Chapter 62
Chapter 62
The method for taming the Min River’s floods stayed with the scholars, even awakening in them a profound curiosity about nature.
How were mountains formed? Where did water come from? Why did the wind blow in different directions? Why did lightning appear before thunder could be heard during a storm?
Why did some eggs hatch into chicks while others did not? Why could certain crops only be planted in spring? Was there any way to make them grow in every season?
Could a tool be devised to make loosening soil easier for farmers? Or another to simplify irrigation? Was there a way to make soil more fertile?
As the scholars’ thoughts spread in every direction, they suddenly realized that the books of sages had taught them only to cultivate themselves, manage their families, govern the state, and bring peace to the realm. Those books had allowed them to hold their heads high while looking down upon and rejecting those they deemed base and lowly.
But they had never taught them what the ordinary people from every corner of the land – the people who formed households, made up counties, gathered into cities, and supported the Jian’an Dynasty – truly needed.
They needed fertile soil they could see and touch, farming tools that saved time and labor, stone houses that did not leak and could withstand floods, and implements that kept them warm in winter.
At court, civil and military officials shaped the course of the realm and brought order to all under Heaven. Beneath the court, however, local officials such as themselves ought to devote their attention to practical study: terrain and natural cycles, mathematics, and the improvement of tools that had long since fallen behind the times.
Only when every official, at court and beyond, fulfilled their own duty could they truly bring prosperity to the people.
That was the true meaning of public office.
Many scholars felt that this journey had been immensely rewarding, as if they had discovered the purpose of learning. Others grew curious about the able man named Li Bing.
They wanted to ask him about terrain and natural cycles, broaden their knowledge, and one day put it to use for the people.
To their surprise, however, they searched everywhere and met several villagers named Li Bing, but none was the able man they sought.
Someone with such talent, who had shared the method for taming the Min River without reservation, should not have been a petty man. Why, then, did he never appear?
Did Li Bing truly exist?
The scholars speculated endlessly. But as the weather turned cold and the bitter winter drew near, their silver was already running low. They also had to prepare for the spring imperial examination, so they could only set out for home with lingering regret.
When Xie Chengze heard that the scholars were leaving, he paid for a farewell banquet at the inn.
Xie Chengze sat at Bian Yangchun’s table and drank merrily with the scholars. His exceptional beauty, lavish spending, and frequent appearances beside Prefect Liang had left a deep impression on them. Even knowing that he was the son of a merchant from Yuzhou, they showed him no contempt and instead conversed with him with great enthusiasm.
When they learned that Zhu Xiaobiao was his servant and Jing Ze a scholar he sponsored, their expressions turned strange. One tentatively joked, “Brother Cheng, you wouldn’t happen to be Li Bing, would you?”
Why else had they been unable to find anyone by that name?
“Hahahaha, you gentlemen think far too highly of me. I’m merely an idle rich boy fond of roaming mountains and rivers.” Xie Chengze smiled wryly and waved a hand in denial. “I know you have all been searching for Lord Li, but he truly has unavoidable difficulties that prevent him from answering your hopes.”
After all, the man was an ancient figure from Xie Chengze’s own world.
The scholars did not press him. Assuming Li Bing was gravely ill, they all said, “We ask only that Lord Li Bing remain in good health and continue bringing prosperity to Jian’an.”
After several rounds of wine, the scholars finally dispersed, returned to their rooms for the night, and sank into sleep.
On the road back to the yamen, Zhu Xiaobiao asked Xie Chengze, “Your Highness, why didn’t you admit that you’re Li Bing?”
Xie Chengze had drunk a little wine, and his steps were so light and unsteady that he seemed to be walking on cotton. A rosy flush colored his fair cheeks. Fanning away the heat from his face with his gold-threaded fan, he mumbled, “I told you, I’m not Li Bing.”
“All right.” Zhu Xiaobiao changed the question. “Then why didn’t Your Highness admit that you taught me the flood-control method?”
“Because a person must keep a low profile.” Xie Chengze giggled and tapped Zhu Xiaobiao on the head. “Xiaobiao, Jing Ze, remember this. You have to hide your strengths and learn to be tactful. That’s the only way to survive in the palace…”
“No, no…” He shook his head again. It felt as though his skull were full of sloshing wine, and he grew increasingly dizzy.
He continued haltingly, “That only applies to me. You… can become whoever you want to be, because I will protect you.”
“As long as I’m here… no one will bully you…”
After speaking, he became so dizzy from shaking his head that his foot slipped and he stumbled forward.
Zhu Xiaobiao and Jing Ze reached out in alarm to catch him, but someone else moved faster.
Zhu Xiaobiao looked up and saw one of Xie Chengze’s personal guards: Wuhen.
Wuhen caught the drunken Xie Chengze against his back, hoisted him up, and continued toward the yamen with steady, silent strides.
Zhu Xiaobiao and Jing Ze hurried after them. Zhu Xiaobiao eyed the black veil over Wuhen’s eyes, covered his mouth, and whispered to Jing Ze beside him, “Jing Ze, he wears that veil every day. How does he see where he’s going?”
Jing Ze shook his head. “I don’t know. Perhaps only martial artists understand.”
Zhu Xiaobiao could only nod.
The four returned to the yamen and found an extra glow before its gates. Looking closer, they saw Lord Shen standing there with a bright yellow lantern, seemingly waiting for someone.
When the four reached the entrance, Shen Yuan’s placid gaze settled behind Wuhen. Seeing Xie Chengze fast asleep on his back, Shen Yuan frowned faintly. “What happened?”
“His Highness drank a little too much,” Zhu Xiaobiao hurriedly explained.
Shen Yuan’s frown deepened.
“Xie Chengze” never drank. “He” believed alcohol led to trouble, and women did as well, so he never touched either.
Nor did he touch men.
Shen Yuan silently added that last thought.
If Xie Chengze was “playing the role of Xie Chengze,” then he was doing a woefully inadequate job. His performance was riddled with flaws.
Was he indulging himself only because they were now in Yizhou, far from the court’s struggles?
With a soft sigh, Shen Yuan carried the yellow lantern into the yamen and said coolly, “Come. I’ll light the way for you.”
Wuhen refused to remove that wretched veil even in the middle of the night. Shen Yuan knew Wuhen had excellent eyesight and memory, and that the moderately thin veil was somewhat translucent, but it allowed him to see only faint outlines. At night, he was effectively blind.
As for how Shen Yuan knew… After killing Wuhen in his previous life, he had deliberately torn off the veil to examine it.
At the thought, Shen Yuan’s footsteps faltered again, and a question rose in his mind.
If Xie Chengze was not “Xie Chengze,” why did Wuhen and Wuji obey his orders?
Had they failed to notice anything amiss, or…
Was he Xie Chengze after all?