Chapter 16: The World in Turmoil

By the time Zhang Chi arrived at the Academy of the Three Nothings, two days had already passed, and he had changed into a scholar’s attire. Because his hair had yet to grow long, he wore a hat, an appearance that was still rather amusing.

Naturally, Zhang Chi was penniless. Santong and Dao Xuan were also without means, but ever since their outing with Young Master Ding the day before, Zhang Chi had said, “My cousin is from a prominent family; he should have plenty of money.” From then on, the group no longer worried about food or clothing.

Now, Santong held Zhang Chi in great admiration; no matter whose food he ate, Zhang Chi always did so with an air of perfect composure.

Master Han, the academy’s venerable teacher, was already white-haired and bearded. Ever since he saw the jade pendant that Zhang Chi produced—one belonging to Miss Wang—his attitude toward Zhang Chi became one of utmost respect, treating him as an honored guest. Many renowned scholars came and went at the academy, yet none received such distinction.

Each afternoon, the scholars of the academy gathered to debate and study the works of Zhuangzi. Zhang Chi, of course, had no interest in joining these debates. After days of travel to reach Jiankang, what he wanted most was a good rest.

After lunch, Zhang Chi would climb into bed for a nap. Although Santong was a burly fellow, he was quite fond of literature, and had hoped to bring Zhang Chi along to the debates to broaden his learning. But as soon as Santong suggested it, Zhang Chi lazily turned and recited, “Spring is no time for study, summer heat is best for sleep; autumn brings mosquitoes, winter is cold—best pack up the books and wait for New Year’s.” With that, he continued his nap. Santong was helpless; he thought to himself, “If he never studies in any season, where on earth did he get all his learning?”

By the time Zhang Chi awoke from his nap, evening had already fallen. With no one around and his stomach growling, he decided to search for something to eat. As soon as he stepped outside, he saw Miss Wang.

The moon hung high in the sky. Miss Wang stood by the lake beneath an osmanthus tree, her left hand holding her right sleeve, smiling gently at Zhang Chi.

Still drowsy, Zhang Chi was momentarily dazed at the sight of her smile. For some reason, he suddenly thought of his first love from his university days, recalling those youthful days spent by the butterfly lake, whispering sweet nothings in the campus twilight. A wave of nostalgia welled up within him.

“Are you lost in thought, sir?” Miss Wang asked, smiling as she watched Zhang Chi stand in a daze.

Zhang Chi grinned sheepishly. He could hardly confess that her smile had reminded him of his first love. He hesitated, then replied, “I was just thinking of home, that’s all.”

“So you’re homesick,” Miss Wang said quietly. “I thought I was the only one feeling unhappy these days, but it seems you are too.”

“It’s just a passing sentiment,” Zhang Chi replied. “May I ask what’s troubling you, miss?”

Miss Wang only smiled and said nothing.

In truth, her disquiet stemmed from her impending marriage, but she did not confide this to Zhang Chi. She was a woman of rare composure, never letting joy or sorrow show. Just now, she’d been affected by Zhang Chi’s mood, but in the blink of an eye, she returned to her usual serene elegance. Changing the subject, she said, “My father seeks to act with thunderous resolve, plotting to seize the provincial command, allying with the current Minister of State, Wang Xun, to force Huan Xuan’s rebellion. I fear that when the flames of war ignite, things may spiral out of control.”

“Given the uncertainty of the times, do you have any insights, sir?” she asked suddenly.

Zhang Chi had no desire to involve himself in political affairs. He smiled lightly and replied, “All I know is how to drink and sleep—how could I possibly divine the fate of the world?”

“There’s no harm in venturing an opinion,” Miss Wang pressed.

Seeing her persistence, Zhang Chi thought for a moment and said, “The world may be likened to a pot.”

“A pot? How so?” Miss Wang had never heard such a curious analogy before.

“There was a man whose pot was cracked, so he hired a tinker to mend it. While scraping off the soot, the tinker waited for the owner to turn away, then struck the crack with a hammer, making it worse. He then called the owner over and said: ‘Look how badly your pot is cracked—this won’t be easy to fix.’”

“In this way, the tinker not only earned his fee, but the owner thanked him profusely. Soon, the tinker’s reputation for skill spread throughout the village. If the crack weren’t severe, how could his abilities be displayed? The affairs of the world are like this pot; the schemes of those in power are nothing more than the tricks of a village tinker.”

Miss Wang had never heard such an analogy, but on reflection, she had to admit its truth.

“The great clans hold sway, and the southern Taoist sects are stirring. I fear my father wishes to play the role of that tinker,” Miss Wang said with concern. “But now, with cracks spreading everywhere, one more blow and the pot may shatter completely.”

Zhang Chi chuckled. “Then it all depends on the tinker’s skill.”

Miss Wang pondered for a moment, then asked with interest, “If you were in power, how would you respond to the present situation?”

“The great clans have dominated since Han times; if they do not rebel, the empire remains at peace. Even when Zhang Jiao and the Way of Supreme Peace rebelled, they were ultimately defeated by the clans. Though Taoism incites the populace, the Han fell not to the Dao, but to the great clans,” Zhang Chi explained, showing his familiarity with history. “So long as the clans stay loyal, the Taoist sects are no threat; but if the clans rebel, chaos will follow.”

Though he did not know the history of the Wei and Jin dynasties in detail, Zhang Chi had read enough history to understand the politics of the great clans. It was not the rebels who divided the land, but rather the powerful families whom the court relied upon—Cao Cao, Sun Jian, even the hard-pressed Liu Bei were all of noble lineage, and the founder of the Tang, Li Yuan, was no exception.

“That is my view as well,” Miss Wang sighed. “I have advised my father to proceed cautiously with the clans, but he will not heed me.”

Zhang Chi shook his head. “Not caution, but no action at all. If I held power, I would not move against the clans.”

This surprised Miss Wang. Zhang Chi went on, “The clans are already resented by the royal house. Why not act sooner, after crossing the river?”

“In the past, their power was too great; there was no way to move against them,” Miss Wang replied.

“So now the clans are in decline?” Zhang Chi asked.

Miss Wang nodded. “Indeed. Since the Battle of Feishui, the clans have gradually weakened while the commoners rise. Only now does the court have the strength to act.”

“Yet even a centipede, though dead, does not stiffen at once,” Zhang Chi smiled. “Strike at the clans and there will be backlash. Why not simply let them decline? The more they rot, the weaker they become, while the strong grow stronger. In a few decades, the commoners will command the armies, and by then, even without suppressing the clans, they will be replaced. All we need do is cultivate the commoners, so they may serve us in future. The rest is just a matter of waiting.”

The logic was simple, but few within the situation could see it clearly. Miss Wang, astute as she was, understood at once. She had never easily been convinced by others, but now she could not help but admire Zhang Chi. “I once read in Zhuangzi, ‘The divine man has no achievements, the sage no renown.’ I never understood the meaning. Now, hearing you speak, I realize it refers to this: those whose deeds shake the world and whose names are praised are often just the tinkers mending the pot.”

Zhang Chi’s knowledge went only so far, and he feared saying more would expose him, so he changed the subject. “Surely you did not come tonight just to discuss the fate of the world with me?”

Miss Wang smiled and nodded. “Night is falling, and the academy is holding a banquet for the visiting scholars. I came to invite you to the feast.”

…

There were many visiting scholars at the academy, so the banquet was held outdoors. Mats were spread on the plaza, and everyone sat together. As Zhang Chi arrived, Santong pulled him aside. “Brother Zhang, I hear that at today’s feast the scholars must compose poems. I don’t know how to write poetry—perhaps you could teach me one, so I won’t embarrass myself later?”

“Why compose poetry at a feast?” Zhang Chi asked in surprise.

“You don’t understand,” Ding Yizhi explained from nearby. “Today’s banquet is no ordinary feast.”

“How so?” Zhang Chi pressed.

“It is a poetry banquet,” Ding Yizhi explained. “The Academy of the Three Nothings was founded by the Wang clan of the court, to cultivate talent. Every spring, the academy has a single recommendation to the government. Any scholar from a humble background or fallen noble may be recommended. If I am not mistaken, tonight’s feast will select the most talented among us for this honor.”

Santong said, “I hear anyone may speak, and the debate will settle who is best. If someone questions me and I cannot answer, I’ll be humiliated! So, Brother Zhang, teach me a poem—one that suits any occasion—so that if questioned, I won’t be mocked.”

“A poem for any occasion?” Zhang Chi was drenched in cold sweat.

“If you are afraid of ridicule, then let me teach you a poem you can use to mock others,” Zhang Chi said, an idea striking him. He grinned and added, “But this poem you must only write, never recite aloud.”

Santong, who had studied in Huainan as a boy and could write, eagerly agreed, “I can write, I can write.”

Master Han, seeing Miss Wang arrive, hurried to welcome her and invited her to the seat of honor. Once she was settled, he announced, “The poetry banquet begins. All present are scholars of the academy. If anyone has composed fine verses, let them be read aloud and judged.”

Zhang Chi, thinking scholars would be modest, was surprised when a student immediately stood up, bowed to Miss Wang and Master Han, and declared, “I am Ma Yanjie of Danyang. I have composed some worthy lines and ask for your judgment, teacher and miss.”

He then recited in a clear voice:
“When winter fades, the fragrance lingers late,
Spring returns, the chill abates.
Long have I left the western hills,
Now I roam the southern lakes.
In this grand age, none need hide—
Those who emerge speak with wisdom.
Let the worthy be commended,
To answer the call of the times.”

Master Han could not help but nod in approval and said to Miss Wang, “Young Master Ma has presented himself with a five-character poem—indeed, very good.”

Miss Wang smiled slightly. “Indeed, it is excellent.”

Master Han was well aware of Miss Wang’s learning, and she had never before praised anyone. Ma Yanjie was already his favored pupil, and now, seeing Miss Wang offer praise, Master Han could not help but feel secretly pleased.