Chapter 482: Some People Live On

Zheng Xing's arrival in Chang'an came at an awkward time — it was precisely the first day of the first month in the second year of Wude (AD 26).

Before the night water-clock had drained the seventh notch, the bells rang out. The sky was barely light when the grand court assembly began, with the master of ceremonies leading the civil and military officials into the palace gates in order of rank. Though the palace was still in the three-month mourning period, with no bright five-colored banners hung and the chariot riders and guards all wearing white cloths on their heads, when the master of ceremonies called "Advance," the officials moved forward in orderly, swift steps and formed ranks facing east and west.

The Emperor of Wu, amid the music of bells and drums, rode his carriage into court. The officials presented their offerings in order: marquises offered jade discs; those of the full two-thousand-bushel and two-thousand-bushel ranks offered lambs; those of the thousand-bushel and six-hundred-bushel ranks offered wild geese; those of four-hundred-bushel and below offered pheasants. Outside the palace, it became a place crammed with sheep, geese, and pheasants — anything but quiet.

To reciprocate, after the assembled ministers entered the hall and hailed him with "Ten thousand years," Diwu Lun personally distributed prepared gifts to the Three Excellencies and Nine Ministers. Though they came in black lacquer boxes, in Diwu Lun's eyes these were really the red envelopes a boss gives his employees, tokens to thank them for a year of hard work. Inside were carefully chosen items, each carrying a different meaning.

For example, the Minister of Ceremonies Wang Long, a lover of books, received the finest newly produced rattan paper. The Commandant of the Capital Diba Biao got a hundred-refined blade made by the co-fusion steel method, which Diwu Lun personally named the "Seven Star Treasure Saber."

The saber moved Brother Biao so deeply that he nearly cut open his own seven-orifice exquisite heart on the spot to prove his loyalty. Since the Grand Empress Dowager had passed away and Diba Jiao was far off in Liangzhou, he, as the "elder" of the imperial clan, had to shoulder the responsibility and properly discipline the younger clan members!

"I am His Majesty's saber!" he told himself.

Geng Chun, Jing Dan, Ma Yuan, Wu Han, Diba Jiao, and the others stationed in the provinces all received their share, sent by post riders with orders to arrive around New Year's Day. This had become a unique "corporate culture" of the State of Wei — though in principle the sovereign sold ranks and stipends while the ministers sold martial skill and wisdom, it still had to be wrapped in a layer of tender human feeling.

When the rites concluded, wine was set out. The assembled ministers raised their cups before the imperial seat in the front hall of Weiyang Palace, music for the feast was played, and the officials received the imperial banquet.

Zheng Xing, however, could not attend the feast. He waited in a side hall and was granted a flask of spring wine. Only when the banquet in the main hall had wound down and the ministers, well satisfied, had gone home to show off the Emperor's gifts did Diwu Lun, slightly tipsy, receive him.

Zheng Xing hurried forward. Though he wore narrow-sleeved clothes, he still moved as he had in the old days of wide robes and large sleeves, like a bird spreading its wings, and prostrated himself in salute: "Your humble servant Zheng Xing pays homage to Your Majesty."

"Zheng Shaogan — it has been six or seven years since we last parted at Liu Zijun's residence, has it not?" Prompted by Wang Long, Diwu Lun finally placed the man. He asked, "Now that you are back in Chang'an, do you find it changed? How does it compare to Nanyang?"

Zheng Xing had already prepared his answer, but at this moment, when the words reached his lips, he choked up. He could only cover his face with his hands: "Your humble servant is being rude — most rude!"

Diwu Lun noticed that the rims of Zheng Xing's eyes were genuinely red. He took him for a man skilled in pretense, putting on an affected display before him, and felt a twinge of dislike.

But this was unfair to Zheng Xing. His tears were genuine. In the three years since he had left Chang'an, he had not heard the sound of strings and songs for a long time. The world outside was all the flash of blades and the shadow of swords, with no room for slow, measured rites and music.

He had once served as an official in Liu Xuan's Greenwood court, helping Liu Xuan build institutions. But Liu Xuan was a mediocre ruler who employed the wrong men. People at the time mocked: "From the kitchen hearth, a General of the Household. Rotten sheep stomach, a Cavalry Commandant. Rotten sheep head, a Marquis Within the Passes." These crooked-nosed, twisted-mouthed fellows crammed the court at Wancheng, while the Greenwood chieftains were nothing but a pack of bandits — some even boasted to Liu Xuan in open court about how much loot they had seized at their garrisons.

And the Red Eyebrows? Words failed him. After they took Wancheng, Xu Xuan also wanted to set up some sort of hierarchy and had Zheng Xing help arrange a grand banquet with music. On the day of the celebration, a group of Red Eyebrow fighters suddenly burst in and joined the feast uninvited. Fan Chong did not even take offense — he went down among them, bare-armed and bare-chested, playing drinking games. It was utter chaos.

Truly, each crab is worse than the last. From that moment on, Zheng Xing was certain the Red Eyebrows could never achieve anything. As a master of classical learning, he ranked lower among them than a common soldier carrying a blade, and he simply waited for a chance to escape.

Until just now, when he heard the chime-stones ringing ding-ding-dang-dang and that familiar banquet tune, "The Guests' First Approach," and tilted his head to listen for a while — for a moment, hot tears filled his eyes.

He collected himself after a moment, then bowed and said, "Having long walked in lands where rites have collapsed and music is broken, I never thought I would see the majesty of the court again today."

These words were pleasant enough to the ear. Diwu Lun had heard that among Liu Xin's many disciples, Zheng Xing was the most recognized successor. He was thoroughly versed in the Gongyang Commentary on the Spring and Autumn Annals and the Zuo Tradition, a renowned master of classical learning. In a real debate on the classics, none of Diwu Lun's own men would necessarily be his match.

It was just a pity that Wei did not debate the classics.

So Diwu Lun did not regard Zheng Xing as very important. The man would most likely go to the Imperial Academy and fill some idle post. Given his experience helping compile the Triple Concordance Calendar, he might contribute something to Wei's calendrical system — that was all.

As for the "Red Eyebrow secrets" Zheng Xing had come to report — the Red Eyebrow Army, unlike other regimes, had no borders to speak of, or else Zheng Xing would not have escaped so easily. Cen Peng had long since sent countless spies in, and the Embroidered Uniform Guard also operated in Nanyang, doing plenty to disrupt the Red Eyebrows' well-field system and slave emancipation.

If one wanted to ask about the Red Eyebrows' true situation, Diwu Lun probably knew more than the marginal figure Zheng Xing.

Yet within the nearly transparent Red Eyebrows, there was one knot Diwu Lun could not untangle, one riddle he could not solve — and this was the perfect chance to ask Zheng Xing.

"Since Shaogan has come from the bandits' lair, there is something I wish to ask you."

Diwu Lun said, "That 'Old Man Tian' who pushed through reforms for the Red Eyebrows, promoted the well-field system, and abolished slavery — who exactly is he?"

Diwu Lun had struck the mark. Zheng Xing gave a start, bowed again, and poured out the great secret that, under threat from Ju Wuba, he had sworn never to reveal to the Red Eyebrows!

"I saw it with my own eyes."

"Old Man Tian is Wang Mang."

"Wang Mang is Old Man Tian!"

…

"His Majesty must be heaven-sent!"

After Zheng Xing walked out of the side hall, this was the only thought in his heart.

When he had met Diwu Lun at Liu Xin's house years ago, Xiao Wu had been a youth just past his capping ceremony. Though he had a reputation for filial piety and fraternal duty, Zheng Xing had truly seen nothing special in him and had quite agreed with Huan Tan's assessment of Diwu Lun as "a scholar of the villages."

But today was different. He felt that His Majesty the Emperor of Wei radiated such brilliance that Zheng Xing dared not look up at him.

What shocked him even more was this: Wang Mang taking the alias Old Man Tian and throwing in his lot with the Red Eyebrows — this was something even the tale-weavers of the Warring States would not have dared invent. Yet Diwu Lun had guessed it. When Zheng Xing confirmed the matter, Diwu Lun's reaction showed not the slightest astonishment; he merely clapped his hands and said a single line: "So it is indeed."

"I truly have eyes but failed to recognize the jade of Mount Jing," Zheng Xing told himself. In truth, this was not the only time he had misjudged someone. Back when he was a senior student at the Imperial Academy, receiving new students from the various provinces and commanderies, he had been registering names when he noticed a young man from Nanyang named "Liu Xiu."

Was that not the exact same name as his own teacher? As a disciple, how could he possibly call out his teacher's name in person? So Zheng Xing, by persuasion and pressure, made Liu Xiu change his name…

Now that wronged academy student was already the King of Wu, Liu Xiu, cutting across the southeast and becoming the last hope of the House of Han. Word had it that his rites and institutions were also being built up quite well — after all, among the Wu monarch and his ministers, academy students made up a small half, a higher academic pedigree than Diwu Lun's side.

When Zheng Xing fled, he had hesitated: should he go north and submit to the Emperor of Wei, or south and flee to the King of Wu? Though there was a nominal "teacher-student bond," he could not be sure whether the King of Wu, Liu Xiu, still harbored a grudge over that past humiliation.

"How fortunate — I did not choose wrong."

Zheng Xing set his mind at ease. Chang'an was so peaceful; at last he could sit down and quietly pursue his scholarship. Diwu Lun had already appointed him "Grandee Remonstrant," rank six hundred bushels, with grain rations more than sufficient.

But he still did not understand Diwu Lun's principle of "no idle men." Along with the appointment, Zheng Xing was also assigned a political task.

"Write an account of my experiences among the Red Eyebrows?" No sooner had Zheng Xing received his seal and cord than this instruction came from his superior.

"Indeed." Wang Long, the Minister of Ceremonies in charge of propaganda, gave Zheng Xing guidance: "No exaggeration, no concealment of evils — just narrate it truthfully. Once the book is finished, it can be printed in thousands, in tens of thousands of copies, so that all the scholars of the realm will know…"

"The utter viciousness and extreme evil of the Red Eyebrow bandits!"

…

To paint the Red Eyebrows as the enemies of civilization, to unite all "reactionary forces" from Guanzhong to Hebei and Luoyang to extinguish them, or at least drive them out of the Central Plains and push them toward the Yangtze and Huai — this was the current strategy of the Wei court.

Wei had already gained a third of the realm's provinces, commanderies, and population, the strongest under heaven. Yet in Diwu Lun's mind, there were still two "great foes."

One, naturally, was Liu Xiu, who was exercising extreme restraint in the south, quietly developing his strength. He had not, as Diwu Lun had hoped, gone north to the Eastern Sea to tangle with the Red Eyebrows and the King of Qi in a multi-sided war. Instead, he had changed direction and begun attacking Jingzhou, seizing Jiangxia Commandery as a base, and lately had set his sights on the southern commanderies of Jing.

And aside from Xiuer, the one Diwu Lun paid the closest attention to was none other than the Red Eyebrows — because with their republics and their equal-field system, the flavor was far too strong; he could not help but look askance.

But strip away those eye-catching labels and examine them closely, and one found they were all wild, flailing blows, nothing like the work of a clear-headed "fellow transmigrator."

According to all intelligence, everything pointed to that mysterious "Old Man Tian."

And now, Diwu Lun finally understood why the Red Eyebrows' actions had suddenly become so "familiar."

"So it really was the work of a 'transmigrator.'"

Alone in the hall, Diwu Lun was not as composed as he had been before Zheng Xing. He paced with his hands behind his back, somewhat agitated.

It was hard for him to articulate his feelings. Fear and anxiety? Not at all. Diwu Lun felt not the slightest guilt of a "traitor."

Amusement and mockery? Perhaps a little — after all, the Wang Mang dynasty had given him far too many things to laugh and cry over at the same time.

But the main thing was the emotion — pity, I suppose.

Diwu Lun was staying in the Warm Chamber Hall. Because of the hot spring beneath, it was rather warm, so much so that in the cold early days of the first month, a little moth was still fluttering about inside the room.

It had miraculously survived the harsh winter. Had it stayed dormant, it could have lived until spring. But the tiny creature longed for warmth, and its eyes saw only light — it flew straight toward the brightly burning candle flame!

The candle flickered violently. The flame ignited its wings, and its body, smeared with wax, could only flail and struggle on the table.

"Is burning oneself to death something to regret? Ah, why must you do this?"

Diwu Lun did not even know whether he should curse this foolish moth for being so stubborn.

His compassion stirred, he picked up the little moth and held it at a spot neither too close nor too far from the candle flame, letting it feel a trace of warmth in its final moments, until its life slowly ebbed away.

During his time as an official under the Xin Dynasty, Diwu Lun had already seen through this bizarre dynasty completely. Unlike the imperial house, the various Lius, the noble in-laws, and the Five Marquises, who were content to wait for death in the dark with their heads buried, Wang Mang yearned for the light. He longed for the legendary rule of the Three Dynasties and made it his mission to bring the Age of Great Peace into reality.

Ideals are very important.

But how to put ideals into practice is even more important. The distance between the two is like that between heaven and earth.

Wang Mang could recognize where the realm's problems lay, but his methods for solving them were, to put it mildly, beyond words.

Just like a moth that cannot discern where a safe source of light lies, and may even fly in the wrong direction, plunging into a flame destined to destroy it — even after being burned and crippled once, in his dying moments, the direction he still strives toward is that illusory light!

Pitiable? Respectable? Only — not laughable!

But this brief surge of emotion would not affect what Diwu Lun had to do.

"Some people are alive."

"But they are already dead."

"Some people are dead."

"But they still live on."

Diwu Lun suddenly recited this poem. It fit Wang Mang's legendary experience so aptly.

"Wang Mang, oh Wang Mang, it seems you are not content to have your coffin sealed by posterity's verdict just yet. You still want to put up a struggle."

Diwu Lun loosened his hand, placed the moth's body into the stove ashes and buried it, and felt not the slightest further trace of melancholy or spring sentiment.

"I must go to the Central Plains myself, and for you, for the Xin Dynasty, for that path of restoring the ancient ways already proven wrong — nail the coffin lid firmly shut!"

……

PS: Chapter 2 will be in the middle of the night.