Chapter 2568 - Garden Tour
The two examination classmates walked side by side, chatting without pause, their manner so warm and familiar that any onlooker might have mistaken them for old friends reunited after years apart.
In truth, Liu Dalin and Chen Zizhuang were barely acquainted—they could hardly be called close. But they shared the most powerful bond in Ming dynasty society: they were examination classmates.
For Ming scholars, the imperial examinations determined everything. Before earning the jinshi degree and securing an official post, a man could do little but study the Four Books and his chosen Classic, endlessly refining his eight-legged essays. Only after passing the jinshi examination could he behold the grandeur of the capital, tour the realm's famous sites, and forge the relationships that truly mattered—classmates, teacher-student bonds, superior and subordinate ties—making acquaintances among "the realm's outstanding talents."
The examinations were brutal. Most licentiates studied until their hair turned white without ever becoming provincial graduates. But those who crossed that threshold had "defied fate and changed destiny," stepping into the ranks of the gentry. If they then passed the metropolitan examination and earned the jinshi degree, they became people of the clouds.
This was why Ming scholars treated the examinations as their lifeline. Most came from common families and lacked powerful patrons when entering officialdom, so they had no choice but to rely on the bonds forged in examination halls—the teacher-student relationships with examiners, the brotherhood with fellow jinshi—to weave their webs of mutual interest. Successful candidates honored their examiners as "seat-teachers," calling themselves "disciples," for "a teacher for a day is a father for life." All who passed together became examination classmates: "ten-thousand-li subjects under one heaven, brothers of one hall from the same hometown." Complete strangers, once linked by this bond, became brothers who would share fortune and misfortune alike. If fellow townsmen happened to pass in the same year, the connection grew more ironclad still.
For scholars with political ambitions, such relationships served as both emotional bonds and political capital. Men cultivated them as carefully as family ties, often forming political factions around these alliances. The networks could burden as well as benefit, but on balance, the rewards outweighed the costs. Even officials defeated in court struggles could retire to their hometowns and rely on classmate networks in both the capital and provinces to continue living as gentry grandees.
When no conflicts of interest intervened, examination classmates gladly socialized. The primary means of strengthening these bonds was holding gatherings—a tradition said to date from the Eastern Han dynasty. In the Ming, the liveliest gatherings were always the first ones, when newly-minted jinshi were still concentrated in the capital. At the close of each gathering, to maintain connections, the participants would compile a roster ordered by age called the "Classmate Register." Since the jinshi compiled it themselves, it was also called the "Private Register," as distinct from the official "Public Register" that ranked candidates by examination performance. Because jinshi positions changed frequently, these registers "would necessarily be reprinted every few years to record actual appointments and shared memories."
By the lakeside pavilion, a banquet stood ready. Handsome pageboys and pretty maidservants waited in attendance.
Chen ZilĂĽ, as host, welcomed each guest as they arrived. Apart from him, everyone present was an examination classmate from Chen Zizhuang's cohort.
The forty-seventh year of Wanli had produced a distinguished class. Historically famous figures—Chen Zizhuang, He Wuzhou, Yuan Chonghuan, Ma Shiying, and Sun Chuanting—had all earned their jinshi degrees that year. Among them, Chen Zizhuang, He Wuzhou, Yuan Chonghuan, Liu Dalin, Yao Dian, Zhao Xunru, Zhu Zuochang, Huang Yingxiu, and Guan Jiyi were all Lingnan scholars. Chen Zizhuang and He Wuzhou had been neighbors since childhood. Huang Yingxiu and Chen Zizhuang's cousin Zhu Shilian had founded a poetry society at Jiujiang's Zhengjue Temple. Yao Dian and Zhu Zuochang hailed from the same Dongguan hometown as Yuan Chonghuan. These men had all maintained close ties over the years. Only Liu Dalin, from remote Hainan Island and prevented by his condition from taking office, had gradually drifted from their circles despite occasional correspondence.
Everyone watched Liu Dalin approach from afar. He wore a reformed hanfu in the cotton style, held an exquisite long tobacco pipe, and his complexion glowed with health—clearly the Australians had been taking good care of him. They all came forward to welcome him.
He Wuzhou called out: "Mengliang! Haven't seen you in years. You look better than ever."
"Brother Longyou, Brother Housheng, Brother Shengjin, Brother Shunhu—you're all well!" After over a decade bedridden with paralysis, this was Liu Dalin's first time seeing so many classmates at once. Emotion stirred in his heart, and he trembled as he tried to rise from his seat.
Though they had all passed the same examination, He Wuzhou, Zhao Xunru, and Yao Dian were about twelve years older than Chen Zizhuang and Liu Dalin—white-templed elders now in their fifties and sixties. He Wuzhou had been dismissed from office due to factional conflict with Wen Tiren. Zhao Xunru had long since taken leave to nurse his health at home. Yao Dian had retired in the seventh year of Tianqi. Later, upon hearing that Yuan Chonghuan had been cruelly executed despite his innocence, he was so deeply shaken that he secluded himself in the countryside and ignored worldly affairs ever since.
Seeing Liu Dalin still struggling to stand, He Wuzhou strode forward and helped support him alongside Chen Zizhuang. He laughed warmly: "Who would have thought that after galloping through the examination halls together in our youth, we'd end up as old men leaning on each other for support? Ha ha ha..."
"As the saying goes, it takes a hundred lifetimes of cultivation to share a single boat crossing—an immense fate indeed. And since Brother Shunhu has prepared such colorful boats for us, ha ha..."
"'Love Only,' 'Rest Upon,' 'Fish Length,' 'Playing in Azure,' 'Floating Home'—even the boat names are elegant. Today we must produce works for the ages."
Since ancient times, when literati gathered they did nothing but compose verse, drink wine, play music, and discourse on current affairs. Under clear skies, after a round of pleasantries, everyone boarded small boats to tour Vegetable Leaf Lake. Blue waves rippled across the water. The garden was fragrant with birdsong and flowers. Buddhist chanting drifted slowly from Changchun Nunnery, and one could not help but feel as if entering a painting.
A contemporary poem captured the scene:
A garden built to rival Penglai's realm, Cassia and pepper planted in their turn. By midnight sword-light, dragons reunite; For days discussing literature, guests return.
On lofty branches in warm spring, orioles sing clever; From miasma seas, calm winds let mirages appear. No need for astrologers to read the virtue-stars— Our colorful brushes already shine far and near.
After boating to their hearts' content, everyone ascended Shuxiao Tower at the lake's center. Chen ZilĂĽ had arranged brushes, ink, paper, and inkstone there so guests could compose calligraphy and leave behind treasured works.
Seeing everyone in high spirits, Chen Zizhuang judged the moment ripe. He turned to Liu Dalin: "Mengliang, it's been so long since we've enjoyed such carefree poetry and song. Today has been truly exhilarating. It's just a pity..."
Liu Dalin noticed he had left his sentence unfinished, as if something remained unsaid. "Jisheng speaks but stops—is there something difficult to say?"
"It's a pity we haven't heard the music of heavenly instruments..." Chen Zizhuang said with evident regret.
"How is that difficult? Jisheng, you're accomplished in all four arts—qin, chess, calligraphy, and painting. If you'd be willing to play a tune, we couldn't ask for more," Liu Dalin said.
"I know of two famous qins in the city," Chen Zizhuang replied. "One is called Green Silk Terrace, made in the early Tang dynasty and once the personal instrument of our dynasty's Emperor Wuzong. The other is called South Wind, a former possession of Song Emperor Lizong. If these two qins could be played today, it would be worthy of our gathering."
"Oh?" Yao Dian asked teasingly. "Does Qiutao mean he must have these famous qins before he'll perform?"
"No, no!" Chen Zizhuang said. "These two qins belong to a young friend of mine. On ordinary days I could borrow them easily. But their owner is currently imprisoned, and I find myself anxious and unsettled..."
Now Liu Dalin understood. After all this circling, there was apparently a favor to be asked. "May I ask your young friend's name, and what crime he committed?"
"Kuang Lu, styled Zhanruo," Chen Zizhuang said. "He studied under Master Hanshan from childhood. His elder cousin followed Supervisor Yuan and died on the Liaodong battlefield—a family of loyalty and righteousness. Zhanruo once offended Huang Xiyin, the former Nanhai County Magistrate, and fled far from home for many years, only recently returning. A few days ago at Nanhai Academy, he happened to encounter Huang Xiyin. When Huang Xiyin insulted his cousin's memory, Zhanruo beat him in a fit of rage. The Australian police detained him for it."
"I see. Jisheng, don't worry. What your young friend did is not a serious crime—there shouldn't be any major problems." Liu Dalin had spent many years in Lingao and understood the Senate's legal system fairly well. Since Huang Xiyin held no official position and wasn't a cadre, under Senate law, beating someone without causing serious injury would only result in some public order punishment—detention for a few days and a fine. Nothing more.
"Mengliang, there's something you don't know," Chen Zizhuang said. "Zhanruo and Huang Xiyin already had a grudge between them. Though Huang Xiyin isn't an Australian official now, I've heard he voluntarily went over to them and became a councillor to the Nanhai County Magistrate. The new County Magistrate Zhang is a true... a true Australian. Huang Xiyin sees him daily. I worry Huang Xiyin will use his personal grudge to seek revenge, and my young friend may meet with misfortune."
Liu Dalin pondered for a moment. "Are there other complications?"
Chen Zizhuang hesitated slightly. "Mengliang is perceptive—nothing escapes you. There is another matter. That day, Zhanruo also wrote a 'sentimental poem' on the outer wall of Zunxin Pavilion. The language was... not entirely appropriate for the times."
Now Liu Dalin felt less certain. Though the Senate in Qiongzhou had never conducted literary inquisitions or similar nonsense, and had never bothered disputing classics with Ming scholars, after taking control of Guangzhou they had indeed made examples of quite a few gentry. The reasons were legitimate enough—tax evasion, kidnapping and mutilating people for profit—things the Australians absolutely would not tolerate. As for "seditious poetry," if they wanted an excuse to punish troublesome former-dynasty remnants, it would not be impossible. Ultimately, everything depended on the political situation within the Senate.
But to ease Chen Zizhuang's mind, Liu Dalin still offered reassurance: "Jisheng, don't worry. Based on my understanding of the Senate, they've always governed by law. They wouldn't punish someone merely for speech."
"Then I must trouble you, Mengliang." Chen Zizhuang clasped his hands.
"Jisheng speaks too formally. I'll certainly do my best," Liu Dalin said.
He suddenly recalled what Zhang Xiao had told him aboard the Nemesis Bane, and felt it necessary to offer a word of advice. "I have something to say—though I'm not sure whether I should speak it."
Everyone exchanged glances. It was He Wuzhou, smooth as ever, who spoke up: "We're all brothers of hometown and school. Whatever Mengliang has to say is surely for our benefit. Speak freely."
Liu Dalin said: "All present have received generations of favor from the former dynasty. That my elder brothers' hearts still turn toward the Great Ming is only proper, and none can find fault with it. But in my humble opinion, the Great Ming is now like the sun setting in the west—its mandate is exhausted. Though my elder brothers are mindful of the former dynasty's grace and unwilling to serve the Senate, I only hope you will not become their enemies. This would be a blessing for the people—a fortune for all living things."
(End of Chapter)