Chapter 16

Heading south from the north down the canal, all he saw was fertile plain after the snow, ten thousand acres of silver-white covering the earth, the willows along both banks swaying the snow piled on their bare branches, shaking off their glittering coats in the north wind. Towns lay thick along this route — the small no more than county villages of a hundred-odd households, the large famous prefectural cities like Leling and Shangyuan — but the boatman, fearing the ice-flood, dared not linger for fear of missing the schedule, only resupplying at some of the towns and setting off again at once.

The last and largest city on the canal was the capital.

Ten-odd li out from the capital, the scene was already thick with people; from far off he could hear the work-chants of the trackers as boats came ashore, warehouses and lodging-houses everywhere, and children romping in a few idle threshing grounds. As the boats on the canal gradually grew more numerous, the passenger boat slowed too; they passed two long bridges to reach the capital's outskirts — and even this, to Zhuo Siheng's eyes, was livelier than the main-street market of Ningshuo City.

When the Jinshui Gate came into view — vermilion-lacquered, its bracket sets and upturned eaves poised as if to take flight — the true imperial city, at the very feet of the Son of Heaven, revealed its flourishing splendor to Zhuo Siheng for the first time.

The capital lay at the very center of the realm, the depth of winter's cold less bitter here than in the north, no snow to be seen on the gates or the walls. The Transport Office yamen jutted half out over the water, and the fire-watch tower nearby was a tall building too, all but blocking off half his view. Far and near stood teahouses and eating-houses lining the water, their patrons long since used to the din of the canal, each eating his own meal, not sparing so much as a glance his way.

He'd fancied before that once he reached the capital he'd surely compare in his mind, and carefully, the scenes his parents had described with what he saw himself; but now, having passed through the Jinshui Gate and along the thriving waterway, having met the eyes of the countless passersby and shopkeepers and households on both banks, his heart was empty, with only one thing he wanted to say and no one to say it to.

Mother, Father — I've come home ahead of you!

Once off the boat and caught up in the bustle, this "homesickness" that shouldn't have been his vanished without a trace. Zhuo Siheng first found an inn where he could put up for the time being, then went to the post station he'd agreed on with cousin Fan to leave word of his arrival and where he was staying, and only then asked after the location of the Ministry of Rites. It was already toward evening, the sky at the join of light and dark, so he decided to eat something first and get himself settled, and go to register and report in the next day.

The inn's room rates were dear, its meals dearer still; just as he was planning to go out for a wander and find a little stall to fill his belly, Fan Xiliang, of all things, found him.

It turned out that ever since returning to the capital Fan Xiliang had had the post-station couriers keep an eye out for Zhuo Siheng, to hurry and tell him the moment he came to leave word.

Fan Xiliang insisted on giving Zhuo Siheng a welcome dinner and celebrating his top-graduate honors besides, dragging him off to a restaurant that looked far from cheap, ordering a whole table of dishes, and telling him, brimming with delight, all the arrangements he'd made for him.

"You've found me a place to stay for these two months already?"

Zhuo Siheng was astonished at how quickly Fan Xiliang got things done, and warmed by it, but he still didn't want his cousin spending money on him, and made up his mind to decline gently — only this time Fan Xiliang, always so slow and easy a talker, cut in ahead of him: "I know what you're going to say, Cousin, so don't worry. This place... it's really not that fine, so of course it didn't cost much — only a bit of grain and rice. Inns and lodging-houses in the capital are dearer by the day now, and with the year's end near, a lot of private homes won't take in outside lodgers either. The place I found you outside the city is actually a temple; I went there a few times in the old days, burning incense with my mother — quiet and pleasant, nowhere better for staying and studying in peace, and all they take is a little grain as an offering, so I truly spent almost nothing. My only fear is you'll mind that it's far out in the suburbs and awkward to come and go."

To have a quiet place to read and prepare for the exam, with no worry about food or sleep, was an arrangement that couldn't be bettered. A thousand grateful thoughts gathered in his heart, and there was a sour sting of tears in his nose. Zhuo Siheng knew that however he thanked his cousin now it would fall light; for years of deep affection, the only way to repay even a little was to be brothers from here on — and surely that was what his cousin truly wished for. Were it himself running about for his own brother and sisters, he too would do it not for any thanks or return, but out of a genuine wish for the family to be at peace and in harmony and to share happy times together.

But he still thanked him once, in earnest, first, and then picked out some things he'd seen on the road to tell Fan Xiliang; sure enough, at the first word of thanks the other was quite unable to bear it, waving his hand and saying that among family there was no need for such talk — but as the tales went on, his cousin's eyes shone, and he kept tugging at him to ask for more.

Zhuo Siheng felt this cousin of his was rather more of a child than Xiheng. Back home, only Ciheng most loved to ask about amusing things from the outside world; Xiheng never said a word — if Zhuo Siheng told a story, he'd listen quietly, and if Zhuo Siheng was busy with something else, he'd read alone, never asking, never curious, often seeming more of a grown-up than Zhuo Siheng himself.

When the talk came to his boat-collision and chance meeting with the prefectural runner-up, and drinking tea in the snow, Fan Xiliang found the man most interesting too; hearing Zhuo Siheng say he seemed of considerable means, and thinking that his cousin surely knew not a single one of the great-house sons in the capital, he asked what this Ningxing runner-up was called.

Before Zhuo Siheng could speak, someone slipped into the private room where they were dining and talking.

It was Fan Xiliang's personal attendant, who'd been at his side back in Ningxing too; with anxiety and worry on his face, he paid no mind to Zhuo Siheng still being there but rushed to Fan Xiliang's side, two steps at a stride, and urged him: "Young master, just now I saw someone going off to carry word to the household again! Hurry home — if you're late back, the master will punish you again."

The flush of excitement drained at once from Fan Xiliang's face; he rose in a fluster, full of apology. "Cousin... something's come up at home, I have to hurry back..."

Zhuo Siheng knew his cousin's home life was rather fraught and complicated, but this, however he looked at it, was no simple "something's come up." He thought a moment, and drew him back down to sit. "Whatever it is, why not tell me about it first?"

"Young Master Zhuo! Please, just let our young master go home!" The attendant, quick of tongue, pleaded urgently. "Last time, when our young master went to Ningxing to find you, some sharp-tongued lackeys from the household who'd gone to sit the exam alongside him told the master. Our young master didn't dare say he was seeking a cousin, only that he was traveling north to look around after the exam — and he got a scolding and the family rod for it, and knelt three days in the ancestral hall! This time, if he's slipped out and gets back late again, there's no telling how those wretches will twist it for the master's ears."

Hearing all this, Zhuo Siheng looked again at Fan Xiliang's expression and knew it was all true. That being so, he could all the less stand by and do nothing about his cousin's plight. He told his cousin not to fret, asked a few more questions about how he and his father usually got on and the state of the household, and at once had a plan; he laid out his thoughts and his strategy in careful detail. Fan Xiliang, who'd been unable to sit still, gradually calmed as he listened, though he still hesitated. "Will this... will this really work?"

Zhuo Siheng's smile could always set people at ease, and now too he smiled calmly. "If your father is really as you've always described, then it's bound to work. When my own father was alive he was often called on to settle petty household disputes among the villagers; between any father and son, I think, whether in an official's house or a farmer's, this sort of thing always runs on the same lines. Give it a try — I can't promise how things will go afterward, but this time you certainly won't be punished. Remember what I've told you, and be sure to say it just so when you get back. Tomorrow we'll go to the Ministry of Rites to report in together; I'll see you at the inn."

No one had ever given Fan Xiliang advice on how to hold his own at home, nor cared like this about how he got on with his father or whether he was punished, and he'd never once poured out the misery of his home life to anyone. On the road back to the mansion after parting from Zhuo Siheng, his heart held both unease and contentment: even if he was punished today, he'd gained a brother willing to think on his behalf — and even so, it was worth it!

Someone was peering about before the gate of the Fan mansion, and darted off in a streak the moment they saw the eldest young master return. Fan Xiliang's attendant was named Fan Yong; he'd grown up with him from childhood, and at this sight anger flared in his heart, and he couldn't help bursting out: "Off to carry word to that sharp-tongued shrew again!"

How could Fan Xiliang not know why his every word and move reached his father's ears so easily, and always twisted and bent, told in the ugliest way possible? But she was his stepmother, after all, and there were proprieties he had to keep, so he could only resign himself. Today, though, a strange little courage rose up in him, a wish to see whether he too might try to turn around this helpless round that had repeated for so many years.

Sure enough, no sooner had he stepped through the gate than he was summoned by his father to the study.

Fan Xun was around forty, grown stout, with a thoroughly well-to-do air; but just now his face was set ill, brows bristling and eyes glaring, with the look of a mountain storm about to break, so that his portliness took on a certain menace.

Seeing his son come in with head bowed to make his greeting, his anger flared all at once; with a crack he smashed the teacup in his hand and, pointing at Fan Xiliang, raged: "The departmental exam is right after the New Year, and after failing last year I've seen not a shred of shame or effort in you — the same good-for-nothing airs as ever! What time is this to be off drinking and carousing with people, and only now knowing to come home? You're the eldest son of this house; if you amount to so little, what example does that set your brother Xitang? He's a mere child and already far better than you, by my reckoning! At your age I'd long since had a degree to my name! And all you know is to make merry and run wild every day, taking the family's silver out to show off and throw around — a fine young gentleman, a fine eldest young master of the Fan house!"

Halfway through, Fan Xiliang's eyes were already hot and his heart sore. He badly wanted to explain that in this whole month he'd gone out only this one day, spending the rest at home studying; that each month he took only the allowance due him, never drawing freely on the accounts office; that even the money for today's welcome dinner for his cousin was what he'd saved up in the ordinary way. But the words rose to his lips, and then he remembered Zhuo Siheng's charge: whatever your father says, just say yes, go along with him, don't explain; own the fault first, then come round by degrees.

So, forcing down the bitterness, he said in a low voice, "Father is right to reprove me. Your son knows his fault. To come home so late and make you worry and angry is unfilial of me; please, Father, take care of your health."

Ordinarily, when he'd raged at him, his son would put on the look of one grievously wronged and rush to argue back, his words growing more muddled the more he spoke — utterly hopeless — and the more Fan Xun watched the angrier he'd grow, wondering how he could have sired so useless a beast. Today, somehow, his son had changed his nature, actually owning his fault, and there was even, all of a sudden, a note of filial feeling in his words. Fan Xun went from anger to suspicion; but the sight of Fan Xiliang still called up many past unpleasantnesses, and he said coldly, "And where were you until now? Does it take your old man near dying of rage for you to remember your filial duty? Speak! What were you doing today? And with whom?"

"Your son wouldn't dare deceive you." Fan Xiliang drew a deep breath and, holding fast to the words Zhuo Siheng had taught him, said earnestly, "Today I met a fellow candidate from the same roll, whom I got to know at the prefectural exam. A relative of his has some dealings with His Honor Zeng, the chief examiner this time; I once helped him with a few small matters, so today he invited me to drink with him — first to thank me, and second to tell me a few things about the departmental exam."

At this Fan Xun was slightly taken aback; he'd never thought his dull, obtuse eldest son had any friends of use to a career. But on second thought — could the wretched boy be lying to escape punishment? He slammed the table and barked, "Nonsense! As if I don't know what pack of good-for-nothing cronies you keep about you!"

"Father, see clearly, I beg you!" Fan Xiliang's tone had grown urgent again — but luckily Zhuo Siheng's guidance surfaced once more in his mind: stay calm, don't rush; now and then it's no bad thing even to wear a smile as you offer a word of apology; even while you're being scolded, you must have confidence in what you say, so that others will believe you — your own father is no exception. So he made himself smile, apologetic and mild, and slowed his voice: "Calm your anger, Father. Your son isn't always so hopeless; this time I really have learned something to the point."

Sure enough, seeing his son actually smiling, Fan Xun thought: could there really be some inside knowledge here? On the surface, though, he kept up appearances, gave a cold snort and turned his face away — which was, in his silence, a sign for Fan Xiliang to go on.

Fan Xiliang's mind was a blank just then, with only Zhuo Siheng's words flashing through it:

Praise him — before you deliver the most important point, praise your father to death!

"Father, you are diligent in your official duties and have never flattered or curried favor, so it's only right you should be unaware of much of the inside dealing — that is the very root of your clean and upright name, and your son admires it greatly. But for this departmental exam I wished only to try to bring honor to the family and win you a little face at court, and so I went to that gathering; I beg your pardon for it." Seeing Fan Xun's expression ease as he looked at him, Fan Xiliang went on, "My friend from the same roll told me that His Honor Zeng is a close minister of His Majesty's, and that the two of them often discuss essays and poetry together; the rhapsodies of the Han, Wei and Six Dynasties in particular His Honor Zeng reads most at home, and he often holds forth on them grandly before His Majesty. Now that he's been named chief examiner, though we'd never dare presume to guess, it can only be good to prepare a little more."

"That level of composition of yours... never mind, never mind — even if it's really so, I don't see you passing this time either," Fan Xun said with a long sigh.

Fan Xiliang's heart chilled a little, the sour, forlorn feeling in him thickening; but Zhuo Siheng had told him that whatever cold words he heard, he must see it through to the end and on no account give up halfway, so he propped up his smile and said, "Your son knows well enough his writing is nothing much — but I mustn't let that make me despond and so disgrace the family name and your face, Father; all the more must I rouse myself. The reason I'm home so late isn't that I only know how to eat and drink; I made a detour to the Pengchao Studio on Zhuque Avenue and bought two collections of Han, Wei and Six Dynasties rhapsody." This last was what Zhuo Siheng had told him to buy back no matter how late it made him.

Hearing that it was buying books that had made him late, on top of what he'd said before, Fan Xun was by now not so angry — yet he felt that his outburst today had been groundless and put him in the wrong, robbing him of a father's standing to scold his son, and that having roared for nothing he couldn't well climb down without losing face. So he brazened it out, pitched his voice higher, and picked a fault: "Why two of them? Spending your old man's money, and no thought for it?"

Cousin had said: at the very last, be sure to bring in your brother, or all the earlier effort is wasted.

Fan Xiliang clasped his hands, deepened his voice, and with a grave, earnest face said, "How would your son dare! One of them is mine; the other is for my brother. My brother's compositions are finer than mine, and though he's not yet of age or standing to sit this grace examination, next time he'll surely try his hand in earnest. As his elder brother, I thought, first, that I should study and set him an example, and second, that I might scout the ground ahead for him — whether I myself pass the departmental exam or not is beside the point; I'll keep the questions in mind and, coming home, set them for my brother, so that he can try them first under your guidance, Father, and have a little experience by the time he sits the exam himself. So I brought back an extra copy for my brother to study and for you to instruct him from. I hope you'll discern the intent behind this, Father! My brother and I both mean to study and better ourselves, to ease the family's cares and yours; in the matter of the examinations and our studies, my brother and I are of course of one heart as brothers — there's nothing else to it."

His words were open and aboveboard, every one striking home in Fan Xun's heart, leaving him thoroughly at ease within and without; he was already stroking his beard lightly and nodding without pause, thinking that after all this was his eldest son, and however unpromising, he'd reached an age of sense, and wasn't so worthless a wretch. But his own face had been somewhat dented by an outburst that had put him in the wrong, so in the end he still wouldn't give his son a kind look, ordering him to study hard, and to be punished yet if he did poorly — keeping up a bluster to shore up, however feebly, a father's dignity.

Back in his room, Fan Xiliang was reading and reviewing when, to his surprise, his father actually sent someone with some of the ginger-and-jujube honey tea he himself usually drank in winter, telling him to rest early and not forget he had to report to the Ministry of Rites the next day.

Overwhelmed by the unexpected favor — it was the first time his father had ever shown him such concern — Fan Xiliang felt much of the sour grief in his heart dispelled by the warm tea. Fan Yong, his attendant, seemed even happier than he was, and couldn't help exclaiming, "Young Master Zhuo really can foresee things like a god! He's never once met the master, yet he guessed every word right — and the young master not only wasn't punished but got a reward, the first time in all these years! I hear that when someone from over there came sniffing around and learned you'd gotten back to your quarters safe and sound, she flew into a great rage and even smashed things! Serves her right!"

"You're not to speak of Mother that way." Fan Xiliang checked Fan Yong gently. "Today's business is over and done; don't make things hard for Mother."

Fan Yong nodded his assent and, still beaming, went off to get the eldest young master's things ready for going out the next day, leaving Fan Xiliang alone in the study, everywhere hushed and still.

"Mother, this must be much how it was for you and Auntie once — supporting each other, keeping nothing from one another..." Fan Xiliang gazed quietly at the verses urging study that his mother had brushed for him on the wall, a boundless tenderness welling up in his heart. "Your son has a brother now too, one he can tell his heart to. You can rest easy, Mother..."