Chapter 33: You Think You're Worthy of the Name Liu Xiu?

When Yang Xiong heard Diwu Lun's refusal, his face fell, instantly overcome with deep disappointment, and the spirited confidence from moments before drained away in an instant.

He reverted to the stuttering, broken-down old man who could not hold a proper conversation, who had been chased by soldiers into jumping from the Heavenly Archive Pavilion, scorned by others and left to pass his days in wine — he merely rose with a mumbled apology, cupped his hands, and took his leave.

"Wait a moment, Elder Ziyun."

Diwu Lun, however, stopped him: "I am actually somewhat interested in that 'Regional Expressions' of yours — the one where you displayed such mastery yesterday, yet did not list among your proudest works!"

At this, Yang Xiong was taken aback.

Beyond wanting to "repay the kindness" and owe no debt of gratitude, Yang Xiong in fact felt a certain fondness for Diwu Lun — after all, his first impression had been far too good.

His family line had been a single heir for five generations; by the time it reached Yang Xiong, both his sons had died in quick succession, especially the youngest and brightest, Yang Xin. At nine years old, the boy could already debate with Yang Xiong the famously abstruse 'Supreme Mystery', yet he too passed away early, leaving Yang Xiong utterly devastated.

And though Hou Ba was diligent, his scholarly talent was modest, and his grasp of Yang Xiong's proudest works, the 'Supreme Mystery' and 'Model Sayings', was limited. Men like Wang Long were interested only in the rhapsodies that Yang Xiong himself had long since come to despise.

If only he could take on another gifted disciple, and pass on this learning that had consumed his life's blood and toil — how fine that would be!

He never expected that Diwu Lun would show interest only in his most obscure field of study.

This book 'Regional Expressions' — its full title is 'The Light-Carriage Envoys' Explanations of Regional Expressions in Successive Eras'.

It is said that during the Zhou and Qin periods, every year in the eighth month, light-carriage envoys were dispatched to every region to collect the dialect expressions of different eras; these were gathered and collated, then stored away, to facilitate the examination of customs across the realm.

When the Qin dynasty fell, these documents were scattered and nearly all lost. Even a great Confucian like Liu Xiang of the former dynasty had only heard the name, but knew nothing of the office's workings.

It was Yang Xiong's teacher in Shu, Yan Junping, who had memorized a thousand words and knew the rough outline. Yang Xiong studied under him, and using this as a foundation, labored for thirty years, finally compiling the dialects of every region into a single book.

In the eyes of contemporaries, this was a vulgar, unorthodox study; even Yang Xiong felt it was merely a personal interest, a work undertaken to fulfill his teacher's long-cherished wish — a book to be hung alongside the sun and moon, never to be altered. Once he died, it could simply be sent to the Stone Canal Pavilion for storage.

Little did he know, Diwu Lun actually felt that all the various fields of learning Yang Xiong had just enumerated were of no use whatsoever.

What good was it to compose fine rhapsodies — to write Wang Mang another 'Denouncing Qin, Praising the New'? As for the 'Supreme Mystery' and 'Model Sayings', Diwu Lun had no interest just from hearing the titles. He knew the 'Book of Changes' and the 'Analects', but as for the two books Yang Xiong had written in imitation of their forms — forgive his poor grasp of history, he had never even heard of them.

Diwu Lun thought to himself: "They must be nothing more than Yang Xiong's self-indulgent works — either lost to posterity, or shelved and forgotten. That has to be it."

His time and energy were limited; knowledge that could not be put to practical use — such as the tedious exegesis of chapters and verses — Diwu Lun would not study.

But the skill of dialect mastery — that was something Diwu Lun was willing to try.

The reason Diwu Lun had come to Chang'an was, first, to see for himself how Wang Mang's "elegant governance of the Xin" had thrown the realm into chaos; second, he wanted to meet the State Preceptor "Liu Xiu"; and third, he wished to befriend heroes from all quarters in this capital city where talent gathered, to serve his purposes in days to come.

But after spending these past two days in the Gentlemen's Quarters, mixing with the Filial and Incorrupt nominees from every province and commandery, Diwu Lun had discovered that simply speaking and communicating properly was a struggle for everyone.

In this age, it was common for speech to differ every ten li; separated by a thousand li, people's dialects were essentially mutually unintelligible. There was indeed the Luoyang elegant standard as a "common tongue," but in an age without phonetic alphabets, as time passed, the elegant standard itself was developing deviations. Not to mention the variation from person to person — some people were better off not speaking the elegant standard at all, because once they did, you would find...

"They'd be better off speaking their own dialect!"

Precisely for this reason, among the several hundred Palace Gentlemen, aside from Xiao Yan and his clique of former dynasty loyalists who formed their own faction, everyone else had basically split into circles by region, with very little interaction between them.

Shared phonology was the simplest basis for forming ties — who would befriend an outsider with whom they could not even communicate?

Since he had time on his hands anyway, he might as well get a rough grasp of this dialectology from Yang Xiong; an extra skill was better than none, and in the future he could say: no one understands dialects better than I do.

At the very least, he needed to know the words for praise and the words for insults.

Seeing Yang Xiong silent for a long while, Diwu Lun smiled and said: "Could it be that Elder Ziyun is unwilling to part with it?"

"Not at all." Yang Xiong shook his head. "It is only that I recalled — you, Boyu, are the second person to take an interest in this field of study."

"Oh? Who was the first?"

"The current State Preceptor, Liu Zijun." A bitter smile crossed Yang Xiong's face; he did not wish to bring up this matter further. He still habitually called the State Preceptor by his former name: Liu Xin.

The two had served together as Gentlemen of the Yellow Gate and had been the closest of friends, exchanging scholarly views and denouncing the dark politics of the former dynasty's Cheng and Ai reigns; at the same time, both had been captivated by Wang Mang, who radiated the light of Confucian ideals and seemed the Duke of Zhou reborn, and they willingly served under him.

But as they grew older, and as the Xin's many ills became apparent, their principles diverged, and they actually turned from friends to foes.

Liu Xin had once mocked Yang Xiong for his bitter, solitary labors, saying that the bamboo-slip documents he wrote would one day become a lost art, incomprehensible to the world, fit only to be used as lids for soy-paste jars.

Yet Liu Xin also coveted Yang Xiong's 'Regional Expressions'. When Liu Xin wrote a threatening letter demanding it the year before last, and Yang Xiong replied with words like "I would hang myself to comply with your command," the two had a complete falling-out, and there had been no contact between them since.

Unwilling to speak further of his old friend, Yang Xiong merely rallied his spirits and began to impart his learning to Diwu Lun.

He had just a moment ago dispatched Wang Long to study rhapsodies on his own, but toward Diwu Lun he was exceedingly attentive, retrieving the 'Fangyan' manuscript hidden at home and patiently teaching from it.

"The dialects of the realm can be broadly divided into fourteen regions."

"Qin and Jin form one branch; Liang and Western Chu form one branch; Zhao and Wei north of the Yellow River form one branch; Song, Wei, and Henei form one branch; Zheng, Han, and Zhou form a branch unto themselves..."

In the dormitories of the Imperial Academy on the outskirts of Chang'an, Liu Xiu, who had just arrived to register and planned to study here for a year or so, was facing a difficult challenge.

"You, man from the Front Brigade — of all the names you could have, why must you be called Liu Xiu? You're putting us in a difficult position."

The Erudite disciple in charge of registering their names was arrogant and overbearing, holding a wooden tablet and brush as he berated Liu Xiu, Deng Yu, and the others.

"Front Brigade" was the new name Wang Mang had given to Nanyang; the people of Nanyang all found it unbearably ugly — a fine southern metropolis suddenly reduced to the feel of some village hamlet.

Yet there was nothing they could do about it. Sharing their plight were Hedong, Henei, Hongnong, Henan, and Yingchuan — six unlucky brothers cobbled together into Wang Mang's "Six Brigade Commanderies," tightly encircling the city of Luoyang, which had been renamed "Bao Zhongxin Qing."

But Liu Xiu had never imagined that the Xin's name-changing would reach his own head.

The reason was simple: the Erudite disciple said that the State Preceptor was named "Liu Xiu" — the two names were identical — and so he demanded that Liu Xiu, whatever he called himself in daily life, must think up a new name to record in the register.

Deng Yu, a young talent, was unwilling to accept this and argued: "I have only heard that when the Son of Heaven ascends the throne, his name is proclaimed throughout the realm, and all within the four seas without exception avoid it — but I have never heard of avoiding the names of the Four Supports and Three Dukes."

It was said that the State Preceptor's original name was Liu Xin, and it was precisely to avoid a homophone of Emperor Ai of Han's name that he had changed it to "Liu Xiu" twenty years ago.

And now the youth had turned into a dragon of evil, forcing the name change onto others.

Deng Yu was still too green; in matters of historical precedent, how could he match these Erudite disciples? The disciple sneered: "In the Former Han, there was indeed a case of avoiding a maternal relative's name. 'Forbidden Palace' — the forbidden inner palace, where the gates are barred and none but attendants may enter, hence called 'forbidden palace.' The father of the Xin's Wenmu Empress Dowager, the Grand Marshal and Marquis of Yangping, was named Jin; at the time they avoided it, and ever after it has been called 'provincial palace.'"

"Now the State Preceptor has married his daughter to the Crown Prince, and thus counts as a maternal relative — avoiding his name is entirely within reason. If even a single character must be changed, how much more so when your entire surname and given name collide."

"Furthermore, many Erudites in the Imperial Academy are esteemed disciples of the State Preceptor. If they were to take the register and read the name aloud, pronouncing the two characters 'Liu Xiu,' would that not be directly uttering their teacher's honored name — a grave act of disrespect? Say no more. Quickly think of something to write down. Henceforth in the Imperial Academy, you will use your courtesy name more, and speak your given name less."

These words made even the ordinarily prudent and generous Liu Xiu clench his fists.

This name had been given by his late father. That year, a lucky grain had grown at the county border — one stalk bearing nine ears — and so he was named Xiu. Three months after his birth, it was announced at the ancestral temple in Chongling, so that the ancestors would know. How could it be altered at will, even if only temporarily?

Had it been Liu Xiu's elder brother Liu Bosheng in his place, he would surely have cursed, "To hell with this Imperial Academy," flicked his sleeves, and left, returning to his grand plans for restoring the Han.

But Liu Xiu was different; his calm could overcome his anger. In the end, he loosened his grip and took the brush.

Yet when it came time to set it down, he hesitated again. What should he write? Liu Wenshu? But amid a list of single-character given names, would not two characters be far too incongruous?

The Erudite disciple urged him: "Hurry up. If you are unwilling, then leave the Imperial Academy and go back to farming in the Front Brigade!"

Yes, farming. Back in his hometown, Liu Xiu loved burying himself in the crops; his happiest times were driving a grain cart into the city to sell for cash. For this his elder brother Liu Bosheng, who styled himself a hero, never missed a chance to mock him, comparing Liu Xiu to Liu Zhong, the good-for-nothing elder brother of Han Gaozu, and calling him a failure.

How about Liu Zhong, then? Liu Xiu smiled self-deprecatingly.

But that wouldn't do either, because Liu Xiu's own second elder brother, born of a different mother, really was named Liu Zhong. Low as his standing was at home, he was still an elder brother — using that name would be a slight against him.

How about going by birth order — Liu Shu?

The Erudite disciple lost his patience entirely and snapped, "Stop racking your brain. Back then, Marquis of Shuali Liu Jia and thirty-two members of the former Han imperial clan all recognized Heaven's mandate. Some offered celestial talismans, some presented auspicious pronouncements, some captured and denounced rebels — they rendered great service, and so the Son of Heaven bestowed upon them the surname Wang. Those people even changed their family name, and you're fretting over just altering your given name in a register?"

Even their surname changed? Have they forgotten who their ancestors are? What a disgrace.

Liu Xiu's family counted as kin of the House of Han, their bloodline traceable back to Liu Fa, Prince Ding of Changsha, son of Emperor Jing of Han.

When the Han dynasty fell, Wang Mang swiftly abolished the privileges of the Liu imperial clan. His family's interests naturally suffered, and some resentment was unavoidable in his heart.

And now, hearing this junior Erudite disciple press him so aggressively, Liu Xiu — who had always lived an honest, quiet life, whose greatest dream was to become Bearer of the Gilded Mace and marry Yin Lihua, who had never harbored a rebellious thought — suddenly recalled the grand ambition his elder brother had once spoken of.

At home, his elder brother called Wang Mang "the usurping traitor," often seething with indignation, nursing the desire to restore the Han altars. He paid no heed to the family estate, spending wealth freely to befriend the realm's heroes and gallants. For this their uncle Liu Liang never stopped scolding him, convinced he would sooner or later bring disaster upon them.

"Perhaps my elder brother is right."

Liu Xiu flicked the brush and wrote down the alias he would use at the Imperial Academy in the register.

"Liu Jiao!"

All Liu Xiu was thinking was: if one day his elder brother truly rose up like Gaozu, he himself would not play the part of "Liu Zhong," buried in the soil.

"I am willing to be the 'Liu Jiao, Prince Yuan of Chu' of this age. If the realm changes, I will use the learning I've gained at the Imperial Academy in Chang'an to aid my elder brother in achieving great things!"

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