Chapter 69: Why Not Stir Up the Mud and Make the Waves?

After hearing the edict read aloud by the uninvited guest, Chen Chong, Master of Fates of the Five Majesties, Yang Xiong, who had barely risen from his wheelchair and performed his obeisance supported by his disciples Wang Long and Hou Ba, remained silent for a long while. He bowed his head and said humbly.

"Xiong's talent is mediocre, his writings old and decrepit. The rhapsodies I compose would only defile His Majesty's sagely brilliance. For a rhapsody so important it deserves to be recorded in the histories, why not seek out Zhang Bosong? He would surely surpass this old man."

"How strange," Chen Chong said with a laugh. "In your youth, Master Ziyun, you and Zhang Bosong were hailed as the two literary marvels under heaven, never yielding to one another. Why, in old age, do you now modestly defer to each other?"

The Zhang Bosong the two spoke of was named Zhang Song, the grandson of Zhang Chang, the 'Eyebrow-Drawing Governor of the Capital.' He was broadly learned in literature and history, and like Yang Xiong, a master of prose.

Zhang Song's most famous deed occurred when his uncle Zhang Shao became embroiled in the Marquis of Anchong, Liu Chong's, armed rebellion against Wang Mang. Zhang Song, together with Liu Chong's relatives, went to Chang'an to knock at the palace gates and confess their crimes, denouncing his own kin to uphold righteousness and exposing their offenses. He also wrote an essay extolling Wang Mang, proclaiming the virtue of the Duke Who Pacifies the Han.

That essay scratched Wang Mang right where he itched. Not only did he pardon Liu Chong's relatives, but he also enfeoffed eight of them as marquises in one breath, with Zhang Song becoming the 'Marquis of Virtuous Excellence.'

So much so that the commoners of Chang'an chanted everywhere: "If you want a title, go through Zhang Bosong; better a clever memorial than fighting with all your might."

And for over a decade, whenever Wang Mang needed similar flattering rhetoric, he had Chen Chong arrange it, and Zhang Song was always Chen Chong's first choice. As far as Yang Xiong knew, back then Chen Chong had once had Zhang Song ghostwrite an essay extolling the merits of the Duke Who Pacifies the Han.

That memorial, running to several thousand words, cited the Odes, the Documents, the Rites, the Changes, the Spring and Autumn Annals, the discourses of Confucius, and the deeds of many past sages from Kings Wen and Wu of Zhou to Emperor Gao of Han. It fervently and fanatically praised Wang Mang, leaving the reader with no choice but to conclude one thing: Wang Mang was truly the greatest sage of all time, unsurpassed by anyone, and deserving of the highest honors. The overtone, unmistakably clear, was the tune that he should rightfully be elevated to the Emperor's throne. This was the most inflammatory public opinion manufactured before Wang Mang's usurpation of the Han.

With the perfectly suitable Zhang Song available, why had it suddenly fallen to him today?

Chen Chong, however, said, "Zhang Song has offered compositions year after year; his talent and inspiration are exhausted. You, Master Ziyun, on the other hand, since the passing of the Xin dynasty's Mother of Culture, after your 'Dirge for Empress Yuan' became a peerless masterpiece, have been silent for six years, without a single word extolling the sacred dynasty. Some within the Master of Fates of the Five Majesties have questioned your loyalty to His Majesty, but I know you must have been quietly contemplating and brewing something."

"Furthermore, years ago, the Master of Fates of the Five Majesties mishandled a case, causing you, Master Ziyun, to throw yourself from the tower and lose your official post. You spend your days in wine, your household impoverished—truly lamentable. The Son of Heaven values you, Master Ziyun. He is deliberately giving you this opportunity to regain the rank of Grandee and secure your stipend in your old age. In truth, with your abilities, if you were willing, being enfeoffed as a marquis like Zhang Bosong would be as easy as lifting a hand!"

That was indeed true, but Yang Xiong had never taken that step.

At this point, Chen Chong suddenly shifted his tone, looking left and right. "Master Yang, this little residence of yours is truly quite fine."

He stamped his foot on the hard, level floor, a faint, ambiguous smile on his face. "I have heard that in the time of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors, people lived in earthen nests and double caves, with wooden poles and thatched sheds, or tiled grottoes—anything to ward off heat and cold, wind and rain. Even later, rafters were left unhewn, thatch untrimmed, without ornament or refinement. Only Grandees had square wooden beams and pillared halls, later adding coffered ceilings, thresholds, carved patterns on railings, and walls whitewashed with lime."

"Yet your residence, Master Yang, is so level, freshly whitewashed—I wonder if it exceeds the proper specifications. If that old pedant, Yu Chui, Tang Zun, were to see it, he would likely denounce it as extravagant."

He stopped there, smiled, and said, "In any case, I entrust this matter to you, Master Ziyun."

With that, Chen Chong took his leave, giving Yang Xiong no further chance to refuse. He even left behind two envoys of the Five Majesties, who sat in the courtyard watching Yang Xiong compose the rhapsody, forbidding him to leave.

Yang Xiong's expression was somewhat bitter. Returning to his house, his disciple Wang Long, who was learning rhapsody from him and happened to be present today, could not help but say, "Master, is the Marquis Who Unifies the Excellent pressing you so hard because he harbors a grudge over the time we rescued Boyu from the Master of Fates of the Five Majesties, and is deliberately making things difficult?"

Though simple and honest, he too could see something was amiss.

Yang Xiong, however, said, "It is not solely because of those two matters."

Hou Ba, who had followed Yang Xiong longer and knew more, said, "It couldn't be because Chen Chong is close with Zhang Song, and since you, Master, have never gotten along with Zhang Song, he is deliberately tormenting you?"

Among literati, none admits a rival is first. In the past, Zhang Song and Yang Xiong had vied for supremacy. Zhang Song had a friend who, unlike the poor and abstemious Zhang Song, was fond of wine and lived extravagantly, and liked to quote Yang Xiong's 'Admonition on Wine' to satirize Zhang Song—clearly, he had utterly failed to grasp the piece's sarcastic intent.

But regardless, though Zhang Song and Yang Xiong lived in the same city and both wrote prose, they had no dealings whatsoever and even somewhat looked down on each other.

"Who told you that Chen Chong and Zhang Song are friends?" Yang Xiong still shook his head. Young people see things too simply. The people and affairs of this world are far more complex than that.

"Chen Chong of Nanyang initially made his way in the court through his writing, but he was only a minor official, far less renowned than Zhang Bosong and myself."

"But later, when His Present Majesty was driven from the court by Emperor Ai of Han and returned to Xindu in Nanyang to shut his gate and keep to himself, Chen Chong followed him then, and thus became a trusted confidant."

Chen Chong was the Emperor's most loyal dog, and he was also a venomous snake. Zhang Song's first essay that won him a marquisate was written for self-preservation; the second, extolling the virtues of the Duke Who Pacifies the Han, was coerced by Chen Chong. After all, though Yang Xiong detested Zhang Song's writings, the man himself was truly poor and self-disciplined. Apart from not liking to drink, he was actually somewhat similar to Yang Xiong in his later life.

Therefore, Chen Chong's visit was, on one hand, to fulfill the duties of the Master of Fates of the Five Majesties, summoning the literati to sing loud praises of the Xin Dynasty and help Wang Mang whitewash this war. On the other hand, it was also a covert act of revenge.

Revenge against so-called lofty and self-disciplined literati like Zhang Song and Yang Xiong. Since the whole world was already muddied, he wanted to drag them into the mire too, to make them stir up the waves, to press the heads of these old men down and force them to drink the dregs left by their superiors, to consume the excreted filth. This act of defiling hypocrites brought the true scoundrel Chen Chong immense satisfaction.

"Shall I go seek help from the State Preceptor?"

"This is an edict from His Majesty, likely also entangled with the matter of Yan You. Seeking Liu Zijun would be useless." Yang Xiong shook his head, but he did not stop Wang Long from sending someone to inform Diwu Lun.

Yang Xiong went into his house. Hou Ba prepared everything for him. Facing the plain white silk, he could not bring himself to write for a long time, repeatedly scratching his white head, sighing and groaning.

Yang Xiong knew that he himself was not clean at all, just like a piece of silk cloth splattered with ink stains. The people of Chang'an sang, 'Only the lonely throw themselves from the tower; those who love purity compose mandate omens.' He and his old nemesis Zhang Song were truly like a pair of unfortunate brothers, their reputations long since foul and stinking. By this day, he had no right at all to speak of anything like 'a literatus's integrity.'

With so many debts, one more is no heavier burden. That being the case, why not be a little more carefree, a little more indifferent? Like Zhang Song, who had long given up resisting, why not splash more muddy water onto himself and cease clinging to lofty purity?

Chen Chong's words seemed to echo in his ears: "Master Ziyun, you could once present the discourse 'Denouncing Qin and Praising the New.' Is it truly so difficult to write a similar panegyric today?"

It is very difficult.

Yang Xiong closed his eyes. In what frame of mind had he written that foul thing back then?

Because Yang Xiong had lived through the darkness and decay of the last two emperors of the House of Han. The world had reached a point where change was imperative. And it happened that, five hundred years after Confucius, Wang Mang emerged out of nowhere. Apart from his somewhat unappealing appearance, he was so perfect, from his morals to his words and deeds, a model for the entire realm. Even Yang Xiong had been captivated, believing that this old colleague could establish a foundation of glorious achievements, replace the irredeemable House of Han, and renew the moral order of the world!

It was with that sentiment that the essay had been written.

But ultimately, judging a man by his looks misses Ziyu; judging a man by his words misses Zaiyu. Some things require the scouring of time to be seen clearly.

To ask Yang Xiong today to sing sincere praises as he did back then was truly too difficult.

"Then sing false praises!" A voice in Yang Xiong's heart said this: "During Emperor Cheng's time, didn't you also compose many rhapsodies describing the grandeur of hunting expeditions and extolling the imperial house?"

"That was different!"

Yang Xiong's heart struggled. Given his circumstances at the time, how to express loyal counsel was a matter of wisdom and skill. Sima Xiangru offered a hundred persuasions and one remonstrance, and Yang Xiong was the same. Behind the gorgeous rhetoric lay hidden 'satire' against extravagance and troubling the people. As a literatus, he could not remonstrate directly, so he could only choose to hide a needle in silk. The Han Son of Heaven he had hoped for was a sage ruler who would curb extravagance and alter hunting plans, who would worry for the poor and open granaries for relief, who would open the imperial parks for the people's use, and who would cherish the realm and care for the common people in every way.

It was only a pity that Emperor Cheng of Han was merely blinded by the flattering words in Yang Xiong's rhapsodies.

What he saw and heard in the imperial palace was not only the Emperor's boundless debauchery but also the corruption of the consort clans and the infighting among court officials. All of this, like seeds of loneliness and depression, began to grow in Yang Xiong's heart.

This was the greatest irony. That faint bit of satire and remonstrance hidden within the rhapsody's splendor was utterly useless. It could not forcefully denounce the ills of the age, nor could it petition for the common people. What difference was there from scratching an itch through a boot?

Thus came Yang Xiong's aversion to rhapsody in his later years: this was nothing more than the petty craft of a child carving insect script—a grown man does not engage in it.

But to choose resistance was also at odds with Yang Xiong's lifelong way of conducting himself.

How laughable. Chen Chong wanted to drag him down into the muddy world, yet what Yang Xiong admired most was precisely the principle of the old fisherman in 'The Fisherman': When the waters of the Canglang are clear, I can wash my cap-strings; when the waters of the Canglang are muddy, I can wash my feet.

That was why Yang Xiong had written 'Contra Lisao' back then to mourn Qu Yuan, yet he did not agree with Qu Yuan's choice of death.

"When the noble man meets his time, he acts greatly; when he does not, he coils like a dragon or serpent. Preserving one's life through wisdom is better than endangering oneself."

All his life, he had been obsequious and timid, shrinking into a corner of the chaotic officialdom of Chang'an, even covering his eyes to avoid seeing the turmoil outside, gradually numbing himself in drunkenness. He just never expected that he still could not escape.

A yellow swan, a crow, a carp, a deer—which was he?

Yang Xiong finally picked up the brush. His aged hand trembled slightly. Thinking of his own laughable life, recalling those impassioned times when he had submitted a memorial remonstrating on the Xiongnu matter, the different convictions in his heart fought into a tangled knot.

After a long while, Yang Xiong said to Wang Long, who was grinding ink for him, "Wenshan, how long have I taught you?"

Wang Long bowed. "Your disciple has followed you, Master, for one year now."

Yang Xiong felt some shame towards Wang Long. Just as parents have favorites among their children, so it is with disciples. His attention had mostly been on Diwu Lun; towards Wang Long, he had essentially let him be. Yet this disciple was extremely simple, honest, and hardworking, even though he only wanted to learn the rhapsody form that Yang Xiong no longer much cared for.

"Your natural talent is not bad. You have already read a thousand rhapsodies and can compose fine pieces with elegant diction."

"Let me teach you one more lesson today." Yang Xiong smiled. "To write fu, one must understand what is the fu of a poet, and what is the fu of a rhetorician."

"The fu of a poet is beautiful yet measured; the fu of a rhetorician is beautiful yet excessive. Fu is simply lodging one's intent in things — when writing fu, one must always be true to what the heart thinks and feels. When substance overpowers phrasing, it is crude; when phrasing overpowers substance, it is mere fu; when substance and phrasing are in balance, it becomes a classic."

Even covered in mud, ridiculed time and again by the world, fallen to such straits as today — yet in his heart, he still held fast to certain things.

Yang Xiong gripped the brush and, with great difficulty, wrote the first character. Grief and indignation surged forth from the tip.

"What this old man has sought all his life to leave behind is not fu that are fashionable for a season, but a classic that can be passed down for a thousand years!"