Chapter 130: Vie for Favor and Show Jealousy

Most of the great masters achieved fame at a young age because they exhibited remarkable talent early on. Cheng Yi, along with his elder brother, studied under the esteemed Master Zhou Dunyi of Lianxi, as well as Shao Yong. Being disciples of such renowned teachers naturally endowed them with knowledge and insight beyond the ordinary.

At the age of eighteen, Cheng Yi arrived at the capital and, as a student, submitted a memorial to the emperor, earnestly petitioning to abolish worldly conventions and to embrace the Way of the King as the guiding principle. Though this petition was naturally ignored by the emperor, it revealed Cheng Yi’s lofty aspirations.

Later, Cheng Yi entered the Imperial Academy and became a disciple of Hu Yuan. At that time, Hu Yuan gave an assignment: to discuss the learning that Confucius favored. Cheng Yi wrote in his essay:

“The learning of a gentleman must first clarify the heart and understand what nourishes it, then strive with effort to reach the utmost—this is what is called self-enlightenment and sincerity. Therefore, learning must exhaust the heart; by exhausting the heart, one knows one’s nature; by returning to sincerity, one becomes a sage.”

This composition earned Hu Yuan’s praise.

Originally, Confucianism was a philosophy concerned with engagement in the world. Yet, with the introduction of the concept of “clarifying sincerity,” Confucianism began to incorporate the idea of “clarifying the heart and seeing one’s nature.” Upon hearing this, Zhang Yue understood why his own study of “rectifying the heart and making intentions sincere” had won Hu Yuan’s favor. It was, after all, the call of the times.

Of course, this approach faced much criticism—much like the later critiques of Neo-Confucianism—accused of resembling Buddhist and Daoist thought and turning Confucianism, originally a worldly philosophy, into an otherworldly doctrine. Was this truly Confucius’s original intent?

Yet the question arises: why did so many leading Confucian scholars support Neo-Confucianism? Confucianism is a philosophy of engagement, but everyone needs some form of transcendental study to seek solace for the soul. Ordinary people might find this in religion, but what of the scholar-officials? Had they not heard that Confucius forbade speaking of ghosts, spirits, and the supernatural?

What then is the consequence of Confucianism abandoning transcendent study? It loses its audience. A philosophy, however eloquent, must first survive.

Thus, Neo-Confucianism took on the task of renewing Confucianism. Though imperfect, it left the problem for future generations to resolve. Each generation addresses its own concerns.

Without renewal, Confucianism would be reduced to empty slogans.

Take the Eastern Jin dynasty scholar-officials, who combined metaphysics with Confucianism. Confucianism served as the official guiding ideology and practical code of conduct, thus obligatory study. Metaphysics was self-study among scholars, either out of interest or disdain for the Sima family’s manipulation of orthodox teachings, so they studied something else. The essence of metaphysics was to set aside concrete affairs and focus solely on fundamental ontology.

Many mock Confucian scholars for empty talk that harms the nation, but it was the Wei-Jin metaphysical “pure talk” that was truly idle chatter.

As for metaphysics’ study of the “nature of being,” it divided between “revering existence” and “valuing non-existence,” paralleling the Wang family’s debate over “four existences” and “four non-existences.”

So the question is: would you rather discuss ontology under the worldly Confucian framework or under the transcendent metaphysical one? The exceptionally wise might embrace the “four non-existences,” the profoundly dull the “four existences.” Most people fall somewhere between, differing only in degrees of intelligence.

Most come to understand themselves through practice—through investigation and achievement—but they can also recognize a “new self” and then practice again. This is a cyclical process, not an instantaneous transformation.

Hence, the Great Learning speaks of “making the people close” (qinmin), which Cheng Yi translated as “renewing the people” (xinmin). To renew the people is to bring constant renewal—to “renew day by day.”

As long as one studies diligently and strives upward, each day brings a new self.

Zhang Yue and Cheng Yi discussed this through the night in their study.

By midnight, Zhang Yue was weary and ready to rest but was roused repeatedly by Cheng Yi, who, inspired by fresh insights, insisted on further debate. This went on several times, leaving Zhang Yue nearly sleepless. Cheng Yi truly was, as Shao Yong said, “exceptionally intelligent.” Compared to him, Zhang Yue’s only shortcoming lay in his narrower vision. Great men are often relentless; if not for Cheng Yi’s distinguished family name—“Master Cheng”—Zhang Yue would have long since been annoyed.

By the next day, Zhang Yue bore dark circles under his eyes, while Cheng Yi was full of vigor. Outside, birds chirped, seemingly fledglings trying out their voices. Cheng Yi opened the window.

The bright sunlight of late spring streamed in, dazzling enough to make one squint. Zhang Yue, exhausted, shielded his eyes, about to take a brief nap, when Cheng Yi greeted the morning sun with a declaration: “At dawn, I hear the Way!”

The others in the study shook their heads. Truly, hearing the Way at dawn is no match for wanting to sleep.

“You two kept us up all night, you know that?” they complained.

Yet a more surprising event awaited. That very day, Cheng Yi sought out Li Gou, the overseer of the Imperial Academy, and bluntly announced his intention to relinquish his student status and return home to pursue his studies in seclusion—that is, to withdraw from the academy.

Li Gou tried to dissuade him. Cheng Yi was one of his most favored students. Why this sudden withdrawal? Was he abandoning his future? Giving up the imperial examinations? How could that be?

Li Gou questioned him repeatedly, but Cheng Yi replied: “Han Yu dismissed Buddhism and Daoism, esteemed the Great Learning and Mencius, because although Buddhism and Daoism are profound, they cannot guide the people’s hearts nor ensure peace in the world. I cannot bear to see Confucianism perish thus.”

Had this come from any other student, Li Gou would have scoffed. But Cheng Yi was no ordinary scholar. He was a disciple of Hu Yuan and Zhou Dunyi, both of whom greatly esteemed him. Though his poetry and prose were not exceptional, his essays and arguments were unmatched in the academy.

When Hu Yuan read his essays, he was so impressed that he ranked him first and bestowed upon him the honorary title “Scholar-official.” Though without practical significance, this title was a prestigious rank among students and earned favorable consideration during academy examinations.

Now that Hu Yuan had just retired to his hometown due to illness, Cheng Yi’s withdrawal felt like a slap in the face.

Li Gou was proud yet vexed, but he pleaded: “The exams are in July; why not wait until after the exams before leaving?”

Cheng Yi was resolute: “The exams serve to select officials, but holding office only establishes a temporary law. It is better to fix the eternal principle of the heart as foundation. Therefore, my decision to leave is firm.”

Hearing this, Li Gou deeply admired Cheng Yi’s detachment from fame and fortune—the true spirit of a scholar.

Yet, he thought, Cheng Yi’s departure at this moment would utterly disgrace him. Why not leave earlier or later, but precisely when Hu Yuan had departed?

Li Gou offered a few more words of counsel but could not shake Cheng Yi’s resolve. Helpless, he watched this promising talent leave the Imperial Academy.

Li Gou was somewhat vexed but wondered if there might be other reasons or influences behind Cheng Yi’s decision.

Of course, Zhang Yue remained unaware of Cheng Yi’s withdrawal.

That afternoon was the Yangzheng Study feast, held at Fantai. The students first gathered to enjoy the spring scenery of Fantai, one of the Eight Scenic Spots of Bianjing.

The Tianqing Temple pagoda rose several hundred feet, connecting to the colorful clouds on the horizon. The central Fantai was dominated by this nine-story pagoda, each tier carved with vivid Buddha statues, as lifelike as mountains. Beneath, thousands of red leaves and apricot blossoms blazed like fire.

The rivers curved around Fantai, willows swayed along the banks, the sky was clear, the trees lush. The ancient temples of Tianqing stood quietly, with the sound of Buddhist bells ringing softly—truly a splendid sight.

Many residents of Bianjing donned fine silk garments, enjoying outings amidst the greenery. Countless common folk carried wine and food, painting a picture of a prosperous era, filled with joyful singing and dancing.

Zhang Yue felt his heart lighten upon witnessing this scene. To venture out in such a serene season was a delight. Wearing a thin long robe, he strolled leisurely atop the terrace, his heart brimming with the freshness of entering the Imperial Academy and the pride of becoming a favored son of Heaven. The spring breeze stirred a gentle intoxication; he wished this moment would last forever.

The students settled beneath the apricot trees, sitting on mats beneath the yellow orioles’ soft songs, while fledgling swallows tried their wings. Zhang Yue reclined against a tree.

Prepared wine and delicacies were offered to the students. The recent Bathing Buddha Festival had just passed, and this was the season when the seventy-two renowned shops of Tokyo began selling freshly brewed wine.

Sipping the new wine, Zhang Yue also savored fresh peaches, plums, golden apricots, and apples—all seasonal fruits spread out on the table.

He drank a mouthful of wine and bit into a crisp peach, the juice sweet upon his tongue.

He had thought the life of an Imperial Academy student to be just this, but little did he know, the most exciting moments were yet to come.

After a while, two elegantly dressed courtesans approached beneath the tree.

Zhang Yue straightened at once, thinking, though this feast was to welcome him and Huang Haoyi, such hospitality seemed excessive.

Yet he understood: in the Song dynasty, it was perfectly acceptable—and even considered a mark of sophistication—for officials and students to openly associate with courtesans.

The great literary masters Ouyang Xiu and Su Shi had legendary tales involving courtesans, enough to fill volumes.

For the students, feasting with courtesans was a must; not inviting them would be seen as lacking class by other study halls.

Moreover, each study hall had a formal process for inviting courtesans: the host would issue a written invitation, stamped with the hall’s seal, stating the time, place, and attendees, formally requesting their presence.

The courtesans invited were official government courtesans, not private mistresses like Yulian.

Official courtesans generally surpassed private ones—not only were they beautiful, but they were also skilled in music, chess, calligraphy, poetry, and song.

These two courtesans were of above-average beauty and spoke with refined manners. Zhang Yue, going along with local customs, glanced at their feet—one had bound feet, the other did not.

After all, not every man in the Song dynasty favored foot binding, though it was becoming fashionable, and the bindings were not as severe as in later Ming and Qing times.

Zhang Yue also realized that a group of men chatting would be dull—having two attractive women nearby to drink and converse with made the occasion far more enjoyable.

As the courtesans sat and conversations turned to drinking games, Zhang Yue resolved to make the best of the situation.

At that moment, a commotion arose nearby.

About twenty other students approached the terrace, one of them shouting: “Liu Ji, how dare you abduct the Wei family’s courtesan, whom we had arranged to meet today at the Yu Shou Study? Do you intend to embarrass us all deliberately?”

Zhang Yue saw the angry faces advancing, their tone accusatory, and sensed trouble.

He had just arrived at the Imperial Academy and already found himself embroiled in a quarrel over courtesans. What an astonishing coincidence!