Chapter 39

It wasn't that Zhuo Siheng hadn't tried to reach Gao Yongqing.

Since taking office he'd sent letter after letter to Junzhou by the official post, hoping to be reacquainted with his worthy younger brother Yongqing, and wanting to know whether Uncle Gao was now in the capital and whether, for his father's sake, they might meet. But these letters, freighted with earnest words of longing, sank like stones into the sea, without the least reply.

The examination results couldn't possibly fail to appear in the court gazettes sent to officials of every place and rank; his worthy brother Yongqing must have seen his name — why would he refuse contact?

For principle? He now sat in the Surveillance Bureau under the Censorate, young and short of seniority yet holding the key post of overseeing a prefecture's administration, and so, to avoid criticism, was unwilling to associate too much with court officials — even Zhuo Siheng?

For his mission? Everyone told Zhuo Siheng that Gao Yongqing was an intimate minister of the emperor's, and that on this trip the emperor might have some special charge for him — so was he afraid a private friendship would make the emperor suspect him?

Or the reason Zhuo Siheng least wished for: people change.

Somehow, Zhuo Siheng felt the reason might be complicated, but surely wasn't the last. He was neither naive nor credulous; some instinct of a political animal drove him, in the dark, to imagine likelier causes.

On grounds of political stance: Gao Yongqing was Junzhou's surveillance official to begin with; to impeach the Junzhou prefect above him was not the least overstepping — it was his very duty; he needn't be so careful as to avoid even old friends, and to do too much would arouse suspicion by its very oddness. If his worthy brother Yongqing feared implicating Zhuo Siheng, there was no need: for one, he was no great court official, his voice too slight to matter; for two, he was no one to shrink from trouble or shirk it. He'd spent a year at the emperor's side watching memorials from every region and central decrees, and wherever he could help his worthy brother Yongqing he would surely spare no effort — so long as the impeachment had grounds.

The opponent his worthy brother Yongqing had chosen was the Wanyang Tang clan, of blazing power and authority; to fight alone was by no means the best of choices.

And retreating ten thousand steps — even setting this matter aside, he had at least to see Uncle Gao once for his father's sake; that had been the two elders' wish back then.

So on his rest-day, early, Zhuo Siheng went in person with his card to call at the Gao residence.

The card was written not to call on Gao Yongqing but on Uncle Gao — as a junior, this was the courtesy due; Gao Yongqing might decline to see him, but couldn't refuse so reasonable a request.

The Gao residence was no grand mansion either — rather like the small courtyard of Zhuo Siheng's own home, in the inner city yet quiet and secluded; the third-month willows swayed frail in the wind, the sky clear and fine. Having handed his card to the servant, Zhuo Siheng had waited a full two hours; the spring morning light fell on him, lending even his old robe a fresh, moist sheen — but his gaze grew dimmer and dimmer as the time wore on.

The tight-shut courtyard gate sundered the two boyhood friends made in adversity, inside from out; another hour passed, and all Zhuo Siheng got was the servant's relayed refusal:

"Master Zhuo, Master Gao bade me tell you: our old Master Gao passed away five years ago, and with that bond of an elder gone, you needn't come again hereafter — he will not see you."

Zhuo Siheng stood quietly where he was, and after a long while said softly: "Thank you for your trouble."

The servant, who'd seemed to expect a scolding for delivering such words, hadn't thought this Master Zhuo would be of such fine self-possession, and hurried to thank him and take his leave.

Zhuo Siheng stood before the Gao gate a while, then slowly turned and left.

So Uncle Gao too was gone.

His worthy brother Yongqing had been alone in this world for so long already.

...

The next day, the tale of Zhuo Siheng being left outside old friend Gao Yongqing's door nearly two hours and then flatly refused spread all through the Secretariat.

The ever-inquisitive Xu Yanfeng sidled over and asked in a low voice: "Why do you look so unwell?" He was the most all-around-slick; circling to probe, he never left a trace.

Zhuo Siheng was a little displeased within, but still smiled: "It's nothing." He too was a tai-chi master.

"Yesterday... everyone knows by now, you see..." Xu Yanfeng seemed loath to give up so information-rich an event.

There were no secrets in the court's surface dealings, Zhuo Siheng knew; but that his private visit to his worthy brother Yongqing had spread so fast made him suspect someone meant to use other matters to make an issue of Yongqing.

"Ah..." Zhuo Siheng sighed with a show of grief and outraged decorum: "Grand Academician Bai's son really is too... to do such a thing against the way of a gentleman — no wonder the Grand Academician was driven to such a state."

Living in the thick of official families, yesterday when Widow Chai went to buy vegetables she'd heard the Bai household's servants say Grand Academician Bai's eldest son had been caught in the act consorting with a courtesan by his own father, dragged home and beaten half to death.

This was surely far more explosive than his being shut out at the Gao gate, no?

Seeing his words wouldn't let a drop through, Xu Yanfeng was about to circle round again, when Academician Zeng came into the hall with a stern face.

"For the next ten days, no leave granted." When His Honor Zeng Xuandu spoke with his eyes open, there was business afoot. "Several attendants, come into the palace with me."

Everyone knew this likely meant trouble was coming; ordinarily one attendant a day going into the palace was busy enough, and so many going together surely meant a string of memorials and decrees.

Sure enough, the palace atmosphere today was tense, a great storm brewing.

And Zhuo Siheng, after ten years, saw Gao Yongqing again.

Still so thin and pale, but the resolve and depth in his brows and eyes were undimmed by the years — rather the more unyielding. He stood among twenty-odd court grandees in vermilion and purple, a single green robe, neither humble nor proud, laying out charge by charge the guilt named in his memorial two days before.

"Junzhou's fields stretch ridge on ridge, its people good at toil; from ancient times, flood or drought, they took it in stride and knew no famine. But since Tang Lingxi became prefect of Junzhou, he has let the farmland go to waste and proclaimed no plowing-rewards. Formerly in Junzhou, whatever trade a household followed, if it had land and left it unwasted it could be exempted a set amount of tax; after Tang Lingxi took office he abolished this bounty, so that vast surplus fields lay fallow and the grain yield fell year by year — until one disaster emptied the storehouses, and it could scarcely provide for itself! These are the records of fallow acreage I amassed traveling all through Junzhou; I beg Your Majesty to peruse them yourself."

Gao Yongqing finished and drew a memorial from his sleeve, passed on by a eunuch; expressionless, the emperor turned the pages and said: "Go on."

"The matter of the Yu River dikes I have reported once, and Your Majesty gave instruction; yet Tang Lingxi neither obeyed nor defied, dragging it to this day. The Yu River's spring floods are fierce to begin with, and with the frequent snows upstream last year, this neglect caused the Yu River dikes to breach in many places during the spring flood — several thousand Junzhou folk lost their homes and were forced into vagrancy."

By now the emperor had finished reading Gao Yongqing's record of fallow fields; his face was dark, and he said nothing.

"This is truly a man-made calamity. Had my first charge against Tang Lingxi not held — with Junzhou's wealth and grain stores, a sudden natural disaster, hard as it is to withstand, still leaves room for measures — but alas, with no minister's principles in his breast and no thought for the people's livelihood, by the time he learned of the disaster it was already too late, and he could only press Junzhou's rich households to share his burden, privately levying a disaster-tax, so that high and low alike are full of complaint — not resenting him, but resenting Your Majesty. Relief handled thus — non-disaster turned to ruin — I fear will drag out an even greater calamity; this is no longer merely 'ineffective.'"

Every one of Gao Yongqing's charges was tightly linked, ringing and firm; and when he came to the two — keeping and indulging vicious hound-slaves, and shutting out rivals to build a private clique — the hall fell so silent a dropped pin could be heard.

Gao Yongqing set forth one by one how the Tang household's slaves ran roughshod yet were shielded by the local officials, each case backed by the signed, fingerprinted depositions of victims and their families. As for the private clique, he pointed straight at how the Tangs had placed relatives throughout the court — Tang Qifei, for instance, set in the Personnel Bureau of the Censorate as Supervising Secretary — and enumerated several members of the Wanyang Tang clan now holding real power at court:

Tang Lingxi, Prefect of Junzhou, rank four senior;

Tang Lingzhao, Minister of Works, rank two junior;

Shi Yu, Remonstrance Secretary of the Six Bureaus, rank three junior;

Tang Qifei, Supervising Secretary of the Personnel Bureau in the Censorate, rank seven junior.

These were in the capital; there were also several more relatives, this way and that, in posts outside. Turning himself into a census inspector, Gao Yongqing listed them out on a separate memorial, and submitted that to the emperor too.

The five great charges laid out one by one, the whole hall was silent.

Zhuo Siheng had never seen His Honor Zeng's eyes open so wide.

Nor had he ever heard remonstrance so sharp of tongue.

In fact there were only twenty-odd officials in the Chongzheng Hall; the other attendants had been posted outside to wait, to submit other officials' memorials and, after rotation, to await further orders. He alone was within, and in the hall only two men wore the low-ranked green robe — a zhuangyuan of Zhenyuan nine and one of Zhenyuan ten: Gao Yongqing and Zhuo Siheng.

The plaintiff done, the defendant took the stage.

Tang Lingxi had been recalled to the capital, and under the scolding his beard was already shaking with rage. Zhuo Siheng had met Tang Qifei; father and son looked much alike — broad-faced and square-jawed, an upright cast joined to an uncommon clear elegance, as if born to be civil officials — and his rebuttal too rang firm: "Junzhou is a rich, superior prefecture, true; but some years ago the four northern garrisons suffered repeated winter famines, and the court ordered the other northern prefectures to ship grain for relief. Most prefectures shirked and fell short; I alone threw the whole prefecture's strength in, obeying the imperial command, shipping out all our stored grain, and dispatched many laborers to help neighboring prefectures rush the autumn harvest. That the fields are partly fallow is in part true, but there is cause for it — by no means my neglect. And as for 'failing in relief'... I ask Your Majesty: is another prefecture's disaster not our state's disaster too? Junzhou spent itself to withstand the north's famine, and now can barely save itself — is that its just deserts?"

When he raised his head again there was a sob in his voice, and he lamented: "Is one who obeys the imperial command to be framed like this? From now on, meeting a neighbor prefecture's disaster, must every prefecture stand by with folded arms to save itself? What is the crime of the common folk of the realm? If I am punished for this, will it not chill the hearts of the prefecture and commandery officials of all the land?"

His speech ended, and the emperor's face had shifted from gloom to show a little pity.

Worthy of a man many years an official.

Zhuo Siheng, thinking coolly, found the rebuttal forceful too; only, his worthy brother Yongqing held hard, solid data, and to overturn it by such words alone would be very hard. What's more, the fifth charge — the one that truly stirs an emperor's suspicion — Tang Lingxi hadn't touched with a single word.

That was the crux.

Just then a purple-robed grandee stepped forth from before him, and once out of the ranks, took off his jinxian cap and bowed his head to the floor: "I beg leave to plead guilty and resign, to give back the Wanyang Tang clan its innocence. The Tangs followed the Founder in raising and settling the state, their loyalty there to see; since my serving at court alongside my elder brother has bred suspicion, better I ask to become a commoner. My brother's ability and administrative skill both exceed mine; I beg Your Majesty not to harbor a grudge against him on account of others' framing, and to weigh all things by the dynasty's fortune and the people's livelihood."

So this was what waited here.

Tang Lingzhao asked to leave the court of his own accord, showing by deed that their family scorned to build power and glory. For — his office now weightier and his authority greater than his brother's — had they truly craved power and shirked guilt, it should have been the impeached Tang Lingxi resigning of himself; yet it was he who stepped out...

Zhuo Siheng stole a worried glance at Gao Yongqing, and found him utterly without fear, his cold look surpassing ice and snow, austere and bleak.

It seemed his worthy brother Yongqing had already reckoned on a frenzied counterattack of retreat-to-advance, and so kept his calm in the face of danger. Somewhat reassured, Zhuo Siheng withdrew his gaze — only to be caught full in a glare from His Honor Zeng.

It was a warning look.

Zhuo Siheng smiled bitterly within: with the situation now a melee, how would he speak carelessly? If he spoke wrong and cast his worthy brother Yongqing into peril, how could he face his own father and Uncle Gao?

He knew, of course, when to keep silent.

In the exchange of glances, the emperor had come down the steps.

His gaze had lost every bit of its earlier sharpness, leaving only a generous mildness; walking up to Tang Lingzhao, he raised him with both hands, took the jinxian cap the eunuch handed over, and put it back on him.

Tang Lingzhao, overcome with fear, hastened to bow low and dared not speak.

"Zihui, why come to this..." The emperor called him by his courtesy name. "I will investigate for myself and never listen one-sidedly; you're in poor health, and if such a fit of pique brings on illness, then I would truly be uneasy..."

"Your Majesty... Sire..." Tang Lingzhao wept old man's tears and bowed again.

"There, there, all of you go back. Today was only to hear how the two sides each tell it; let it rest here for now. The matter is grave, and I will surely not judge in the dark."

There was a thread of weariness in the emperor's voice too; with so great a matter erupting at court, it was right of him not to give an immediate response — he still had to hear and watch the others' reactions.

Were it Zhuo Siheng himself, he'd have done the same.

The crowd withdrew from the hall one after another; Gao Yongqing passed by Zhuo Siheng without a single glance.

Nor did Zhuo Siheng call him back.

The two, like strangers, brushed shoulders and passed.

The imperial way was broad, the officials walking off by twos and threes; Zhuo Siheng walked behind His Honor Zeng, striving not to look at Gao Yongqing's receding back.

"We who serve as ministers must seek learning not only from the sages in books, but from other living sages, and profit by them." His Honor Zeng's unhurried voice matched his pace. "Today, for instance, you and I should learn from His Majesty what it is to be unhurried, and what it is to let go when letting go is due."

Zhuo Siheng understood His Honor Zeng's lesson, and lowered his head: "Yes; your junior is instructed."

"You have words in your heart — not words that shouldn't be said; say them when the time to say them comes."

"Yes."

They walked on in silence; behind them came, suddenly, footsteps and a call.

"His Honor Zeng, Attendant Zhuo, a moment!"

The two turned — and it was Eunuch Xue from the emperor's side, hurrying up.

"A moment, sirs; His Majesty invites Attendant Zhuo to the Tianzhang Hall," Eunuch Xue said, after paying his respects to His Honor Zeng.

"The Hanlin business we'll discuss when you're back — go on, don't keep His Majesty waiting." His Honor Zeng, having finished, didn't turn to leave at once, but stood where he was, looking at him.

Zhuo Siheng understood the meaning in His Honor Zeng's gaze — it said: it's time.