Boyhood friendship

An azure-winged magpie fluttered onto a flowering branch, tilted its head, and preened its feathers with its long beak before spreading its wings and flying away. The branch swayed, scattering a few peach petals. They drifted on the breeze and landed in the clear, gently flowing stream, sending out rings of ripples before floating downstream like tiny pink boats.

The stream wound its way south before finally flowing into the Han River. Field paths crisscrossed the land, and the sounds of chickens and dogs carried from house to house. A few farmers worked in the fields while a large yellow ox grazed with its head lowered, swishing its tail. In the distance, layers of mountains filled the view with lush green. Cooking smoke curled upward at their feet, where neat houses stood in rows. The scenery was breathtaking.

This was Watermill Head Village, a small settlement west of Chuzhou in the Great Chen Empire, with the Han River to its north and Jinping Mountain to its south. Its isolation had spared it the flames of war through countless conflicts over the years, making it almost a peach-blossom paradise beyond the troubles of the world.

It was now the spring equinox. Several peach trees at the village entrance were in splendid bloom, their branches crowded with pink and white blossoms that drew countless bees and butterflies to dance among them. Amid the peach and plum blossoms and the spring breeze came the clear sound of children reciting...

"The way of great learning lies in illuminating bright virtue, in renewing the people, and in resting in the highest good..."

Beneath a flourishing willow stood a yard enclosed by a bamboo fence. Mustard greens, lettuce, and little hot peppers filled the yard, with a cobblestone path running through the middle toward three brick-and-tile rooms. This was a private school built with funds pooled by respected local gentlemen and wealthy villagers.

The school had four or five instructors, who mainly taught the students rites, music, poetry, and the classics. One Instructor Fang, who had come from the Luoyang Knowing-and-Doing Institute in Capital Luoyang, also taught some basic numerical arts and martial skills.

Inside the school, more than twenty boys sat in orderly rows, their little faces raised as they earnestly recited the "Great Learning" from the Book of Rites. Even the oldest among them were only fourteen or fifteen. An elderly master with a goatee sat upright at the teaching desk at the front.

This instructor was said to have served as an assistant director of the Imperial College under the former Great Liang Kingdom. He was versed in the six arts, well read in poetry and the classics, and capable of writing splendid prose. When the new emperor of the Great Chen Empire ascended the throne, he had retired and returned home. Because of his age and esteemed virtue, everyone respectfully called him the old master.

The old master wore a Dongpo headcloth and a long black, straight-cut robe. His eyes were half closed, and his head swayed with the children's recitation. After a while, when they had finished, he stroked his goatee and explained with a smile, "'Resting' means one must arrive at that state and not be drawn away from it. 'The highest good' is the utmost of what is right in all things. Thus, illuminating bright virtue and renewing the people must both reach the highest good and remain there..." When he finished, he tapped the Disciplinary Ruler in his right hand lightly against his left palm and pointed at a pupil in the front row. "You. Did you understand?"

The boy looked utterly bewildered. He had only half understood to begin with, and having the old master's Disciplinary Ruler pointed at him made him even more anxious. He could not help lowering his head. The old master rolled his eyes, rose, and looked around the room before calling, "He An, did you understand?"

The boy whose name had been called had delicate, handsome features. Hearing his teacher call him, he quickly stood up and bowed respectfully. "Teacher, I understood. 'Resting in the highest good' means that you require us to pursue the highest good, beginning with small things, letting little gains accumulate, and developing the habit of examining ourselves..."

The boy named He An finished his answer calmly and unhurriedly, then bowed to his teacher again.

"Mm... good, good, good!" The old master nodded in satisfaction, stroking his goatee, his smile creasing the corners of his eyes. After saying "good" three times in succession, he motioned for He An to sit. Then he glanced to one side, and his smile vanished at once.

With the Disciplinary Ruler in hand, the old master strode down from the teaching platform. The pupils followed his gaze curiously and saw a student beside the south-facing window slumped over his desk, sound asleep.

The pupil was about twelve or thirteen and wore a square headcloth. His arms lay folded on his desk, supporting his plump face. His squashed lips hung half open, and drool had soaked the back of his hand until it glistened.

"Outrageous! Learning without thought leads to confusion, yet you dare snore through my lesson..." The old master rapped the desk with his Disciplinary Ruler, bang, bang, bang, and scolded angrily, "Fan Dazhi, if you keep neglecting your studies like this, how will you face yourself?"

The student named Fan Dazhi stirred and slowly raised his head, his eyes heavy with sleep. Two palm prints marked his cheeks, and a thread of drool still dangled from the corner of his mouth. Once he saw the furious old master before him, he jolted and became instantly wide awake.

"Oh... Teacher, I was just... so absorbed in your explanation that, before I knew it, I... I... fell asleep..." Fan Dazhi lifted his plump face, his tone utterly sincere. After speaking, he glanced again at the old master, whose goatee was bristling, and sheepishly lowered his head.

Holding his Disciplinary Ruler, the old master was so angry that he laughed. "Fan Dazhi, let me ask you: have you memorized The Nobleman's Solitary Conduct, which I taught yesterday?"

Fan Dazhi glanced at the Disciplinary Ruler in the old master's hand and asked timidly, "Teacher, if I... I... have memorized it, you won't hit me, will you?"

The old master lifted his eyelids and said expressionlessly, "Recite it for me."

"Yes. If I recite anything incorrectly, please correct me, Teacher..." After a moment's thought, Fan Dazhi began slowly, "What Heaven ordains is called nature; following one's nature is called the Way; cultivating the Way is called teaching. The Way cannot be departed from for even an instant. If it can be departed from, it is not the Way. Therefore, the nobleman is watchful over what he does not see and fearful of what he does not hear. Nothing is more visible than the hidden, nothing more apparent than the subtle. Therefore, the nobleman is careful in his solitary conduct..."

He recited slowly at first, then faster and faster, pronouncing every word clearly and delivering the passage in one uninterrupted flow. He did not hesitate even once, plainly having long since learned it by heart.

Hearing him recite without a single error, the old master was quite surprised and could not help studying the pupil before him closely.

The boy had a square face, large ears, a broad forehead, and thick eyebrows. His cheeks were somewhat pudgy, and apart from his remarkably clear eyes, his appearance was utterly ordinary. The crossed-collar silk robe he wore was badly wrinkled and carried a faint smell of wine lees, making the old master frown...

When Fan Dazhi finished reciting, the old master merely stroked his beard and pondered, offering neither approval nor disapproval. Fan Dazhi stole a look around and saw He An watching him with concern. Their eyes met, and He An secretly winked at him and gave him a thumbs-up.

The old master noticed their exchange. He reflected that Fan Dazhi usually said little in class, and when other pupils bullied him during their games and horseplay, it was generally He An who stood up for him. The boy seemed dull and clumsy, yet unexpectedly, there was something of great wisdom concealed beneath his foolish exterior.

He cleared his throat and, pretending that his anger had yet to subside, continued, "Mm-you recited it reasonably well. In that case, have you also memorized The Nobleman's Way, which I taught the day before yesterday? Recite it for me."

Helpless, Fan Dazhi wiped his face with a chubby hand and recited the lesson his teacher had taught two days earlier. Once again, he knew it so well he could have recited it backward, and made not a single mistake.

The old master's mouth twitched. He snorted and said, "Even if you can recite it all, that is no excuse for snoring in class. Hold out your hand!"

At this, Fan Dazhi's eyebrows lifted, and he reluctantly held out a hand, looking thoroughly miserable. His palm was thicker than most people's, with several little dimples on the back. The old master told him to turn it palm-up, raised his Disciplinary Ruler, and gave him three light smacks.

Fan Dazhi tucked his struck hand back into his sleeve. It did not seem to hurt as much as the beatings he had received before. Behind the old master's back, he secretly pulled a face and stuck out his tongue.

Several nearby pupils saw him and burst out laughing. The old master turned around in surprise. Fan Dazhi immediately sat bolt upright, his eyes on his nose and his nose pointing toward his heart, like an old monk deep in meditation...

The sun slowly sank westward until half of it was hidden behind distant Jinping Mountain, gilding the mountain's outline. A whistle sounded beneath the willow, and the children were dismissed from school.

He An and Fan Dazhi walked one behind the other. Fan Dazhi kept his head down and hurried along. He An quickened his pace to catch up, then gently bumped Fan Dazhi's shoulder with his own. "Dazhi, are you still angry with me?"

Fan Dazhi turned his plump face toward him and said indignantly, "And here I thought you were my good brother! When I fell asleep and the teacher noticed, why didn't you hurry up and wake me?"

He An could not help laughing. "Everyone was looking at you then, and besides, I didn't have time. All right, all right, it's not worth getting angry over this. Next time... next time, I promise I'll come to Your Majesty's rescue in time." With that, he affectionately draped an arm over Fan Dazhi's shoulders.

"You mustn't tell my dad I got hit," Fan Dazhi added.

"Don't worry. I'll keep your secret..." He An patted his little chest.

Only then did Fan Dazhi smile in satisfaction.

For as long as He An could remember, he had lived here with his disabled uncle, He Kui. He Kui loved his drink. Whenever they had any spare money, he sent He An to buy wine from the little tavern beneath the large locust tree at the edge of the village.

He An and Fan Dazhi, the son of the tavern owner Fan Youfu, were about the same age and attended the same private school. Gradually, they became close friends who could talk about anything.

Fan Youfu had originally come from Yangzhou Commandery. Five years earlier, its governor had declared an independent kingdom. Fearing that the Great Chen Empire would send troops to suppress it and that war between the two armies would plunge the people into misery, he had taken his wife and son and fled with his neighbors upstream along the Han River, back into Great Chen Kingdom territory. They had crossed mountains and rivers on their flight, eating in the wind and sleeping beneath the open sky, enduring endless hardship.

By the time they reached the little settlement called Watermill Head Village, his wife, Madam Fan Yang, had caught a chill amid the hardships of their journey. They settled there so he could find a physician to treat her. Sadly, her old illnesses flared up along with it, and she died. Left alone with his son Fan Dazhi, Fan Youfu relied on his skill at brewing wine to make a home in the village.

He An and Fan Dazhi murmured to each other as they walked, and every so often Fan Dazhi broke into a delighted smile. They parted at the village entrance, and He An went alone straight to the junction by the village ancestral hall.

Many years earlier, the villagers had pooled their money to build an ancestral hall here. Except during festival offerings, a brass lock always hung on its black-lacquered gates, and ordinarily no one came.

Several large willows stood outside the ancestral hall. Their branches were dense, and long willow strands hung all the way to the ground, swaying gently in the breeze. He An sat beneath a tree and looked around idly. Lowering his head, he discovered a black mass of ants dragging a fat white grub. The grub was barely alive but still twisted now and then. Amused, He An poked it with a grass stem, and the startled ants scattered...

Soon, He An discovered a square-headed black cricket in a crevice among the grass. He had just moved the stone aside when Fan Dazhi came jogging over, panting, the setting sun casting a long, slanting shadow behind him.

Delighted, He An clapped his hands, stood, and went to meet him. "Have you got everything ready?" His cheeks flushed, Fan Dazhi nodded and pulled a coil of rope and a small sheathed knife from the bulging front of his robe, then brought out a billhook from behind his back.

He An rolled up his sleeves, spat into his palms, and hugged the willow trunk, scrambling up in a few swift movements. Fan Dazhi stood on tiptoe to hand him the billhook, and He An sat astride a branch and began chopping off limbs as thick as his forearm.

Fan Dazhi stood beneath the tree with his plump face tilted upward, watching He An swing the blade deftly again and again. Willow branches fell with a series of cracks, soon forming a little mound on the ground.

He An clung to the trunk and jumped down. The two boys sat outside the ancestral hall, and Fan Dazhi drew the sharp little knife. Selecting branches as thick as his thumb, he trimmed off their side shoots and cut them into equal lengths. Then he held them firmly between his legs, crossing, binding, and threading them together.

Spring willow branches were supple and wonderfully tough. Fan Dazhi's chubby hands were astonishingly nimble, hooking, pulling, threading, lifting, and twisting without pause. Slowly, the willow branches took shape in his hands as a basket with a narrow mouth and a broad belly.

He An could not help praising him. "Dazhi, I'd never have guessed you knew how to do this. But... can this fish basket really catch fish?"

Fan Dazhi grinned proudly. "This is nothing. The baskets my dad makes for wine lees and his Wumeng straw rain capes are what you should call beautiful. Once you've watched enough, you learn how. With this golden-urn trap I'm making, I guarantee that once a fish gets in, it won't get out. Just wait till you're eating fish!"

With that, he sharpened the willow shoots he had left protruding around the trap's narrow mouth and tried pushing his fist inside. When he tried to pull it out, the sharp shoots pressed against his fist just as intended. Fan Dazhi nodded in satisfaction, then made another fish trap in the same way.

Carrying one fish trap each, He An and Fan Dazhi slipped down to the bank of the Han River south of the village while there was still daylight. Lush grass grew along this stretch, and the current was gentle. A few stands of reeds swayed beside the river, where several wild ducks with black feathers and green necks swam leisurely. At the sound of the boys' footsteps, the ducks beat their wings and flew away...

Fan Dazhi pulled an oiled-paper parcel from inside his robe and opened it to reveal half a roast chicken and several slices of braised beef. First, he brought his nose close and inhaled deeply in bliss. Then he tore off a drumstick and handed it to He An before burying his face in the parcel and wolfing down the food. In moments, he had swept through it like a gale scattering clouds, leaving only chicken bones.

He An took just one bite of the drumstick, then plucked a few reed leaves, wrapped it up, and tucked it inside his robe. His cheeks bulging, Fan Dazhi asked, "You... why aren't you eating?" He An smiled, looking a little embarrassed. "I'll take it home for my uncle to eat with his wine."

Fan Dazhi often went to He An's home to play, and He An's uncle, He Kui, was very fond of the plump boy too. In his spare time, he often tested the two boys on their lessons and taught them methods of cultivating qi and fighting.

At the thought of He Kui's stern face, Fan Dazhi shuddered and fell silent. He found two stones to weigh down the fish traps and tossed the leftover chicken bones inside. Then he opened the oiled-paper parcel, hurriedly grabbed two slices of braised beef and stuffed them into his mouth, before dropping two slices into each trap.

Only three slices of meat remained in the parcel. He grabbed two more and stuffed them into his mouth, then tossed the paper and the final slice together into one trap. After a pause, he took a slice of braised beef back out of his mouth and dropped it into the other trap with considerable reluctance. Smacking his lips, he said, "All set, all set. He An, just wait till tomorrow!"

After speaking, Fan Dazhi tied ropes to the fish traps. Together, the boys threw the two traps into different parts of the river. They watched them sink with a bubbling gurgle, then secured the ropes to tree roots along the bank... By the time they finished everything, darkness had fallen...

Their homes were not far apart. They turned past the ancestral hall and walked to the large locust tree at the edge of the village. In the darkness, a wine-shop banner hung over the street outside three low rooms. This was Fan Dazhi's home.

The two said goodbye at the door. He An had taken only a few steps when he heard Fan Dazhi's father roar inside, "You little brat! You stole that half roast chicken from the kitchen again, didn't you?" Then came the sharp crash of bowls and plates falling to the floor and shattering...