Chapter 26

After the ceremony of thanks, the most important change in their standing complete, the new jinshi each returned home to gather with their families and share the joy. Zhuo Siheng was perhaps the most excited of them all: he could hardly wait to go to the post station and send a letter home, telling his family to come quickly — your big brother's taken the top prize, and the organization is even handing out housing!

He also wrote urging Old Huyan to come to the capital as well, to live out his years in ease — that way it would be convenient for Brother Xiao Yong to visit him when he came back from the south. Uncle Zhu the Fifth had his army post and couldn't leave it at will; if Fifth Aunt could come when she had the time, so much the better. Then he wrote out a great heap of things to mind on the way to the capital, and deposited a large part of the money the emperor had granted at a deposit-house, exchanging it for silver notes to send home to his sisters and brother as travel money, keeping just a little on hand against emergencies.

Only tomorrow could the Court of the Palace Treasury hand over the residence the emperor had granted, so today he still had to spend one more night at Xishi Temple.

Just after dusk, when the temple's lamps and candles were newly lit and the pilgrims had all left, Zhuo Siheng packed his baggage, meaning to take his leave of the abbot and add some incense-money besides, in gratitude for the care the whole temple had shown him these days.

The abbot was at his evening devotions; not wanting to sit idle in his room, and with his excitement at being able to bring his family gradually giving way to a tangle of feelings, Zhuo Siheng felt an urgent need just then for quiet thought, and so went to the dharma hall where the monks did their daily practice.

Standing alone gazing at the bodhisattva statue in the dharma hall, Zhuo Siheng had no mind to pray for anything for himself, wishing only that his family might reach the capital safely... And as for his own fate — it seemed that even were he to ask, the bodhisattva could give no answer.

These two days he'd enjoyed all the glory the world could offer, the envy of everyone; and glad as he was, he was not entirely without worry. The emperor's attitude seemed almost to want to tell everyone of his family's origins, granting him further favor and conspicuous distinction besides; at the Wenxi Banquet some officials had already let show a probing intent toward him, and those who hadn't shown it might well be weighing and guessing at the true imperial will all the same.

What did the emperor want of him? To be a model of the outstanding younger generation from the families of the eight condemned officials of those years? To let the scholars of the realm know that effort alone would be rewarded? Or was it to give the late emperor's old ministers still at court a reminder — that heroes and talents were coming forth in numbers, and that clinging to the worn-out and the incomplete would not let them go on enjoying their honors in peace? Or was the emperor merely acting on impulse, wanting to use this to spite the dead late emperor a little — as if slapping his face and saying: the ministers you loathed were all good men; could it not be that you yourself, as emperor, came to the throne by a crooked path?

And the most dangerous possibility, and the likeliest, was that the emperor too wanted a power base of his own, to maneuver against and counterbalance the old ministers and intimates the late emperor had left behind, to balance the court, and to lay the groundwork in advance for the ambitions he meant to unfold in future.

Zhuo Siheng was grateful to the emperor for giving his grandfather and father such an appraisal; even if it was only the maneuvering of an emperor's statecraft, it was enough to win his admiration. More important than the comfort to the dead was the care shown to his living family: that the emperor should know his household's circumstances so well and make arrangements specially, sparing him — while he worked at court in the capital — the worry over his sisters and brother at home, and the grief of separation, with his family still in Shuozhou and reunion so hard.

What could be more considerate than this?

But in an emperor's bestowals there lay, more often than not, not the bond of sovereign and minister, but a deeper layer of exchanged interests.

Besides loyalty, what else would he have to give?

The door of the back hall opened slowly; the last of the sunset light had faded to nothing. The abbot Quechen, in his everyday worn cassock, made Zhuo Siheng the greeting of a monk, then lit the lamps and candles in the hall and invited Zhuo Siheng to sit facing him on a pair of prayer mats before the statue.

The abbot Quechen smiled and turned his prayer beads, saying, "Congratulations to the patron Zhuo on your name upon the golden roll. Old monk though I am, a man outside the world, seeing you study without cease day after day, I too am gladdened that Heaven does not fail those who set their hearts on a thing."

Zhuo Siheng hadn't expected the abbot to be so well-informed, and being praised to his face like this made him a little bashful; he thanked him: "So the abbot already knows — in fact that's just what I've come to take my leave for. I've imposed on you these days; thanks to this place, where I could still my mind and settle my spirit and give myself to study with nothing to worry over behind me, I'm more grateful than I can say for the care the whole temple has shown me."

"You left in commoner's cloth and return in a green robe, patron; and with the temperament and wisdom you showed while lodging here, old and dull as I am, I could not have misjudged you." The abbot Quechen's smile always had a stillness to it that set one at ease; and without one's noticing, he had opened his smiling eyes a little, and went on, "Yet now that you bear favor and glory, patron, why, for all your radiance, is there still a knot of trouble between your brows?"

"Is it so obvious?" Zhuo Siheng had always thought himself the sort who showed neither joy nor anger on his face; it seemed he'd have to cultivate himself further for officialdom — his mastery was still a little short.

Quechen laughed aloud and said, "It's not that you cannot keep your own composure, patron; only, when I came in just now, I saw in your look toward the bodhisattva's image something of a seeker's — one comes before the Buddha to seek peace precisely because the heart is not at peace. If it were truly still, then, the heart being at peace, what need would there be to seek?"

Hearing the Chan wisdom in the abbot's words, Zhuo Siheng hid nothing more, and poured out all the wavering and twists of his heart since his life had so abruptly changed: "At times I am full of ambition, longing to walk the whole wide world and see all its teeming variety of human life; yet knowing too that the world holds much that is unbearable, much setback, and not knowing what lies ahead, I take each step with many misgivings — for the world is not mine alone but the world of thousands upon thousands, so how can I keep only myself pure? Now that I've entered the heights of the court, I enjoy every honor, to be sure, and have gained the scholar's highest pursuit; but along with the satisfaction comes anxious care — how many things there are that I cannot see through or understand, as if I'd set foot in a maze of delusion — and so I stood in thought before the bodhisattva. I don't mind the abbot's laughing at me: in truth I asked the bodhisattva for nothing, because just now I cannot even think what I ought to ask for."

Quechen listened quietly throughout, nodding now and then; hearing him out, he was silent a good while, then suddenly smiled. "That one so young can grasp the ship of mercy upon the sea of suffering of this vast world — truly you were born with roots of wisdom. Life's hardships and pains are endless everywhere; to seek one's way through them is to pass through countless ages of tribulation. What you have studied so hard, patron, is the golden rule for engaging the world, and naturally there is much in it that leaves one lost within the game. I wonder whether you'd care to hear an old monk, a man outside the world, speak of some principles different from the teachings of the Confucians?"

Zhuo Siheng had heard the abbot expound the dharma before, and knew him vastly learned, able to summon up all manner of Buddhist lore at will; he had a natural reverence for the learned, and hearing this at once conceived a humble wish to be taught, and said respectfully, "Your junior would gladly hear it in full."

"Does the patron Zhuo know which bodhisattva's holy image is enshrined in this hall?"

Quechen didn't launch straight into grand principles, but turned his head to look up at the bodhisattva statue beside the two of them.

The statue stood two or three men high, finely painted and gilded; the bodhisattva sat astride a blue lion with a treasure-sword in hand, the holy visage solemn, the eyes full of mercy, and just now gazed quietly down at Zhuo Siheng, who had likewise raised his head.

He didn't really understand much of the dharma, but in his months lodging at Xishi Temple he'd listened to a good many expositions to ease the weariness of study, and knew a little now, and said at once: "The one holding a sword and treading a blue lion is Manjusri Bodhisattva, one of the Three Sages of the Avatamsaka, the symbol of wisdom — which is why he's enshrined in the dharma hall."

"The patron Zhuo has a fine mind indeed, to remember so much of the essentials of Buddhist learning after hearing this old monk only a few times." Quechen nodded. "Just so — the enshrined one is Manjusri Bodhisattva, the embodiment of wisdom, who holds the supreme radiant wisdom of the Great Prajna. Then does the patron know why Manjusri, as the embodiment of wisdom, should hold a treasure-sword in hand and sit upon a fierce lion?"

It was true — a bodhisattva who held the supreme wisdom of the three-thousand worlds, yet more martial than the arhats before the Buddha, bearing a sword and riding a lion like a god of war: it was strange indeed.

The reason for it Zhuo Siheng had no idea, so he shook his head honestly and waited to be taught.

"Because the road toward the realm of wisdom is all chaos, and only a keen blade can cut through the confusion; this sword is called the sword of wisdom, forged of the bodhisattva's wisdom. With wisdom — and with wisdom alone — one can sever the many knots of vexation, and not be led astray by the world's tangle. So one should cultivate wisdom, discern right from wrong, and cut off the five aggregates. The fierce, formidable blue lion is the courage of the search for the world's wisdom; the lion's roar, awe-inspiring, can shake the demons and the vengeful, and carry all before it. Wisdom and courage — these are the answer Manjusri Bodhisattva gives for seeking through the three-thousand worlds and crossing clean over the sea of suffering by the ship of mercy."

Wisdom and courage...

Zhuo Siheng understood that the principles of the sutras all sprang from a deeper system, and that to probe them truly, a few sentences could bring no real awakening; but somehow, hearing the abbot's brief words today, he felt a faint sense of enlightenment, as if the answer he'd long been seeking had in fact been in his own heart all along, only that he'd been deluded by the surface of things before his eyes and chased the far while forsaking the near.

"What I long for is the very thing I fear, and so, bearing courage in my heart, I need not fear; what I already have is the very thing I pray for, and so, bearing wisdom in my heart, I need not pray..." Zhuo Siheng spoke as if summing it up for the abbot, and as if to himself; and suddenly, it was as though he knew what he must do. Filled with joy, he raised his head to give thanks — only to find no one there before him, the soft sound of a closing door at his ear: the abbot had quietly slipped away, and the dharma hall was still and at peace, as if from the very first there had been only him alone.

...

That night, in the study of the Tong mansion, Tong Shipei had been forced to listen to four or five hours of his father's summing-up of half a lifetime in officialdom; his head was reeling and swollen with it, and he wanted only to slip away, but saw his father showed not the slightest sign of stopping.

"Father, I'm at the Taishi Hall, not somewhere you risk your neck like the Censorate; the previous dynasty's history was finished compiling ages and ages ago, and the place is a retirement home now — I'll just sit there quietly, bother no one; isn't that enough?" Tong Shipei said, his face a picture of misery.

Seeing his hard-thought care described as an early retirement, Tong Duo's beard and brows trembled with anger, and he raged: "You listen sharp, boy! Your father got you into the Taishi Hall to give you a prestigious start, so that whether you're posted out or promoted later, you can hold your back straight. You listen well and learn well in the Taishi Hall, and less of the idling you do at home!"

"I know, I know... I certainly wouldn't dare step out of line. People know I'm the son of a former deputy chancellor, and there might well be some who'd make a stepping-stone of my mistakes to climb up on, so I have to be especially careful and do nothing rash — right? I heard every word." Tong Shipei repeated back what his old man had said at least three times that evening, his face all dejection, the triumphant glow he'd had returning home today gone entirely.

Seeing that his son had listened after all, and looked wilted and rather pitiable, Tong Duo couldn't quite harden his heart to a stern scolding that would spoil the boy's good cheer at passing and winning a name; he slowly sat down and sighed softly. "All right, all right, I know you've listened... I've read your departmental-exam and palace-exam essays, and the writing is very good; put in some more work at the Taishi Hall from now on. The art of composition is a skill a civil official can use to the day he dies."

After each departmental and palace examination, the Hongwen Academy, to display the literary talent of the age and to set an example for scholars across the realm with an eye to office, would compile the essays of those who'd passed high into a volume, cut printing blocks, and issue it throughout the land. This too was a way of letting the collective mouth of the realm keep watch: if anyone practiced favoritism or fraud, letting the world easily see that the quality of an essay didn't match its ranking, it would draw censure, and might even reach the imperial ear. So by this means the grading officials were spurred to self-examination and watchfulness over themselves, lest any fault be left in their work.

"So soon?" Tong Shipei hadn't expected the officially printed volume of departmental-exam essays to come out so fast, and at once put out his hand to his father. "Let me see! I've long wanted to see just where that departmental champion Peng writes better than my elder brother Zhuo."

"'Elder brother Zhuo,' indeed! What a want of manners in your speech." Disdainful as his words were, Tong Duo still handed his son the printed volume of the passing departmental policy-essays, cut from blocks.

Leafing through it, Tong Shipei said, "Elder brother Zhuo and I are sworn friends who gathered earth for incense at the assembly hall and each bowed to the other's departed kin — that's brotherly feeling just like the Oath of the Peach Garden; what's wrong with calling him elder brother?"

Hearing his son's topsy-turvy notions of propriety, and this "gathering earth for incense" — some vagabond's phrase from who knew where — and his odd comparisons, Tong Duo's head throbbed; he thought it remarkable that so fine a young man as Zhuo Siheng, of such clear temperament and steady, composed character, could actually put up with his own youngest's flighty ways.

Tong Shipei's eye was as quick as his wit, and he raced through both Peng Shihu's and Zhuo Siheng's essays, at once wearing a look of scorn, snapped the book shut and tossed it on the table: "Have His Honor Zeng's old eyes gone dim? How is Peng Shihu's essay fit to compare with my elder brother Zhuo's?"

These words were in fact quite flippant and improper, and presumed to criticize the chief examiner besides; the moment they were out he regretted them, feeling he was in for another tongue-lashing. But to his surprise his father looked at him with a hint of approval, seeming to smile and hold it back, and only nodded slightly: "Your eye for an essay does have something of my own manner in my day. Sending you off one day to season yourself as an education intendant might not be a bad idea... but that's for later. Let me ask you: you too think Peng Shihu's writing unworthy of his placing?"

Praised by his father for the first time that day, Tong Shipei perked up at once, leafed through it again, and after skimming said confidently: "His essay isn't bad — set against others' in its reasoning, it's certainly a cut above. But elder brother Zhuo's essay is more than lucid; it's downright rousing, enough to wake the deaf, and there's a keen brilliance in its diction besides — how is it only a cut above him?"

"Child, do you know," said Tong Duo, much gratified after hearing his son's argument, "your thinking... may be the same as His Majesty's."

"His Majesty thinks so too?" Tong Shipei was stunned. "Father, how do you know?"

"After the palace exam His Majesty went back and read the departmental papers, and then summoned Zeng Xuandu into the palace in haste," Tong Duo said with weight.

"He's been dismissed?" Tong Shipei hadn't expected the emperor to act so swiftly.

Every time Tong Duo had just felt pleased with this clever son of his, he'd be set trembling with anger the next instant: "Nonsense! When is His Majesty a man of such fickle temper? But the mere fact of summoning him at once is enough to show the point."

"So he showed a bit of displeasure and then gave him a dressing-down?"

"Not necessarily." After a moment's thought Tong Duo said, "Zeng Xuandu is a close minister, and only lately raised to Hanlin Academician; he has, of course, the ability that lets him attend the emperor so often. When His Majesty questions him, he'll surely have his answer ready long since, and at this hasty summons the emperor probably won't press him hard. It's only a pity for the fine Zhuo boy's triple first..."

Tong Shipei thought that holding office was truly hard, and said, indignant on Zhuo Siheng's behalf: "Both Father and Elder Brother Liu have praised His Honor Zeng's learning, yet he failed to choose talent fairly for the state — it's utterly disappointing."

Tong Duo sighed. "Perhaps it is precisely because he acts impartially for the state that he made such a choice... and precisely for that, that the emperor still regards him as a trusted right hand... This was his choice to make."