Chapter 524: Old Friends

In the city of Luoyang, under the jurisdiction of the Colonel-Director of Retainers, sat a sickly old man. The once otherworldly, refined radiance of his face had long faded, his skin now a cold gray, sallow and waxen. Every physician who came to see him said that Liu Xin would likely not live to see autumn.

Yet he could still sit up on his own, not entirely confined to his bed. The State Preceptor of the Xin Dynasty, a man who loved books as his very life, persisted in his reading even with his days numbered. Alas, his old eyes were dim; no matter how bright the candle flame, he could no longer make out the characters on the bamboo slips. He had no choice but to have his disciple, Zheng Xing—the Grand Master of Remonstrance of Wei who had revealed that "Wang Mang still lives"—read aloud to him.

To the State of Wei that now controlled the Central Plains, however, Liu Xin was no guest, but an "accomplice" to Wang Mang's evils against the world. The books he could access were limited. Yet there was one category of writing that Diwu Lun, from far away, had decreed be compiled and delivered to Liu Xin, scroll by scroll.

Zheng Xing still possessed a measure of conscience. Faced with the edict, he merely removed his cap and kowtowed: "This act violates the bond between master and disciple. Xing absolutely cannot read it."

No matter—there were plenty of idle young Palace Gentlemen. And so Liu Xin heard, one after another, the assigned essays from the civil service examinations two years prior, all on the topic "The Mandate of the House of Han Is Exhausted." The top ten essays of the First Rank were all read to Liu Xin. In name, it was to have the venerable Liu Xin critique the work of the younger generation; in truth, it was to force this most die-hard old loyalist of the Han Restoration faction to feel the reality that "the times have changed."

Liu Xin was not angered. A great literary scholar such as himself could curse without a single vulgar word. After hearing Du Du's essay, his assessment was: "Flowery rhetoric, hollow and insubstantial. An attempt to imitate the style of Yang Ziyun to curry favor with the Emperor—truly a case of Dong Shi imitating a frown."

Upon hearing the essay by Fu Long, ranked second, Liu Xin remarked: "Though he attempts to cite the classics, his chapters and verses are rigid and pedantic, nothing but sermonizing."

Liu Xin's erudition and mastery of the classics surpassed Yang Xiong's, though his prose style did not. Still, he was among the top three wordsmiths in the land, and his critiques carried natural authority. Yet his criticisms focused solely on matters of chapter, verse, and allusion; the actual content of each essay, he avoided discussing entirely.

Thus passed several days. As the weather in Luoyang grew hotter, Liu Xin's illness worsened. The physicians' estimate of his remaining life shrank from "early autumn" to "the height of summer."

After compiling the Classic of Mountains and Seas, Liu Xin had developed a deep interest in the arts of immortals and alchemists, often engaging in mystical, esoteric pursuits—building earthen dragons to pray for rain, or refining elixirs to seek longevity. Now, however, he no longer resisted death, saying calmly: "To die in Luoyang—that is not so bad after all."

Liu Xin's ancestral home was Pengcheng in the land of Chu; the hometown where he grew to manhood was Chang'an. Yet his spiritual homeland, like that of most Han Confucians, lay truly in Luoyang.

Although the Han Dynasty had established its capital at Chang'an for military and political reasons, every few decades, Confucian ministers would raise the perennial proposal to "move the capital to Luoyang." Matters like facilitating grain transport were mere trifles; the true reason was their firm belief that this place was the center of the world, the city built by the Duke of Zhou, bearing the idealism of the Duke of Zhou's institutional reforms. The House of Han, having inherited the despotic vestiges of the Qin, could only fully embrace the Kingly Way and extend its mandate for generations by moving to Luoyang.

Thus, when Wang Mang came to power, he and Liu Xin saw eye to eye immediately, and the capital was nearly moved.

But Liu Xin still had one regret. He yearned with all his heart to see Diwu Lun one last time. Knowing his days were few, Liu Xin grew anxious: "When will the Emperor of Wei return?"

Yet his repeated inquiries to the Palace Gentlemen yielded only ambiguous replies.

One day, after taking his medicine, Liu Xin lay dozing as usual on a cool bamboo mat. In a haze, he heard voices and footsteps outside. A man leaning on a pigeon-headed staff, walking with faltering steps, entered. Then came a startled cry from Zheng Xing.

"Old Tian... Your Maj... you..."

When Liu Xin turned over and made out the face beneath the white hair, he did not cry out in shock. Instead, he fell into a long, profound silence. Only after a great while did he sigh.

"Wang Jujun, how is it you are not yet dead?"

Wang Mang's reaction was greater. Sitting down across from Liu Xin, just as he had done when meeting Diwu Lun, he pointed at Liu Xin's nose and cursed:

"Liu Zijun, traitorous minister!"

Diwu Lun seemed to greatly enjoy such famous scenes of love and hate intertwined. Under the pretext of gathering "testimony" for Wang Mang's trial, he ordered the Palace Gentlemen, as before, to record the conversation between the two men.

Toward Liu Xin, Wang Mang harbored boundless fury—not only because Liu Xin had plotted the conspiracy to overthrow his rule, but more so because, in their youth, the two had shared the same ideals and pledged to usher in a new era together. When they finally grasped power and began to shape the Xin Dynasty, Liu Xin had participated in the planning and designed its policies.

Yet at the moment Wang Mang needed help the most, Liu Xin ultimately returned to the old path of "Restoring the Han." This was not merely a personal disloyalty to Wang Mang, but a betrayal of the cause of reviving antiquity that they had undertaken together!

Even though Wang Mang, having experienced great rises and falls, could admit his past mistakes and had even grown indifferent to the fickleness of his old ministers, this matter alone still gnawed at his heart.

Thus, he regarded Diwu Lun as a "rebel" and Liu Xin as a "traitor"—the latter wounding the old Wang Mang more deeply than the former.

But Liu Xin would have none of it. He merely sneered and said: "Mencius said: If you love others yet are not loved in return, reflect on whether your benevolence is sufficient. If you govern others yet fail to bring order, reflect on whether your wisdom is sufficient. Whenever your actions fail to achieve the desired result, seek the cause within yourself. Thus the Odes say: Ever dwell on the will of Heaven, and seek for yourself much blessing!"

"Wang Jujun, you blame only the world for plotting rebellion and betrayal. Should you not first seek the fault within yourself? Consider what monumental errors you have committed, to drive everyone away and make them forsake you?"

Liu Xin had completely shed the timidity and obsequiousness of his final years as a minister, reverting to the aggressive, unyielding manner of his early debates on the classics with Wang Mang. Wang Mang did not know whether to be angrier or more gratified. Yet he truly fell silent for a long while, and after reflecting, said: "Could it be that you hate me for killing your two sons and your daughter?"

But Liu Xin's children had been implicated in rebellion. By all reason, Liu Xin's entire family should have been executed. Yet Wang Mang, each time, out of regard for their old bond, had spared the old Liu Xin—twice. Did he mean to say that his mercy had been a mistake?

It would have been better not to mention this. At the mention of his beloved, departed sons and daughter, their voices, faces, and smiles rose before Liu Xin's eyes. Especially his most cherished youngest daughter—the lovely, curious way she had looked when Liu Xin took her stargazing years ago was still vivid in his mind. Who could have imagined that it would ultimately invite calamity!

Their deaths were like flesh being carved from Liu Xin's heart. Even though he had been "pardoned" by Wang Mang, to Liu Xin, it felt like a form of torture.

Of course Liu Xin hated these things. But in the end, he clutched his chest and said: "Wang Jujun, what I hate most deeply is that you were vicious enough to slaughter your own flesh and blood—to kill the Crown Prince!"

Wang Mang's Crown Prince, Wang Lin, was not only Liu Xin's son-in-law but also his disciple and student. When Liu Xin saw Wang Mang growing ever more deranged, he had pinned his hopes on Wang Lin. He thought that if Wang Mang abdicated and Wang Lin took the throne, with himself assuming power to govern, perhaps this decaying world could still be saved. But then Wang Mang suddenly executed Wang Lin on a trumped-up charge, plunging Liu Xin into utter despair.

And so Liu Xin, who had shut his door to protect himself, began to reflect. In the end, he became convinced of one thing.

"Liu Xin did commit a grave error."

Liu Xin rose to his feet and pointed at Wang Mang: "The error was in helping you overthrow the House of Han!"

"Twenty years ago, though the Great Han suffered the Seven Deaths and Seven Destructions, and the people had no means of livelihood, it had not yet reached the collapse of the Qin's final years. The altars of the state still had a chance to be saved."

"Everyone at court and in the provinces longed for a worthy man to bring about a restoration like the reigns of Zhao and Xuan. At that time, you kept yourself pure and incorrupt, loved Confucianism, and stood utterly apart from the Five Marquises of the Wang clan. After entering the court, you treated the worthy with even greater courtesy. Though a scion of an external relative clan, you positioned yourself as the leader of the upright faction, opposing Emperor Ai and the Ding and Fu external relatives. When you returned to power, you spoke constantly of being the Duke of Zhou, of supporting the House of Han!"

"You deceived the world. And you deceived me."

Though Liu Xin was of the imperial clan, his family had fared poorly at court because their criticisms of governance were too sharp, and they were further ostracized by the Erudites of the Five Classics due to academic disputes.

It was Wang Mang who gave Liu Xin the opportunity to rise to the ranks of the Three Excellencies and Nine Ministers. Simply by grasping Wang Mang's hand, he could easily ascend to the pinnacle of power. And Wang Mang helped their Old Text classics triumph over the New Text classics. For this, Liu Xin was profoundly grateful, moved to tears.

But in the end, his trust was misplaced.

Liu Xin mocked himself: "My father wished to eliminate the external relatives to strengthen the House of Han, yet I, blinded by a single leaf, clung to you. The result was opening the door and bowing to a bandit. What you wanted to be was not the Duke of Zhou, but Yu Shun..."

Wang Mang shook his head, thinking to himself: "That was the past. Now, I only wish to be an uncrowned king like Confucius..."

Of course, it was too late to say any of this now. When Wang Mang's usurpation and deviation from the path were exposed, though Liu Xin was inwardly terrified, he was already bound to Wang Mang's ship. He could only grit his teeth and follow it into the darkness.

The further it went, the more Liu Xin regretted it. Had he known, he would have devoted himself single-mindedly to scholarship back then. Then he would not have failed his ancestors, and his children would not have been entangled so deeply in power, meeting such a fate.

But would staying in his study have been any better? Look at Yang Xiong—devoted to his writing, never asking about politics. In the end, was he not still hounded to death by the petty men under Wang Mang!

When all was said and done, it was still Wang Jujun's fault!

Therefore, Liu Xin needed to correct his original mistake.

"With my own hands, I helped you establish the Xin. With these same hands, I must destroy this false dynasty and return the world to the righteous path of Han governance."

Misery is always relative. For those who had lived through this era, even the darkness of the late Han seemed preferable to the chaos of the Xin Dynasty!

Seeing that Liu Xin felt not the slightest remorse for "betraying" their cause, Wang Mang only gripped his pigeon-headed staff tighter.

"Liu Zijun, you truly grow more worthless with age. Would you cling to the petty affections of father and daughter, the petty loyalty of clan and name, and forget the Great Way of the world?"

In the time that followed, the two fell into a cycle of mutual recrimination. They knew each other too well, dredging up each other's past misdeeds. Liu Xin spat curses at Wang Mang for his treachery, hypocrisy, and thirst for fame. Wang Mang rebuked Liu Xin for his florid, dazzling prose that masked a complete ineptitude at statecraft, and for the "Five Equilibrations and Six Monopolies" system he had concocted from ancient texts while assisting him—one of the chief culprits behind the world's great chaos.

Both were great Confucian scholars; their quarrel was laden with classical allusions, making the war of words exceedingly lengthy, and neither could convince the other.

By the time they had argued themselves hoarse and dry-mouthed, the recorders had been replaced with a fresh shift. From outside the room came a crisp round of applause.

It was Diwu Lun who walked in, smiling as he clapped his hands: "The debate between you two is truly splendid."

Diwu Lun summed up their relationship in a single line: "But strip away all the classical citations and tedious exegesis, and it truly resembles an old married couple—from love to mutual loathing and hatred. Meeting again after years of separation, they resume pointing fingers at each other. It is nothing more than one saying 'Liu Xin ruined me,' and the other repeating over and over, 'Wang Mang deceived me.'"

"You two are the principal and accessory offenders who threw the realm into chaos. Everything you say is utterly unoriginal, and your attitude toward admitting guilt is deeply problematic!"

Diwu Lun faced the two elders, who were staring at each other in bewilderment, and said: "Therefore, it falls to a junior like me to trace things back to their source on your behalf and set right from wrong into some kind of order."

Having said this, Diwu Lun then bowed once more to Liu Xin, who had approached him trembling slightly, wanting to meet and speak with him, and softened his tone: "Lord Liu, it has been too long."

The two had an old connection. Liu Xin was a close friend of Diwu Lun's teacher, Yang Xiong, and had helped Diwu Lun many times back in Chang'an.

And the reason Liu Xin had journeyed all the way from Liang Province to Luoyang, enduring illness time and again to hold on until now, was precisely because he had words in his heart he needed to say to Diwu Lun.

But Diwu Lun always put public duty before personal ties. He quickly turned solemn again and said: "Lord Liu, this time, I shall stand on Old Wang's side!"

Wang Mang had assumed he would once again be subjected to a round of denunciation by Diwu Lun, just as he had been before Fan Chong, and on the journey west to Luoyang, he had already heard more than enough of Diwu Lun's sarcasm and mockery. Hearing these words, he was suddenly dumbstruck — was the sun rising from the west today?

Then he heard Diwu Lun say: "In my view, when the Xin replaced the Han over a decade ago, it was the prevailing trend, and it accorded with the Dao of Heaven!"