other than Diwu Ba. His hands were planted on his hips, his body leaning slightly forward, as if he wished he could take the dog's place himself.

The black dog wore a leather collar, but around the white dog's neck was — of all things — a gold collar!

Yet the white dog was being chased all over the pit by the black one and ultimately slunk off in defeat, tail between its legs.

The lord smacked his hand in regret. "I bought this fighting dog at great expense from Zhongshan several years ago. I fed it beef, adorned it with a gold collar — and still, Lord Diwu's dog proves the superior skill!"

Diwu Ba could not have been more delighted. He burst out laughing. "Marquis of Qiongcheng, this old dog of mine is just some mutt we keep around the house."

So the middle-aged man was Wang Yuan, Marquis of Qiongcheng — Wang Long's uncle. He declared himself willing to accept the loss: "This gold collar now belongs to Lord Diwu."

Just then, a servant announced Diwu Lun's arrival. The Marquis of Qiongcheng turned, saw Diwu Lun, and hurriedly bowed to him with clasped hands.

"The Duke of Weixin has returned!"

"Running dogs," like cockfighting, was one of the pastimes of the Han aristocracy. Emperor Wu of Han had been quite fond of this diversion, establishing the "Dog Terrace Palace" in Shanglin Park, where civil and military officials would gather at set times to watch dog fights. The fighting dogs of Chang'an were nothing like the common dogs kept to guard the house or raised for the pot. A single dog could be worth dozens of bolts of cloth, and famous dogs, all decked out with tassels, were valued in the tens of thousands — on par with a horse.

Diwu Lun knew that in his youth, his grandfather had been something of a gallant young blade, never without his cockfights and dog races. But in old age he had devoted himself entirely to the family enterprise and had long since given up such games, preferring to spend the money for keeping dogs on keeping men instead. Who would have thought that once he entered Chang'an, he too would fall into such decadence.

He paid his respects to Diwu Ba. The old man was happy, of course, to have his grandson back, but when Diwu Lun asked if he was living comfortably in the city, Diwu Ba could not help but curse.

"This house — it's too small."

He pointed at the courtyard and said, "Look, even the sky is this small!"

Diwu Lun found this inwardly amusing. True enough — their family's fortified manor was far larger than this. So later on, he would get him a bigger one?

Diwu Ba, however, looked at Diwu Lun, his meaning seemingly pointed. "There are soldiers standing guard outside, and they don't easily let us go out. It's also not convenient to speak loudly as one would back in the countryside — afraid of disturbing the neighbors. All I can do is listen to the bustle of the neighboring market ward and itch with longing. I can't get comfortable at all. It's only thanks to the Marquis of Qiongcheng often coming to keep me company, chatting, cockfighting, and running dogs to pass the time."

Wang Yuan hurriedly said, "My house is nearby. We were neighbors in Changling, and neighbors we remain now that we've entered the city. Lord Diwu, a jia-grade di here in Chang'an may only be a house occupying a single mu of land, but it is more precious than an estate of a full qing in Liewei Commandery!"

Years ago, when Diwu Lun had gone to be a guest at Changping Manor, Diwu Ba had still felt honored and proud. Now the host-guest relationship between the two families had reversed. Diwu Lun was highly favored, and Wang Yuan's family in turn had to treat Diwu Ba with the utmost deference.

Diwu Lun exchanged a few pleasantries with Wang Yuan. When he asked after his good friend Wei Ao, Wang Yuan said, "Wei Jijin, as an Attendant of the Seven Dukes, has returned to Longyou to conscript troops for His Majesty. It may well be that this time, he will serve under the Duke of Weixin."

Wang Yuan had deliberately waited here today. Lowering his voice, he said, "Duke of Weixin, on this journey south with the Grand Minister of Works to suppress the rebellion..."

"Let us not discuss state affairs today." Diwu Lun refused to speak of it, but his constant shaking of his head already betrayed the hidden meaning: this campaign — it was deeply uncertain. You would all do well to make your own preparations.

Diwu Lun's attitude needed only a few days to be passed by Wang Yuan to every powerful clan in Liewei. They had to be made to feel that every one of them was in danger.

Which of the great powerful houses of Guanzhong did not command a thousand or two of retainers and soldiers? They too were fixedly watching the war situation in the south. Did Diwu Lun not know these people? They would side with whoever won!

After the Marquis of Qiongcheng, Wang Yuan, had left, Diwu Ba stroked the dog's head and used its barking to cover his words. He said to Diwu Lun in a low voice, "I am not so idly bored that I've lost myself in playthings. How can a fighting dog compare to the fun of wielding a halberd oneself? But before the Emperor and the soldiers outside, I have to play the part of a man old, feeble, and spent."

He had been "invited" into Chang'an. Though it all seemed like courteous treatment and good fortune on the surface, Diwu Ba had still sensed that the situation was not right — and he too was keeping a trick up his sleeve.

Fine, fine. While others grow vegetables at home, you run fighting dogs as a stratagem of feigned folly.

Diwu Ba said, "Boyu, you've been enfeoffed as a marquis and then enfeoffed as a duke. Our family's honors have reached the very top. I am happy, certainly happy, but I see the world growing more and more chaotic. I am over seventy years old, and I have never seen so many strange things..."

"Grandfather, set your mind at ease. The Diwu clan — has me."

Diwu Lun nodded slightly. Hearing Diwu Ba mention that he had entered the palace once, he asked, "Grandfather met His Majesty?"

Diwu Ba grew a little smug. "I did. The Son of Heaven even came down personally to offer me a toast."

That visit to the imperial palace had been at night, quite dazzling and bewildering. Diwu Ba remembered little else, but the taste of the wine in that cup and the scene of the Emperor asking after him personally remained fresh in his memory, a tremendous honor. His only regret was being confined here under house arrest, unable to return to his village and recount it all at length to his clan and neighbors.

"What kind of man does Grandfather take the Son of Heaven to be?"

Diwu Ba did not quite know how to describe him. He only remembered that Wang Mang had no airs whatsoever, was exceedingly warm and gracious to everyone, courteous and well-mannered. He nodded and said, "A good man."

The term existed already, meaning upright in virtue, kind-hearted. It was just that this assessment was one the vast majority of people in the world would not agree with.

"Exactly right."

Diwu Lun's words were laden with meaning, yet carried a trace of a sigh. "His Majesty — is indeed a 'good man'!"

Because the jia-grade di at the northern gate was extremely close to Shoucheng Palace, entering court became very convenient for Diwu Lun. He had also been granted a special tally by Wang Mang, allowing him to enter for an audience at any time.

The next day, when Diwu Lun entered the palace again, he found that the bags under Wang Mang's eyes had deepened. He was listless, entirely lacking the impassioned enthusiasm of the day before. He must have slept poorly again. Diwu Lun had heard that Wang Mang was also a workaholic, never setting aside his scrolls until very late each day.

But the realm was not something that could necessarily be well governed simply because you were diligent in administration.

After baring their hearts to each other the day before, today Wang Mang did not discuss ideals with Diwu Lun. Instead, he focused on practical matters and asked him to analyze the war situation in the south.

"The Grand Minister of Works, Duke of Longxin — a kinsman of the imperial house. In the past, as General of the Tiger's Fang, when he pointed east, the rebel scoundrel Zhai Yi was smashed; when he struck west, the rebels at Huaili were ground to dust. He is a treasured minister of the Xin, a vessel of might. Now, commanding several hundred thousand troops, he marches south from Luoyang. The rebel scum are certain to be defeated. Only..."

Diwu Lun's heart itched again. He decided that, in addition to Dou Rong, he would give Wang Yi a boost as well.

He pointed to the map and said, "There are two roads south from Luoyang to Wancheng. The first is via Luyang, to the west — this is where the Duke of Luyang of Chu battled the Three Jin and brandished his spear to halt the sun."

"The second is via Kunyang, to the east — this is where Duke Huan of Qi and Guan Zhong halted when they campaigned south against Chu to demand an accounting."

"In my humble opinion, an army of several hundred thousand is too vast to concentrate in one place. It should advance in two separate columns, so the rebels cannot support both flanks at once."

Diwu Lun had no idea how Dou Rong reacted after receiving his letter, still less whether he could persuade Wang Yi. He could only hope Wang Mang's micromanagement might do some good. By now, the Grand Minister of Works must have already reached Luoyang, surely?

Wang Mang, however, was not very pleased. He felt Diwu Lun was meddling too far and told him to focus solely on his detached force. Diwu Lun thereupon launched into an exposition of his own strategy.

"Once I assemble the conscripts from various regions at Hongmen, appoint my former subordinates as officers and sergeants, and give them brief training, the army can march out on campaign before the first day of the sixth month. It will pass through Lantian, take the Wu Pass, strike and seize Wancheng, and join forces with the Grand Minister of Works."

To mold tens of thousands of scattered conscripts into an army in a single month — it was sheer delusion, unless every man among them had the high caliber of a university student. But Diwu Lun had no time, and neither did Wang Mang!

"The last ten days of the fifth month. You must set out by then." This was the deadline Wang Mang set for Diwu Lun — barely twenty days!

With an army like that, Diwu Lun reckoned, if he led it to Wancheng and Wang Yi's force failed to arrive on schedule, leaving him to face tens of thousands of Greenwood and Han troops alone, the result would be his army destroyed and his officers killed.

Yet after a moment of visible difficulty, he reluctantly assented, and even volunteered a request.

"Since ancient times, no army has been without an overseer. I beg Your Majesty to appoint someone as army supervisor!"

"Whom do you have in mind?" Wang Mang was again somewhat displeased. Who ever took the initiative to name their own army supervisor? Diwu Lun really was too young and too rash.

But the candidate Diwu Lun proposed dispelled Wang Mang's last trace of misgiving.

"The Master of Fates of the Five Majesties, the Marquis of Tongmu, Chen Chong!"

Had Chen Chong been present, those words would have frightened the piss out of him!

Wang Mang's anger turned to delight, and he laughed. "Why? Is it not widely rumored that you and the Marquis of Tongmu have a grudge?"

Diwu Lun said, "Whether there is enmity, I do not care to argue. I only know that in recommending the worthy, one does not shun kin or foe. The Marquis of Tongmu is unswervingly loyal to Your Majesty. For years he has overseen and inspected the officials and commanderies without ever a lapse; the world holds him in dread. In this southern campaign, the officers are mostly temporary new recruits. I am young and of meager virtue, and fear I cannot keep them in line. I need an army supervisor of weighty authority and renowned prestige to assist me."

After all that, Diwu Lun's real motive was surely to have Chen Chong act as a mutual check and restraint, wasn't it? So Wang Mang surmised.

He should have said so earlier! Wang Mang was a master of the art of setting opposing views against each other; otherwise he would never have paired up a match as exquisitely suited as Lian Dan and Wang Kuang.

And surely the utterly loyal Chen Chong would not refuse an assignment like going to serve as Diwu Lun's army supervisor!

Besides the supervisor, Wang Mang also planned to assign Diwu Lun a deputy general — ideally someone not on good terms with him, who could take over command of the army at any moment.

But Wang Mang did not grant Diwu Lun's request on the spot. He said only that he must think it over carefully, then bade Diwu Lun follow him out of the palace.

"The State Preceptor is gravely ill; he likely has only days left. The Marquis of Weixin has ties to him as well. Come with me to visit him at his residence."

Liu Xin had never imagined that the Emperor, who had not summoned him for half a year, would suddenly come calling upon learning of his grave illness!

And bringing Diwu Lun with him!

As the saying goes, scholars may plot rebellion for three years and never succeed. Liu Xin was no master of coups. For a moment he was utterly flustered — never mind hiding armed men in the mansion to strike preemptively, they had made no preparations whatsoever. He could only lie stiffly on his couch, his heart pounding in wild disarray.

In the Former Han, Emperors had often visited old ministers in person — Emperor Xuan visiting Huo Guang, Emperor Cheng visiting Zhai Fangjin — yet none of those visits had boded well.

If after the visit the Emperor also bestowed an ox and wine, that was a hint for the minister to take his own life.

Liu Gong and the others involved in the conspiracy were all in a state of panic, thinking the Emperor had uncovered their plot. It was Liu Xin who slowly calmed down. He knew Wang Mang too well. This visit was perhaps only...

"Only because His Majesty is a good man, and pities this old friend who is soon to depart the world."

So Liu Xin merely lay on his couch with eyes shut. He heard the sounds of successive prostrations outside, then a pair of heavy footfalls entering the bedchamber, followed by a lighter pair behind.

Wang Mang led Diwu Lun to Liu Xin's sickbed. Diwu Lun had not expected that after two years without seeing him, Liu Xin would have aged into such a state — gaunt and emaciated, looking indeed as though his days were numbered. He thought too of Yang Xiong, and for a moment felt a pang of sorrow.

"Your Majesty..." Liu Xin forced his eyes open and tried to rise and bow. This was no pretense. Wang Mang immediately supported him and bade him dispense with the ceremony.

"Zijun, ah, Zijun." Wang Mang still habitually addressed Liu Xin by his old courtesy name. He held his old friend's hand and could plainly feel there was not an ounce of flesh left on it — it seemed all bone. He could not help but sigh with deep emotion.

"The rest of you, withdraw. I have words to speak with Zijun."

Diwu Lun glanced once at Liu Xin, then withdrew from the bedchamber along with Liu Gong and the others. When only the two old friends remained, the atmosphere fell silent for a time.

What broke the silence was a violent fit of coughing from Liu Xin. Wang Mang patted his back for him, then voiced the question that puzzled him.

"Zijun, I came to your residence today not only to see you. There is one more matter I wish to consult you about."

"Your Majesty, please speak. While I still possess this last shred of lucidity, I shall hold nothing back." Liu Xin was extremely tense. He had a dagger hidden beneath the couch, but in his physical state, he doubted he even had the strength to grip it and strike.

Wang Mang rose and paced, his brow tightly furrowed. He had indeed slept poorly the night before.

"I had a strange dream."

Wang Mang proceeded to recount the scene in his dream. Unlike those fabricated dreams from the time of his regency and his usurpation of the Han, this one was real.

"I dreamed that in the Changshi Chamber of Changle Palace, which has stood empty for many years, the Qin-era bronze colossi that have lain toppled for so long suddenly rose up of their own accord. Their forms were colossal, a full hundred zhang in height, each standing in a different quarter!"

As if a single stomp could trample Changle and Weiyang Palaces flat. It had jolted Wang Mang awake. "And when I reflected on it afterward, the bronze colossi numbered exactly five — no more, no less!"

"Zijun, how is this dream to be interpreted?"

PS: "Book of Han: Biography of Wang Mang": Mang dreamed that five bronze colossi in Changle Palace rose up and stood.

A bit late today. There will be an extra update tomorrow.