Songjiang Prefecture, the Gu Residence.
“Take care, Doctor Jin.”
The maid escorted the renowned Dr. Jin, famous for treating bruises and injuries, as far as the second gate before handing him over to a young servant to see him out. The servant was quick-witted and immediately supported the old doctor by the arm. “Careful now, Doctor.”
Dr. Jin beamed, thoroughly satisfied with this house call. The patient had received treatment promptly, so there would be no lasting complications. Her injuries were not serious either; a few days of proper rest would be enough.
Minor injuries, generous payment – a truly excellent job.
As for why a well-bred young lady had fallen down a hillside, Dr. Jin was not the least bit interested.
Inside the young lady’s chambers, Madam Gu stared at her daughter’s deathly pale face. “Did you hear what the doctor said? For the next hundred days, you are not to exert yourself. You will stay here and recover properly.”
“I know I was wrong, Mother.” Gu Lan-niang was sensible and well-behaved in front of outsiders, but in front of her mother she was as spoiled as could be. “Please don’t scold me anymore.”
Madam Gu gave a cold laugh and waved her hand.
The maids immediately put aside whatever they were doing and filed out of the room in orderly silence.
A sudden unease seized Gu Lan-niang. She forced a smile. “Mother, what are you doing?”
“What am I doing? I should be asking what you were trying to do.” Madam Gu’s voice was icy. “You were perfectly fine, so why did you run up into the hills alone? Where were your maids and the older servants?”
“I was talking with Sixth Brother, so I didn’t have them follow me.”
“That excuse might fool outsiders, but you think you can deceive me?” Madam Gu was so furious that she laughed instead. “What could you and your brother possibly have to discuss that you couldn’t discuss at home? Why did you have to go all the way up the hill? And why was Xuanying there?”
Gu Lan-niang bit her lip. “He only came because he heard me calling for help. I had no idea he was there.”
Madam Gu struck the edge of the bed with her palm and snapped, “Smooth-tongued and deceitful! You’ve studied all these years, and is this all you’ve learned – to lie to your parents?”
The rebuke was severe. Gu Lan-niang flinched, nearly climbing out of bed to kneel before her.
“Mother…” she murmured weakly.
Madam Gu wasted no time on pleasantries and got straight to the point. “Answer me this. You sent your maid away, had Liu-lang bring Xuanying up the mountain, and met with him in secret. Is that what happened?”
Gu Lan-niang’s face flushed crimson, but she could not bring herself to deny it.
“You foolish girl!” Madam Gu was so angry her liver ached. “If word of this gets out, it won’t just be you who suffers. You’ll drag the entire Gu family down with you.”
Unable to hold back, Gu Lan-niang protested, “How can you say that, Mother? At the end of the day, we’re relatives. Even if someone happened to see us, today is the Shangsi Festival. What could anyone possibly say?”
During the Lantern Festival and the Shangsi Festival, even the most conservative people would be somewhat more lenient. And when the people involved were relatives, seeing them together was hardly worth making an issue of.
Yet she had completely misunderstood the problem.
“If it were someone else, I was once your age too. If you stepped out of line a little today, I might let it pass.” Madam Gu paused. “But Xuanying? You are not to entertain that thought. Not even for a moment.”
Her mother’s firm tone left Gu Lan-niang bewildered. Half unwilling to accept it and half genuinely confused, she asked, “Why?”
Madam Gu let out a sigh, hiding her own regret, and explained the implications to her daughter.
As it turned out, this particular cousin’s surname was Xie, his given name Xuanying. He was the third son in his family and came from the Marquis of Jinghai’s household. Although the title had only been newly granted twenty years ago, his ancestors had been made Duke by the founding emperor himself.
The present dynasty’s system of hereditary titles followed that of the Song dynasty. After the Xie family had held the Dukedom for three generations, their rank as Duke – an honorary rank above the regular nine grades – would be reduced with each subsequent generation. The titles descended in order: Protector-General of the State, a first-rank official; Assistant Protector-General of the State, a second-rank official; State-Serving General, a third-rank official… all the way down to the lowest hereditary rank, State-Serving Captain, a sixth-rank official.
After that, they would be no different from an ordinary household.
After three generations as Duke, two more generations passed. By the time the title reached Xie Xuanying’s grandfather, he held the rank of State-Serving General. But after earning distinction for fighting pirates, he was granted a marquisate once again, becoming the Marquis of Jinghai.
By this point, there were very few of the hereditary noble families originally ennobled at the founding of the dynasty still remaining.
The Xie family had both the protection and prestige of their ancestral legacy, while also being a rising force in their own right. Their future was virtually limitless.
More importantly, according to the rules established by the dynasty’s founders, the emperor’s consorts and the principal wives of imperial princes were all selected from the ranks of palace maidens chosen for the imperial harem, and these candidates came from ordinary families rather than from noble clans or powerful ministers. This was intended to prevent the influence of maternal relatives from interfering in state affairs.
However, when the current emperor married, he was merely the son of a Prince, and the rules did not extend to commandery princes. The Marquis of Jinghai had recognized his potential and married his daughter to him. Who could have imagined that the late emperor would die without a son and adopt an heir from his elder brother’s household to succeed him on the throne?
In the several decades since the founding of the dynasty, Empress Xie was the only imperial consort to have come from one of the hereditary noble families.
She was Xie Xuanying’s paternal aunt. She had died more than a decade ago, leaving behind only one daughter, whom she had cherished like a pearl in the palm of her hand – the Princess Rong’an.
“Xuanying is seventeen this year. Your aunt began looking for a match for him long ago. After painstakingly considering one candidate after another, she finally chose the daughter of the Minister of Revenue, the Xu family’s young lady. She is renowned for her talent despite her young age, upright and well-mannered, and her mother comes from the Marquis of Changping’s household, so she has received an excellent upbringing. There is no way this match could go wrong.”
Madam Gu lowered her voice, patiently breaking the matter down for her daughter. “But three months ago, after both families had already completed wenming, they suddenly claimed that the two children’s bazi were incompatible and abruptly called off the engagement.”
A marriage consisted of six formal steps: nacai (presenting the marriage proposal), wenming (asking the woman’s name and birth details), naji (confirming the auspiciousness of the match), nazheng (presenting the betrothal gifts), qingqi (selecting an auspicious wedding date), and qinying (personally welcoming the bride).
Nacai was essentially the formal proposal. During wenming, the couple’s birth dates and times were used for divination to determine whether the match was auspicious. Families only proceeded with a match after both sides had approved of it, so who would ever receive anything other than an auspicious reading? In this context, claiming that the bazi were incompatible was effectively the same as backing out of the engagement.
One family was an established noble house, the other belonged to a high-ranking official. Why would two such families suddenly change their minds?
Because they had no choice.
The reason was that Xie Xuanying’s other cousin – the daughter of his maternal aunt, Princess Rong’an – was determined to marry him.
And that was absolutely impossible.
Besides establishing that the women selected for the imperial harem must come from ordinary families, the founding emperor had also decreed that princesses were not to marry into hereditary noble houses. A family of upright scholars and farmers was preferred instead.
It was also established that a princess’s husband, the fuma, would hold only the nominal position of Commandant of Fuma and would not be permitted to participate in government affairs.
But Xie Xuanying had been heaven’s favored son from childhood. On top of that, he was exceptionally handsome, unmatched in appearance, and deeply favored by the current emperor, who had repeatedly remarked to others, “If only he were my son.”
No matter how much the emperor loved his daughter, he could never possibly grant her this marriage.
Desperate, Princess Rong’an told one of the palace attendants, “Marriage is ultimately the command of one’s parents. If Xie Xuanying insists on marrying Miss Xu, there is nothing I can do about it. But from this day forward, I shall not be able to swallow even a drop of water or a grain of rice. Tell them to wait. Once I am dead, they may hold their wedding ceremony. That won’t interfere with anything.”
Everyone knew these were words spoken in anger and despair, not something to be taken literally. But once matters had reached this point, the marriage had become extremely troublesome.
Had the engagement been with an upright, unyielding censor, he might not only have refused to withdraw from the marriage but even have impeached the princess – accusing the emperor of spoiling his daughter and the Noble Consort, who was overseeing the imperial harem in the Empress’s absence, of failing in her duty to discipline her.
But unfortunately, the prospective bride was the daughter of Minister Xu.
He was a shrewd and accommodating man who never offended people lightly, earning himself the nickname “the Eight-Faced Chancellor.” How could he possibly be willing to invite such trouble upon himself?
Not long afterward, the Xu family’s daughter fell gravely ill. Minister Xu claimed that their astrological signs were incompatible, and with every appearance of goodwill, he withdrew from the engagement.
The censors, meanwhile, submitted memorial after memorial demanding that Princess Rong’an be disciplined. The emperor knew perfectly well that he was in the wrong. But the Empress had died young, and he simply could not bring himself to punish his beloved daughter severely. In the end, he merely ordered her to remain confined to her residence in reflection and copy out the Classic of Filial Piety as a symbolic punishment.
As for the Marquis of Jinghai’s household, the aggrieved party in the matter, they found themselves in an equally awkward position. The Marquis of Jinghai was Princess Rong’an’s own maternal uncle. Surely he could not demand that his own niece be severely punished for the sake of his son?
So they could only let the matter pass without pressing it further, and hurriedly sent their son away from the capital.
“The princess is a daughter of the imperial family, a golden branch and jade leaf. Even if those words were spoken in a moment of anger, we cannot afford to disregard them,” Madam Gu said. “If anything were to happen to her, His Majesty could easily come to despise us. Who among us could afford to gamble the future of our entire clan on that?”
Gu Lan-niang murmured an acknowledgment.
Madam Gu brushed the hair away from her daughter’s forehead and sighed. “No matter how excellent Xuanying is, as long as Princess Rong’an remains unmarried, your aunt wouldn’t dare propose another match for him. Otherwise, why would he have come all the way to Songjiang? He’s here to avoid the storm, isn’t he?”
Was she not fond of Xie Xuanying?
Of course she was!
If Princess Rong’an had not interfered, and her nephew had not already been engaged, she too would have considered mentioning the matter to her younger sister. But now that things had become such a mess, for the sake of her daughter’s happiness, and for the sake of the Gu family, she had no choice but to give up, no matter how reluctant she was.
“Lan-niang, what happened today ends here.” Madam Gu issued her daughter a stern warning. “If I find out that you have any more little schemes of this sort, don’t blame me for being cruel as your mother.”
Gu Lan-niang shrank back slightly. Her lips moved, but she could not bring herself to make the request she wanted to make.
She was not foolish. This was no longer merely a matter of youthful romance. Her eldest uncle held the position of Vice Minister of Personnel, and the Gu family commanded considerable respect in Songjiang Prefecture. But how could they possibly compare with a Minister?
“Mother…” Tears welled in Gu Lan-niang’s eyes. She leaned against her mother’s shoulder and began to sob softly.
Seeing how heartbroken her daughter was, Madam Gu’s heart softened. She stroked her hair and said, “Don’t cry. I already have a match in mind for you. He will be a good one.”
Gu Lan-niang’s heart sank. With all hope gone, she choked out, “I’ll listen to you, Mother.”
The Gu Residence, the finest guest courtyard.
Xie Xuanying had changed into a casual sapphire-blue straight-cut robe made of gauze layered over silk, and was practicing calligraphy in the study.
Outside the window, his young attendant stood facing the wall with three thick books balanced on his head, reflecting on his mistakes.
Although today’s outing to enjoy the spring scenery had been an utter disaster, this was the only disciplinary measure Xuanying had taken – he had ordered his attendant to stand facing the wall and docked him a month’s wages, punishing him for his negligence in allowing Gu Liu-lang to send him away.
The attendant knew perfectly well that he had mishandled things and did not dare plead for mercy. He stood outside miserably, occasionally sneaking a glance inside, thinking to himself that his young master looked awfully angry.
So he became even more careful to hold his breath and make himself as quiet as possible, not daring to say a word.
But he had badly misjudged his master.
Xie Xuanying was certainly troubled, but he was not angry.
To be honest, he had been through situations like this far too many times. If he got angry every single time, how could he possibly have enough anger to spare?
If anything, what he truly disliked was the Miss Xu his mother had chosen for him.
Not that there was anything wrong with the young lady from the Xu family. She had been selected by his mother, came from a distinguished family, and was undoubtedly a woman of impeccable character.
He simply… hated the idea of being married off to someone he had never met.
Perhaps putting it that way might easily lead to misunderstandings, making people think he had somehow traveled here from several hundred years in the future.
No, no, no.
Xie Xuanying was a native-born man of the Xia Dynasty.
The reason he harbored such a wildly unconventional notion all came down to his teacher.
The Marquis of Jinghai had been granted his title for military achievements, and his family had a long scholarly tradition. However, he was the third son of the family, and his mother, Lady Liu, was his father’s second wife. The previous principal wife had left the current Marquis of Jinghai a legitimate eldest son, as well as an elder half-brother, the eldest son born to a concubine, who had entered the Five Military Battalions at a young age to seek a military career.
When it came to his third son, the Marquis of Jinghai had him devote himself to his studies, and eventually managed to secure the tutelage of Yan Hongzhi, one of the greatest scholars of the age.
Yan Hongzhi’s grandfather had once held the highest office of Grand Secretary. His father had never passed the metropolitan examination, but was a renowned collector of books and had built the finest private library in Jiangnan. Yan Hongzhi himself passed the lowest civil-service examination and became a xiucai at twelve, passed the provincial examination and became a juren at eighteen, and by twenty-two had passed the metropolitan examination and become a jinshi. He subsequently served for several years in the Hanlin Academy, then spent five years assisting with the compilation and editing of books, following in his father’s footsteps. Eventually, he resigned from office and returned to his hometown, where he traveled around giving lectures and quickly established a formidable reputation.
By the age of forty, his name was known throughout the realm.
The Marquis of Jinghai greatly admired his reputation and searched far and wide for him, finally managing to meet the renowned scholar. The scholar had originally been unwilling to accept a disciple from a hereditary noble family, but the moment he saw Xie Xuanying, he readily agreed.
The Marquis of Jinghai was overjoyed, but in his excitement, he inadvertently forgot one important detail:
Yan Hongzhi was a disciple of Li Wu.
Li Wu was the founder of the “School of Pure Sincerity.” He had inherited Yangming’s School of Mind and became famous for criticizing Cheng-Zhu Neo-Confucianism. Thirty years earlier, he had been an indisputably influential figure in the Xia Dynasty.
He criticized orthodox Neo-Confucianism and advocated the pursuit of “pure sincerity,” praising The Dream of Returning to the Soul as the purest and most genuine work in the world.
He also declared, “Between husband and wife, affection is especially profound,” and called Hong Fu’s elopement in the night “the greatest way to marry in all of history.” He argued that “petty-minded men are not worth concerning oneself with; to lose a good match and betray a destined marriage is worse than making one’s own choice early, enduring a small humiliation in pursuit of a greater goal,” and enthusiastically praised Zhuo Wenjun’s decision to pursue love.
For these views, he was once fiercely denounced as a heretic by the mainstream literary establishment.
Later, he was falsely accused of having an illicit relationship with a female disciple. In order to prove his innocence, he wrote a final statement in his own blood while imprisoned and died in jail.
The incident sent shockwaves through the literary world.
The scholars of the School of Pure Sincerity were furious. The two schools differed in their ideas – that was an intellectual dispute. But to slander a great scholar by accusing him in relations with a woman was to cross a line. In anger, they resigned from office and returned to their hometowns, where they began promoting the doctrines of Pure Sincerity.
Afterward, Li Wu’s writings spread throughout the realm, repeatedly banned yet impossible to suppress, and one successor after another emerged to carry on his teachings.
Yan Hongzhi was now one of the central pillars of the School of Pure Sincerity, and for twenty years he had gone head-to-head with scholars of orthodox Neo-Confucianism without ever being at a disadvantage. Studying under such a teacher, Xie Xuanying had naturally come to embrace the idea that “marriage should be founded upon love.”
His teacher’s own marriage was particularly influential. He had personally sought out his wife, and after more than thirty years of marriage, the two remained deeply devoted to each other, enough to make anyone envious.
And what about him?
Before he even knew her, he had met the young lady of the Xu family hurriedly just once. He could barely remember what she looked like, and then he was simply informed that their marriage had been arranged.
He truly could not accept it!
He felt not the slightest regret when the engagement fell through.
And yet, every now and then, Xie Xuanying found himself deeply bewildered. With all the strict boundaries between men and women firmly in place, whom could he possibly come to love, and who could possibly love him in return? Where would this great love he longed for even come from?
His cousin from the Gu family clearly had feelings for him. Even though her behavior had crossed the line, he had not been angry with her.
So why, then, had his first instinct at the time still been to avoid her as though his life depended on it?
“Love knows not where it begins, yet once begun, it runs deep; the living may die for it, and the dead may return to life”…
Did the supreme, all-consuming love he sought truly exist?
