The Child Emperor

The group dismounted at the entrance of the alley. The attendants remained there while Yang Feng led the Weary Marquis deeper into the lane.

The alley was narrow, with footprints densely covering the snow, but no hoof prints or wheel tracks. At a worn-down door, Yang Feng knocked twice with the door ring, then stepped back to the stairs and waited silently. Han Ruzi stood beside him, feeling as if they were visiting a recluse.

After quite a while, the door finally opened gently. A boy around ten years old emerged and bowed to them both, saying “Please wait in the back cottage.”

Han Ruzi suddenly noticed something interesting – the way martial artists bowed seemed more casual, with hands almost touching their chin and elbows lowered close to their sides, appearing both humble yet guarded, ready to switch from politeness to combat at any moment. The scholars’ etiquette was much more complex – even a child performed it properly: hands clasped about half a foot from the chest, arms spread wide like a fledgling’s wings.

After assuming the proper posture, martial artists would move their hands and mouth but not their head, keeping their gaze fixed to observe the other’s reaction. Scholars did the opposite – keeping hands and mouth still while bowing their head and waist slightly, only speaking after straightening up.

Though the scholars’ etiquette might seem rigid, these stiff postures indicated that they posed no threat and had absolutely no intention of fighting.

Han Ruzi and Yang Feng were led to the back courtyard where there was indeed a cottage. Inside there were mats but no tables or chairs. Han Ruzi recalled his study sessions in the palace and thought that maintaining these ancient customs was quite tiring.

There were several thin cushions on the mats. Han Ruzi knelt on the guest mat, with Yang Feng slightly behind him to show the master-servant distinction. The door was half-open, letting in both the cold wind and clear sounds of children reading.

“Is this a private school?”

Han Ruzi wasn’t surprised that Guo Cong’s friend was a teacher, though he hadn’t expected him to be teaching children.

They waited quietly, with Han Ruzi idly pondering the differences between martial artists and scholars, wondering which type Yang Feng leaned more towards.

The boy came several times, bringing braziers, charcoal, pots, water, tea, cups, spoons and various tea implements – about fifteen or sixteen items in total. However, he didn’t brew the tea, instead politely apologizing and asking the guests to wait a bit longer.

By the time the cold wind had made the inside as chilly as the outside, Guo Cong arrived. Though he sat on a chair when lecturing the emperor, now he properly sat on his knees opposite them. After greetings, he personally began brewing tea, his movements slow but methodical.

Yang Feng moved forward on his knees, slightly sideways, to assist Guo Cong with the tea. The host-guest roles were clear, yet they worked together seamlessly as if they brewed tea together daily.

This was the scholars’ way of social interaction. Like the martial artists’ secret codes, Han Ruzi couldn’t understand it.

Yang Feng handed a cup of brewed tea to the Weary Marquis. Han Ruzi took a sip and let out a long “hmm” before saying with a smile, “Now I understand why the door is kept open – only in the depths of winter can one truly appreciate the wonder of hot tea.”

“Haha!” Guo Cong laughed heartily. Here he no longer maintained his image of a decrepit old scholar, instead showing some spirit and vigor. “As they say, only in cold weather do we know the strength of pine and cypress, and only in poverty do we find true friendship. The Weary Marquis has a unique appreciation for tea.”

Han Ruzi smiled, holding the teacup with both hands and taking small sips. He found it slightly sweet but couldn’t discern more nuances.

Yang Feng only served the Weary Marquis and didn’t drink tea himself.

Guo Cong took a sip, seemed to want to critique it, but after some hesitation gave up and made casual conversation instead.

After about half an hour, the reading sounds outside stopped, and soon after, their host finally appeared.

He was a man in his thirties, thin in build, wearing loose robes with wide sleeves – completely matching the common image of a scholar, except his darker complexion somewhat diminished his scholarly air.

Han Ruzi had heard from Yang Feng that this man’s surname was Qu, given name Zixi. Though relatively young, he was a famous scholar, having become an official in the late Martial Emperor’s reign, and currently served as a professor at the College of National Scions.

What Yang Feng hadn’t mentioned was that this Qu Zixi was more interested in teaching children than adults.

Qu Zixi made a deep bow to the Weary Marquis at the doorway, apologizing for his late arrival. After exchanging courtesies with Guo Cong, he sat at the lower position.

The boy fully opened the doors and windows. Han Ruzi then noticed two plum trees in the corner of the courtyard, crowned with bright red blossoms that caught the eye. A faint fragrance seemed to drift in the air, and he realized the tea’s flavor had some similarity to plum blossom scent.

The best moment to praise the tea had passed, and Han Ruzi hadn’t come for that anyway, so he waited quietly for the other to speak.

Once the pleasantries were over, Qu Zixi sat up straight, holding his teacup with one hand supporting it from below and the other from the side. He took a small sip as if it were the world’s finest wine, then slowly set down his cup. After a moment of silence, he began his “lecture.”

He indeed spoke in a lecturing tone, as if he had merely changed classrooms but was still facing students awaiting his teachings. Though his expression was solemn, his words weren’t difficult to understand.

“Does the Weary Marquis believe that reading can make a person smarter?”

“Yes,” Han Ruzi had gained much from reading historical texts, only regretting that he started too late and had read too little.

“Does the Weary Marquis believe that reading can make a person kinder and more compassionate?”

“That… not necessarily.”

“Indeed. Among scholars there are plenty of shameless and cruel individuals. So while reading can make one smarter, it doesn’t necessarily make one kinder or more compassionate.”

Han Ruzi didn’t know what to say.

Qu Zixi continued without waiting for a response: “Of two cruel individuals, one dull-witted and one intelligent, which does the Weary Marquis think poses the greater threat?”

Han Ruzi understood what the middle-aged scholar was getting at. He had read similar arguments in historical texts about certain emperors being “smart enough to reject advice and eloquent enough to disguise wrongdoing,” making them worse than ordinary imbecilic rulers and earning the title of tyrant. In Qu Zixi’s view, neither the Weary Marquis, Prince Donghai, nor the Champion Marquis were qualified to be emperor, but the less intelligent Champion Marquis was actually the best choice.

Han Ruzi smiled and said, “Of two mediocre teachers, one extremely strict who insists students follow his methods, and one extremely lenient who lets students study as they please, which does Master Qu think is more likely to produce outstanding students?”

Qu Zixi laughed heartily, his expression becoming less solemn and showing more spirit, like Guo Cong had earlier.

He understood the Weary Marquis’s meaning. Scholars were like teachers who thought they understood everything about their students but were actually shortsighted. If they were more lenient, some students might end up exceling despite their teachers, but if too strict, mediocre teachers would struggle to produce exceptional pupils. Qu Zixi, Guo Cong and others interfering in imperial succession were no different from mediocre but strict teachers.

Han Ruzi absolutely refused to accept that he would become an imbecilic or tyrannical emperor.

Qu Zixi also refused to accept that they were mediocre teachers, saying, “Of two fields, one poor but safely located with guaranteed annual yields, and one fertile but in low-lying land often flooded, producing one bumper harvest but nothing for three years, which does the Weary Marquis think is better?”

The fertile field referred to the Martial Emperor, who was brilliant and powerful but exhausted the Great Chu’s resources. The scholars didn’t want another such emperor so soon, preferring a mediocre ruler while the nation recovered.

Han Ruzi refused to concede: “Of two boats, one small and new with no problems, one large and old with possible leaks – in calm waters the small boat is obviously preferable, but if facing a great flood with only one chance to escape to higher ground, which boat would you choose?”

The small boat seemed safer but carried fewer people and could easily capsize in huge waves. The large boat was old but could carry more people and might withstand the waves. With only one chance, the large boat was clearly the better choice.

As Han Ruzi and Qu Zixi continued their pointed debate, Guo Cong and Yang Feng listened while refilling teacups and serving them to the two debaters. To ease the tension, Guo Cong smiled and suggested, “Why not use both boats?”

His comment was inappropriate. Han Ruzi gave him a cold look, while Qu Zixi also showed displeasure, looking Guo Cong up and down with apparent disappointment.

Though Guo Cong was the oldest and most prestigious of the four, he now blushed with embarrassment – far more uncomfortable than Han Ruzi had been earlier when failing to appreciate the tea’s subtleties – and bowed his head in apology with both hands pressed against the mat.

Qu Zixi said, “Though recent years haven’t been perfectly peaceful, there haven’t been major disasters, and most problems are man-made. We don’t need a large boat – a small one will suffice to cross safely.”

Great Chu faced external threats from the Xiongnu and internal troubles from displaced people, but these weren’t unprecedented crises. It was the court’s inaction that let things worsen. They just needed an unremarkable emperor who wouldn’t cause trouble to solve these problems and restore normalcy.

“When wind first stirs the tips of young apple trees, how many can recognize what’s coming?” Han Ruzi abandoned metaphors and spoke directly: “The palace is in chaos, with the Empress Dowager playing power games and bringing in fate seers to control the officials. If you want a mediocre emperor, you’ll likely end up with a puppet instead. How will you cut these puppet strings?”

“We have our ways to make the Empress Dowager transfer power and send the fate seers back to their world,” Qu Zixi said, but didn’t elaborate – that was their secret.

“The Xiongnu have been divided for long. The Western Xiongnu had settled in the far west, but they have suddenly moved east, defeating the Eastern Xiongnu in one battle. Their power hasn’t waned and their army remains strong. Yet they flee like frightened dogs because an even stronger enemy pursues them. This powerful force has sworn to fight the Chu people. Though the great waves are distant, when they arrive they will uproot trees and destroy homes. Do you have a plan to deal with this?”

Qu Zixi shook his head and smiled, “Though Great Chu is ailing, we don’t fear northern barbarians. The Weary Marquis creates an imaginary enemy – this is exactly the kind of intelligence we fear.”

Han Ruzi replied seriously, “How can scholars forget history? Great Chu has ruled for over 120 years, but defeating the Xiongnu happened just decades ago. Thirty years before that, we were deadlocked with them, and thirty years before that, we even had to sue for peace and pay tribute to the Xiongnu. Which period does the current Great Chu most resemble?”

Everyone would agree that today’s Great Chu couldn’t match its peak under the Martial Emperor.

After a moment of silence, Qu Zixi said, “These are just fanciful fears.”

Han Ruzi replied, “Regarding the distant enemy, the Western Regions must have sensed something, and the Ministry of Rites’ Reception Bureau may have heard news. Within days, Xiongnu envoys will arrive at the Capital – they know more.”

Qu Zixi smiled slightly and raised his teacup, signaling it was time for the guests to leave.

In the alley, Han Ruzi asked, “Did I handle that well?”

“Very well,” said Yang Feng.

“But I don’t think I convinced those two.”

“There’s no need. It’s enough that they know what kind of person you are.”

“But isn’t someone like me exactly what he doesn’t want? Never mind, I just want you to tell me one thing: can these scholars really turn things around?”

Yang Feng was cryptic again: “Without immediate benefit, who would pursue something eagerly? Over thousands of years, scholars have grown more numerous – this isn’t without reason. The Weary Marquis should be patient a while longer; you’ll soon see the scholars’ true power.”

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