Chapter Nineteen: You Have Stories, I Have Wine

Qiufen poked her head out from Lushuang’s room, looking at the courtyard in surprise. She had just heard the young master speaking with someone, yet now there wasn’t a soul in sight. A sparrow, arriving from who knows where, curiously pecked at the withered yellow leaves on a tree, then fluttered its wings and flew off into the distance, tracing a graceful arc between the endless eaves of the houses.

Qiantang, truly, is so beautiful!

She turned back to look at Lushuang, who lay on the bed. Having just drunk her medicine, Lushuang was resting with her eyes closed. A gentle, warm smile flickered through those clear eyes. Qiufen quietly closed the door and made her way to the central room.

Reaching the doorway, she raised her hand to knock, but the door opened and Zuo Wen stepped out, smiling. “The young master is speaking with a guest. Is it something urgent?”

“It’s nothing. The young master said he’d come see Sister Lushuang, but after waiting a while, he still hasn't come..." As Qiufen spoke, she tiptoed, peering over Zuo Wen’s shoulder into the room, and whispered, “Brother Zuo, who is that man?”

Zuo Wen himself was still puzzled. Every time He Ru spoke, it was as if he couldn’t rest until he’d dropped a bombshell, making it impossible to discern who he truly was. He lowered his voice as well. “A guest staying at the inn, says he’s from Jingkou, met the young master by chance, and perhaps they felt a kinship, so he specially came for a conversation.”

Qiufen stuck out her tongue. “Then I’ll go take care of Sister Lushuang. When the young master is done with his guest, I’ll come back.” Smiling, Zuo Wen watched her go, then scanned the courtyard. Finding nothing amiss, he gently closed the door. Inside, Xu You’s voice could be heard: “Did you pass through Yixing by chance, or did you go there deliberately?”

“One could say I passed through by chance, or that I went deliberately, but it was not to see the commotion—it was to see Seventh Young Master himself!”

Xu You poured him a cup of tea and teased, “I’m hardly a peerless beauty, what virtue or ability do I have that would make you go to such lengths to meet me?”

He Ru answered nonchalantly, “A beauty’s allure, in my eyes, is merely an axe that chips away at one’s nature. After a hundred years, all are but rosy skeletons—how could that compare to a tenth of what Seventh Young Master is?”

The words were rather ambiguous. In his previous life, Xu You would have joked, “Are you trying to start a romance with me?” But in this era, love between men was fashionable, and if he actually said that, who knew what the other would imagine? Best to skip that topic. He said instead, “Earlier you claimed to dislike the words of Buddhism and Daoism, yet your speech seems to echo many of Buddhism’s subtle insights and maxims.”

“What are these subtle Buddhist maxims?” A cold smile touched He Ru’s lips. “Mysticism comes from the Dao, Buddhism arrived from the West. On the surface, they're separate streams. But in recent years, metaphysics has hit a bottleneck—the Three Mystical Texts have been read threadbare, and there are no longer such figures as Wang Bi, He Yan, or Pei Wei to establish new metaphysical schools. As for Buddhism, it’s a doctrine of Western barbarians, with much laughable content at its core. Simply repeating their teachings makes them hard to accept here, so, to adapt to the local culture and to develop more quickly, the two schools have borrowed from each other, mutually influencing and blending. For instance, the famed monk Tanqian used Buddhism to annotate the Zhuangzi, and was lauded as ‘one who single-handedly clarifies the great Dharma, uniquely insightful and transcending boundaries’—but at root, is this not a matter of mutual benefit? The so-called Buddhist maxims you refer to may not truly be Buddhist at all.”

The word “culture” had already appeared in the Book of Changes, so it wasn't a new term. Xu You smiled, sipped his tea, and said little more. He’d already noticed a certain flaw in He Ru: while his eloquence was extraordinary, if he heard anything he disliked, he would immediately embark on a headlong, unrestrained rebuttal, displaying his knowledge and intellect without the slightest concern for the other’s feelings.

But, as the old saying goes, those of great talent are rarely humble. From the time they’d met to the present, within the span of a single cup of tea, He Ru had already revealed his deep study and understanding of metaphysics, Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism. The breadth and depth of his learning was almost unrivaled.

Thinking of Cao Mengde’s famous call for talent—no one is perfect, use what is useful—if He Ru truly had mastered the secret arts of Guigu and the Yinfu, his faults could be overlooked.

Moreover, for those in power, it is the brilliant people with weaknesses who are truly reassuring.

He Ru wore a cold smile, yet secretly observed Xu You’s expression. He found Xu You calm and unhurried, quietly listening, a warm smile always on his face, as if nothing He Ru might say would irritate or anger him.

The tea was finished.

“Why did Master He come to Yixing to see me?” Xu You put down his cup, his tone serious.

He Ru sighed. “Before I answer, would Seventh Young Master care to hear a story?”

Xu You turned to Zuo Wen. “Go and have the attendant bring two flasks of wine.”

Zuo Wen hesitated, glancing at He Ru with concern. “Master…”

Xu You smiled. “I don’t think Master He is versed in martial arts. Go on, it’s fine.” Then, looking at He Ru, he touched his nose and asked, “You’re not a ranked martial artist, are you?”

He Ru replied quietly, “What use is martial arts? To defeat ten, a hundred? It’s mere brute strength—I disdained to learn it.”

Zuo Wen’s face darkened; his fierce eyes widened as he glared at He Ru. Xu You burst out laughing. “Once, Xiang Ji failed at learning letters, failed at the sword, and only wanted to learn the art of defeating ten thousand. So, does Master He wish to teach me the strategy of a one-against-ten-thousand general?”

He Ru answered without a trace of modesty, “Listen to my story first, then we can speak of teaching.”

“Arrogant!”

Zuo Wen could no longer contain himself. “Even if you could defeat ten thousand, what of it? I could slay you with a single stroke right now!”

He Ru didn’t even glance at Zuo Wen. “A single man’s fury may spill blood within five steps—indeed, but in this room, such words are empty threats. In front of Seventh Young Master, would you be allowed to draw your sword and commit violence?”

Xu You smiled faintly. “Not necessarily…”

No sooner had he spoken than the flash of a sword filled the small room, dazzling and fierce, thrusting straight at He Ru’s face. At first, He Ru remained motionless, but as the sword neared his brow, its chill sharpness clearly felt, Xu You remained silent, quietly observing. He Ru knew that if he didn’t move, the blade would show no mercy; in desperation, he braced his hands on the table and barely managed to tumble backward, narrowly avoiding the strike—quite a sorry sight. Sitting up again, he saw Zuo Wen had already sheathed his sword, standing respectfully behind Xu You. “Young Master’s judgment is flawless—Master He truly knows nothing of martial arts.”

Xu You nodded, smiling at He Ru. “Please don’t be offended, Master He. My friend wouldn’t be at ease without testing your skills.”

He Ru, composed as ever, met Xu You’s gaze. “Did you wish to test my martial skills, or remind me not to presume to guess your intentions?”

Xu You replied calmly, “You’re a clever man, Master He; naturally, you understand my meaning.”

“And if I hadn’t dodged just now?”

“You claim to be a peerless strategist, versed in the secrets of Guigu, unsurpassed in wit. If you couldn’t even save your own life, how could anyone trust, accept, or employ you?”

He Ru was silent for a moment. When he raised his head again, his eyes shone. “Though young, Seventh Young Master already possesses the flavor of a true ruler. Excellent, excellent—it is for such a Xu family scion that I have chased a thousand miles, yearning for a single meeting!”

He rose and bowed to Zuo Wen. “I was rude just now—please don’t take offense, Master Zuo.”

Zuo Wen hurriedly returned the bow. Xu You knew He Ru was deliberately making amends, and though he had guessed at He Ru’s motives, there were still details to clarify before giving any answer.

“Fenghu, fetch the wine.”

Zuo Wen departed and swiftly returned, warming the wine and setting out dishes. He Ru began his story.

“Thirty years ago, in the court of Chu, there was a General Who Pacified the North named He Daoqi. He served under two reigns, achieved great fame in battle, but because his merit overshadowed the throne, he was feared by the royal house. At the time when An Zidiao fell ill, an imperial edict summoned General He back to the capital. Before reaching Jinling, he was ambushed on the roadside by the Chief Commandant of the Capital, accompanied by officers from the Hawk and Tiger Bureaus, and imprisoned in the Yellow Sands prison.”

Xu You felt a chill. He remembered the name He Fangming well—first, because he was famed throughout the land, his reputation known to all but the most remote villagers; second, because of his close ties to the Xu clan of Yixing—Xu You’s own grandfather, Xu Zhan, had marched north with He Fangming in campaigns against Wei, their exploits legendary; and third, most important of all, He Fangming was the only minister slain by Chu whose unjust death provoked public outcry throughout the realm—even the emperor of Wei, Yuan Hong, is said to have rejoiced at the news, declaring that with Fangming dead, the “islanders” were no longer to be feared.

At that time, the north and south hurled insults at each other: Chu called Wei the “barbarian bandits,” Wei called Chu the “island savages.” War and war of words, rich in national character and tradition.

As for He Ru’s flagrant disregard, calling the emperor of Chu by his personal name—Xu You chose to disregard it.

“Within three days, An Zidiao issued another decree: General He Fangming and his son, the Yellow Gate Attendant He Zhi; the Colonel of the Minister of Works, He Can; the Attendant Gentleman to the Heir Apparent, He Xi; the Registrar to the General Who Pacified the North, He Cheng; and the Secretary He Jun—a total of eleven—were all executed in the Yellow Sands prison. The Deputy to the Minister of Works, Xue Zhiqian, was arrested and executed in Jinling, and the Chief Commandant’s assistants, Liu Wen and Lu Zhen, led three hundred men to Xunyang to arrest He Fangming’s sons—He Yi, He Cheng, He Yan—and another confidant, Gao Xiao, all of whom were executed. Still unsatisfied, ten days later, another decree ordered the complete extermination of the He clan, three generations in all.”

Xue Zhiqian and Gao Xiao were He Fangming’s trusted men, said to be nearly third-rank masters. To kill He Fangming, they had to die as well. Xu You had heard that in the pursuit, the Chief Commandant’s office lost dozens of their best, and only after a night of bloody battle did they succeed.

He Ru’s voice was calm, as if recounting someone else’s tale, but his cup was never empty—Zuo Wen poured, he drank, and as the wine took effect, his eyes reddened, but his words remained steady.

He Fangming had a cousin, He Fande, who served as a councilor. When He Fangming was summoned to the capital, He Fande had already predicted disaster, but could not persuade He Fangming, loyal to a fault, to disobey. After returning to the capital, He Fande gathered his family and fled to the northern border with Wei, taking with him a concubine from the General’s barracks, who was newly pregnant. When the news arrived that the emperor had ordered the He clan’s extermination, He Fande immediately led everyone across the border to seek refuge in Northern Wei.

They spent three difficult years in Wei; He Fande suffered at the hands of the Xianbei nobility. One night, in drunken frustration, he spoke ill of the Wei ruler and was reported. The emperor Yuan Hong was enraged and ordered He Fande to be executed by being crushed under a mud wall, the rest of the He family beheaded.

But fate intervened: He Fangming, during his campaigns on the border, had once had a Xianbei general, Wang Shou, as a subordinate. He treated Wang like a kinsman, teaching him martial arts and strategy, then personally sent him back to Wei, believing his talent would be best used there. Wang Shou, upon returning, was indeed highly valued. That day, he was among those overseeing the execution. Learning that there was a two-year-old posthumous son of He Fangming among the captives, Wang, remembering old kindness, risked everything to secretly substitute another, rescuing the child and sending him to a Buddhist temple in Luoyang, where he was ordained as a novice monk, spending his days chanting and striking the bell.

“Twenty-five years later, that monk finally found his chance. He escaped Luoyang with his abbot, returning to the southern homeland he had never known.”

Xu You asked, “Did he wish to live in peace?”

He Ru drank another cup; Zuo Wen moved to refill his wine, but Xu You stopped him and poured himself. He Ru silently lowered his head, staring at the weathered face reflected in his murky cup. Suddenly, his expression twisted with hatred.

“He wanted to see, with his own eyes, how this An dynasty, which lorded over all the people, would collapse bit by bit—until it became a desolate graveyard, fit only for burying An Zidiao!”