Chapter 40

Returning to see the emperor again, his expression was worlds apart from the generous pity of the session's close — his eyes a still, ancient well, head bowed, intent on dipping his brush in ink. After Zhuo Siheng made his bow of greeting, the emperor said not a word, only nodded for him to rise.

The writing-desk was piled with memorials; the emperor held the vermilion-rescript brush a long while, and in the end let nothing fall.

Zhuo Siheng said nothing either.

One could see the emperor was vexed; but Zhuo Siheng's mind was clear and unusually calm — he'd even already guessed how the emperor would open.

"Zhuo Siheng, I hear you went to Gao Yongqing's residence yesterday and got a shut door in your face?" The emperor's face was placid, less an interrogation than curiosity.

Just as Zhuo Siheng had expected.

"Yes. Your servant went to call on Uncle Gao, only to learn abruptly that he'd passed away five years ago."

"Your father and Gao Bengu were of the same exam roll, and close friends besides, their fortunes both hard; only, Gao Yongqing's days now are none too easy either." The emperor sighed, then lowered his head and smiled a little: "That he doesn't cherish a boyhood friendship is his own fault; don't take it to heart. That's just his temper — when his blunt, stubborn streak flares up, he'll cross even me without a qualm."

So Gao Yongqing told the emperor everything; Zhuo Siheng had his footing now, and said with grave respect: "My father taught that a friendship made in adversity must not be effaced; but where the state's affairs are concerned, one may cast even one's life aside, without scruple. Your servant can understand Gao Yongqing, and admires him too, and would surely not take it to heart. Were my father alive, he too would be glad his old friend's son has such a lone minister's heart."

"Without a lone minister's heart, one wouldn't dare submit such a memorial. That you can set aside face to see this matter shows you too a minister of fair judgment and upright virtue."

The emperor's tall hats were never set up for nothing; Zhuo Siheng guessed the question to come.

"You've now heard what both sides said — so how do you view this matter?"

Zhuo Siheng bowed slowly: "Your servant has attended at Your Majesty's side over a year; my counsel is still shallow, but I have day by day observed and absorbed how Your Majesty handles affairs. Whenever a locality submits an impeachment, Your Majesty always inquires of the other local officials in many quarters, seeking proof from many sides; and in a great case, Your Majesty appoints officials of the Surveillance Bureau to go to the locality and oversee it. So your servant thinks this matter reaches wide, and much of the evidence lies in the locality; it should be gathered on the ground, and only then weighed and heard."

For him to pass judgment on his current knowledge alone would be truly unfair: helping the Tangs would feel like using the chance to curry favor with the powerful gentry, or like revenge for Gao Yongqing's shut door; helping Gao Yongqing would look all the more like a secret prior collusion, a deliberate performance, and would only make trouble for his worthy brother Yongqing. Better to give the most upright response — a great matter like this called for a special investigation to begin with.

Watching the emperor's look, like the first clearing after snow, Zhuo Siheng understood too that the answer he'd worked out at court was impartial and just right; and linking it to His Honor Zeng's words just now, his heart stirred — wasn't this exactly Zeng's "learn from His Majesty"? The grounds of his reply came from summarizing his observations of the emperor's daily political conduct; so His Honor Zeng had meant for him to take the emperor as his example in replying to the emperor.

The emperor sipped his tea a few times, his tone easing too: "Indeed, the matter is grave, and can only be decided after further inquiry. The choice of inspector I'll weigh further; but there's one thing you ought to do."

...

The Hongwen Academy.

The emperor had Zhuo Siheng look up, in the Veritable Records of the past several reigns, the imperial verdicts and sentences in similar cases, and said he needn't bring them volume by volume — he permitted him to read in the Hongwen Academy these few days, compile them into a collection, and then submit it for his review.

So for these days Zhuo Siheng was excused the duty at the storm's eye, and got instead a task that looked relevant but was in fact neither here nor there — whether the emperor meant to have him withdraw, or didn't want him to withdraw too completely, there was no telling.

Having passed the test of the two-man talk with the emperor, Zhuo Siheng had cleared one hurdle; but not knowing how things would go on, he still seemed weighed down with thought.

Every day, entering the palace, he buried himself in the Hongwen Academy and asked nothing else, sorting the case-files of surveillance officials from the Founder to Jingzong impeaching their own prefects and administrators, and the words and verdicts recorded in the emperors' Veritable Records.

Outside, at the storm's eye, men's heads were arguing themselves into dogs' heads; here it was mild spring sun and all things serene and still, his days spent with scrolls for company — only, the material to excerpt and copy was too much, and he often had to work late at home in the evenings.

One afternoon, Zhuo Siheng had been long bent over his desk; Gao Gongwang had refilled his tea five times, and after Zhuo Siheng drained another cup, he rubbed his aching wrist, saw no one about, reckoned the afternoon was the Hongwen Academy's busiest hour, and, not troubling to call anyone, went to fill his water himself. In the time it took him to go and come back, another person had appeared in the hall, leafing and searching.

A raven-black coiled coiffure adorned only with a plain silk pearl-pin — such thrift still couldn't hide her heaven-sent beauty; who but Luo Yuanzhu, the Scribe Luo he'd met once before?

Seeing him yield first in courtesy, Luo Yuanzhu too gave a leisurely bow.

Zhuo Siheng looked at the stacks of case-files on his desk and thought, don't let her take a book she needs again — he'd have half a day's copying still — better let her finish first, and said with a smile: "If any of these Record case-files are of use to you, Scribe Luo, take them first; I've still to copy slowly."

But Luo Yuanzhu gave a slight shake of her lovely head: "I'm only looking for some old files of the Founder's reign, to use as teaching examples."

Zhuo Siheng felt Luo Yuanzhu had the same rigor as his old homeroom teacher prepping lessons for a gaokao class, and admiration rose in him unbidden; not disturbing her search any further, he headed for his seat. Just then a spring wind sprang up, and several sheets of his handwritten copy not weighted by the paperweight flew up at once and fell to the floor; Luo Yuanzhu picked up one, ran her eyes over it, and handed it back to Zhuo Siheng.

"In the garden I too have read your departmental and palace exam essays, and admire how deeply Attendant Zhuo knows the Four Histories — every allusion comes to hand at will." Luo Yuanzhu's eyes did not waver; her tone paused slightly, then went on: "I'd imagine, learned as Attendant Zhuo is, you've read the other histories thoroughly too. I make bold to ask — has Attendant Zhuo made any study of the Book of Jin?"

"I've read it, though 'study' would be too much to claim." Zhuo Yan had had him read the Four Histories most, many passages of which he could recite backward; but later histories he hadn't reached that level with. Add that the family had once not had the money for so many books, and many later histories he'd only caught up on after he had a salary.

Holding the scroll behind her back, Luo Yuanzhu wore a calm, unhurried smile on her clear, lovely face: "Then Attendant Zhuo surely remembers the story in the Book of Jin — 'I did not kill Bo Ren, yet Bo Ren died because of me.'"

Of course Zhuo Siheng knew it.

In the reign of Sima Rui of the Eastern Jin, Wang Dun raised a revolt. His cousin Wang Dao, of the same Langya Wang clan, then held a key court post; hearing that Liu Wei had advised Sima Rui to exterminate the Wang clan, Wang Dao led his whole clan to kneel before Sima Rui's hall to plead guilt. Zhou Yi, then Left Vice-Director of the Department of State Affairs, was Wang Dao's close friend, the two on intimate terms; the weeping, kneeling Wang Dao, seeing Zhou Yi come by imperial summons to see the ruler, cried out for rescue, begging Zhou Yi to intercede for his clan — but Zhou Yi said nothing and went straight in. When ruler and minister had finished talking and Sima Rui bestowed wine, Zhou Yi came out drunk; Wang Dao pleaded bitterly again, and Zhou Yi did not answer, but let fall to those about him a drunken, wild boast that he'd kill every last rebel for the state. Seeing him with not the least regard for their old friendship, Wang Dao's heart filled with boundless resentment and grief.

Later Wang Dun stormed into Jiankang; of course he'd not raise a hand against his own cousin, but ministers loyal to Sima Rui, like Zhou Yi, he seized. Wang Dun asked his cousin Wang Dao how Zhou Yi should be dealt with; recalling the heart-chill of that plea outside the hall, and the friendship now extinguished, Wang Dao chose silence. But silence, too, is a kind of stance.

Wang Dun ordered Zhou Yi killed.

And later, leafing through the memorials, Wang Dao saw that at the time Zhou Yi had submitted many petitions on his behalf, all earnest and heartfelt to the last word, pleading for him; and those in the know told him too that the day Wang Dao knelt outside the hall, though Zhou Yi didn't answer going in and threw out hard words coming out, in his talk with Sima Rui he'd never stopped pleading for Wang Dao — it was precisely his pleading, together with Sima Rui's own view that the revolt was Wang Dun's doing and had little to do with the whole Langya Wang clan, that in the end pardoned Wang Dao and the Wangs.

Learning the truth, Wang Dao wept aloud and said: "I did not kill Bo Ren, yet Bo Ren died because of me."

Zhou Yi — courtesy name Bo Ren.

Zhuo Siheng savored the allusion, and knew Luo Yuanzhu meant to remind him: don't let a moment's surface resentment blind his eyes; Gao Yongqing might not be one to forget an old friend, and since the reasons couldn't be known at once, he mustn't rashly pass judgment and, by one misstep, bring the regret of a thousand years. He must not become a second Wang Dao.

"Attendant Zhuo enjoys His Majesty's high favor and sees things with utter clarity; I merely teach the noblewomen and highborn girls the Book of Jin these days, and rereading this chapter, felt it stir something in me." Luo Yuanzhu adjusted her sleeves and gave a slight nod: "I won't keep you from your labors, Attendant Zhuo. Farewell."

Zhuo Siheng nodded his thanks too.

Luo Yuanzhu was in the palace, and Noble Consort Luo's sister besides; what she knew was likely more than he did. In her eyes, perhaps, if this matter fermented further it would become an unmanageable state of affairs; to avert an upheaval at court, she'd spoken up in warning.

If that were so, Scribe Luo's sense of responsibility far exceeded that of many an official of the former court.

But Zhuo Siheng was no Wang Dao: first, he held no towering power; second, he had no gentry clan at his back; third, he valued all the more the true feeling of that day's shared adversity and the deep friendship of the fathers' generation.

Still, for the pointer he was grateful.

Luo Yuanzhu really was well suited to be a teacher; if she could lead a gaokao class, so conscientious and so patient in guidance, she'd surely move no few of the little brats unwilling to study.

The sky grew late; before the palace gates were locked, Zhuo Siheng finished his copying and took the manuscript home to sort. Before his own residence a pale-yellow waxed-paper lantern was already lit, giving off a warm, mellow, faint-golden glow in the spring nightfall.

With no time even to eat, he only had Widow Chai boil a bowl of noodles and bring it to the cool-pavilion study, and plunged headlong back into his excerpts, working on.

A knock came; Zhuo Siheng thought it was Widow Chai bringing the food, but looked up to see Huiheng carrying a tray with a bowl of steaming hot soup-noodles.

"Elder Brother, eat first."

Huiheng set down the tray and arranged the noodles and side dishes clear of the manuscript one by one.

Seeing her hair and face all in order, dressed in a brand-new outfit made before the New Year, Zhuo Siheng knew she must have just come home from somewhere; ordinarily Huiheng and Ciheng wore plain old clothes at home, dressing up a little only to go out — she must have run into something and come straight to him, so he smiled: "If something's the matter, tell your brother; there's still this bit of time."

Huiheng's face held some knot of feeling; pushing the door and seeing Zhuo Siheng bent hard at his desk, she ached for him all the more, and sitting on the rattan stool by the desk said: "You've worked all day, Elder Brother, you must be hungry; eat as you listen."

In the year since coming to the capital, Huiheng had managed the household in every detail and with clear order; unless it touched officialdom, she needn't trouble Zhuo Siheng to decide, and every decision she made herself was apt — the small Zhuo residence too was kept in perfect order under her hand. Zhuo Siheng knew that what could make his sister hesitate must be some tangle she couldn't unknot, and he wanted to know what it was, so he first ate two mouthfuls of the fragrant, rich soup-noodles and motioned Huiheng to go on.

Zhuo Huiheng drew a soft breath: "Elder Brother, someone's been talking to me in roundabout ways — hinting they'd like to... to make a marriage tie with you."

The chopsticks lifting the noodles halted in midair, and for a long while didn't reach his open mouth.

"With me?" Zhuo Siheng found it inconceivable. "Who?"

Zhuo Huiheng said in a low voice: "The kin of the Wanyang Tang clan."