Chapter 23: Autumn Chrysanthemums

The moment the words left his mouth, Diwu Lun regretted them — he had forgotten Jing Dan's position. Fortunately, he hadn't said anything even more outrageous.

"How can we make those people willing?"

Jing Dan took no offense and said, with deep pessimism: "By relying on an imperial edict from the Shoucheng Chamber in Chang'an? You saw for yourself today — whether it's the ban on group drinking or that so-called 'governance of Zhongdu by Confucius,' they're all empty words. No one takes them seriously."

"In fact, as early as the first year of Shijianguo (AD 9), the Emperor issued a decree proclaiming that all land under Heaven would be renamed 'royal fields,' and slaves 'private dependents,' with their sale forbidden. He also modeled it on the ancient well-field system: each husband-and-wife pair would receive one hundred mu of land. If a family had fewer than eight men yet possessed land exceeding one well (nine hundred mu), they were to distribute the surplus to relatives and neighbors in the nine degrees of kinship who had no land or too little."

Good heavens — isn't this just land nationalization, plus making the local magnates divide up their estates!

Diwu Lun once again looked at Wang Mang with new respect. It seemed Wang Mang could indeed perceive this acute contradiction between people and land. He probably also knew that if he didn't reform, the dynasty would fall!

Only, the method and force of implementation were utterly laughable — Wang Mang actually counted on the conscience of the powerful families!

This measure existed only on paper and could never be enforced. Wasn't that obvious? If officials came to the Diwu clan's door demanding they divide their land, Diwu Ba would be one hundred percent unwilling too.

What a contradiction indeed — state and clan, public and private, collective and individual, the greater family and the lesser family. Yet this is human history: struggling in anguish and choosing amid contradictions, spiraling upward through contradictions, progressing bit by arduous bit. Diwu Lun had done quite well in his politics classes.

In short, the only parts the Xin Dynasty still doggedly clung to were the two bans on buying and selling royal fields and private dependents — a tightening curse clamped on the heads of the powerful families, restraining their insatiable appetites. But judging from the disaster on the Jing River, the local magnates had already found ways around these restrictions, while the commandery officials and even the court ministers either colluded with them like snakes and rats, or, like Zhang Zhan, were powerless to act.

Diwu Lun even looked at the dikes each family had repaired before the flood and speculated with dark suspicion: was this blockage of the Jing truly a natural disaster, and not a man-made calamity?

If things were this bad in Liewei Commandery, right at the foot of the capital, other places were beyond imagining.

This contradiction was deep-rooted. It could never be easily resolved simply by swapping the House of Han for the Xin, or swapping them back again. When that critical string finally snapped, a great chaos would inevitably erupt across the realm, sooner or later.

Jing Dan looked at the brooding Diwu Lun and clapped him on the shoulder. "You're still young. You should focus on advancing your scholarship and not brood too much. Leave such matters to the meat-eaters at court."

Diwu Lun, however, replied: "For Elder Brother Sunqing to say so much, you must have spent no small amount of time pondering these matters yourself. I had thought that, coming from a great magnate family, you would also bitterly detest the royal-field and private-dependent regulations. Yet from what I hear now, you seem to feel some regret about them?"

Jing Dan shook his head. "I am merely a son of a minor branch of the Jing clan, from the left-side hovels. I lived a hard life in my youth, and whatever I have today I owe entirely to my own study of the classics. Now I live on a court salary and own little land myself. Unlike you, Boyu, I have no heart of virtuous benevolence — I only want to rise in office and make a name."

"And then return home in brocade robes?"

"No — to get far away from my native soil and establish my own household." Jing Dan smiled. "I have no wish to be shackled by the clan. Not every magnate household can have as fine a family head as yours."

It seemed Jing Dan's past held quite a story.

Just then, a cold snort came from behind them.

They turned to look. It was Xiao Yan passing by, who seemed to have overheard a few lines of their discussion and found them utterly contemptible. But he paid the two no further attention, merely strolling down with Fan Zhu and the others, bearing the graceful poise of a lord's son.

Diwu Lun and Jing Dan exchanged glances and muttered to themselves: "How could Xiao He have produced such an arrogant, overweening descendant?"

……

After the height-climbing ended, everyone returned to their seats. For a post-meal refreshment, Wang Yuan, Marquis of Qiongcheng, had his slaves lay out steamed rice cakes — and then ordered chrysanthemum wine brought in.

Wang Yuan said: "This is an old custom of the Han palace. In the ninth month, one wears zhuyu, eats steamed rice cakes, and drinks chrysanthemum wine."

At this, Xiao Yan chimed in: "It is said to have been created by Consort Qi, beloved of Emperor Gao of Han, in keeping with the customs of Feng and Pei. When the chrysanthemums bloom, one gathers stems and leaves, mixes them with glutinous millet to brew, and by the ninth day of the ninth month of the following year it is ready to drink — hence it is called 'chrysanthemum wine.' It can grant long life."

And that, of course, had been the golden age of their Xiao family — Xiao He ranked first among the founding ministers of the early Han, and his marquisate was passed down for over ten generations without interruption.

Both Wang Yuan and Xiao Yan were descendants of Former Han imperial affines and meritorious officials — remnant loyalists of a bygone age — and their conversation was thick with nostalgia for the past.

Wei Ao keenly sensed this. With a light cough he cut them off, and as he shifted the topic, he pointed at Diwu Lun with a smile: "Boyu, I heard earlier about how you twice declined official appointments. Tell us — why did you refuse?"

Diwu Lun had no choice but to repeat the excuses he had used to fob off the County Magistrate and the Grand Governor. Wei Ao nodded in admiration, but Xiao Yan suddenly interjected: "I have heard a story. When King Wei of Chu heard that Zhuang Zhou was a great sage, he sent envoys bearing rich gifts to invite him to court."

He had been holding this in for a long time. Without caring whether it was awkward, he launched directly into this seemingly unrelated tale.

"Zhuang Zhou was fishing on the Pu River. He laughed and said to the Chu envoys: 'A thousand pieces of gold — a weighty profit. Minister of state — an exalted rank. But have you not seen the sacrificial ox at the suburban altar? It is fed fine fodder for several years, clothed in patterned embroidery, and led into the Grand Temple. In a single moment, its life is gone. At that moment, even if the sacrificial ox wished to be an untended wild calf, could it? Leave quickly, do not defile me! I would rather spend my whole life out of office, amusing myself amid the mud, than be fettered by a ruler of a state.'"

Having laboriously recited this allusion, Xiao Yan looked at Diwu Lun. "When I first heard of Diwu Lun twice declining office, I too thought he was like the calf Zhuang Zhou spoke of — wanting to swish his tail in the muddy water and amuse himself. Yet just now on the high terrace, I overheard him discussing court politics with Jing Sunqing, and he seemed deeply troubled. Why is that?"

Diwu Lun knew Xiao Yan was deliberately trying to make trouble for him. After a moment's thought, he smiled and said: "Because for the rise and fall of the realm, every common man bears responsibility!"

These words fell with ringing weight. Jing Dan abruptly raised his head; Wei Ao's eyes lit up.

"Absurd nonsense!"

Xiao Yan, however, detested this statement. He rebuked: "The Master said: 'He who is not in office does not plan its policies.' To be a mere commoner yet harbor the concerns of ministers and grandees, recklessly debating court politics — this is nothing but the folly of the man of Qi who feared the sky would fall. Utterly laughable!"

Diwu Lun, unhurried, assumed the manner of one receiving instruction. He cupped his hands and asked: "Then what does Sir Xiao think I ought to concern myself with?"

Xiao Yan said: "Since you have already resigned from office, as a man of commoner status, what you should concern yourself with are your family's fields and harvests, marrying a wife as soon as possible, and begetting many sons to continue your bloodline. Do not presume to criticize the great affairs of state."

So they can be born and then harvested like leeks by you great magnates?

Diwu Lun countered: "Then Sir Xiao, who currently holds no official post, is also a man of commoner status, is he not? What difference is there between us?"

"I am the son of a duke and marquis." Xiao Yan answered with pride, though he did not mention that he had already been internally designated as a Filial and Incorrupt candidate. He sighed inwardly at how foolish Diwu Lun was.

But to his surprise, Diwu Lun locked horns with him and pressed urgently: "The son of a duke and marquis, even while still a commoner, may concern himself with the affairs of dukes and marquises? On what grounds?"

Xiao Yan was growing irritated. He snapped: "Because this is the order of Heaven and Earth, the constant bonds of human relations! The son of the Son of Heaven becomes the Son of Heaven; the son of a duke becomes a duke; the son of a minister becomes a minister; the son of a grandee becomes a grandee; the son of a common man becomes a common man — unchanged from generation to generation!"

In other words, class solidification. As a marquisate that had been passed down for over ten generations, the Xiao clan was indeed a vested interest. From their family's perspective, they probably wished that even the post of Chancellor could have been passed down directly from Xiao He forever!

But this last remark was drawing legs on a snake — Diwu Lun had lured him into exposing a flaw. Diwu Lun smiled: "Unchanged from generation to generation? Does Sir Xiao mean that the son of the Son of Heaven of the former dynasty should still be the Son of Heaven?"

This was sheer murder aimed at the heart. Even Xiao Yan was frightened.

As a remnant of the former dynasty, his family's status was already sensitive. If someone with ill intent reported this to the court — although the Emperor was very lenient toward the Former Han marquises, once implicated in sensitive activities like "restoring the Han," they would be thoroughly dealt with by the Master of Fates of the Five Majesties.

"That is absolutely not what I meant!" Xiao Yan lost some of his composure. He decided to stop beating around the bush, stared directly at Diwu Lun, and said what he had wanted to say all along: "What I mean is, you are probably a hypocrite — feigning refusal of office to fish for a false reputation, aiming to make a name for yourself in the commandery so that the Grand Governor will recommend you as Filial and Incorrupt!"

How very clever of you. Diwu Lun merely smiled bitterly, shook his head, and sighed, looking every bit the wronged man.

Before he could even retort, someone beside them had already been provoked by Xiao Yan's declaration that class solidification was the rule of Heaven and Earth.

Wei Ao suddenly laughed. "What a coincidence. I, too, have heard a story about Zhuangzi."

He also began to tell a tale: "In the south there is a great bird, called the yuanchu. It sets off from the Southern Sea to fly to the Northern Sea. Over thousands of li, it will not alight on any tree but the parasol tree, will not eat any fruit but the bamboo seed, will not drink from any spring but the sweetest. On the road, an owl had gotten hold of a rotting rat. Seeing the yuanchu fly overhead, the owl thought it had come to steal its meal. It looked up and screeched: 'Scram!'"

At this point, Wei Ao suddenly stopped and looked at Xiao Yan with a beaming smile. The unspoken meaning was clear to all: "Now does Sir Xiao also wish to screech at Diwu Boyu over the Filial and Incorrupt post you hold in your beak?"

Xiao Yan's face instantly flushed crimson. He wanted to explode, but then he chickened out — he dared not offend Wei Ao, a capital official who held real power.

He had forgotten earlier that although the Wei clan was a great family of Longyou, during the Han dynasty they had never produced any high officials. Most of his forebears were sons of good families who joined the army and earned minor military merits.

In Wei Ao's generation, his uncle was a knight-errant, his cousin joined the army, and Wei Ao himself studied the classics, also building up his reputation through certain deeds — which was how he gained an appointment from the State Preceptor. The Wei clan were rising newcomers under the current dynasty, and Xiao Yan's stale rhetoric was naturally grating to his ears.

And when Xiao Yan accused Diwu Lun of being a hypocrite fishing for fame — wasn't that also an insult to Wei Ao, and even to the current Son of Heaven, Wang Mang himself?

Besides, Wei Ao had a good impression of Diwu Lun, while the Xiao family actually had no real connections or influence at court — they were just living off the faded glory of the past. Commandery Governor Zhang Zhan was forced by pressure to cooperate with them, but Wei Ao had no such obligation, so he spoke up to mock him.

Keep posturing, and with a few casual words from me before the State Preceptor, that cooked duck of a Filial and Incorrupt nomination might just fly away!

At this point, Jing Dan also stepped forward to speak. He clasped his hands toward the crowd and said, "Gentlemen, you should all know that the commandery governor, Master Zhang Zixiao, has always been stern and fond of propriety, measured in every movement. Even when dwelling in a secluded chamber, he must be properly dressed and groomed. Even when facing his wife and children, he is as solemn as a strict father. When meeting with his local community, he speaks with even greater deliberation and a correct countenance — the Three Adjuncts regard him as a model of conduct."

"Yet some say that Master Zhang merely puts on a pose, that it is all pretense. When Master Zhang heard this, he laughed and said, 'Then let it be that I am pretending. But others pretend in order to do evil, whereas I pretend in order to do good — is that not also acceptable?'"

Jing Dan looked toward Diwu Lun. "Boyu has twice declined official posts and remains a commoner with no rank — this is not at all inconsistent with his concern for the realm's affairs. I have associated with him for many days now, and I have seen only that he truly practices good deeds and extends benevolence and righteousness; I have seen no trace of pretense. Lord Xiao, without any cause, has instead suspected Boyu of deceit — can that be justified?"

Diwu Lun looked at Jing Dan. In his impression, Jing Dan had always possessed high emotional intelligence and knew how to handle people, yet today, for his sake, he had openly clashed with Xiao Yan — it was truly no small thing.

Seeing that Xiao Yan was on the verge of being utterly humiliated, the host, Marquis of Qiongcheng Wang Yuan, who had been stunned speechless, hurriedly stepped in to smooth things over: "Gentlemen, the chrysanthemum wine has already been served — please, taste it quickly!"

And seeing the atmosphere grow somewhat awkward and cold, Wang Yuan shot a glare at his clansman-nephew Wang Long, who from start to finish had been silently eating and drinking off to the side, practically treated as thin air by the entire company.

Wang Long was no fool. Feeling his uncle's gaze upon him, he coughed once and then spoke: "Grandee Wei, gentlemen — in former times, the Filial King of Liang summoned and welcomed literary scholars from all four quarters. Men like Yang Sheng of Qi, Gongsun Gui, and Zou Yang — none failed to come. One day, they roamed the Pavilion of Forgotten Cares and gathered all the wandering scholars, each bidden to compose a fu."

"Thereupon, Mei Cheng composed the 'Willow Rhapsody,' Lu Qiaoru composed the 'Crane Rhapsody,' Gongsun Gui composed the 'Patterned Deer Rhapsody,' Zou Yang composed the 'Wine Rhapsody,' Gongsun Cheng composed the 'Moon Rhapsody,' Yang Sheng composed the 'Screen Rhapsody,' and Han Anguo attempted a 'Seven Rhapsody' but could not finish it — Zou Yang composed it in his stead. The Filial King of Liang judged Zou Yang and Han Anguo the lowest, and fined them three pints of wine, while awarding Mei Cheng and Lu Qiaoru five bolts of silk."

"From that time on, whenever one roams a garden and drinks wine, it cannot be without poems and fu to accompany it — and the same holds true today. Though this place has no winding stream with floating wine cups, we do have the drum-and-chrysanthemum game: when the drum stops, whoever holds the flower must compose a poem. No restriction on shi, ci, or fu — but it must contain the two characters 'autumn' and 'chrysanthemum.' Having both is best of all!"

"This humble one shall first cast a brick to draw forth jade, and offer a self-composed 'Autumn Chrysanthemum Fu.'"

With that, he first raised a cup of chrysanthemum wine and drained it in one draught, then chanted: "How marvelous and rare the autumn chrysanthemum — alone its blossoms flourish amid the frozen dew. It thrusts forth lush and verdant in the grey-green spring, then displays its grandeur in the metal-autumn season…"

Over a hundred characters poured forth in a single breath, truly startling everyone present. Only then did Diwu Lun understand: today's banquet, hosted by the Marquis of Qiongcheng, was likely intended chiefly to promote this clansman-nephew of his. It was just that Wang Long had been so exceedingly low-key during the feast, and only now did he astonish all with a single brilliant display.

When Wang Long finished reciting, the whole hall burst into applause — but Diwu Lun could not tell whether this Han fu was good or bad. He only knew that the rhetoric was exceedingly ornate; probably the people of this age simply had a taste for that sort of thing.

Next, the drumming began and the chrysanthemum was passed around. Because Wang Yuan had asked Wei Ao to preside, the flower first came to Xiao Yan.

This son of a duke and marquis was no slouch in learning. After only a moment's thought, he lifted his head and recited:

"In autumn we offer the autumn sacrifice, in summer the ox is penned with the crossbar — white bull, red bull."

"The figured sacrificial vessels stand in rows — roast pig, minced meat soup, bamboo and wooden vessels, the great meat rack."

"The ten-thousand dance in grand display — the filial descendant is blessed…"

It was a passage from the "Bì Gōng" in the Lu Hymns, its theme the celebration of ancestors' civil and martial achievements, expressing the hope of restoring the former glory and enterprise of one's forebears — which matched Xiao Yan's own sentiments perfectly.

He surely hoped that the Xiao clan in times to come would also be, as the poem says, never diminished, never collapsed, never shaken, never overrun — that they might be companions to the Three Stars of Longevity, like mountain ridges, like hills.

After that, the flower reached Jing Dan's hands just as the drum stopped.

Jing Dan looked at the yellow blossom in his hand, and his thoughts turned to the Qu clan, who were related to his own family by marriage — Qu Yuan, too, had been deeply fond of chrysanthemums. The world is murky and without the Dao; Jing Dan appeared outwardly to blend his light with the dust, yet in his heart, he wished he could hold fast to his own self, just as Qu Yuan had.

"At dawn I drink the dew that drips from magnolia blossoms; at dusk I dine on the fallen petals of the autumn chrysanthemum."

"So long as my heart is truly fair and refined and disciplined — what harm though I go long gaunt and famished?"

"Though I am out of step with the men of today — I would follow the model left by Peng Xian!"

Though my aspirations are incompatible with the men of the present age, I would follow the teachings bequeathed by Peng Xian. Jing Dan still had to thank Diwu Lun — first Zhang Zhan, and now Diwu Lun — for letting him know that in this world there were still people who held fast to principle and walked the path of benevolence and righteousness.

Next, it was Diwu Lun's turn.

"I have studied only the Analects and the Classic of Filial Piety. I do not understand the Odes, nor can I compose ci or fu."

Hearing him show signs of backing down even before reciting a poem, Xiao Yan felt disdain, and the hall below erupted in laughter. Wang Yuan consoled him, saying it did not matter — Boyu, just say any line at all and it will do.

Diwu Lun looked at them, and felt only a nameless anger — not resentment at the disdain and mockery these people harbored in their hearts toward a youth of humble birth like himself, but over something else entirely.

Even Wang Mang had already realized that reform was unavoidable — even if he flailed about wildly like a flurry of reckless punches. Yet these people were worse than Wang Mang; they did not even possess the awareness that the great edifice was about to collapse, and remained wealthy yet uncharitable.

This day had truly not been spent in vain — it had let Diwu Lun see the vast chasm between rich and poor.

And he had also had the privilege of hearing Xiao Yan's lofty discourse on class solidification, and knew that some people were indeed beyond remedy.

And the confusion, the hesitation Diwu Lun had felt since arriving in this world gradually faded away — what he wanted to do was growing ever clearer.

From Han to Xin, abuses had piled up for two hundred years — the pigs of the former dynasty had actually been kept and fattened into the present dynasty, and still not slaughtered.

This realm — by mere reform alone, I fear there is not much future for it.

"It must be by revolution!"

Diwu Lun recalled a poem he had seen online in his previous life — make no mistake, not to show off by copying poems. This shoddy poem was pathetically weak compared to Wang Long's short fu; it could not show off anything. People of this age did not much care for seven-syllable verse anyway — even the best copying would be useless.

It was only because this poem perfectly matched Diwu Lun's state of mind, and could pour out all the stifled frustration that had accumulated in his heart this day.

And it was also what he wanted to do!

"I shall simply recite a couple of seven-syllable lines that just now came to me — I hope you gentlemen will not laugh."

Diwu Lun rose to his feet, holding a cup of rich wine in which chrysanthemum petals floated. His gaze swept over Xiao Yan, Wang Yuan, and even the remnants of the ten great clans below the hall who craned their necks, waiting for him to recite.

He wore a smile, but his eyes were ice-cold.

"Wait till autumn comes, the eighth day of the ninth moon…"

"When this flower blooms, all other flowers shall perish!"

…

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