Chapter Twenty-One: The All-Knowing Man

Wang Rouhua looked at her mischievous son and said, “I suppose you already know, don’t you? Otherwise, why would you go to such lengths to inquire about Xia Song?”

Tie Xinyuan grinned. “Mother, do you recall passing by Xia Song’s house with me when I was three? You were weeping so much that my tiger-head cap was soaked with your tears. Since then, I’ve been curious about your past, so I did a little research. Yet I still don’t know everything, so I wanted to visit Xia Song’s house myself—to see what sort of demons or monsters could bring my mother to tears.”

A child’s life is endlessly dull, so Tie Xinyuan had plenty of time to dig into anything that piqued his interest—especially matters concerning his mother. It made no sense not to get to the bottom of things.

The one helping him was Tongzi. But now that Tongzi was grown, he wouldn’t do anything without being paid. To get him to ask around about Xia Song at the professional gossips’ haunts in Tokyo, Tie Xinyuan ended up losing more than half of his generous New Year’s money.

“Grown-ups’ affairs are none of your concern. All you need to know is that Xia Song is not a good man.”

Tie Xinyuan pulled a ledger from a small wooden box, flipped through a few pages, and began to recite: “Xia Song’s father, Xia Chenghao, once served in the inner court. One winter morning on his way to court, Xia Chenghao found a baby boy wrapped in brocade, with two golden hairpins. Childless, Xia Chenghao took the boy in and raised him—this boy was Xia Song.

“Not long after adopting Xia Song, Xia Chenghao died in a night battle against the Khitans. I venture to guess that Xia Song is very likely an illegitimate child, possibly from a wealthy family. But he should have nothing to do with you, Mother. For one thing, you’re not the right age; for another, he was serving as prefect in Hongzhou when you came of age.

“Xia Song rose through his poetry and gained favor with the late emperor by offering eulogies. That year, when he was but a lowly guard, Xia Song presented his verses to Prime Minister Li Kang, prostrating himself before Li’s horse. In his poem were the lines: ‘The mountain’s waist breaks like a bee, the creek splits like a swallow’s tail.’ Li Kang was impressed, submitted the poem to the emperor, and praised him as a descendant of heroes. The emperor, in his mercy, appointed Xia Song as registrar of Danyang County.

“Xia Song proved himself. In the year of the grand examination, he finally passed the lock-hall test. See, I know quite a bit about Xia Song. I even have records of him serving as Commissioner, Pacification Commissioner, and Suppression Commissioner in Shaanxi, but not as River East Transport Commissioner. Yet when he explained how he was punished, he specifically mentioned that position. I suspect he wants to shift the blame. Perhaps everything he did at Zhao Pu’s residence was a ruse. I don’t know who else might be fooled, but I’ve certainly fallen victim once.”

Wang Rouhua clenched her teeth. “Yuan’er, don’t believe a word that man says or trust anything he does. He is made entirely of lies. Anyone who listens to his nonsense is bound to suffer misfortune.”

“But his scholarship is genuine, isn’t it?”

“As real as can be. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have succeeded so many times in deceiving others.”

“That’s good. What I need most right now is a good teacher. As for his character, I’ll reserve judgment. I’ve always thought: only by growing up among foxes does one become clever; only by following wolves does one get meat to eat; but if you grow up beside an ox, you’ll be fit for nothing but plowing fields. I’m curious about this man, to see how he transformed from an illegitimate child into a high official of the Song Dynasty in such a short time. There’s much I can learn from him.”

“I just worry you’ll get the worst of it. No one walks away from Xia Song with a profit.”

Tie Xinyuan came up behind his mother, put his arms around her neck, and laughed. “All our family possessions amount to little more than a bundle. If things go wrong, I’ll take you and Fox and we’ll go far away. We have our skills. Wherever we go, we can always start over.”

Wang Rouhua sighed. “Yuan’er, you’re not like other children. I noticed from a young age that you had your own mind, and often your insights surpassed mine. Since you’ve made up your mind, go ahead. I’ll watch the winds for you. As for my past, I truly don’t wish to speak much of it. Too many private matters are involved. Sometimes I wish my life had begun the moment your father fished me out of the water.”

Fox couldn’t stand Tie Xinyuan and Wang Rouhua clinging to each other, and was greatly displeased at being ignored. It trotted over, nuzzled up to Wang Rouhua, and laid its head on her knee.

Wang Rouhua stroked Fox’s head happily. In that moment, she felt she was the happiest person in the world.

The pear tree in the Tie family’s yard had grown tall. The new pears on the sapling were coarse and unpalatable, leaving nothing but pulp with each bite. As a result, Tie Xinyuan cared little for their pear tree.

His mother still went to the noodle shop. She was never one to be idle.

Lying on the roof, watching the white clouds drift lazily over the imperial city, was a pure pleasure.

People who love the starry sky usually love blue skies too. But not Tongzi—he had no fondness for blue. He was always dusky, and even freshly washed, you could still see black stains in the wrinkles of his skin.

It was the mark left on his body by his way of life.

A true inheritor of his father’s trade, he now had endless chores. Most of the heavy work in the printing shop fell to him. At fourteen, he was strong, but the constant overwork still took its toll on his young body. His height seemed to have stopped growing, and instead, he was growing broader.

Tie Xinyuan worried he might one day become square-shaped.

Tongzi and his father truly recognized characters—this Tie Xinyuan admitted. Old Tongpan could even read the characters on clay type by touch in the dark, much like people playing mahjong by feel.

They recognized the shapes, but not the pronunciations or meanings of complex characters.

Such skills were an advantage in the print shop. Only people like them could take on certain secretive, large-volume jobs.

In the Song Dynasty, a hundred schools of thought vied for attention. Countless new ideas emerged, and on the surface, everyone seemed harmonious. Tie Xinyuan knew that, in a few decades, this harmony would give way to life-and-death struggles—not just of ideas, but of flesh and blood.

Tongzi brought Tie Xinyuan a copy of Zhou Dunyi’s treatise on Neo-Confucianism—the latest from their shop. Knowing Tie Xinyuan loved books, he’d assembled a copy for him using some damaged pages.

“Smell that? The incense shop sent us some scent. Every book is sealed in a chest and smoked with incense for twenty hours. This paper is the finest mulberry bark paper.”

Seeing Tie Xinyuan sniff the book, Tongzi snatched it away, flipping through it with his thick fingers, making the pages rustle. He didn’t care about Zhou Dunyi; what interested him was the fine paper and the incense.

“There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you for ages. Why do you like pig’s head meat so much? Don’t you think braised ribs, braised pork, and pig’s feet taste much better?”

Tongzi looked at Tie Xinyuan in astonishment. “Are you crazy? Your family’s braised ribs, pork, and pig’s feet all fetch high prices. Only the pig’s head is cheap. How could we possibly take the good stuff from your family?”

“It’s like when I bring you books—I always bring the worst copies. The good ones are for selling. We’re merchants. The poor can’t afford to be generous.”

Tongzi’s words left Tie Xinyuan speechless. All he could do was push the lotus-leaf-wrapped pig’s head meat closer, hoping Tongzi would eat more. Sharing a bit of meat each day was already a great pleasure for him.

Xia Song never ate pig’s head meat. He was extremely finicky; even a bowl of millet porridge had to be just the right consistency and temperature, with the grains soft enough and the rice oil properly extracted. He found seven or eight flaws with the porridge Tie Xinyuan brought him before finally, grudgingly, taking a sip.

“Young man, this attitude won’t do. Back in the day, I knelt before Prime Minister Li’s horse just to get my poetry seen by the emperor. I tell you, I scraped my knees raw before I got the chance to present my work and win the emperor’s praise. That’s how I started my official career. A man who wants riches and honor must be ruthless with himself.”

Tie Xinyuan frowned. “Did you ever want to kill Prime Minister Li afterward?”

Xia Song glared at him. “I later apprenticed myself to Prime Minister Wang. It wouldn’t have been proper to keep close ties with Li. Boy, Prime Minister Wang is your maternal grandfather, isn’t he? Why are you and your mother selling noodles by the West Water Gate? Doesn’t that disgrace your grandfather?”

Tie Xinyuan was taken aback. “My grandfather is a prime minister?”

Xia Song laughed. “You truly didn’t know that Wang Dan is your grandfather? No wonder you came here to warm my cold hearth, making me anxious for so long.”

“So you only agreed to take me as a disciple for the sake of my grandfather’s reputation?”

Xia Song guffawed, slapping his belly. “Boy, the first time you entered the abandoned garden, it was unguarded, yes. But did you think it was still unguarded the second time? If I hadn’t investigated your background, do you think I’d have had the patience to play at friendship with a child like you?”

Tie Xinyuan suddenly smiled, bowing to Xia Song. “Thank you for clearing up my doubts, sir. If you hadn’t, this would have been an unbreakable knot for me. Now I feel completely at ease.”

Xia Song chuckled. “So what are you waiting for? Why not take your mother to pay your respects at the Wang household?”

“To kill them?” Tie Xinyuan replied coolly.

“Uh—why would you think such a thing?”

“Because they bullied my mother!”