Chapter 320: Year After Year, the Flowers Bloom the Same

"Brother Boshan — that time the Marquis of Qiongcheng held a banquet for his fiftieth birthday, and I came with Minister Jingsun to attend. Which year was that again?"

Inside the jolting carriage, Diwu Lun sat with his senior fellow-disciple, the Director of Ceremonials Wang Long, chatting about the past and how they had first met.

Wang Long, for his part, remembered clearly: "It was the third year of the Xin dynasty's Tianfeng era — the ninth month as well."

"Seven years ago, then, counting from now."

The seventeen-year-old youth Diwu Lun of those days was now twenty-four by nominal reckoning — practically middle-aged, one might say. Wang Long, though, was the same as ever, absorbed in rhapsodies and belles-lettres, his whole heart set on keeping the archives in good order.

He said, "That day, with autumn and chrysanthemums as the theme, everyone composed verses, and His Majesty even improvised two lines of poetry…"

"That matter — I do remember it."

Wang Long had no idea what Diwu Lun was referring to, and following this thread of talk he brought up the founding of the State of Wei: since it was to stand as a rival to the various Han regimes, even if Diwu Lun was in no hurry to proclaim himself emperor, he ought to have an era name…

Diwu Lun, however, had long since made up his mind: "No need to debate it. Wude — the era name shall be 'Wude.'"

He lifted the bamboo carriage curtain and looked outside. In the grounds beyond Changping Lodge, orchards of fruit trees grew in groves — these trees marked the boundary of the Marquis of Qiongcheng's estate. In the center, fields stretched in crisscrossing paths, where many bondservants labored at their farming. The low-lying land had been developed into sluiced channels for raising fish and snails; on slightly higher ground, sandalwood, thorn, mulberry, and hemp were planted. There was even a small pasture for grazing horses, cattle, and the six domestic animals — a self-contained estate economy, complete in every detail.

"The trees have grown quite a bit. Look at these branches — some have stretched right into the middle of the road, blocking carts and horses, and they'd scratch a child's face."

Diwu Lun smiled. "Time for a trimming."

Diwu Lun's retinue was hardly modest: soldiers stood along the roadside, a sentry every five paces, a guard-post every three.

And a great dark mass of people had long been waiting in front of the lodge. They watched a four-horse carriage slowly approach — but the four horses were not even of matching colors: one black, one piebald, one yellow-white, one red — all mares, a motley, incongruous set. The carriage itself was quite plain: wooden wheel-rims with no covering, long hubs with a few spokes, a mat of rushes and a thatched canopy, the canopy devoid of any lacquer or silk ornament. By Han standards, it would not even have been fit to attend a gathering.

This utterly failed to match the regalia of a king!

Among the powerful families of Weibei who had been invited to the feast, some began to grumble inwardly — for instance, Fan Zhu, who had always been resentful at being enfeoffed only as a "Baron": "Diwu Lun may have declared himself king, but his petty, lowborn ways haven't changed a bit. Call him a king, yet his prestige doesn't even match that of a Han marquis!"

Now that Liu Bosheng had been destroyed, Fan Zhu could only hope that the Western Han's "royal army" would march east soon, so that the marquisates promised to each family might be delivered.

Others thought to themselves: "Isn't this just imitating Wang Mang, putting on a show? Does he expect us to follow suit?"

The Marquis of Qiongcheng, Wang Yuan, however, knew how to talk and praised it lavishly.

"In the early Han, even the Son of Heaven could not muster a matched team of four horses, while generals and chancellors sometimes rode in ox-carts."

"But with all the realm under heaven, how could they truly fail to find four horses of the same color? The reason was that the Nine Provinces were in turmoil, and Emperor Gao, from top to bottom, practiced the way of simplicity and frugality!"

"His Majesty the King is just as they were in the early Han — sovereign and subject alike have not forgotten the hardships of pioneering through thorns and brambles."

In their hearts the crowd sneered, but with their lips they followed Wang Yuan in endless praise. Very few recalled: "When the King of Wei came to Changping Lodge for a banquet in the past, he rode in a carriage much like this one…"

Amid a roar of acclamation, Diwu Lun showed himself. He did not have a servant lie down for him to step on their back, but jumped down on his own. Today he wore ordinary robes, a traveling cap, and a long sword at his side. As his gaze swept over them, every man bowed his head and made a deep obeisance to him.

"All here?"

Diwu Lun was asking Wan Xiu. Young Geng was still pursuing Lai Xi northward, moving farther and farther away; this "operation" was under Wan Junyou's sole direction. He reported to the King of Wei in a low voice: "Three families, citing mourning obligations, did not come."

"On the list?"

"Exactly."

Eight or nine chances out of ten, they truly harbored signs of "rebellion in the belly" and were too faint-hearted to show up — but they were still too naive. Come autumn, the executions would be carried out; whether you stick your neck out or pull it in, the blade falls all the same. There's no dodging it.

Diwu Lun could not even be bothered to ask which three families had slighted him. He merely sighed and said, "Such filial piety. The State of Wei governs the regions by filial piety — this ought to be encouraged. Junyou, send men to their doors and deliver condolence gifts in my name!"

The powerful families, who had thought the King of Wei would fly into a great rage, breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, of course — Diwu Lun, always famed for filial piety and righteousness — what ill intent could he possibly harbor toward filial sons?

Although Changping Lodge belonged to Wang Yuan's family, because the King of Wei was to grace it with a banquet, Wan Xiu had already taken it over. Everyone understood: from the time Diwu Lun raised his troops until now, he had not a single decent palace to his name! This was yet another proof that his majesty fell far short of the Han: Han, Xin, Wei — in the eyes of the old loyalists, each was worse than the last.

Once inside Changping Lodge, the courtyards and chambers were still too numerous to count, buildings winding and linked, tiered pavilions and long covered corridors — but the painted murals and vermilion lacquer on the walls had been scraped down to bare white. There were no hunting hounds sprawled at the doorways gnawing fine meat, and the servants and maids all wore coarse cloth garments. The former luxury was utterly gone.

Diwu Lun stepped past Wang Long and shot Wang Yuan a glance. Wang Long would never have noticed such things — it seemed the Marquis of Qiongcheng had sensed something.

Come to think of it, when Diwu Lun had earlier proposed "borrowing" Changping Lodge, Wang Yuan had offered to present the entire estate to him, on the grounds that "a subject dare not occupy a Han-era traveling palace," but Diwu Lun had refused.

He merely pointed at the garden, which had not yet been dismantled, and at the yellow flowers blooming in full splendor by the pond, and smiled: "What I fancy most, in truth, is this garden of autumn chrysanthemums at the Grand Mentor's home."

"When the chrysanthemums open, pick the blooms, stems, and leaves, mix them with husked millet and brew them — by the ninth day of the ninth month of the following year, it will have matured, and then it is ready to drink."

"The Double Ninth Festival has already passed, but I wonder — is there still chrysanthemum wine to drink today?"

…

Wine there certainly was, and Diwu Lun had his own people prepare it.

When the guests filed into the main hall, it was as tightly guarded as ever by the royal bodyguards, the Tiger Guard. The Marquis of Shangyan, Zheng Tong, was personally in command. He knew what was to happen today, and the smile he directed at Fan Zhu and the others held a hint of malice.

Of the Boar-Rush Braves who had followed Diwu Lun back then, who was not from a poor and suffering background? Zheng Tong himself had risen from being a slave under the heel of the powerful families to his present station. It was time for their positions to be swapped.

The banquet arrangements, the bells and tripods, the seating order — these need no elaboration. After the zithers, psalteries, mouth-organs, and flutes had played for a while, Diwu Lun called a halt to the music and dancing, raised his wine cup, and spoke with terse clarity: "Before the feast begins, let me be clear — this is a victory celebration."

"To celebrate Liu Bosheng's spears snapping at the Wei River, to celebrate the Five Tombs being spared the clash of blades, to celebrate that Guanzhong, under my hand, shall be reborn!"

"Tell me, gentlemen — is this worthy of celebration or not?"

The crowd said in unison, "Worthy — most certainly worthy."

Diwu Lun said, "The merits of the army's officers I have already rewarded at Xiliu Camp. The spirits of the soldiers who shed their hot blood upon the earth have also been honored with sacrifices. One hundred thousand gold cakes have been distributed in order — I shall never overlook a single meritorious subject."

"Therefore, this cup of wine today is first to toast the families who contributed their strength in repelling Liu Bosheng."

Diwu Lun smiled and bade Wang Yuan, seated at the place of highest honor on the eastern side, to step forward: "The Grand Mentor, Lord Wang."

"Lord Wang journeyed back and forth to Longyou on my behalf, negotiating peace with the Wei clan. That the Western Han did not directly send troops to aid Liu Bosheng — this was the Grand Mentor's labor."

In this freezing weather, sweat beaded on Wang Yuan's forehead. Diwu Lun had sent him to Chencang in hopes of using his old friendship with Wei Ao to lull Longyou into complacency and keep them neutral.

But the Wei clan had agreed readily with their lips while behind their backs allowing Lai Xi to cross the Wei from the border between the two sides — and, worse, had seized the opportunity to attack Beidi Commandery from the west. The cavalry of the Six Commanderies moved swiftly; in just over half a month, they had nearly taken the whole of Beidi. The gallant Yuan She had been betrayed by the local powerful families and had fled south in utter disarray.

The Wei clan now looked down from the heights upon Weibei, and the direction of Lai Xi's flight was also that way.

Wang Yuan's mission had ended in failure — that was why Diwu Lun stressed the word "labor"!

"Your servant is ashamed and dares not accept!" Wang Yuan's heart grew more and more uneasy. Today's feast was indeed no good feast!

Diwu Lun paid him no mind, drank a cup with him, then walked with a smile to a man seated upright in a place of honor.

"The Grand Preceptor, Master Zhang Zixiao of Pingling — he was my patron. That I have come this far is thanks in large part to Master Zhang's regard."

Zhang Zhan, the former Grand Governor of Liewei Commandery, had come after all. He was one of the few "old loyalists of the Xin dynasty" — he felt regret for Wang Mang but indeed had little attachment to the Han. When Liu Bosheng marched out, Zhang Zhan, who had always treated Diwu Lun with cool indifference, had sent the few household servants he possessed to join the labor corps — a way of building his own stepping-stone.

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Now, when Diwu Lun toasted him, Zhang Zhan rose, cupped his hands, and drained the cup in one go — a reconciliation of sorts. Only his expression remained as stern as ever — or, to put it less kindly, like a man in mourning for his parents. But Wang Mang had been "dead" for two months, and it was not Diwu Lun who had done the deed. A man, after all, must look forward.

"And Zhang Zizhong."

After toasting Zhang Zhan, Diwu Lun singled out another man, Zhang Yue of Yangling: "Lord Zhang is a descendant of the Marquis of Liu. Back when I lost my post as Palace Gentleman and returned home, he came with the commandery's worthies to welcome me, and later answered the call to slay Wang Mang north of the Wei. When we fought Liu Bosheng, the Zhang clan of Yangling supplied grain and relieved our army's desperate need."

Three cups down, Diwu Lun seemed a little drunk. Smiling, he returned to the main seat: "There are still many others who have toiled and labored — I shall invite them to step forward one by one."

With that, he nodded to Peng Chong, who then, like reciting a menu of dishes, named thirty men one after another — Fan Zhu of Changling among them. He had put real care into it: he did not read the names, but recited them from memory!

Those called looked at one another in confusion, then rose from their seats one by one. Though they harbored many grievances against Diwu Lun, those were only muttered in their hearts. True, they had been exchanging glances and overtures with the powerful families south of the Wei who had gone over to the Green Han, but those were all verbal overtures — nothing to be taken seriously.

Some, like Fan Zhu, who had no grasp of the situation, even thought Diwu Lun meant to thank them for "aiding neither side" and was about to grant them higher ranks and titles!

But once all thirty had stepped forward, Diwu Lun set down his wine cup.

"Gentlemen, you have indeed labored hard — putting in no small effort on behalf of Liu Bosheng!"

No need to smash a cup as a signal. The words had barely fallen when Zheng Tong strode in with a troop of armored soldiers, who seized the thirty men and pinned them to the ground!

The fine banquet erupted in shrieks. Zhang Zhan, Wang Yuan, and the others stared in shock and horror.

"Gentlemen, do not be alarmed."

Diwu Lun raised a hand to calm the crowd: "This king has always drawn a clear line between merit and fault."

"At today's feast, every one of you gentlemen deserves a toast of honor. These thirty alone deserve a toast — of punishment!"

Diwu Lun's face darkened. He had men carry out that basket of "documents." Peng Chong played the part of the harsh official, barking: "These are Liu Bosheng's replies to you. He writes that he received your letters and agrees to divide the Shanglin Park among your thirty-three families. You plotted together to raise troops and strike the great king, so that Liu Bosheng could seize control of the lands north of the Wei!"

"We are wronged!"

That was indeed what they had been thinking in their hearts — but only thinking. They had not yet had time to put it into action!

Fan Zhu was a descendant of Fan Kuai. Whether he resembled Fan Kuai is uncertain, but those plump hands of his, pressed flat on the ground, did look rather like a pig's shoulder. Impetuous and quick to speak, he cried out: "The Wei River is cut off by the Wei army — how could we have exchanged letters with Liu Bosheng? This must be a mistake! It's a rift sown by Liu Bosheng!"

"That is precisely what must be thoroughly interrogated!" Peng Chong declared, fully in character, as if he were about to root out a deeply entrenched Green Han intelligence network.

"I know exactly how they managed it!" At that moment, a general marched a man into the hall. It was Jing Dan, who had fought a blocking action at Xinfeng. The man he had captured was none other than the Marquis of Xiaoxiang, Xiao Yan!

Xiao Yan had once been a guest at the Changping Lodge, and together with Diwu Lun, Wang Long, and Jing Dan, had been recommended as Filial and Incorrupt by Zhang Zhan. But afterward, fate had forked. He had fled south of the Wei to serve Liu Bosheng, working tirelessly in his service, and now he was a prisoner. His hands bore wounds that did not look like battle injuries, but rather the marks of harsh torture — perhaps the work of the Seventh Biao.

Now he limped forward. The men who had once composed poems together stared at one another, as if dreaming back to the autumn of the third year of Tianfeng. Xiao Yan pursed his lips, his feelings deeply tangled. After a moment of inner struggle, he bowed low before Diwu Lun — the man he had always refused to accept.

To ensure his clan's survival, even the proudest head must bow. Otherwise, given how zealously he had answered Liu Bosheng's call, exterminating his entire clan would not have been excessive. Xiao Yan then followed the script, stammering that the secret dealings and correspondence between the thirty-odd families north of the Wei and Liu Bosheng had all been arranged by him alone.

These words left Fan Zhu gaping — how had they not known of this? A quicker-witted man shouted: "If this were true, when Liu Bosheng was defeated, we would naturally have fled. How would we dare come to this banquet empty-handed?"

"Who says you came empty-handed!"

Zhang Yu slipped in at just the right moment and loudly reported: "Great king, many weapons and powerful crossbows have been found in their carriages!"

Why had they come to the banquet? To assassinate the King of Wei, of course — to avenge Liu Bosheng!

This frame-up was a seamless chain, one link snapping tight after another. Fan Zhu was dumbfounded. Now, with "witness testimony and material evidence" both complete, nothing they said would matter. Together with Xiao Yan, they were hauled away by Zheng Tong, leaving behind only a puddle of wetness on the hall floor — some coward among them had pissed himself in terror.

Servants rushed in to clean the filth. The banquet hall fell deathly silent. Wang Long stared wide-eyed at Jing Dan and the others — how was he the only one who had known nothing of this? Zhang Zhan and his peers had not yet recovered from the shock. Wang Yuan fixed his gaze on his nose and his mind on his heart, unsure whether praise or silence was the better course.

The zither player's hands dared not touch the strings. The female musicians in the side hall trembled. The only sound in the hall was the faint rustle of Diwu Lun pouring wine into his pot.

"Those who deserved punishment have been punished. All of you gentlemen who remain seated here are meritorious officials and loyal ministers. Whether it be raising your noble ranks or increasing your stipend households, I shall not be stingy!"

The King of Wei, director of the entire affair, sat composed and at ease. He raised his wine cup once more; a chrysanthemum petal floated on the clear liquor.

"Don't stop."

Diwu Lun smiled: "Let the music play on — let the dancing go on!"

…

After the shock had passed, the guests at the feast came to their senses. Wang Yuan began loudly praising the King of Wei for rooting out the inner traitors and restoring clear skies to the lands north of the Wei. As the sole surviving member of the Yuankang restored marquises, Zhang Yue of Yangling — Zhang Zizhong — rose and personally played the zither to accompany the King of Wei.

After this incident, who would dare doubt the King of Wei's "majestic authority"?

Only Zhang Zhan remained as he always was, his face dark, never touching another drop of wine.

The banquet at Changping Lodge lasted in revelry until nightfall. As the music ended and the guests dispersed, Zhang Zhan abruptly rose to his feet and strode before Diwu Lun.

"Great king — this old man has something to say!"

"Lord Zhang alone may call me Boyu."

Diwu Lun dismissed the others and looked at his patron: "I know what the Grand Preceptor wishes to speak of."

"You wish to plead for Xiao Yan and the thirty-odd powerful families!"

…

PS: Chapter 3 at 23:00.