Chapter 18

Hearing that the banquet was privately held, Zhuo Siheng feared the bother and wasn't much inclined to go; but Tong Shipei, in a tone of exquisite mystery, told him that the Fengle Tower's proprietor gave every top graduate some mysterious gift each time, and that the food there was truly delicious — and that since Zhuo Siheng had won the Ningxing place away from him fair and square, he simply had to go and see for himself on his behalf, and come back and tell him what that mysterious gift actually was.

Put that way, Zhuo Siheng's curiosity was piqued too, and the lure of good food was no small thing besides; in the end he went to the banquet willingly enough.

Because the dynasty kept no curfew, after dark the streets of the capital were still packed with people, the night markets as lively as ever even in winter. The welcome arch before the Fengle Tower was the tallest and largest on the whole street, hung all over with colored signs and streamers, palace lanterns of every hue strung along its outreaching branches, so that seen at night it was as if a host of stars had truly come scattering down to shine before one's eyes.

Zhuo Siheng passed through the welcome arch and handed his card to the greeter at the door; seeing it was a top graduate come for the Constellation Banquet, the greeter grew especially attentive and led him up to the fifth floor. Up here it was nearly level with some of the palace buildings; gazing off into the distance, one could faintly make out the blazing lamplight within the palace, and the whole capital lay within a glance up or down, the lights of the streets and lanes like pale-gold rivers, carrying the peace of living things to every corner of the mortal world.

Dining here, one could hardly help feeling the grand ambition of a man about to lay his plans and set a hand on the affairs of state; no wonder that, all the way up, the poems inscribed on the walls were in bold, sweeping characters, flung down in a burst of ardent blood.

But Zhuo Siheng was a good deal cooler. He felt a kind of distant discord with the atmosphere the place cultivated; toward things not yet won, tangible or intangible, keeping an objective distance in how one regarded them was, he thought, to everyone's good. And yet to say he didn't want them would be far too false. Ten years at the cold window to reach the height of a minister's station — he'd long since accepted that scale of values; and the main thing was that this measured, well-judged ambition could serve his aim of standing higher to experience and feel this world, and of bringing to his family — those still living and those gone alike — the life and the comfort they'd longed for.

But honestly, looking down from a height, it seemed as though every view turned beautiful.

While he was thinking this, someone had already opened the door of the banqueting hall for him.

A warm, fragrant air rushed to meet him. Zhuo Siheng had expected to be greeted by the smell of dishes and meat, but found instead a scent of refined elegance that would fill no belly. In the broad hall he saw there was neither table nor chair; a scenic railed walkway ran round the hall, but with the depth of winter's cold, embroidered velvet drapes had been let down all around, while silver-inlaid lamp-stands cast their crossing light every few steps, lighting the whole hall bright as day, beaded curtains and tassels strung between them, and all its splendor and delicate beauty threw a haze of light across the room.

At the very center ran a winding stone channel cut into the ground, curving round from the doorway, meandering into an oval in the middle of the hall, and at last trailing off behind a rockery in one corner, where it turned into a cascade and so came round again. The top graduates of the various prefectures who'd already arrived were seated on the floor around the watercourse in the hall; seeing another arrive, they rose to greet him. Zhuo Siheng, having met them all, found an inconspicuous corner and sat down on one of the cushions laid out.

Apart from the four northern prefectures of Lingzhou, Shuozhou, Rongzhou and Weizhou, which tested together with Ningxing, and the three southern prefectures of Weizhou, Wuzhou and Leizhou, which — their candidates numbering under a hundred — were merged into the Jiangnan prefectural exam, the remaining nineteen prefectures and Zhongjing, the superior prefecture of the capital, tested each on its own; so the Constellation Banquet gathered under one roof all twenty-two top graduates of the Zhenyuan-ten grace examination.

Proprietor Hong of the Fengle Tower personally led a dozen or more serving-maids to offer wine and tend the candles, protesting all the while that his hospitality fell short, and wishing those present the top place in the departmental and palace exams, and to strive for the triple first. Straightaway the fine dishes were set each in its dish and floated into the stone channel, drifting slowly past before them all; and Proprietor Hong quietly withdrew, leaving only the top graduates to share the feast together.

Naturally someone first praised the Fengle Tower for its elegance, for being able to conjure up this Wei-Jin refinement of the winding stream and floating cups. At first many still couldn't drop the airs of the scholar, but those here were essentially the top students, who'd studied without let-up for the departmental exam all this while; today, given a rare chance to steal half a day's leisure, in no time they were all chatting this way and that.

Zhuo Siheng knew that many words mean sure slips, and that it was better to eat and listen quietly; if there were amusing things to see and hear, he could share them with his cousin and Tong Shipei when he got back, and so not have come for nothing.

And the dishes were delicious besides; the several crucian-carp preparations alone were each done differently. Xiheng loved fish best — if only he could learn to make them and cook them for his brother when he got home. But how would a master chef at a famous house like this be willing to teach his secret methods? So Zhuo Siheng ate his fish decorously off to the side, using his well-developed palate to work out the seasonings and the method.

At first the talk around him was confined to the exam; many of them clearly had family serving at court and knew that His Honor Zeng was chief examiner this time — yet not one of them spoke of His Honor Zeng's fondness for the rhapsodies of the Han, Wei and Six Dynasties, as though there were no such thing.

Once everyone was full of wine and flushed, the talk began to unfold in a strange direction.

Tang Qifei, the top graduate of Qingzhou, first broached the naming of the crown prince that had begun this grace examination. Because of his family's calamity, Zhuo Siheng was extremely sensitive to those two words, "crown prince"; whenever they came up he fell silent at once and never said a word more. But which of these scholars had ever seen with his own eyes the bloody storm of those years? A few prudently held their tongues, but some others were quite without reserve — though even they, it seemed, meant to sound out the opinions of the rest, rather than being truly loose-mouthed.

Only, some, seemingly carried away in their high spirits, dropped their guard and talked away without restraint.

Zhuo Siheng only listened quietly, and learned that the crown prince was just twelve this year; that he had no full brothers or sisters, being the empress's only child; that he was said to be very sensible and well-mannered, and that at the start of the year, when the emperor fell ill, he'd waited on him day and night without the least slackness, and it was this that had moved the imperial countenance to name him crown prince.

"I'd heard, actually, that the emperor most favored the clever, brilliant second prince?"

"Cleverness is no match for benevolence and filial piety — that is the ancient bond of moral order. And besides, the emperor has always taken the greatest care over the crown prince's studies; that's known to all, court and country alike."

"Just so. They say this examination isn't only to select talent for the state, but also to store up talent and staff for the crown prince's Eastern Palace; pass high, and you might well skip the hard, thankless posts and rise to the sky in a single step — who's to say."

Not necessarily, thought Zhuo Siheng.

"Not necessarily."

Someone had suddenly spoken his very thought aloud; Zhuo Siheng started, and looked over along with everyone else. The speaker was none other than Tang Qifei, the top graduate of Qingzhou — a man of the Tang clan of Wanyang, whose uncles were all pillars of the court, and who, when he'd introduced himself earlier, had worn an air of pride; now, cutting into the very topic he'd raised, he raised his voice too.

Seeing everyone turn their eyes on him in silence, Tang Qifei instead poured and drank a cup by himself; and when he raised his eyes again, his gaze fell on Zhuo Siheng. "Serving in the Eastern Palace — is that so easy a post? The case of the treasonous heir — if any of your families had someone who once served at court, no doubt they'd know of it; the fortune or ruin that comes of entering the Eastern Palace is anyone's guess." Tang Qifei lifted his chin and gave a little smile. "If you don't believe me, go and ask Top Graduate Zhuo — his grandfather was once the treasonous heir's Supervisor of the Household of the Heir Apparent. The Zhuo family are a distinguished house of Hanchuan in Xuanzhou, yet here he is a top graduate of Ningxing. As for what it truly tastes like to serve a crown prince... among us, only he would know."

The eyes now gathering on Zhuo Siheng were of every kind: some startled, some blank, some who seemed to have known all along and were not surprised, only watching quietly, and some who seemed to have been waiting for this very moment, gloating.

Zhuo Siheng asked himself honestly: across the two lifetimes he'd lived, each of about twenty years, taking all that time together, he counted as an even-tempered man — he didn't quarrel with people, seldom traded spite with anyone, could digest most of his feelings himself rather than let them fester, and never let another's will sway or shift his state of mind.

But at this moment, he was very, very angry.

Even so, Zhuo Siheng kept an air of calm, mild composure, not so much as a brow moving as he spoke: "I've only just gained the standing of a juren, and have never held any office, high or low; I've never so much as set eyes on the crown prince, so I truly know nothing of how things stand in the Eastern Palace."

Angry as he was, Zhuo Siheng stayed cool, unwilling to be drawn into the question they were debating. He found it odd: why would this fellow surnamed Tang bring such a matter up in a place like this? With his family all at court, could he not know what should and shouldn't be said? Or was he not aiming at the crown prince at all, but at Zhuo Siheng himself?

Sure enough, hearing him say this, Tang Qifei was like a fist striking cotton, with nowhere to land his force; still he would not let up. "Do you mean to say your father never told you the old story of how your grandfather was condemned on account of the treasonous heir?"

Among those seated were not only sons of great official houses but a few from humble families too; they knew of the old case but not necessarily its full course, and were all in a fog, not daring to speak up. Yet they hadn't even the chance to murmur among themselves before Zhuo Siheng — mild and gentlemanly a moment ago — rose abruptly, his handsome face turned to stern, killing frost, and rebuked Tang Qifei coldly: "Brother Tang, you and I have the good fortune to attend this banquet together, and should we win distinction in future, we'll share the bond of the same roll besides. Why then do you now, with a trumped-up charge, cast my late father into dishonor?"

Even Tang Qifei was cowed by this sudden force of presence, and the others were all the more silenced, not daring to speak.

What did any of this have to do with anything...

In the sternest tone of this life of his, Zhuo Siheng threw himself fully into it and said coldly: "My late father was loyal to his sovereign and loved his country all his life, and never uttered half a word of complaint. After our family received the grace of the general amnesty, my late father taught his children to hold fast in memory the imperial grace and benevolence, to study diligently and spur ourselves on, and to give ourselves body and heart, to the last, in service of this sage ruler — and yet you would try, through my own mouth, to frame my father!"

"It's you who are spouting vicious slander and talking nonsense!" Tang Qifei, recovering himself now, rose and retorted in kind.

Zhuo Siheng at once took a step forward and said sharply: "You say my late father told me of my grandfather's condemnation — but that crime has been pardoned; what crime is there left to tell of? If my family still would not let it go and kept it forever on our lips, would that not be my late father bearing a grudge against His Majesty over a bygone matter? Had I answered you, that would be to have received the imperial grace and my father's charge in vain! We met only today; I know of no way I have ever offended you, that you should force upon my family so treasonous and unspeakable a charge. You ask this question with ill intent — I am ashamed to sit together with a man like you, who knows neither father nor sovereign! Good day!"

With that he started for the door.

Several top graduates who'd seen early on that something was wrong, fearing the matter would blow up, hurried out to make peace; those who'd exchanged a word or two with Zhuo Siheng earlier drew him back to his seat, and someone who seemed an old friend of Tang Qifei's murmured something in his ear. Tang Qifei's face had already gone pale under Zhuo Siheng's tongue-lashing, and now it was more like white paper; biting his lip a long while, he grudgingly made Zhuo Siheng a hasty and thoroughly unwilling bow, and said, "Forgive me, Brother Zhuo; your younger brother had a cup too many and spoke amiss — don't hold it against me." Words of apology though they were, he brought them out far too stiffly, without a shred of contrition in them.

Given ample face to climb down, Zhuo Siheng didn't press it; with a cold snort he went back and sat down. He was seated, but his heart was still thumping wildly.

Quarreling really was hard physical labor! His whole forehead had broken out in sweat.

In truth, angry as he was, he wouldn't ordinarily vent it this way; only, if he didn't use a burst of fury to override this man's murky attack, then once talk turned to court affairs, every word he said would be a word he could get wrong. He didn't want to leave behind incautious words and deeds so early on, so better to just flip the board over — then no one need guess at anyone's motives or plot countermeasures — and when he got back, ask his cousin and Tong Shipei what exactly was the matter with this fellow Tang.

The mood had gone from merry harmony to each nursing his own thoughts to stiff awkwardness, and at last an ice-breaker came forth to bravely challenge the atmosphere of the banquet. The one who rose to his feet was not, in build or looks, outstanding among the company, but he had a pair of round, clear eyes, most delicate, that curved into a bright arc when he smiled — very good to look at. This was Jin Jia, the top graduate of Suzhou, courtesy name Leshan; it was he who'd worked hard just now to smooth things over and, with many kind words, drawn Zhuo Siheng back to his seat.

"Let us drink another toast — this time to His Majesty, that his line be long and his fortune and years without end." His pitch was low, his words distinct, his speech a touch slow, like a slow-natured, good-hearted soul.

So all drank the toast together, and someone — no telling who — took up Jin Jia's words and remarked, "His Majesty has just had his fifth son; what great good fortune indeed." And after that the talk turned to the newly born addition to the palace's exalted.

Listening closely, Zhuo Siheng learned no little from it. It turned out the child was born of Consort Luo, the most favored in the palace; in the two years since she'd entered the palace Consort Luo had been almost without rival in prominence, and now, in the fullness of favor, she'd borne a prince besides. His Majesty was said to mean to raise her to Noble Consort — only her father was no more than a petty citrus officer of Bazhou, and the empress had deliberately obstructed it, so that as yet no edict of elevation had come; but most guessed that by the fifth prince's hundred-day celebration, Consort Luo would surely have risen a rung higher.

"I heard that when Consort Luo's father passed away some time ago, His Majesty wished to grant hereditary privilege to the nephews and younger men of Consort Luo's family, but the lady declined it all, and only had her younger sister brought to the capital."

"Her ladyship Consort Luo is virtuous; she has no brothers, only the one younger sister, so the bond between the sisters must be deep. I hear that since coming to the capital, Consort Luo's own sister has been living at the residence of the Grand Princess Xuanyi, and seems much cherished by the princess."

The Grand Princess Xuanyi was the emperor's own younger sister, as Zhuo Siheng had just heard someone mention.

"More than that — at the Empress Dowager's birthday feast the other day, it seems the old lady too..."

"Enough!"

At the sudden bellow, everyone turned as one to look at Zhuo Siheng — but he was quietly eating, and had been startled himself; so they sought the source of the voice again, and saw Peng Shihu, the top graduate of Taizhou, who'd been sitting beside Zhuo Siheng all along, rise abruptly, his eyes full of disgust sweeping over the company before he said loudly: "That we gather in this place is already to let our studies go to waste; that you don't discuss the books and the sages, very well — but with this decadent chatter and idle gossip in every other breath, you've thrown away the whole face of the scholars of the realm!"

That "Enough!" of his had been enormously loud, and Zhuo Siheng, seated nearest him, now had an ache right inside his ears. Had he not known that Peng Shihu had sat the prefectural exam in Taizhou, he'd truly have suspected the man was the big-voiced candidate who'd cried out on the night watch beside him during his own prefectural exam. But he'd noticed earlier that Peng Shihu had spoken only once, when introducing himself, and had kept a black face and said nothing since; perhaps he'd simply reached his limit and so burst out with these heated words.

But Zhuo Siheng felt quite wronged at being lumped into the scolding: he'd spoken only twice himself, once to introduce himself and once to quarrel. A few other top graduates who'd stayed quiet throughout were innocent too, and now could only look helplessly at Peng Shihu — one could see they badly wished to clear themselves and protest that they didn't really enjoy this sort of occasion.

His tone was harsh, and from his dress and family background one could guess he was of humble stock; many of the top graduates from high and great houses now wore faces full of scorn and mild reproof, as if they felt he didn't understand the ways of such a banquet, his measure and his discernment alike unfit to be seen.

The awkward atmosphere spread again, and it fell once more to Jin Jia to step in; he stood up, poured a cup with a genial smile and offered it to Peng Shihu. "Brother Peng, cool your anger — it's only idle talk. Studying is hard; there's no harm in speaking of other things now and then, no harm at all..."

But before his words had died away, the cup hit the ground first: Peng Shihu, his face full of fury, knocked away the offered hand with great force, and the wine spilled all over Zhuo Siheng, who sat nearest.

He did grieve for his robe.

"You're a scholar, not a fawning courtesan of the pleasure quarters! Not a shred of backbone!" He glared at Jin Jia, his words utterly without courtesy.

Most people, hearing this, would likely have bristled with rage; but Jin Jia was truly a man to match his courtesy name, taking joy in goodness, and though embarrassment showed on his face, he still said, "Don't be angry, Brother Peng... we're all about to share the same roll and sit the departmental exam together, and in future we'll be seeing each other at every turn..."

But Peng Shihu was not like Zhuo Siheng, who'd climb down when offered a step; he gave a cold snort, swept a loathing gaze around the room, and said, "I am ashamed to share a roll with the likes of you!" — and with that strode off, head high.

This fellow was really too rash... but come to think of it, maybe he'd truly been vexed past bearing by the racket. Zhuo Siheng was a bit fed up himself, actually; only, having come all this way, he'd have to get the gift before he left, whatever else.

Many of them had never swallowed such an insult, and began cursing Peng Shihu roundly, pointing at the door — each curse met with a cheer. Just as feelings ran high and things threatened to get out of hand, Proprietor Hong appeared in good time, presenting each top graduate with a prepared brocade pouch, calling it only a small token of his good wishes, and had an eight-panel screen carried in, stretched with snow-white silk; attendants offered up brushes and inkstones, and requested that the graduates leave their brushwork, as was the custom.

So everyone reined in their feelings for the moment and turned to pondering how to inscribe verse that might outshine all the other stars. A few, quick of thought, had already set down their lines. To leave writing in a place like this, a full poem wasn't fitting — even a quatrain risked seeming too long and showy — so all followed the example of their predecessors and wrote a line or a couplet, of four, five, six or seven characters, no limit set.

Tang Qifei too completed a line, and having written it, did not forget to glance provokingly at Zhuo Siheng.

What he'd written was a five-character couplet:

A hundred boats strive for the single leap; braving wind and wave, they tread the moonlit stair.

Not bad for style, Zhuo Siheng judged inwardly. But the others all seemed to like it very much, finding it grand and out of the common run, full of cloud-grasping ambition, and the praise came without pause.

By now Jin Jia had finished his lines too:

Time plods lonely on, hurrying the hair to gray; spilled waters rush and rush, and fling our youth away.

It was the traditional cautionary maxim that time never stops and must be treasured; having no great novelty to it, the others only praised it perfunctorily, for form's sake.

Zhuo Siheng had been thinking a while, and when his turn came he took up the brush; he'd written one line when he heard someone behind him praise the calligraphy, but by the time both lines were done, most wore a look of some disdain, and Tang Qifei gave a light sneer, thoroughly contemptuous.

What he'd written was:

Silver-thread crucian, that once raced the swift boats; glazed in honey, ferried across — bear with the bones, and swallow the sweet.

Many were left speechless, but only Tang Qifei said it aloud: "Others speak of ambition, and you speak of fish — did you come all this way to sit an examination and gain nothing but an appetite?"

It was simply praise for how well the Fengle Tower's signature dish, the silver-thread crucian carp, was made: fresh live crucian netted from the Tai River, that had just been racing the boats in the current, then stewed tender over a low flame in a honey sauce to bring out the flavor, and finished with a glaze of thickened sauce — so that however bony the crucian was, everyone still flocked to taste the delicacy.

Only, everyone felt that, judging by how glibly Top Graduate Zhuo had spoken earlier, his lines, simple as they were, might hold some deep meaning or allusion, some sharp satire hidden within. Each read his own meaning into them — but only Zhuo Siheng knew that he really was just praising how well the fish was done.

Because his ambition was not something he needed to write down for others to see.

So he might as well speak of good food — which was perhaps the only thing about this Constellation Banquet that made him feel it had been at all worth the trip.

Soon he found a second.

Back at the meditation room, Zhuo Siheng opened the brocade pouch Proprietor Hong of the Fengle Tower had given him: inside, besides a few small trinkets like fan pendants, there was actually a little gold token, a thumb long and wide, carved in seal script with the words "Passed the Exam"!

Now this was well worth it!

He found himself suddenly hoping there'd be another such meal after the departmental exam — even with Tang Qifei's face to look at, he could still put that meal away.