Chapter 64

In fairness, you could see that Anhua Commandery was no nest of graft and rot.

From the moment Zhuo Siheng walked into Anhua Commandery on foot, the few mountain villages he passed were poor in goods but simple and honest in their ways, with no one starving, and most of them peaceful and content, the sound of chickens and dogs carrying from one house to the next. Over a drink of water or a rest he'd asked the people closely, and learned that they bore no tangle of extra taxes and labor, that the government seldom laid harsh demands on them, and that many villagers did not even know the name of the great lord of the commandery seat. Each year they handed over grain and silk, and were told only that it went to the court. Beyond that they knew nothing.

So at least the common people of Anhua had no great suffering that would turn Zhuo Siheng's hair white in a day to put right. But that did not mean the place had no problems.

Zhuo Siheng felt strongly that the problem lay with this crowd of officials he was dining with.

The dishes at the feast were mostly local, odd and good in their flavor and not lavish. The wine was a fresh brew from the local spring water, clear and sweet, and no great expense either. But after three rounds, Prefect He suddenly called on everyone to write poems together on the theme of welcoming Vice-Prefect Zhuo, and even had a man set to record them, meaning to make a collection to pass around. Zhuo Siheng nearly spat out the wine he'd just drunk.

A mere prefect's welcome feast, dressed up with such airs of refinement?

Yet the officials actually fell to it, laying out meters and matching rhymes, truly making poems, one line from this man and one from that!

Zhuo Siheng had gone with Lord Zeng to a few literary gatherings in the capital. Now and then there was trading of verses there too, but mostly it had substance, and people rarely spun whole poems out of one man or one small event. Looking at how pleased with himself He Mengchun was as he listened, Zhuo Siheng understood, more or less, how things stood with the official temper here.

What the one above loves, those below will outdo.

He Mengchun inscribed poems and titles everywhere, no doubt fancying himself a man of elegance and letters, and drove his subordinates the same way. So everyone buried himself in verse and chased after refinement and lofty taste, and of course cared little for the common work of governing the place.

Everyone at the table chanted and composed. Only Pan Guangling, who looked to have been dragged along against his will, kept his mouth shut. When his turn came he said coldly that he was no examination man, knew nothing of verse, and had no taste for it.

Zhuo Siheng did not mind the cold water he threw, for he was deeply ill at ease himself just then. He only thought: this young fellow really has never knocked about the capital's officialdom, to show his scorn and distaste so plainly in every look and word and line of his body.

But that was no fault of his.

At the thought, Zhuo Siheng warmed to Pan Guangling a few degrees more, though it wouldn't do to say so.

At last the poem-making passed. Then Lord He warmly declared that the next day he would take Zhuo Siheng to see the famous hills and lovely scenes nearby, and show him the fine rivers and mountains of the commandery.

To go sightseeing on the second day of his posting was hardly proper. But Zhuo Siheng already had his own plans, and agreed at once. Then he put on a troubled look and asked, "Only, the local people speak with a heavy accent, hard to talk with. How does Lord He take his pleasure among them on his usual outings?"

"I'll be honest with you, Vice-Prefect Zhuo. You've only just come, so of course you can't follow the country speech. Even after my full six years in office, I still can't make out the local dialect..." He Mengchun laughed. "For this outing we need only bring along one or two who can manage a little of the local tongue. Too large a party would quite spoil the pleasure of a trip taken on a whim!"

Having got the word he wanted, Zhuo Siheng only smiled and nodded, signaling that He Mengchun should arrange the next day's route as he pleased. Just then Administrator Cui Lu spoke up. "Most of us here can follow the country talk well enough but can't speak it right. Only Officer Pan has the knack of this speech. Why not have him go along and interpret?"

Zhuo Siheng watched Pan Guangling's face go from dark to green to flooded red, as if he might burst at any moment. The one or two officials beside him seemed to be tugging at the hem of his robe under the table, plainly telling him not to snap at anyone again today.

Pan Guangling was likely about to bring out some stiff excuse of being busy, but Administrator Cui cut in first and blocked him. "For the new vice-prefect to go out and look into the ways and conditions of the commandery is important public business. Without someone to bridge the speech, how is he to take in the local life and the people's circumstances? And how then is he to judge rightly and do good for this land? Surely Officer Pan would not beg off a public duty of the very first importance?"

Zhuo Siheng did not much like being made a mark of in another man's speech. Seeing Pan Guangling all but choking on his anger, he changed his mind on the spot, and in a breath was all smiles. "Since Administrator Cui puts it so, Officer Pan, do come along with Lord He and me. Explain the local lore and the people's doings to me on the way. I'm obliged to you."

By rank, Pan Guangling was the works-office officer among the six offices of the commandery yamen, and Zhuo Siheng was the vice-prefect, his direct superior, so there was no need at all to say "obliged." But the air had just been drawn tight as a bow, and his putting it this way gave Pan Guangling a way down. However furious, the young man could hardly flare up now, and only answered sullenly. The knot in his brow showed no sign of easing.

That knot stayed in his brow all the way to the next day.

Along the mountain road, Zhuo Siheng watched Pan Guangling's pained face and found it funny, though he felt for him too.

The far spurs of the Pan Range coiled and folded one over another, closing Quanzhang City in on every side. Where the grey crags rose in tiers, rushing torrents showed between them. The road cut along the cliff face was level enough, but wide only for three or four abreast, and when the odd traveler came the other way most had to stand aside. To show how close he was to the people, perhaps, He Mengchun greeted everyone he met. But he had no country speech, and Pan Guangling had to put it all into words for him.

Partway up Cold Spring Peak, at a bend in the mountain path, there stood a rest-pavilion. The board over it read "Old Crag Pavilion," three characters that were plainly He Mengchun's hand again. To one side stood a stone tablet, cut with an account of the pavilion, in Lord He's own hand once more. He had, it seemed, built the pavilion himself, because "the wind suits the mountain scene, and a man who comes forgets to go home. Lucky to roam here, I take the morning light for company." Zhuo Siheng read it through, then turned and said to He Mengchun with a smile, "This hill is called Cold Spring. From what the passerby said just now, as Officer Pan rendered it, the name comes from a Bodhisattva Spring at the summit. When Lord He named the pavilion 'Old Crag,' it was surely from the lines of the great Tang writer Linghu Keshi: From the old crag the spring drips, drips. In the deep valley the birds call, call?"

For a moment there, Zhuo Siheng thought Lord He might actually shed tears. The man looked like a musician who had at last found the one friend who truly understood his playing. He took Zhuo Siheng's hand and said, moved, "These few years, officials beyond counting have passed through my commandery, and men of letters have come like clouds. You alone, Yunshan, know my allusions. You are a kindred spirit Heaven has sent me!"

Zhuo Siheng thought that if this went on, Pan Guangling would be sick before his own gooseflesh had even settled, so he hurried to pat the back of Lord He's hand to soothe him. "You praise me too far, my lord. Everyone's tired by now. But the hills are fine here and the clouds hang level, and I'd like to go a little higher to see the view beyond. Rest here a while, my lord, and when I come back with a good line or two I'll bring them to you for correction."

He Mengchun was tired enough, and hearing this he brightened at once, and said he'd stay and hunt for good lines himself while he waited. Zhuo Siheng took a couple of steps on, then turned his head back and said to the cold, scornful Pan Guangling, "Come up with me, Officer Pan."

Unwilling as he was, Pan Guangling followed Zhuo Siheng with a black face, the two of them climbing on up the mountain one behind the other.

The paths linking the villages mostly wound below the pavilion. The higher they went, the fewer the travelers. The damp heat had wrung a good deal of sweat out of Zhuo Siheng, but the mountain wind soon blew the stickiness away. Seeing no one ahead or behind at last, he slowed his step and said to Pan Guangling, "Thank you, Officer Pan, for seeing to my boxes and baggage."

Pan Guangling kept his face and voice cold, and said flatly, "My father asked it of me. I could hardly refuse."

His father was the old colleague Lord Zeng had spoken of, with whom he'd once been on good terms: Pan Weishan, the Administrator of Jinzhou. Before Zhuo Siheng set out, Lord Zeng had sent a letter ahead, and had also told Zhuo Siheng not to call on the man for now, to avoid loose talk. The Administrator's eldest son was serving as a works-office officer in Anhua Commandery, and would see to arrangements for Zhuo Siheng. That was why, back in Jiangnan, Zhuo Siheng had sent his luggage on first, knowing someone would receive it.

"Then please thank your father for me, Officer Pan."

Pan Guangling suddenly stopped, and stared coldly at Zhuo Siheng. "My father too was asked by Lord Zeng. Lord Zhuo would do better to thank Lord Zeng himself, and save all these roundabout turns."

There was scorn in his tone. Zhuo Siheng sighed inwardly. If I hadn't just played along with that elegant Prefect, he thought, where would we have found this chance to talk openly at all? Newly come, I can't well invite a local official out alone, so this is the only way, and yet to another man's eye it looks like fawning on power. I've been too long among the sharp operators at the center, and have lost the way of talking plain and straight with a hot-blooded young man. The provinces aren't the place I came from. I'll have to watch this more from now on.

Still, Zhuo Siheng thought, Pan Guangling's being so out of key with that whole peaceful chorus of local officials was itself a rare thing.

So he wasn't angry. He only answered calmly, "I've already written to Lord Zeng to say I arrived safely, and to thank him for the arrangements. Thank you for the reminder, Officer Pan."

Pan Guangling's barbed words seemed to sink into a still pool without a ripple, which galled him the more. He turned his face away, quickened his pace to walk in front, and paid Zhuo Siheng no more mind.

Good to be young... Zhuo Siheng sighed, watching his back.

Then it struck him that he and the young man were the same age, so he wasn't old either, was he? But then he thought of Lord Zeng and Prefect He, who were also the same age, and all at once he understood.

Oh, emperor, emperor. How many men's youth have you ground away...

They went on a while without talking, almost to the summit, when a woodcutter in country dress came down the mountain. He seemed to know Pan Guangling, and greeted him warmly in the local speech with a little bow. Pan Guangling spoke the country tongue too, fluent and true, and after their greetings the two fell to talking of farm matters, leaving Zhuo Siheng standing by for a good while. In his plain clothes, the farmer did not take him for an official, and chatted away happily only with Pan Guangling. Zhuo Siheng felt the grass blades, tugged at a climbing vine, smelled a little flower, and was content enough. Pan Guangling took all this in, of course. He thought: any of those old officials would long since have been bristling with fury at being left standing. But this new superior of his seemed a bit off, like some idle young gentleman from the capital, without the least sense of duty or urgency of a man who was there to govern.

The sight of it was enough to make you angry.

When they'd finished, the farmer climbed on, and the two went up again, and at the top Zhuo Siheng looked out over ridges of cloud joined to a green sea of peaks. "Refreshing" was far too small a word for it.

Even Pan Guangling felt the vexation he'd carried all the way up ease a little. He drew a deep breath and let it slowly out.

Zhuo Siheng decided it was the time, and the place, to have a proper talk with this angry young man before him.

"What does Officer Pan make of that Old Crag Pavilion?"

Pan Guangling was on his guard at once, and stared at Zhuo Siheng a while before answering. "It took Lord He half a year to build that pavilion. How could it not be fine?"

Zhuo Siheng pretended not to catch the sourness in it, and said with a small laugh, head bent, "True enough. There's often driving mountain rain and wind here, and the damp rots the timber easily. Yet the pillars of that pavilion were painted with a dozen good coats and more, then sealed over with clear lacquer, and show no peeling after several years. Plainly there was no cutting of corners."

Pan Guangling was himself an officer of the works office, and knew building better than anyone. He had drawn up the plans for that Old Crag Pavilion with the craftsmen when the order came, and overseen the work himself, so the materials were solid and nothing stinted. But that Zhuo Siheng should know the care taken in it from a few glances took him aback.

Still, he couldn't rein in his tongue, and gave a cold little laugh. "Even if corners had been cut, with Lord He's own inscription on the board and a tablet set up to record it, that pavilion could only ever be fine beyond fault."

To his surprise, Zhuo Siheng shook his head. "There you're wrong. To my eye that pavilion is rotten through."

Pan Guangling was stunned at first. Then a flare of temper shot up in him, and the resentment of these two days all came pouring up his throat, his voice climbing an octave without his meaning it. "My lord never saw it built. How would you know it's no good? That pavilion is footed on the mountain rock, buried deep and pressed down with packed earth. Short of the hills splitting and the earth cracking open, it will never fall. The tiles on the roof are fired from Anhua's own clay, and rain pours off them hard and clean with no moss growing. I oversaw the work myself. How would I not know? Oh, I see. Is this another case of some lord in the capital tipping you off to all these mysteries, so that without seeing a thing with your own eyes you've the magic power to know the whole build of a pavilion a thousand li away?"

The moment it was out he regretted it.

His father was forever telling him not to be so hasty of temper, not to act on his feelings, that even if he wouldn't smooth and flatter, he should at least carry himself with dignity and give no ground to meanness. But he truly could not stomach this new vice-prefect's whole run of doings. The sea route was plainly nearer, yet the man had cared nothing to ask about the place he was coming to govern, and gone his own willful way by the mountain road, leaving everyone to wait and lose time over him. Then on arriving he traded verses with the Prefect and the Administrator and the rest, chasing no real work, talking only of wind and moonlight, with no ability at all, and flattery falling from his lips at a touch!

But now that the words were out, however good this Lord Zhuo's temper, he was bound to be angry.

He'd likely given offense again.

His father, hearing of it, would surely be bitterly disappointed in him.

Sure enough, Zhuo Siheng's brows drew down cold and stern, and he looked quietly over. Pan Guangling started inwardly. His new superior had worn nothing but a mild, easy, smiling face all along, so why, when that face turned grave, did his look carry such a weight of force without any anger at all? Yet he still felt he'd said nothing wrong. At worst he'd take a sound scolding. He'd had his fill of these officials who spent their days on flowers and moonlight anyway.

Zhuo Siheng looked at Pan Guangling's air of a man stretching out his neck for the blade, and found it funny, though his face stayed stern. He bit off each word. "Even the best steel edge has to be set where the blade bites to be of any use. That pavilion is sound enough. But the place it's built is too near the summit and too far from the mountain road. Only people who've come up for the view, who climb on purpose, can ever use it. The ordinary traffic of the hills is country folk and traders, and in all our walk together we haven't passed a single resting-place. Plainly the road they travel has no such pavilion along it. If a traveler or trader who truly uses that road is caught in the sun or the rain, all he can do is wait it out, wretched, under an overhang. So I say, fine the pavilion is, but it's of less use than a rough grass lean-to at the side of the road."

Pan Guangling stood there with his mouth open, like a live fish just landed on the bank. Zhuo Siheng looked at him, and without waiting for him to come to himself, went on. "When you were talking just now with that villager, didn't he say he'd gone up the other day to dig medicinal earth to treat his animals, met heavy rain, and was glad to shelter under the pavilion and wait it out? But he only climbs up here by chance, and that was his first time ever using it. A useless thing like that, however beautifully built and however long it lasts, is a useless thing still."

"You... didn't you say you don't know Anhua's country speech? How could you follow what the villager and I were saying?" Pan Guangling's mind was a blank, and now he said whatever came into it, with no room left even to weigh his words.

To his surprise Zhuo Siheng broke at last into a smile, and there was no telling whether it was sly or sure. He smiled like an old fox that had cultivated the Way for many years, and spoke as if stroking a beard he did not have.

"When did I ever say I couldn't?"

He truly never had.

The day before, when Administrator Cui put him forward to interpret for Lord Zhuo, he'd only said the dialect was hard and told him to explain the local ways. He had never once said whether the man himself knew the dialect.

So this Vice-Prefect Zhuo had not, from first to last, cheated anyone or told a single lie. And yet it left you feeling more cheated than any lie or trick could.

"My lord... what are you, really?" Pan Guangling laid his cards down. He didn't want to talk in circles any longer, since circle or not he could never get round this Lord Zhuo, who looked all refined idleness and was in truth a man of a hundred turning thoughts no one could read.

"Take me for a small official who couldn't hold his place at the emperor's side, posted out here to lie low a while." Zhuo Siheng had gone back to his easy, idle way of talking, and even stretched lazily in the mountain wind. "That, too, is the plain truth."

Now, whatever Zhuo Siheng said, Pan Guangling would not believe him.

"Well then. Now I'd better think how to write that poem I owe Lord He for the way down." Zhuo Siheng seemed not to see the shock and confusion and awe and fear mixed in Pan Guangling's eyes. He sighed to himself. "Truly I'd sooner walk the five ridges and three rivers again than hunt for rhymes and match couplets day after day... Still, your Lord He is easy to deal with. That's far better than the places I used to work!"

---

The capital. The Zeng residence.

Zeng Ruo soothed her daughter a good while before she could coax her into letting go of Zhuo Huiheng's hand.

"My father's been waiting for you a long time. Go on, now. He seems to have something to say, and it won't do to keep him." Zeng Ruo turned to her daughter. "Be good, A-Pei. Your grandfather has real business with your Sister Hui. If you won't let her go, he'll get cross."

The little girl was only five, but she knew how frightening her grandfather's stern face could be, and pursed her lips and let go.

Huiheng smiled and soothed the child a little more, then took her leave of Lord Zeng's eldest daughter and was led to Zeng Xuandu's study.

Lord Zeng could not well exchange many letters with Zhuo Siheng, so since his arrival in Jiangnan, word had passed entirely through Huiheng. Huiheng had come to know Lord Zeng's married daughter Zeng Ruo well, so on the days Zeng Ruo came home to visit her parents, Huiheng sometimes came along, though only rarely, to spare others suspicion.

Among officials at the foot of the throne in the capital, caution was always the safer course.

Huiheng handed over her brother's letter. Lord Zeng read it through, and actually laughed aloud. "Everyone takes Yunshan for a modest, gentle gentleman. Who'd know that under the quiet, gentle stream there are rapids and hidden currents? I've always trusted his ability, yet I still worried he'd take a dressing-down from those slippery old clerks. And here, in a month and a bit, he's already brought the man to heel."

Huiheng smiled. "It's not that you doubted him, teacher. It's only that caring muddles the mind." She had followed Zhuo Siheng in calling Zeng Xuandu "teacher" now.

"That old friend's eldest son is the one he frets over most. The boy wouldn't read or work at the examinations, so there was nothing for it but to get him a minor post by hereditary privilege, which at least put him to some use. But the child has a blunt, fiery temper, and will talk back over any injustice, his own father included, and has offended a good many of Anhua's local officials. Yet your brother's not half a month there, and by who knows what means, has turned the boy clean around! He's written back to his father to say he used to be a poor judge of men and too clever by half, that he's caused his old father much worry and that was unfilial of him, and that under Vice-Prefect Zhuo's teaching he's come to understand a great many things, and begs his father to bear with him. My old friend writes it's not a bit like anything that scapegrace son of his would ever say!" Lord Zeng could not hide his admiration for Zhuo Siheng, though his tone stayed slow and even. "That brother of yours knows how to teach a man and how to carry himself, and yet keeps a firm hold on where his duty lies and where his own measure is. I only hope he makes some noise in the provinces, and that the long road to a wild corner like Lingnan wasn't for nothing."

Huiheng missed her brother, of course, but she knew he was bound to make something of this journey, and so her wistfulness turned more to hope and looking forward. She said gently, "For as long as I can remember, however hard things got, my brother never once showed a moment's weakness. He simply never shows his firmness, and he treats people with such measure, so everyone takes his nature to be as mild and clear as his looks. But inside, how is he any different from this Officer Pan? He has the same upright, settled heart."

Zeng Xuandu nodded. "Mind, too hard a thing snaps. He's always known when to bend and when to hold, so I'm easy about him."

"Only that Prefect He... I've heard you speak of him, teacher. The man's a palace graduate too, and served a spell as a capital official once, then went to several posts in the provinces. He's never put a foot wrong, but he's never achieved anything either. I'm afraid he's the sort who keeps things safe and quiet and would rather do nothing. Forgive me for saying it, teacher, but I fear he'll only hold my brother back from his larger plans." Huiheng's face showed her worry. She'd read in the letter that Zhuo Siheng did not much like this superior, and had heard something of the man's story from Lord Zeng, and felt that such a person could only get in the way of her brother showing his worth. Better he weren't there at all.

Zeng Xuandu laughed aloud. "A moment ago you said caring muddled my mind. Is yours any different? Your brother's forever telling me there's not a book of the classics or histories you haven't read. How could you not see he's using Yanzi's method with Duke Jing of Qi?"

Zhuo Huiheng had of course read the Annals of Yanzi, and she understood in a flash, her eyes much brighter. "So that's it! Yanzi served Duke Jing by playing to what he liked, letting him roam and take his ease and have his way. And so Yanzi held all the real power in his own hands and governed with a free hand, and made himself a great minister's name and work!"

Zeng Xuandu wanted to say that with your brother's gifts, what was to stop him becoming a great minister and man of power one day? But then he thought that, for all it was a grand wish fulfilled, the steps of power were hard climbing, the road long and the load heavy, with no end of danger besides. So he only smiled and said nothing, and let the matter pass.