Chapter 63: On the Eve of Battle (Part Two)

“Very well. If those grain bandits do come to attack the city, I’ll ride out and show you what I can do! If I really manage to scatter them, what then?” After an awkward pause, Young Master Kong finally spoke up in frustration.

Such is the way of the impassioned youth: they often see things through rose-tinted glasses. Young Master Kong considered the Five Bushels of Rice Sect little more than a disorderly rabble, while the Kong family’s troops, in his mind, were all well-drilled and elite. How could a pampered scion like him have any sense of the true numbers of the sect’s followers, who swarmed the battlefield like ants on a hill?

In truth, as the son of a noble family, Young Master Kong had never concerned himself with worldly matters. Whether a force numbered in the thousands or tens of thousands was entirely abstract to him. Yet, buoyed by youthful pride, he couldn’t imagine that his noble-born soldiers might lose to mere peasants. Besides, with so many of Shanyin’s prominent figures gathered here, how could he endure Zhang Chi’s ridicule in silence?

Young Master Meng, seeing the two men’s words growing sharper, quickly stepped in to mediate. “We are here to discuss matters of great import. Let us speak calmly, and consider our options carefully.”

Meng, a man of insight, secretly looked down on Kong’s blind arrogance as well. Yet, with a formidable enemy at their gates and so few troops in Shanyin, unity was critical. If he took his soldiers to meet the enemy outside the city and failed, it wouldn’t directly affect him, but the loss would weaken Shanyin’s defenses further. Still, Zhang Chi seemed unconcerned with these affairs; his only thought was to find a way to rescue the Wine Lady. The fate of Jiankang’s defenses meant nothing to him.

“If you truly win, I’ll gladly hold your horse’s reins and serve as your vanguard,” Zhang Chi declared, taking a sip of wine. “But if you lose, what then?”

“Then I’ll just as willingly hold your reins!” Young Master Kong, goaded beyond patience, no longer cared about the gulf between his noble status and Zhang Chi’s humble birth.

“I fear, when the time comes, you may not even get the chance to be my vanguard. The Five Bushels of Rice Sect is gathering its strength. If you lead your two thousand men out to meet them, who knows if anyone will even find your body after the battle?” Zhang Chi replied.

Kong’s face was already green with humiliation, but he spat back, “Even if I die and my body is never found, it’s better than sitting here and waiting for death, knowing the grain bandits are coming.”

Zhang Chi had kept silent until now, only to step in and needle Young Master Kong, who naturally assumed Zhang Chi was an appeaser. Thus, he mocked him. But his words provoked someone else.

“To spend one’s days on such vulgar pursuits as killing and fighting—does this not sully one’s standing?” scoffed a man seated on the left, then turned to address the man of highest rank seated further up: “Surely Lord Wang feels the same?”

During the Wei and Jin dynasties, although the gentry held power, they considered it shameful to involve themselves in mundane affairs and prided themselves on a detached, otherworldly air.

When the banquet began, Meng Feiyang had quietly introduced everyone to Zhang Chi, so he knew that the man seated in the place of honor on the left was none other than Wang Xizhi’s renowned son, Wang Ningzhi.

At this time, Wang Ningzhi held the post of Internal Administrator of Kuaiji. In the court, Sima Daozi was the Prince of Kuaiji, and as such, there was no regional governor in his fief. The local official with supreme command was thus called the Internal Administrator, a position equivalent to that of a governor. Wang Ningzhi now filled this role.

Yet in the Wei and Jin, neither law nor ritual could truly bind the noble clans, and Meng Feiyang himself was known as a free spirit. So even though Wang Ningzhi was the highest-ranking official in Kuaiji, he was not given the seat of honor at this private banquet, but was positioned at the upper left instead.

“The Celestial Master’s Way cares deeply for the people. How could they rebel? I suspect you’ve all been misled by rumors,” Wang Ningzhi replied with an ethereal grace, his demeanor showing little concern for the matter at hand.

At first, Young Master Kong had thought Zhang Chi was merely contradicting him, which was why he had declared that even death in battle was preferable to passively awaiting the bandits. He had meant his words for Zhang Chi, not to slight the Wangs or the Xies. But now, hearing Wang Ningzhi’s opinion, he could not agree.

Lacking experience in worldly matters, Young Master Kong spoke bluntly. “If those grain bandits have gathered in the Kuaiji mountains, what else could they be plotting but rebellion? Shanyin is an ancient and prosperous city—those peasants have long harbored designs on it, as everyone knows. How can you call this rumor?”

In ancient times, news traveled slowly, and the gentry scorned involvement in common affairs. Most present had not even heard that the Five Bushels of Rice Sect had attacked Jiankang just the other day. Wang Ningzhi replied, “Buddhism and the Celestial Master’s Way have always been at odds. Yet rumors of rebellion by the Celestial Master’s followers seem exaggerated. If you disdain their teachings, so be it, but why slander them?”

“How have I slandered them?” retorted Young Master Kong, convinced of his own correctness. Yet somehow, he pleased neither side. Clumsy with words, he could only sigh, “Ah, none of you are fit to discuss great affairs.”

With that, he stormed out in indignation.

Now Zhang Chi began to see the subtle undercurrents. Among those present, those who appeared most indifferent were all from noble families devoted to the Celestial Master’s Way—such as Wang Ningzhi, the highest official here.

The Wang clan of Taiyuan had always been staunch Daoists, as had Wang Xizhi in his day. In Shanyin, Daoist believers were many. Daoism was no empty talk; a later poet, Li Bai, wrote:

The clear waves of Mirror Lake ripple gently,
A wild guest’s boat returns, his spirits high.
If among the Daoists of Shanyin I should meet you,
I would trade my white goose for your calligraphy.

Every reference in this poem is rooted here: Mirror Lake lies in Shanyin, and the exchange of “Yellow Court” for a white goose alludes to Wang Xizhi’s love of geese. This shows that in the Wei and Jin, Daoist faith ran deep in Shanyin—perhaps half the population or more.

The tenets of Daoism, tracing back to the Dao De Jing, value non-contention. Thus, Wang Ningzhi and the other gentry devoted to the Celestial Master’s Way refused to believe the Five Bushels of Rice Sect would rebel against Shanyin. And besides, even if the worst happened, they reasoned, weren’t all Daoists brothers? If the Celestial Master’s followers did take the city, the ones to suffer would surely be the Buddhists. So it was those from Buddhist families who advocated for a staunch defense.

Meng Feiyang himself was not a devout Buddhist, but his family had long upheld the faith. Still, his call for preparations was not an attempt to suppress the Daoist clans. Others, though, saw it differently.

Zhang Chi had discerned all this and knew further persuasion from Meng Feiyang would be fruitless. So when Meng tried again to speak, Zhang Chi stopped him: “Let it be. Each man has his own will. There’s no need to force the matter.”

Meng Feiyang sighed helplessly. Seeing such wide divisions, and realizing the Wang and Xie clans had decided to remain aloof, while Young Master Kong had stormed out, the atmosphere grew awkward. The Daoist gentry looked on with schadenfreude, as though it had nothing to do with them. The assembled guests, finding little pleasure in the gathering, soon excused themselves one by one.

Meng Feiyang had hoped this family banquet might rally the leading clans of Shanyin to stand together in defense. In the end, the gathering broke up in disarray, accomplishing nothing.