Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Colors of Tokyo

Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Colors of Tokyo

According to his mother, Yang Huaiyu had been drinking himself into a stupor, lying in the streets and rambling nonsense—this had gone on for quite some time. Tie Xinyuan wanted to visit him but was sternly forbidden by his mother.

It was almost laughable—Yang Huaiyu wasn’t distraught because he’d lost to the gravely wounded Xi Feng Simeng, but because his engagement had been broken off.

The man was already twenty-four. It was said he’d postponed marriage for eight years, waiting for Su Yijian’s great-granddaughter, Su Mei, to grow up. Yet after all that, the young girl who’d blossomed into a great beauty no longer wished to marry him.

Though the Yang family was one of military heritage, Old Master Yang was, after all, a surrendered official. Su Yijian, on the other hand, had been the top scholar of the imperial exam in Emperor Taizong’s era, and had even held the post of Vice Minister. Despite his penchant for drink—which ultimately claimed his life—the Su family’s refined and noble bearing remained unchanged.

For a military family like the Yangs to secure such a match already bordered on overreaching. That was why Yang Huaiyu had been willing to wait seven or eight years for Su Mei to come of age.

By rights, the children of drunkards are rarely bright—like Li Taibai, who spent his life in poetry and wine, only to sire two feeble-minded sons. But the Su family was different: three sons and four daughters, three of the sons all scholars, each holding office in the capital.

Su Yijian’s eldest son’s child, Su Shunqin, was especially remarkable. Two years before, he’d just become a scholar, now serving as county magistrate in Mengcheng. He’d caught the eye of Du Yan, adjudicator at the Office of Censors, who married his daughter to Su Shunqin. Thus, all the capital’s elite regarded Su Shunqin’s future with high hopes.

These past years had been unlucky for Yang Huaiyu—ever since he’d met Tie Xinyuan, in fact. Once exiled to serve at the Western Water Gate barracks, he developed the habit of nervous fits: insulting his superiors, brawling with his peers—these became routine. The oddest occasion saw him storming into a brothel alone, driving out the other patrons with fists and feet, and spending the night there himself. He was carried home by his family the next morning.

This time, unable to best Xi Feng Simeng, and having been used as a stepping-stone by a “fox,” the Su family was thoroughly disinclined to marry off their beautiful daughter to him.

Tie Xinyuan considered himself not much at fault in this affair. True, he often added a little mushroom powder to Yang Huaiyu’s soup noodles, but that was only to ensure the Tie family’s noodles were fit for noble palates. Each time, Yang Huaiyu ate with relish; later, when the mushroom powder was omitted, he complained his mother’s soup noodles lacked flavor.

From Yang Huaiyu, Tie Xinyuan determined the dosages of mushroom powder suitable for warriors. He’d now mastered its use precisely: how much would send someone floating in ecstasy, how much would induce hallucinations, and how much would provoke rage. He even discovered that, between hallucination and fury, this wondrous powder could make one euphoric.

The dose given to Xi Feng Simeng was the highest—the kind that could make one’s eyes bleed—yet the man still caused chaos in the capital, ultimately bringing about his own death.

Tie Xinyuan believed Xi Feng Simeng never intended to flaunt Western Xia’s martial prowess in the capital, but the mushroom powder had helped him do so.

Thus, the ferocity and might of Western Xia’s warriors left a deep impression on the people of Tokyo.

“The Way cannot be left for an instant; if it can, it is not the Way. Therefore, the noble man is cautious in unseen places, fearful where unheard. Nothing is more apparent than the hidden, nothing more manifest than the subtle; thus, the noble man is vigilant when alone.”

Today, Tie Xinyuan was reciting from the Doctrine of the Mean.

He felt this book offered meaningful guidance for his life’s path.

Vigilance in solitude is a virtue: facing the temptations of power, wealth, or beauty with composure; never losing self-control as Yang Huaiyu had, nor falling into despair when denied these things.

One must always maintain a clear, disciplined mind.

Deceive not oneself, nor others; answer to Heaven above and Earth below with every thought and deed. Conduct oneself as if all is known to Heaven and Earth, as if watched by ten eyes and pointed at by ten hands. When in fortune, aid the world; in hardship, perfect oneself.

Only in this way, after having done wrong, can one find room for absolution, achieve clarity of heart, and finally reach a state of perfect fulfillment.

In these times, those who can openly accept all praise and merit, apart from sages, are but beasts. A sage stands above the world, outside the five elements. To uphold the moral standard, all must ascribe their achievements to him; only thus can there appear figures who shine through the ages as paragons for all time.

As for beasts, no matter how brightly they shine, they remain beasts. To vie for credit with one is beneath contempt.

For ordinary folk lacking imperial authority, it’s best not to act otherwise—phrases like “the cunning hare dead, the hound is cooked” or “merit eclipsing the master” were coined for such as these.

A glance at history reveals far more legendary ministers and generals slain by their own people than by the enemy.

Therefore, Tie Xinyuan would never draw credit to himself—a seven-year-old boy—no matter what he did. Were he to do so too often, he’d be lucky to live to marry. Then his mother’s dreams of becoming a grandmother, holding a grandson, and scolding a daughter-in-law would be utterly dashed.

So it was that the “Iron Fox” of the Tie family became so formidable: not only procuring vital weapons for the emperor, but also felling a Western bandit so fierce that even Tokyo’s own champions could not slay him—earning a fourth-rank official title, enough to command a city gate.

“Thunk!” Something struck Tie Xinyuan’s head hard as he was lost in his musings. Picking up what hit him, he stuffed it into his pocket, ignoring the blow.

It was a rattan ball, soaked in tung oil and lacquered a dozen times, about the size of a fist—worth six hundred coins in the marketplace.

Shuizhu’er had long coveted one; the other girls had begged Tie Xinyuan for it as well, claiming that without a rattan ball, a girl wasn’t truly a girl.

Now that he had one, he’d let the fox carry it to Shuizhu’er and the others later.

“Give us back the rattan ball!”

It was that little palace maid again.

“I was asleep—I saw nothing, no rattan ball.”

“Liar, it clearly hit you on the head just now…”

“It didn’t hit me, definitely not…”

“Shameless! Just you wait…” The little maid showed her face briefly and ran down the city wall in a huff.

Tie Xinyuan was a bit disappointed, but his mood was quickly lifted when Tongzi brought him a book.

It was a folk talebook, secretly circulated—“The Path to Promotion.”

Within were all the routes to advancement as summarized by the people of Tokyo: how to smooth relations, whom to approach, how and what to gift—truly a must-have for any official’s household.

Some pages were so blackened they were hard to read, but Tie Xinyuan treasured it nonetheless. Through this practical manual, he could gain deep insight into the workings of Song Dynasty officialdom.

As he read, he nodded in admiration: the art of gift-giving in China was displayed here in all its glory.

The first gift must be substantial, breaking through with a sum that exceeds expectations.

The best gifts are hard cash—paintings, antiques, beauties are all inferior.

Boldness, thick skin, and a keen mind are the keys for gift-giving. Tie Xinyuan realized he lacked these qualities himself, and was a bit disappointed.

Rattan balls kept flying down from the city wall. Tie Xinyuan paid them no mind; a dozen or so had already landed in his little courtyard. These were said to be tribute items, rarely seen by ordinary folk. Many wealthy ladies took pride in receiving such gifts from the palace—especially items from the harem. If given as a wedding trousseau, even a mother-in-law would kneel in welcome!

One cannot be too pleased for long. Just as Tie Xinyuan was calculating how much he could sell these treasures for, he was struck hard again. Looking back, he saw half a brick.

He gazed at the row of furious little palace maids, then at the delighted little girl with the pointed hat. With a tumble, Tie Xinyuan slid off the roof.

He hid under the eaves, watching as seven or eight bamboo poles picked his family’s pear tree clean. All he could do was sigh at his misfortune.

“Give us back the rattan ball!”

“Give me back my pears!”

“We picked the pears ourselves.”

“The rattan ball rolled into my yard by itself.”

“Rascal, give it back!”

“Fool, I won’t—what will you do, bite me?”

That last word set off a hornet’s nest: fruit pits and all manner of things rained down, even a tiny shoe among them.

Tie Xinyuan wanted to retaliate, but the fierce looks from the guards stopped him. He had to flee his home amid a hail of curses from the girls.

Arriving at the noodle shop, his mother’s gaze was cold. Tie Xinyuan shivered and hurried to explain, “Someone’s throwing things at our house—I can’t stay there.”

“You mean those guards? In all these years, not one of them has spat down at us. Are you lying?”

“Not the guards—it’s a group of little palace maids. They’re awfully mean—picked all our pears and threw the pits down.”

Wang Rouhua ignored his explanations. “You must have provoked them!”

Seeing this, Tie Xinyuan knew nothing he said would matter. In his mother’s eyes, the royal family were the most law-abiding and courteous people under Heaven.

When the princess’s household’s vicious servants beat up a few old farmers selling vegetables in the city, the newly reinstated Prefect of Kaifeng, Grand Academician Bao Zheng, had them caned to death.

The princess wept before the emperor; he merely said, “A wicked servant who bullies his master’s subjects deserves no mercy.”

Tie Xinyuan saw with his own eyes the old farmers, clutching the princess’s compensation money, weeping in the street as they praised the justice they had received, while the masses all knelt facing the palace, shouting, “Long live the emperor!”

In such an atmosphere, if he claimed to have suffered at the hands of the royal family, he’d be drowned in the people’s scorn.

PS: Writing and posting as I go. I regret impulsively discarding my drafts—crying here. Please continue to recommend, bookmark, and click. Jiyu bows in thanks.