Visiting a Temple

On a large sheet of aged xuan paper, fifty-six characters were written vertically in a neat and practiced hand. The only distracting element was the paper itself; the clean white xuan paper was peppered with numerous dark impurities, which diminished much of the aesthetic pleasure the calligraphy might otherwise have brought. Taking a closer look at Fan Zhengjin himself, his clothes were yellowed and worn, the result of long-term perspiration that had saturated the fabric—stains so deeply set they could hardly be washed out without harsh lye. Judging by his appearance, his sources of income in this place were virtually nonexistent, if not entirely dry. It was evident he had reached the end of his rope, yet his person remained neat and tidy enough to spare him from looking utterly disheveled.

Zhang Ling asked directly, "When did you arrive in the capital?"

Fan Zhengjin did not rush to press for a verdict on his poem. Instead, he answered patiently, "My home is in Xun'an County, Hongyun Prefecture. I arrived in Jinyu City eight days ago. Recommended by the local magistrate, I originally intended to take the imperial examinations to pursue an official career. Unfortunately, having failed for the third time, I truly lacked the face to return home. That is why I have lingered until today, going about seeking help from others. I have already sought audience with over a dozen dignitaries in the hope of securing a modest post, but only two were willing to see me, and both attempts ended in vain."

With an expressionless face, unmoved in the slightest, Zhang Ling said calmly, "It has been more than half a year since the last examinations. With no source of income, to remain in the capital and bring suffering upon yourself is nothing short of dying for pride and making a needless fool of your own vanity."

Hearing this, Fan Zhengjin felt a swell of displeasure, though he dared not show any defiance. Instead, he pleaded, "That is precisely why I have come to you, my lord. I hope to use this poem to petition you for an official post. I would be moved to tears of gratitude and pledge to follow your lead through all days to come."

Zhang Ling spoke softly, "To be honest, I originally only wanted an official title to play with. Who could have expected the Emperor to hand me such a massive burden? Thus, I am hardly suited to this position, and I have never given a thought to forming cliques or factions. While I do not understand poetry all that well, the characters you write are quite fine."

Fan Zhengjin choked on his words, utterly at a loss for the other's meaning. He watched as Zhang Ling drew a ten-liang silver ingot from his sleeve and handed it to him, returning the poem at the same time. Anxious to refuse, Fan Zhengjin stammered, "I do not want money! I only hope you can grant me an official post, no matter how minor or how harsh the duties may be; I am willing to do anything."

Zhang Ling tucked his sleeves inward, settling the money pouch inside securely without taking back the silver, and advised him, "Go home."

With that, Zhang Ling pulled Yang Yun and made to leave. Yet they had barely taken a few steps when Fan Zhengjin cried out desperately from behind: "What do you know! Someone of your noble birth, even if the Great General has died for his country, can still sit back and do nothing, living off the shelter of your ancestors' achievements. How could you ever understand the feelings of us scholars from humble backgrounds? Ten long years of bitter study by the cold window, only to end in absolute nothingness! We have given the most precious years of our lives—is it not simply to sit in the halls of power? What right do you have to look down on me!"

Zhang Ling turned around and said flatly, "First of all, I do not look down on you, nor do I look down on the impoverished scholars of the world. Secondly, whether you become an official or not is none of my damn business; I owe you nothing. Lastly, do not pick a fight with money. Only by holding onto it tightly will you have a chance to make a comeback. Pride cannot fill your belly, and when you are arrogant to no end, nobody will ever value you."

Hesitating no further, Zhang Ling ignored all subsequent shouts from behind, pulling the little chubby boy beside him as they walked away at a steady pace. Zhang Ling took long strides, and no matter how slowly he walked, Yang Yun had to take three short steps for every two of his just to keep up. Fan Zhengjin was left abandoned before the gates of the Zhang residence, utterly stranded without a way to secure a post, his gaze dazed and vacant, having no idea to whom he could turn for help next. He squatted down right there in the corner of the wall, not moving an inch, until a pang of hunger in his stomach reminded him that he had not eaten for a full day. Glancing at the ten-liang silver ingot still clutched tightly in his hand, he suddenly hardened his grip, stood up, and found a restaurant. A hearty and satisfying meal cost him over five hundred copper coins, yet compared to the thousand-odd coins in a tael of silver, he still had plenty to spare. At that moment, the unyielding pride in Fan Zhengjin suddenly loosened. He could not help but mock himself for lacking backbone; simply because of a single meal, the ambition he had upheld for half a lifetime had begun to waver. After eating and drinking his fill, he wandered aimlessly through the streets, his eyes unfocused, lost in contemplation about whether to stay or leave. He bumped into several people along the way without even realizing it. From his scholarly pursuits down to accepting this handout of food, for reasons unknown, he found himself increasingly ridiculous, resolving to leave the capital and never return.

On a parallel road, the little chubby boy announced he wanted to visit the temple fair. However, the nearest Qingchan Temple was more than ten li away, and if they walked there and back, twilight would likely fall just as they arrived. They had no choice but to hire a carriage. Before climbing aboard, Yang Yun looked around in every direction and bought a variety of street snacks. Sitting inside the carriage, Zhang Ling watched the little chubby boy, whose small stature concealed an astonishing appetite; items that could barely fit in his hands were devoured cleanly in moments.

Zhang Ling patted his round little belly and teased, "It's fortunate your father is the steward of the Zhang estate. If you belonged to an ordinary family, who could ever afford to feed a glutton like you!"

Yang Yun had just finished gnawing on a meat pie, his mouth shiny with grease. With meticulous care, he used the yellow wrapping paper of the pie to wipe his face, grinning broadly as he said, "It doesn't matter! Even if my father didn't feed me, there's still Sister Lan. She's the head cook in the kitchen. Every time my father tells me not to eat too much, Sister Lan is the one who sneaks me chicken legs."

Zhang Ling reminded him, "Your father is actually right. If you eat too much, one day you won't even be able to walk, and you certainly can't expect people to carry you around everywhere, can you?"

Yang Yun nodded, thinking to himself that perhaps he really did eat a bit too much. He disliked hearing his father's harsh words, but whatever the young master said, he kept firmly in his heart. Mostly, he was afraid that if he grew too fat, he wouldn't be able to find a wife—which would indeed be a great tragedy, even if he didn't need one just yet.

Pouting, Yang Yun asked, "By the way, Young Master, why didn't you help that Fan scholar just now? You're the Right Vice Censor-in-Chief of the Censorate now; giving him an official post must be as easy as turning over your hand."

Zhang Ling chuckled softly, "Does it follow that I must help anyone who asks me? Besides, I read the poem he wrote. It is neither stunning nor particularly poor, and it lacks any ingenious originality. If he became an official, he would at best be a diligent bureaucrat, which brings me neither benefit nor harm. Men like him can be found by the cartload across the entire realm."

A sudden realization dawned on Yang Yun. "So when you said his calligraphy was good and didn't directly tell him you weren't interested, you were trying to spare his pride, weren't you, Young Master?"

Patting his head, Zhang Ling smiled. "Quite clever, aren't you? So young and already understanding the ways of the world. Is that how you sweet-talk your teacher at school?"

Looking unconvinced, Yang Yun retorted, "Young Master, what I have is genuine talent! It's just that I truly dislike studying. But I also know that studying is useful, so even though I don't like it, I study very diligently. When the teacher praises me, it's because I work especially hard."

With a sense of satisfaction, Zhang Ling said, "Mm. In this world, studying is indeed the best way out, and there are far fewer people fighting you for that path."

Shaking his head, Yang Yun asked with a puzzled look, "What are you talking about, Young Master? I don't quite understand!"

The carriage suddenly came to a halt. Zhang Ling stepped out first, with no intention of answering the question. Knowing when to drop the matter, Yang Yun did not press further and climbed down from the carriage as well. Fearing that the guests might default on their fare, the driver had collected the payment in advance, so the two of them simply proceeded on foot toward Qingchan Temple.

The realm was prosperous, and Jinyu City was a place of endless luxury and bustling crowds. Even on ordinary days, the stream of worshippers coming and going was endless. The temple gates stood two zhang high, painted in brilliant red and trimmed with gold. Relying solely on incense donations, the temple could afford to gild the Buddha in three inches of pure gold—and this was not even the temple with the most thriving incense trade in Jinyu City; the largest, Tuo'an Temple, was rumored to house Buddhas cast entirely of solid gold. Perhaps that was an exaggeration, but the reality was likely only a hair's breadth away. Such a spectacle truly reflected the saying that the Buddhas are plated in gold.