Chapter 31: The Ziyun Pavilion of Western Shu

"Yang Xiong of Western Shu? I feel like I've heard that name somewhere, but I can't recall."

As Diwu Lun was thinking this, Jing Dan began recounting Yang Xiong's deeds.

"When I was a student at the Imperial Academy in Chang'an, I often heard of this man. In the time of the late Emperor Cheng, he, His Majesty the present Son of Heaven, and the State Preceptor Liu Xiu all served together as Gentlemen of the Yellow Gate — they were colleagues."

"And while Yang Xiong is not famed for his classical scholarship, he has literary brilliance and excels at composing rhapsodies and writing prose. Wang Long mentioned him earlier, deeming Yang Xiong the foremost talent since Sima Xiangru. Coincidentally, Yang Ziyun and Sima Xiangru are both men of Shu. His 'Sweet Springs Rhapsody,' 'Feather Hunt Rhapsody,' and 'Tall Poplar Rhapsody' are all celebrated works. It's only a pity that he long ago laid down his brush and has not produced any new writing for many years."

Diwu Lun understood. He looked down at the old man, dead drunk, hugging a blanket and mumbling — apparently just a down-and-out man of letters. No new work for many years; his talent must have run dry, blocked like a writer with a stuck brush.

The servant who looked after this residence was called Di Sixi — he and Diwu Fu could make a pair called 'Four Joys and Five Fortunes.' Following Diwu Lun's instructions, he boiled hot ginger soup and poured it down Yang Xiong's throat, letting him at least sleep it off. When he came out, he said the old fellow was lucky.

"If you two gentlemen hadn't come across him, he'd likely have frozen to death out there. He's been living alone all year round."

As a neighbor in the same ward, Di Sixi saw Yang Xiong very differently from the great literary talent Jing Dan described — just a solitary, impoverished old man who spent his days hunting for drink.

"Ever since I came to Xuanming Ward, I've known Yang Xiong was famously poor. I heard that a plague took two of his sons in succession, and later he lost his wife. He was never well-off, yet he insisted on escorting their coffins all the way back to his hometown in Shu for burial. Think how much that must have cost — his family fortunes collapsed because of it."

"Back then, he at least still held the post of Palace Attendant of the Inner Court, two thousand dan a year — no small sum. But a few years ago, this Yang Xiong actually got entangled in a case of forging mandate omens and plotting rebellion. They say he was collating texts in a palace tower at the time. When the Master of Fates of the Five Majesties came to arrest him, Yang Xiong, desperate to escape, jumped from the top of the tower and broke his leg!"

At this point Di Sixi remembered and told Diwu Fu to go out and look for the walking stick Yang Xiong usually leaned on around the ward.

He continued: "They even made up a ditty in Chang'an mocking him for pretending to be lofty and aloof, saying he deserved his crippled leg. It goes like this."

Di Sixi cleared his throat: "'Lover of solitude, he threw himself from the tower; seeker of quiet, he forged the mandate omen.'"

Jing Dan sighed at this, shaking his head without a word.

Behind them, the old man Yang Xiong, deep in sleep, seemed to turn over. Diwu Lun glanced back and saw he was still mumbling in his dreams, speaking nonsense.

"Anyway, after that, Yang Xiong lost his post and had no livelihood, so he grew more and more destitute. Yet his craving for drink only grew fiercer. When the thirst was especially bad, he'd go door to door asking for credit. I once gave him half a jug of sour wine — he drank it just the same."

Just then Diwu Fu returned, saying he'd searched the whole ditch and found no walking stick — who knew where it had been thrown. "That ditch water is freezing cold, young master. Look at my hands — they're stiff!"

Diwu Lun told him to come warm himself by the stove. Di Sixi added more firewood and said, warming his hands: "Strange to say, though Yang Xiong is down and out, he still has some friends. Several high officials at court often visit him, bringing wine and food and inviting him to eat and drink, just to seek a bit of learning from him. Oh, and..."

"Even the State Preceptor has come to his house several times!"

The Diwu clan's residence in Xuanming Ward was not large — just a single courtyard. On the east side of the small yard stood a hall, broad and bright, used for receiving guests. On the west side were the kitchen and a dry latrine, plus a small vegetable plot planted with a few chives and winter mallow.

The south side held the side rooms; besides Di Sixi and his wife, the servants and drivers could sleep there on a large communal bed. The north side had three main rooms, which Diwu Lun, Jing Dan, and Diba Jiao occupied. On either side was a small side room, just right for settling Yang Xiong.

The next day at dawn, Diwu Lun struggled out of bed. As soon as he stepped outside, he found the old man Yang Xiong, who the night before had been dead drunk and senseless, now leaning alertly against the hall, full of vigor.

His disheveled hair had been combed meticulously with his fingers into perfect order and tied with a strip of cloth. He had washed his face, and seen like this, he really did have the bearing of an old celebrated scholar.

When Diwu Lun approached, Yang Xiong was speaking with Jing Dan: "From your accent, I detect... a flavor of the Eastern Chu region, yet mixed with the tones of the Five Tombs in Qin. Your... your ancestors must have been men of Chu who later migrated to Guanzhong. Could you be descended from the Zhao, Jing, or Qu clans? Is your family home in Shiwu Commandery?"

Jing Dan was astonished: "Officer Yang, my name is Jing Dan. I am indeed a descendant of the Jing clan of Eastern Chu. My family moved to Guanzhong two hundred years ago. I never imagined you could discern my clan's origins just from my accent."

Yang Xiong stroked his beard and smiled without speaking. The dialects of the realm all differ. For example, for the word 'slave' in the elegant speech of Luoyang, the Qin and Jin regions use a term meaning 'insult.' In the lands of Chen, Wei, Song, and Chu east of the Pass, they call a slave 'yong.' In the region between Jing, Huai, Haidai, and Qi, they curse a male slave as 'zang' and a female slave as 'huo.'

Yang Xiong had developed an interest in this neglected field of study. He spent a full twenty-seven years collecting the surviving writings of past masters and using the convenience of his official post at court, often with brush in hand and white silk ready, chatting idly with the Filial and Incorrupt nominees and conscript laborers who came from every commandery and kingdom.

From Qin, Jin, Song, and Wei, whose speech is close to the elegant standard, to Qi and Yan, where the sounds are distorted, to his own homeland of Ba-Shu, and even to the southern Chu, regarded by the Central Plains as 'barbarian twittering' — the variant words and strange expressions of every region were all collected in that monumental work, 'Regional Words of the Emissary's Light Carriage: Explained in the National Speech.'

One could say that among the twelve provinces and nearly two hundred commanderies of the Xin, there was no local dialect Yang Xiong could not speak.

"Elder Yang, come and listen to mine."

Diwu Lun came over too, cupped his hands toward Yang Xiong, and said a few polite words about having long admired his great name.

Yang Xiong closed his eyes: "I detect some tones from the Qi region."

He raised his head and looked at the young man: "Mixed with the speech of the Three Adjuncts of Qin."

"By all reason, your ancestors should have moved from Qi into Guanzhong, perhaps descendants of the Tian clans — you should be a relative of Di Sixi."

Yang Xiong's white eyebrows furrowed again: "But your speech differs from Di Sixi's. Neither the Qi nor the Qin tongue is your mother language. There is yet another speech hidden beneath. Though you deliberately conceal its tones, the sounds are still somewhat distorted."

These words startled Diwu Lun. His mother tongue, of course, was the southern dialect and standard Mandarin of his previous life. After arriving in this era, he had inherited some memories and discovered that ancient Chinese differed vastly from later phonology and grammar. Though he controlled it subconsciously, occasionally his accent still slipped.

Diwu Ba had only assumed he had learned the elegant standard speech, and no one else had paid it any mind. He never expected Yang Xiong to hit the nail on the head.

Diwu Lun could only explain: "I am Diwu Lun of Changping County in Liewei Commandery. To be honest with Elder Yang, in my youth I suffered from a speech impediment; my tones were off. I corrected it later, but some aftereffects remain."

A speech impediment meant stuttering — Han Fei had this affliction, and Yang Xiong had a touch of it too. Diwu Lun's explanation was passable.

The conversation done, the morning meal eaten, and the goal of mooching a meal achieved, Yang Xiong patted his belly and slowly rose, saying: "Many thanks to you two for saving me last night. Yang Xiong will never forget this kindness. However, my disciple has waited all night without seeing me return and must be frantic by now."

Huh? Hadn't they said he lived alone?

So saying, he took his leave of Diwu Lun and Jing Dan. But Yang Xiong had broken his leg years ago and needed a walking stick to move slowly. The one he usually relied on was lost, so he had to use a piece of firewood as a makeshift replacement. It was very awkward, and after only a few steps he looked ready to fall.

Diwu Lun therefore went over and supported Yang Xiong: "Better let me see Elder Yang home!"

For one thing, he felt some pity for this lonely old man who had once been so brilliant. For another, learning that he had dealings with the State Preceptor 'Liu Xiu,' he could not help paying a little extra attention.

Yang Xiong did not refuse. Using Diwu Lun as his staff, he went out the gate, turning left and right. The two chatted as they walked, and in less than half a ke, they arrived outside Yang Xiong's gate.

This must have been the most dilapidated house in Xuanming Ward. The courtyard walls and door had not been repaired in many years; the rooftop was thick with weeds. Entering, one saw it was utterly bare — nothing but four walls. After all, ever since Yang Xiong had lost all his family and his official career had gone poorly, he had become addicted to drink as if his life depended on it, pawning every household item that could be exchanged for money to buy wine.

At that moment, two people stood in Yang Xiong's courtyard. The younger one, a tall youth, was nearly weeping with anxiety, his face full of remorse. The other, a middle-aged man dressed casually, still waving a casual fan in the depths of autumn, with a high official's seal hanging at his waist, was far calmer.

The youth was Yang Xiong's disciple, Hou Ba of Julu. He was pacing in place, frantic, his heart full of self-reproach: "It's all my fault. If I hadn't arrived a little late yesterday, the master would not have wandered off and still be missing without any word."

As he spoke, he raised his hand to slap his own face.

"Gongfu!"

Yang Xiong called out to his beloved disciple. Hou Ba hurried out and prostrated himself on the ground, weeping with joy.

But Diwu Lun was startled when he saw the middle-aged official — it was none other than the Music Master, Huan Tan, who had come to Liewei Commandery over a month ago to inspect the Imperial Academy student quotas!

Huan Tan's debate with Liu Gong on the form-spirit and candle-fire question was still fresh in Diwu Lun's memory.

But Huan Tan no longer recognized Diwu Lun — after all, they had met only once. He looked at Yang Xiong and shook his head: "Ziyun, really. You are seventy-one years old, and yet you stayed out all night. You've nearly driven Gongfu mad!"

Huan Tan assumed Diwu Lun was some young man from the ward who had hosted Yang Xiong for a night of drinking the evening before. He glared at him and lectured: "Even if your family elders kept Ziyun overnight, they should have sent someone to inform us."

Yang Xiong, seeing Huan Tan's misunderstanding, was about to explain, but to his surprise, Diwu Lun accepted the blame, lowering his head and saying: "It was indeed thoughtless of me, a young man."

This astonished Yang Xiong, but when Diwu Lun smiled at him, he understood.

The older one gets, the more one wants to prove one is not old. Yang Xiong's drinking was already criticized by his friends and disciple. Now, to have gotten drunk and collapsed by a stranger's house, nearly freezing to death — what a shameful affair. Diwu Lun was covering it up for him.

This made Yang Xiong feel grateful, and he formed an excellent impression of Diwu Lun.

Huan Tan couldn't resist scolding Diwu Lun a few more times, but the young man simply bowed to him with clasped hands: "Master Huan, could it be you don't remember me?"

Huan Junshan was first taken aback, then after a moment recalled: "Are you that Diwu Boyu who gave up his Imperial Academy place to a clan cousin, and also has a name for yielding pears?"

Diwu Lun didn't know whether to laugh or cry: "It's Diwu Lun, not Diba."

Huan Tan looked Diwu Lun up and down: "Isn't your family in Changling? What brings you to the capital — and you even invited Ziyun to a banquet."

Diwu Lun said: "This year the Son of Heaven opened a special examination, recruiting men by the four categories. By luck I passed the Virtue category and received the commandery governor's recommendation. So I entered court as a Palace Gentleman, lodging in Xuanming Ward. Yesterday on my way here, I chanced upon Elder Ziyun…"

But no sooner had he finished than Huan Tan's manner changed. He actually gave a cold laugh: "So that's how it is. Diwu Lun, it seems giving up that Imperial Academy place was truly the right move!"

The fellow's words turned nasty, mocking: "Without those several refusals to build your name, with your learning you'd likely have to wait until next year or the year after to be recommended as Filial and Incorrupt. A fine calculation indeed."

If you have something to say, say it plainly — what's the point of all this snide insinuation? Diwu Lun had originally thought rather well of Huan Tan and had quite hoped to continue discussing philosophical questions with him. But since the other party took this attitude, there was nothing more to talk about. He didn't get angry, only cupped his hands politely: "Master Huan's admonishment is well taken. I must still hurry to the Palace Gentlemen's office today. Since Elder Ziyun has been delivered safely, I take my leave."

Diwu Lun excused himself and withdrew. He did indeed have important business — he had to go with Jing Dan to the Palace Gentlemen's office to report in, and meet the several hundred Filial and Incorrupt nominees and Palace Gentlemen from commanderies all across the realm. To see if he could befriend anyone useful for the future. Surely they wouldn't all be useless deadweight.

After he left, however, Yang Xiong turned his anger on his old friend, young as he was: "Huan Junshan, why must you mock him without cause? No wonder all the officials at court call you an arrogant fool."

"Let that lot curse me. That my brother Ziyun understands me is enough."

Huan Tan explained his reasoning: "Some days ago I thought rather highly of this Diwu Lun, believing he yielded his academy place because he was unwilling to bury his head in classical exegesis and chapter-and-verse — much like myself."

"But seeing him again today, I now realize that having others trumpet his pear-yielding name, then yielding his academy place, and later declining office — all of it was deep scheming, to buy reputation and cultivate renown, so as to deceive the commandery officials and be recommended as Filial and Incorrupt."

"I do not think Boyu is hypocritical." Yang Xiong shook his head and recounted the events of the night before: "Diwu Lun in truth saved my life, yet took no credit whatsoever. When it was done, he brushed his sleeves and withdrew — absolutely not a man who fishes for praise. You have wronged him."

"Was it merely coincidence, and not him deliberately approaching Ziyun, hoping to use you to make his name once more in Chang'an?" Huan Tan paused, realizing his judgment had been mistaken. He had taken Diwu Lun for the sort of "vulgar classicist" he most despised.

Yang Xiong leaned in a corner of the courtyard, touching his broken leg, and asked Huan Tan: "I see this young man has an uncommon capacity. Since Junshan has met Diwu Boyu twice, why not tell me — what kind of worthy is he?"

Huan Tan delighted in appraising men of character, and had once divided the realm's scholars into five grades: scholars of the realm, scholars of the duke-and-minister level, scholars of the province and commandery, scholars of the county court… the lowest being scholars of the village. This had now become the standard by which the world rated talent.

Huan Tan thought it over, then said: "Even if Diwu Lun's yielding of his academy place and declining of office were not to swindle some greater advantage, there is still nothing remarkable about him. I see he is circumspect in family affairs, obedient and accommodating among his kin and fellows. At best, he is no more than a scholar of the village!"

…

Diwu Lun had no idea Huan Tan's assessment of him was so low. Returning to his lodgings, he arranged to go out together with Jing Dan.

Diba Jiao bid them farewell at the ward gate. Today he too had to report in — heading to the Imperial Academy, the Bright Hall, and the student dormitories seven li beyond the Fu'ang Gate, due south of Chang'an city.

The Palace Gentlemen's office that Diwu Lun and Jing Dan were heading to, however, lay within Chang'an city itself, quite a distance away.

They followed Xiyin Street west, merging into Shangguan Front Street, which was even broader, able to accommodate six or seven horse-drawn carriages abreast. But as they walked, they once again encountered a road-clearing that blocked traffic.

A vast procession came from south to north. At the front, fish-scale files of foot soldiers advanced, bearing long dagger-axes and long halberds. Behind them, chariots clustered like fish scales, banners and pennants fluttering. To left and right rode many mounted guards in bright garb on spirited horses — a full hundred men. In the center, the general and ministers wore thick armor in garish colors, each holding a great bronze mace gilded at both ends.

Without question, this was an enormous security detail, patrolling the city.

Diwu Lun had no choice but to halt on the east side of the street. When he asked Jing Dan what office this was, Jing Sunqing replied: "One of the present dynasty's six overseers — the Bearer of the Mace."

He added by way of explanation: "That is, the Bearer of the Gilded Mace of the former dynasty."

Diwu Lun suddenly understood. So this was the military officer who patrolled Chang'an, responsible for safeguarding the capital's security.

He only thought to himself: Wang Mang trumpets frugality, yet this organ of violent force alone cannot be trimmed. Precisely because there is armed suppression, those absurd "elegant policies" can be imposed wholesale. The people of Chang'an do not yearn for the ancient ways out of conviction — they fear the blade.

On the west side of Shangguan Front Street, several Imperial Academy students from Nanyang, each carrying their traveling packs, driving carts or riding horses, pressed among the jostling crowd, pointed and gestured at the Bearer of the Gilded Mace's retinue.

The road opened up again. Diwu Lun and Jing Dan spurred their horses west, while that group of Nanyang Academy students headed south, brushing past them, moving farther and farther away, utterly diverging amid Chang'an's vast tide of people and roar of noise.

Among them, however, one young man — seven feet three inches tall, with fine beard and brows, a sharply angular face, only his mouth somewhat large — reined in his horse.

He looked back once more at the Bearer of the Mace honor guard marching north, his eyes filled with the awe and envy of a country lad entering the capital for the first time, and softly spoke a single line of feeling.

"For an official post, one should be Bearer of the Gilded Mace; for a wife, one must have Yin Lihua!"

…

PS: Two big chapters — requesting recommendation votes!