Chapter 526: Child of Heaven

From a young age, he had followed his father in collating the imperial library's books, reading and absorbing all knowledge since the Three Dynasties — whether official learning or the Hundred Schools of Thought.

During that time, he discovered long-lost fragments of ancient-script texts and became the standard-bearer of the Old Text classics. His single essay, "Letter Moving the Erudites of the Grand Ceremonialist to Yield," refuted the old Erudites of the Six Classics so thoroughly that many were forced to admit fault and step aside. Later, he became a Grand Master who surpassed even the Imperial Academy, with disciples emerging in an endless stream. It would be no exaggeration to call himself, since Dong Zhongshu, the great synthesizer of Confucian scholarship.

After proving invincible in scholarship, he eagerly tried to engage with the world, serving as State Preceptor of the Xin Dynasty — arguably the second man beneath Wang Mang. He rebuilt the Three Yong, restored the Classic of Music, and formulated the official system for restoring antiquity. Everything Confucius had wished to do but could not, he achieved.

And in his later years, he supported a young sovereign, forcibly buying the Great Han another lease on life. Seen this way, Liu Xin's life could be called spectacular.

Yet in Diwu Lun's eyes, all his lifelong busyness amounted to a great big zero — an utter void.

Under the blow of Diwu Lun's words, Liu Xin's already deathbound body collapsed at once. In the days that followed, while the people of Luoyang outside, organized by Dou Rong, held a grand referendum to vote on Wang Mang's life or death, Liu Xin could only lie ill in bed.

"It truly was all for nothing…"

The past flashed before Liu Xin's eyes like a revolving lantern. He remembered especially how, many years ago, when Yang Xiong brought the "Taixuan," written after a lifetime of painstaking classical study, for Liu Xin to review, Liu Xin had shaken his head emphatically.

"Pointless self-affliction."

Liu Xin had said to Yang Xiong then: "The scholars of the Six Classics today, drawing their official salaries, still cannot understand the 'Yi.' How much less this even more abstruse 'Xuan' of yours? I fear that after you die, this book will be used as a lid for sauce jars."

Yang Xiong, rebuffed, had silently gathered his bamboo slips and returned to his humble room to continue writing.

As an old friend, how could Liu Xin not know that Yang Xiong, too, harbored the heart to become a sage? Why else would he have written six works modeled on the Six Classics?

As the "Book of Rites" says, one who creates is called a sage; one who transmits is called enlightened. The enlightened sage is defined by transmission and creation. Confucius himself had walked this path — first transmitting without creating, until finally the "Spring and Autumn Annals" emerged, establishing his status as an uncrowned sage-king.

Yet in Liu Xin's view, Yang Xiong was merely blind imitation. He too wished to become a sage, but he would not take this path of transmission and creation. Instead, he would walk another, far more challenging broad road: institution-building!

Institution-building meant creating rites and music! The prime example was the Duke of Zhou, who, by his own efforts alone, fixed the rites and music for the eight-hundred-year Zhou Dynasty. He was the same: to remake the rites of the Three Dynasties, to restore the music of Great Peace, to ward off external threats without mishap, to soothe the people within to lasting peace. If he was to be a sage, he would be this kind of great sage!

This was the reason Liu Xin had so actively assisted Wang Mang. But in the end, facts proved that their institution-building was only a dream. Now the tower had collapsed and the dream was over, with nothing left. Worse, during those twenty years, delayed by political affairs and worldly matters, he had squandered his time, and even the "transmission and creation" he could have accomplished had been neglected.

Apart from collating the "Classic of Mountains and Seas" and continuing a few of his father's posthumous works, he had left behind nothing systematic. Compared to Yang Xiong's towering body of work, was Liu Xin's life not an utter void?

"I laughed at Yang Ziyun, little knowing that the one truly suffering pointlessly was myself!"

At this thought, Liu Xin's health deteriorated drastically. By the afternoon when the Luoyang people's referendum result came out, he was on the verge of death, unable to speak, unable to point with his hand.

His disciple Zheng Xing wept silently at his side. The imperial physician sent by Diwu Lun murmured in low voices nearby, and even a few Wei ministers were discussing how to handle Liu Xin's funeral affairs.

And Liu Xin himself? In a daze, he seemed to return to that evening forty years ago…

…

In the fourth year of the Yongshi era under Emperor Cheng of Han (16 BC), on the thirtieth day of the twelfth month, snow fell outside the Yellow Gate Gentlemen's office in Chang'an's Weiyang Palace. Liu Xin, a Yellow Gate Gentleman, happened to be on duty. He sat before the stove, warming his hands while looking down at bamboo slips.

Yang Xiong, also a Yellow Gate Gentleman, had accompanied the imperial procession to Shanglin Park that day and might well produce another fine fu poem. Keeping Liu Xin company on duty in the office was a young man of the Wang clan who had entered the Gentlemen's corps through connections — Wang Mang, Wang Jujun.

Wang Mang's appearance could not be called handsome, but he was exceptionally genial, without a trace of the Wang consort clan's arrogance, and his speech was pleasing. From the elderly Empress Dowager Wang Zhengjun above to Colonel Chen Tang below, all were especially fond of this young man.

Wang Mang shoveled charcoal into the stove with practiced ease, refusing the palace servants' help and even joking with them, treating them as human beings. When conversing with Liu Xin, besides discussing the Confucian classics, he often liked to criticize current ills.

"Since His Majesty ascended the throne, in the third year of Jianshi, the first year of Heping, the third year, the fourth year, the first year of Yangshuo, the first year of Yongshi, the second year, the third year — there have been eight solar eclipses in all. What does Yingshu think is the reason?"

Liu Xin, who had only just begun to open his heart to Wang Mang then, merely said: "The first few were blamed on Empress Xu."

"But Empress Xu was deposed the year before last, and the eclipses and calamities continue." Wang Mang did not mince words. "Some believe the root lies with the Zhao sisters, the current consorts. And great scholars like Jing Fang even blame the eclipses on my family, the Wangs!"

Liu Xin smiled. "Does Jujun think that opinion is fair?"

"My uncles, the Five Marquises, are greedy and base, and have indeed wrecked the court's order. But how could those five men affect the changes of Heaven?"

Wang Mang pointed overhead and said softly: "The reason calamities and anomalies are so frequent is not only that the Emperor is sunk in wine and lust, nor only that the Wang Five Marquises are greedy and base. It is because this realm is sick!"

"That the sovereign delights in building palaces and grand tombs, that taxes grow ever heavier, that the common people are drained and exhausted, that the populace is sorrowful and resentful — these are only surface signs."

Wang Mang, impatient by nature, said indignantly: "The 'Yi' says that Heaven displays signs, revealing good and ill fortune, and the sage observes them; the Yellow River brought forth a chart, the Luo River brought forth a writing, and the sage took them as models. Yet though the Emperor frequently issues edicts blaming himself, in truth not a single thing is changed. The powerful nobles, imperial clan, and consort clans still annex land; the common people still lack even a pinpoint of soil and can only sell themselves into slavery, suffering unbearably."

Liu Xin looked at Wang Mang with considerable surprise. To speak such words not only proved his insight was exceptional, but also amounted to betraying the stance of the Wang consort clan. He was indeed a remarkable man.

What was even more remarkable came next. Wang Mang sighed with emotion: "The court officials of today can neither support the altars of state above nor bring blessings to the common people below. They are all men who draw their salaries in vain and do no work. And we, though we have aspirations in our hearts, are suppressed by old scholars and elders, unable to rise, able only to fret in vain!"

With that, he gazed at the drifting snow outside and remained silent for a long time. Only after a long while did he abruptly turn to Liu Xin.

"Yingshu collates the Six Classics, explicates the commentaries on the Six Arts, the various masters, poetry and fu, numerology, and technical arts, leaving nothing uninvestigated. He is utterly different from those Six Classics Erudites who cling to the incomplete and outdated, losing the sages' meaning. One day he will surely become a great scholar. Though I have the heart to exert myself to save the Great Han, my learning is shallow. I can only hope that Yingshu will offer much guidance."

Wang Mang bowed to Liu Xin. "Yingshu, though you and I are now men of humble station and light words, if one day an opportunity arises, would you be willing, together with me, to change this realm?"

The emotion in his eyes, the desire to save the world, was utterly sincere. Anyone seeing it could not help but think: If I could stand at this man's side, I could surely change the realm!

In that moment, Liu Xin, stirred to yearning by Wang Mang's speech, had nodded and agreed. This was why, later, when Wang Mang rose to power, he greatly promoted Liu Xin, and they ultimately became comrades in reform.

But Liu Xin, as if returned to this moment once more, only stared fixedly at Wang Mang. When he had the power to choose anew, Liu Xin only nodded, then shook his head.

"I do wish to change the realm."

"But absolutely not walking together with you."

He had harbored the right ideals but met the wrong traveling companion, and in the end had forged a great error.

If Liu Xin were given a chance to start over, he would refuse Wang Mang's invitation and wait until Yang Xiong, the Yellow Gate Gentleman covered in snow, returned from Shanglin Park and sat by the stove, speaking with Liu Xin of literature and classical learning.

If Liu Xin were given a chance to start over, he would, like Yang Xiong, quietly delve into scholarship in his study, writing works better and more numerous than Yang Xiong's, fulfilling his wish of transmission and creation — just as he had yearned in his "Fu on Fulfilling My Beginnings": to delight in zither and books to ease the heart, to examine the transformations of nature and destiny; to move through the four seasons and observe yin and yang, to gather the rare wonders of all things; though exhausting the utmost changes of heaven and earth, what would be worth his notice? To be ever tranquil and serene in joy — this was indeed what the worthy and sage delighted in.

But he would not thereby abandon "creating rites and music." He would only watch coldly as Wang Mang floundered, waiting and waiting, until that afternoon eight years ago, when a young boy from Changling, with a somewhat peculiar surname, followed Yang Xiong and stepped into Liu Xin's home…

"Master, Master, His Majesty the Wei Emperor has come to see you."

Amid urgent calls, Liu Xin opened his eyes from his hazy dream and saw Diwu Lun sitting beside the bed.

Diwu Lun did not speak again to sting Liu Xin's heart, only maintained a distance neither close nor distant, silently watching the old man.

Liu Xin, however, as if seeing a life-saving straw, seized Diwu Lun's hand at once.

"Boyu."

The officials nearby moved to correct him, but Diwu Lun said: "Lord Liu is an elder, not my subject. It does not matter if he calls me so."

As if in a final rally, Liu Xin, who had been unable to eat for a day and a night, seemed to find strength and said: "Mencius said, every five hundred years a true king must arise."

"From Yao and Shun to Tang of Shang, more than five hundred years. From Tang the Completer to King Wen and the Duke of Zhou, more than five hundred years. From the Duke of Zhou to Confucius, also more than five hundred years."

"Since Confucius, there have been many renowned men — some achieved hegemony, some became worthy scholars — but ultimately they were still far from being worthy kings or sages. Until recent times, Wang Mang created rites and music. He believed he was that sage. I too thought so at first, but later, after being disappointed in Wang Mang, and then seeing the 'Red Talisman,' I felt that I myself was the one."

"But Wang Mang was wrong. And I was wrong too."

Liu Xin panted: "Confucius died on the yichou day of the fourth month of summer in the sixteenth year of Duke Ai (479 BC). To count five hundred years after his death… it should be the third year of Dihuang (AD 21). But that was a time when the realm was in chaos and the people could not survive. Looking across the Nine Provinces, there was only one man who rose in Wei, later overthrew the Xin, and founded a state called Wei…"

Having experienced the fall of the Western Han, having walked the journey from Chang'an to Luoyang, having even seen Wang Mang one last time, and having his whole life pierced through by Diwu Lun's words — after this great awakening, Liu Xin could at last transcend the limits of clan and surname and speak the words he had always wished to say to Diwu Lun.

"Looking at it this way — who else could that true king be, if not you?"

But Diwu Lun's response to Liu Xin's words was remarkably indifferent. He had also seen the so-called Red Talisman, and he asked in return: "And what of that Wu King, Liu Xiu, whose name likewise matches the Red Talisman?"

"It is as you say — the Han is beyond saving. Though Liu Wenshu wishes to rouse it, at best he can hold a corner of the southeast; he cannot alter the great tide." Tears streamed down Liu Xin's aged face. He spoke these words at the cost of never being forgiven by his ancestors after death.

"And in the time of Han Wudi, a prophecy arose: 'He who replaces Han shall be Dang Tu Gao.' Dang Tu Gao — that is the Wei, the palace gate towers."

Liu Xin said: "From this we can see that the true inheritor of Han's virtue is none other than the Wei Sovereign! Wang Jujun's Xin is but an intercalary virtue, a mistaken path, and cannot be regarded as the legitimate succession. Boyu, you must think this through!"

Diwu Lun merely smiled. "Lord Liu, you have taken such pains."

Liu Xin had traveled all the way from Chang'an and seen that Wei's sweeping conquest of the north — and one day, the south — was a momentum impossible to check. He had hoped, with this speech, to secure a decent settlement for the house of Han. After all, if Diwu Lun declared that Wei directly succeeded the Han, he would surely treat the "former dynasty" with favor.

In the end, Liu Xin had wholly broken with the cause he once shared with Wang Mang. Diwu Lun did not know what Wang Mang would think when he heard of it.

But looking at the dying old man, Diwu Lun could not bring himself to mock him further. He made no reply, only gently patted Liu Xin's hand.

As if all the strength had drained from his body, Liu Xin, on the verge of death, fixed his gaze on Diwu Lun. The man before him seemed to be the very "pi" he had spent a lifetime searching for.

"To hear the Dao in the morning and die at evening — that is enough. If, in my final moment, I have found the true 'Heaven-mandated king,' then this life of mine has not, after all, been entirely in vain."

As though slipping free of his decaying shell, Liu Xin's consciousness soared upward. One by one, the strange beasts from the Classic of Mountains and Seas appeared — the Luo-fish, the Heavenly Hound, the nine-tailed fox — forming a stairway for Liu Xin to ascend. And high above the Ninth Heaven, the Queen Mother of the West, her leopard's tail trailing, smiled as she prepared a feast, while an old friend with a lame leg gently beckoned to Liu Xin — it was Yang Xiong…

This time, they could at last escape the cruel and filthy world and devote themselves wholly to discussing each other's writings.

As Liu Xin breathed his last, Diwu Lun personally closed his eyes. He did not grieve as he had for Yang Xiong and Diwu Ba; all that remained was a sigh.

Liu Xin and Wang Mang — they were the "dragon-slayers" of the previous generation. They began with good intentions, but when those intentions met reality, the results diverged catastrophically and became disasters. Finding the right direction, and possessing the means to carry it out, is truly more important than simply clinging to an ideal.

When the assembled ministers pressed him on how to arrange Liu Xin's funeral, Diwu Lun said only: "The funeral rites shall be slightly below those of my teachers Yang Ziyun and Yan Erudite. Bury him at the foot of Mount Taibai — that is the tomb site Lord Liu long ago chose for himself."

He added: "Lord Liu did not die as a minister of the Xin, and the Han fell many years ago — he has long ceased to be a Han minister. On his tombstone, there is no need to add Han or Xin official titles. Inscribe only…"

Diwu Lun paused, then said: "'The Tomb of the Great Scholar Liu Xin!'"

He repudiated Liu Xin's political contrivances, granting not even a posthumous name — for neither Han nor Xin could possibly confer one upon Liu Xin now. Yet Diwu Lun affirmed the old man's scholarly contributions, and in this way delivered a final verdict on Liu Xin's life.

As for Liu Xin's dying words — "He who replaces Han shall be Dang Tu Gao" — since Diwu Lun had resolved to recognize the Xin dynasty's legitimacy, he naturally set that prophecy aside.

Diwu Lun looked at Liu Xin's body and said softly: "I believe only in fists."

"Not in prophecies!"

Yet Diwu Lun had always been a double-standard dog. Toward "Every five hundred years, a true king shall arise," he was perfectly happy to accept it — it was highly useful for political propaganda. And besides…

Diwu Lun thought, as a matter of course: "A transmigrator — isn't that exactly a child of Heaven's mandate?"

…

At almost the same moment, in Pengcheng in Xu Province, a travel-worn scholar who had journeyed all the way from Nanyang to offer his service presented a "prophetic text," its cover painted flame-red, before Wu King Liu Xiu.

"Liu Xiu raises troops and hunts the lawless; the four barbarians gather like clouds, dragons battle in the wilds; at the juncture of four and seven, fire shall be lord."

"Yes! This is the Red Talisman!"

The scholar Qiang Hua raised his head and looked at Liu Xiu, his old roommate from the Imperial Academy, and said with deep earnestness: "It is said that this talisman was crafted by the Xin State Preceptor Liu Xin. To fulfill the talisman, destroy Xin, and restore Han, Liu Xin specially changed his name to Liu Xiu. But he never imagined that the one who would truly receive this talisman was a man of the same name and surname, born in Nanyang!"

With that, Qiang Hua and the Nanyang-born ministers of Wu who had brought him there prostrated themselves together:

"Every five hundred years, a true king shall arise! Great King, you are the true child of Heaven's mandate!"