Chapter 60: A Single Spark

"I've heard that when Guo Shaoqing of our commandery followed his teacher to Chang'an, he bought a travel pass to enter Hangu Pass and declared with fervor: 'Unless I ride out in an envoy's chariot, I shall never leave this pass again.'"

"When I headed north months ago, I thought the same — determined to make something of myself in Chang'an. I never imagined I'd end up fleeing in haste, having accomplished nothing. I'll be a laughingstock when I return home."

Passing through Wu Pass, Deng Yu clenched his fists, seething with indignation.

Yet this youth barely out of his teens spoke with such world-weary airs that Liu Xiu and the others fleeing south with him could only find it amusing.

"Being laughed at is still better than losing your life."

Liu Xiu consoled Deng Yu: "Didn't that Guo Dan of Rang County end up fleeing north to the frontier with his disciples to escape trouble, all because he refused to serve the Xin Dynasty? That counts as leaving the pass too. We also had no choice but to leave the Imperial Academy to avoid the factional strife at court."

Besides, even without this incident, the Academy students who came to Chang'an from a backwater like Nanyang had seen the truth clearly. To stand out among tens of thousands of competitors and secure an official post through the examination — how could that be easy? Those days crammed into the Academy dormitories were honestly less comfortable than going home and living as a local magnate. The ladder of advancement had already solidified; the paths of upward mobility were not fully open. Relying on clan prestige to land a county official or village clerk post — that was likely what their whole lives would amount to.

The Master of Fates of the Five Majesties' arrest warrants were limited to the vicinity of Chang'an. The group passed through Wu Pass without incident and soon entered Nanyang territory. At that point, the fugitive life of Liu Xiu and his companions — sleeping rough and eating in the open — came to an end.

The Deng clan was a major lineage in Nanyang, with marriage ties in every county. Liu Xiu, for his part, relied on his elder brother's reputation, receiving aid from gallant youths who admired Liu Bosheng. The group quickly traded their half-dead donkeys for fine horses, and their steps grew lighter. Here in their homeland, even if the Master of Fates pursued them, they had nothing to fear.

Leaving the commandery seat of Wancheng — Nanyang had been renamed Qiantui by Wang Mang, and Wancheng had been renamed Nanyang — they traveled south along the still-unfrozen Yu River and reached Xinye County in a single day and night.

The Deng lineage had sprawling branches. The one actually related by marriage to Liu Xiu's family was Deng Yu's clan cousin, Deng Chen, courtesy name Wei Qing. He had married Liu Xiu's second elder sister, Liu Yuan.

Seeing Liu Xiu and Deng Yu suddenly return when they were supposed to be in Chang'an, Deng Chen and his wife were quite shocked. After listening to Liu Xiu's brief account of events, Deng Chen could only remark on their good fortune: "No wonder so many crimson riders passed through Xinye yesterday heading for Xindu. It must be about that matter with the Duke of Gongchong."

Xindu, a day's journey from Xinye, was the very place where Wang Mang's dragon rose — and also the fief of Wang Zong, the Duke of Gongchong.

Deng Yu joked that it was lucky Liu Xiu was so timid, dragging them away at the first sign of trouble. But Deng Chen praised him: "Every family needs one cautious and steady man to endure."

Deng Chen was not fond of his elder brother-in-law Liu Bosheng's impulsive nature; instead, he held his younger brother-in-law Liu Xiu in high regard.

Snow was falling again outside. Deng Chen and his wife invited Liu Xiu to rest a few more days in Xinye.

Deng Yu also urged him: "Tomorrow is the Laba Festival. Wenshu, the Yin clan's La sacrifice is famously lively — why not go and see?"

Deng Yu winked and grinned. Liu Xiu knew he was hinting that if he went to the Yin clan's La sacrifice, he might once again catch a glimpse of his beloved, that virtuous maiden of the Yin family.

In Xinye, the powerful clans were the Deng on the left and the Yin on the right.

The Yin clan had risen to prominence during the reign of Emperor Xuan of Han. The family head at the time, Yin Zifang, served his parents with utmost filial piety and accumulated virtue through good deeds.

It is said that one year on the day of the La sacrifice, as he was lighting a fire by the stove to cook, the Stove God suddenly appeared. Yin Zifang hastily slaughtered a yellow goat and offered it in sacrifice. After that, Yin Zifang grew wealthy time and again, becoming a renowned rich household far and wide. His family owned over seven hundred qing of land, with carriages, horses, servants, and slaves numbering in the thousands — his influence rivaled that of a feudal lord, surpassing even the Deng clan. From then on, they took the La sacrifice even more to heart.

By comparison, Liu Xiu's family had no more than two hundred qing of land. What would fall to his share was perhaps only thirty or forty qing — a small landowner at best.

Under the Former Han, the Liu clan still held the status of imperial lineage, a cut above the rest. Now even that privilege had been stripped away by Wang Mang. With no one in the family holding office and ancestral honors counting for little, what was he to do? Become a matrilocal son-in-law?

He had his own calculations. With an honest, simple smile, he said: "The La sacrifice should be spent at one's own home. How could I impose on another family? Besides, my elder brother has a firm and unyielding temper. If the authorities came knocking to ask about my whereabouts and his retainers clashed with them, killing an official — that would be disastrous."

Liu Xiu took hasty leave of Deng Yu, deliberately skirted Xindu County, and without resting, rode straight for his old home of Caiyang.

Strangely enough, while Xinye had been renamed "Yihe," Caiyang had somehow escaped the clutches of that renaming fiend. This was perhaps because Caiyang was the hometown and fief of Wang Mang's mother, the Lady of Manifest Merit — taxes there were still reduced, farming was quite profitable, and it was Liu Xiu's favorite occupation.

Eighty li southeast of Caiyang was Baishui Township, but Liu Xiu and his clansmen still habitually called it "Chongling."

Liu Xiu's ancestor was the thirteenth son of Liu Fa, the Ding Prince of Changsha, who had been enfeoffed as the Marquis of Chongling and established his marquisate in the remote Lingling Commandery (southwestern Xiang). By the reign of Emperor Yuan of Han, the third-generation Marquis of Chongling, finding his fief too damp and its mountain forests too full of noxious miasmas to live in, requested that his fief be reduced and relocated inland. Thus the fief was moved to Baishui Township in Caiyang. When Wang Mang usurped the Han, the marquisate was abolished.

As for Liu Xiu's own family, they had already become a cadet branch by his grandfather's generation, and the family fortunes had gradually declined: his grandfather had been a Commandant of Julu Commandery, a high official with a rank of equivalent-to-two-thousand-dan; his father was merely a County Magistrate of Nandun, at a rank of equivalent-to-six-hundred-dan, and had died early. After Liu Xiu and his brothers lost their father, they were raised entirely by their uncle Liu Liang, becoming commoners in every sense.

In recent years, the family's fortunes had revived — partly because Liu Xiu was skilled at managing the estate, and partly because Liu Bosheng had made a name for himself as a gallant. One brother conserved, the other forged ahead; like two pillars, they propped up the family.

"When I left, willows clung tender and green; now I return, snow and sleet fill the scene." It was the last month of winter. The homeland that had once been lush with green grass and bright waters had turned a desolate, withered expanse. Snow fell again from the sky, making "White Water" all the more true to its name.

Treading that auspicious snow, braced against the north wind, Liu Xiu wore a straw rain-cape and a bamboo hat, a pack slung over his shoulder and a blade at his side, struggling on horseback along the road.

Though it was not yet dusk, darkness came early in winter, and the snow made it all the more gloomy. Ahead lay a murky gloom. The sounds of people in the village lanes by the roadside seemed swallowed by the accumulated snow. Only cooking smoke rose silently, merging with the clouds, and all around was stillness.

Until a heaven-shaking, earth-shattering roll of drums shattered the silence!

"The Nuo drums."

Liu Xiu reined in his horse and broke into a smile: "I made it after all."

His family was holding the annual Nuo opera. Amid the murky haze, faint strains of song, dance, and shouts drifted over. As the rites passed their midpoint, the performance spilled beyond the village walls. A fiery dragon, winding its way along the main road, approached from afar, drawing nearer.

The light snow could not dampen the people's fervor. In the pitch-black night, torches tumbled and rolled; pinewood flames flickered under the moonlight. The banners held high were thrust again and again toward the night sky.

A careful observer could tell that, unlike ordinary Nuo operas, there was a certain order within the chaos. The procession advanced and retreated with discipline; its force was great yet not scattered. These hundred-odd people seemed to be directed by a commander.

This was the fruit of Liu Bosheng's training of his retainers and clansmen. In name, it was preparation for the Nuo opera; in reality... according to Bosheng, should the realm fall into turmoil, hand them weapons, crossbows, and armor, and they would be two full companies of soldiers.

The procession drew near. The man at its head spotted Liu Xiu halted on horseback on the road and came over to look. His face lit up with joy: "It's Wenshu!"

This man was named Liu Jia, courtesy name Xiaosun, a clansman of Chongling. He too had lost his father young and had been taken in and raised by Liu Xiu's father. Gentle, kind, and benevolent by nature, he was as close to Liu Yan and Liu Xiu as a brother by blood. He had once gone to Chang'an with Liu Bosheng to study, learning the Book of Documents and the Spring and Autumn Annals.

If Liu Xiu was his elder brother's right arm, then Liu Jia was his left hand.

Liu Xiu asked: "Xiaosun, where is my brother?"

"At the back, directing."

Liu Xiu threaded his way through the Nuo troupe. Under the torchlight were pairs of strong, sturdy hands and faces glistening with sweat. The scent of burnt pine filled his nostrils. Every person was so familiar; he could call each one by name.

He had an easygoing nature and was well-liked among the clan. Everyone wanted to come close and have a word with A'xiu.

Liu Xiu could only sigh with emotion. Home was truly better than Chang'an. No wonder the poem said: "Yellow bird, yellow bird, do not gather in the grain, do not peck at my millet. The people of this land will not treat me well. I speak of returning, returning, back to my own clan and kin."

But he had no time now to exchange pleasantries with everyone. He only wanted to see his elder brother quickly. Liu Xiu had things to say.

Thus surrounded by the crowd, Liu Xiu was brought to the center of the procession. The commander of this Nuo opera was a tall, powerfully built warrior, standing atop a cart pulled by men.

On his head he wore a hideous Nuo mask — its visage was bear-like yet not a bear, tiger-like yet closer to a demon. He was draped in black bear skin, with dark upper garments and lower skirts, wielding a halberd and raising a shield. To the beat of gongs and drums, he sang and danced, and indeed had the commanding air of one who could set the world to rights.

Through the gilded eyeholes of the Nuo mask, a pair of eyes looked upon Liu Xiu, who had come to the cart's side to bow — filled with surprise and delight.

Liu Xiu was desperate to see his brother, to tell him all the things he had seen and heard, all the thoughts he had pent up for so long in Chang'an!

He understood now. His elder brother was right. The Great Han must be restored; the Xin deserved to be destroyed.

Yet at this moment, his voice caught in his throat. He could only bow his head and say: "Elder Brother, Xiuer has returned!"

"Good!"

A hearty laugh rang out from behind the Nuo mask. Liu Yan helped his younger brother up, drew him onto the cart, and beneath the Nuo banner, placed the halberd and shield into Liu Xiu's hands: "With Wenshu here, this Nuo is now complete."

At the same time, a thousand li away in Diwu Hamlet, Linqu Township, Liewu Commandery, a Nuo opera was nearing its end.

The Nuo of the north differed somewhat from the Nuo of the south. A proverb said: "When the La drum sounds, the spring grass grows." The clansmen and villagers taking part in the La sacrifice all wore foreigner-head masks, with narrow-waisted drums strapped to their bodies, beating them with wooden mallets — bang, bang.

They beat drums to drive out pestilence — this was called "expelling the baneful." The entire hamlet worked as one to drive off the demon masks that symbolized baleful spirits and plague.

From the ancestral hall they chased all the way to the village entrance, dogs in front and people behind, the children running after the adults. Once they caught the mask-wearers and pinned them down, they stripped the demon masks from their faces, hoisted them up together with the crudely made baleful-spirit banners, and poured out of the hamlet in high delight. They dumped the lot on open ground, then added more firewood and even some coal.

"Clan head, Clan head! Burn them!"

Wearing his nuo ritual mask and presiding over the sacrifice, the clan head Diwu Lun strode out amid the cheers, holding a torch aloft.

His mind was still on other matters. Over these five months, what Diwu Lun had seen and heard in his hometown and in Chang'an was utterly bizarre and bewildering. This Xin Dynasty, "Xin" in name, was in truth rotten and decrepit.

Qingzhou, Xu, the Hai-Dai region, Huaiyang, Kuaiji, Jingzhou, Jiangxia — peasant uprisings had already broken out one after another across the realm.

Mother Lü, Fan Chong, Greenwood — like flames leaping from dry kindling, they were mere sparks for now, but in time they were fated to set the whole prairie ablaze!

"And what am I to do?"

Diwu Lun would, in the Guanzhong heartland, in Liewei Commandery right next to Chang'an, slowly amass an enormous pile of kindling and coal. Then, at the most opportune moment, he would ignite it — the most dazzling blaze under heaven, leading this furious feast of flames!

Amid the crowd's fevered shouts, Diwu Lun flung the torch from his hand. It ignited the demon masks and banners that symbolized the past year's plague and baleful spirits.

The firelight flickered beneath the moon. The villagers surged forward in a noisy throng, clapping their hands and laughing. Before their eyes, the burning sparks scattered like powder-winged butterflies vying in flight; the bright flames blossomed like fiery lotuses. Gradually snow began to fall again — jade scales drifting thick from the sky. The snow bullied the fire's strength, but the coal bolstered its might, unable to hide the crimson dragon as it wrestled upward and soared into the air!

"Burn."

"Burn the old dynasty clean away — only then, in the fierce flames, can a new world be hammered out!"

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