Early that morning, sunlight filtered through the jujube tree's branches and leaves into the study in the Wei Residence's small courtyard outside West Peace Gate.
Wei Nisheng sat at his desk, with Confucian classics such as the Book of Changes, the Book of Songs, and the Book of Documents laid out before him.
These were also the foundation and the keys to the door for the Autumn Provincial Examination, the first stage of Great Zhou's imperial examinations.
Just then, Qu Niang came in carrying a tea tray, her footsteps as soft as a cat's.
Today she had changed into a pale blue, narrow-sleeved short jacket, with a plain white apron tied around her waist. Her long hair was gathered into a simple bun, still secured with three wooden hairpins laid across it.
Gone was some of last night's languor, replaced by a brisk efficiency that made her look much fresher.
She set the tea at the corner of the desk, then straightened the scattered papers, her practiced movements making not a sound.
Wei Nisheng did not look up. He merely murmured an acknowledgment.
Qu Niang withdrew to one side, sat on a small stool against the wall, and picked up her sewing basket to begin mending a garment.
After all, the Wei Residence's small courtyard outside West Peace Gate was hardly awash in money, so whatever needed patching or stitching had to be patched or stitched.
Sunlight streamed through the window and fell over the two of them, as though gilding the little study with warmth.
The study was quiet, save for the rustle of turning pages and the faint sound of needle and thread passing through cloth.
Occasionally, a bird's call drifted in through the window, then quickly faded into the distance.
Before long, Wei Nisheng finished an essay, set down his brush, and lifted his tea for a sip.
The temperature was just right.
Then he glanced at Qu Niang and realized that she was mending his worn old robe.
Its cuffs had frayed, and its collar had faded somewhat. She was carefully mending it with fine, even stitches, far better than he had expected.
Watching her sew with her head bent, Wei Nisheng suddenly felt that this home was becoming more and more like a home.
At the same time, in the Feng Residence's study.
Feng Yan sat at his desk with a letter clenched in his hand, his expression dark.
The letter had come from Hangzhou Prefecture. Its author was Feng Anren, his only son, who had left the Capital.
It read:
[To my honored father:
All is well with me at our ancestral home, so please do not worry. Our family's lands yield abundantly, and our clansmen live peacefully. I spend each day reading and teaching my children, and find it fulfilling.
I often think that the Feng Family already enjoys such wealth and honor, and your lifetime of achievements has taken you to the highest rank a subject can attain. Why insist on seeking anything more?
For our whole family to live in peace and security is the proper path. You are advanced in years, Father. Would it not be wonderful to return home to spend your remaining years at ease, enjoying sweets and playing with your grandchildren?
Your unworthy son cannot share your burdens. I ask only that you take care of your health and cease wearing yourself out over affairs of court...
Your son, Anren, bows his head to the ground.]
After reading it, Feng Yan slammed the letter onto his desk.
"Idiot!" He rose and paced back and forth through the study, his chest heaving, his face livid.
Hearing the commotion from outside the door, the steward dared not enter. He only ventured a quiet question. "Master, you..."
"Get out!"
The steward shrank back in fright, his hurried footsteps retreating into the distance.
Feng Yan stood at the window, staring at the flowers and trees in the courtyard, his clenched fists cracking.
Peace and security? Did he think he could have them simply because he wanted them?
Feng Yan remembered how he had spent these years at court treading on thin ice.
He remembered the political enemies watching him like hungry tigers, and the colleagues who showed him respect to his face while stabbing him in the back.
He remembered His Majesty's forever unfathomable mind, capable of smiling at you today and banishing you to the ends of the earth tomorrow.
Feng Half the Court, Feng Half the Court!
The name sounded glorious, but one step back meant falling into a bottomless abyss!
The Feng Family could still live securely only because His Majesty still had a use for him.
The court still needed him, "Feng Half the Court," to maintain the balance and keep those itching to make their moves in check.
Once His Majesty deemed him "useless," those waiting to feast on the Feng Family's flesh would descend in a swarm!
When that happened, would this son of his still be able to read and teach his children in peace?
"Useless fool..." Feng Yan murmured, his voice laden with exhaustion and disappointment. "Even a ten-year-old child can see it clearly, yet this mediocre son of mine cannot!"
As he spoke, Feng Yan recalled Wei Nisheng's explanation of "Wei One Corner."
"One corner stands alone. Like the corner of a flying eave, it seems to soar into the air, yet in truth it hangs in peril."
That was true of Wei One Corner, but was it not equally true of Feng Half the Court?
It was just that Wei One Corner's "peril" lay out in the open, where anyone could see it.
Feng Half the Court's "peril" lurked in the shadows, hidden beneath smiling faces and flattery.
And if Wei Nisheng could see the Wei Family's peril, could he really fail to see the Feng Family's?
No, he could see it.
That was why he had dared to seek shelter under Feng Yan. He knew Feng Yan needed him too.
Feng Yan slowly returned to his desk and sat down again.
He picked up yesterday's sheet of paper once more, bearing the line the protagonist had written: "A man without an obsession is not worth befriending."
The lean, vigorous, upright characters gleamed faintly in the candlelight.
He stared at those ten characters for a long time, his gaze gradually shifting from anger to thoughtful depth.
That sentence said he, Feng Yan, needed an [obsession], but was it not also Wei Nisheng telling him that he had an [obsession] of his own?
That was why Feng Yan had said yesterday that Wei Nisheng did not want to suffer even the slightest hardship.
Having thought this through, Feng Yan lifted his gaze from the paper and looked outside.
Beyond the window, the old Chinese scholar tree in the courtyard was putting out buds, its tender green leaves swaying gently in the spring breeze.
He thought of his life, of his students scattered throughout the realm.
There were students of his in the Hanlin Academy, in the Six Ministries, and in the Censorate.
They called him "teacher" and treated him with the utmost respect. Gifts arrived without fail at every festival and holiday, and when they met him, they all but bent their waists to the ground.
But he knew perfectly well that these students had come for the name "Feng Half the Court."
While he remained standing, they followed.
Once he fell...
"Heh." He gave a cold laugh. "When the tree falls, the monkeys scatter!"
"I, Feng Yan, have taught so many students in my lifetime, yet in the end, there is not a single one I can entrust with what comes after my death."
Having said this, he thought of Wei Nisheng again.
A child, just ten years old.
Yet this ten-year-old child saw far further ahead than his forty-year-old son.
From borrowing authority, to borrowing a name, to borrowing principle!
Every step had been steady and precise.
He had borrowed Feng Yan's influence, yet never fawned or flattered.
He needed Feng Yan, yet never wagged his tail and begged for pity.
He was even telling Feng Yan: I am not here to beg you. I am here to work with you.
"Brother Wenyue, that grandson of yours is more formidable than anyone I have met in my entire life." Feng Yan suddenly smiled.
"He knows what he wants, and he knows what I can give him.
"He even knows what I need more desperately than he does."
As he spoke, Feng Yan rose, walked to the window, and pushed it open.
"Feng Half the Court, Wei One Corner..."
"In the end, they must be brought together."
He turned and called toward the door, "Someone, come."
The steward hurried inside, cautiously studying his expression. "Master."
"Prepare the carriage. Tomorrow, you will accompany me to West Peace Gate."
The steward blinked. "West Peace Gate? What are you going there for, Master?"
Feng Yan did not answer. He merely looked at the line on his desk-"A man without an obsession is not worth befriending"-and the corners of his mouth lifted slightly.
The Wei Residence's small courtyard outside West Peace Gate.
Cui Fu returned from outside and headed straight for Wei Nisheng's study the moment he entered the courtyard.
Wei Nisheng nodded, unsurprised, and nodded again.
Cui Fu did not hesitate either, immediately reporting the news he had gathered that day.
"Lord Feng seems to be... in poor health. Some people say he's been coughing often lately. He's called for physicians several times and taken dozens of doses of medicine, but he hasn't improved."
"In poor health... It seems time is even tighter than I thought." Wei Nisheng's gaze sharpened slightly. After a brief silence, he told Cui Fu, "Understood. Keep asking around, but don't let anyone notice."
Cui Fu acknowledged the order and ran out again, vanishing around the mouth of the alley in a flash.
Wei An emerged from the kitchen and watched Cui Fu's retreating figure, shaking his head. "That lad certainly is diligent about running errands."
Wei Nisheng smiled without speaking, turned back into the study, and sat at his desk. A book lay open before him, but he could not take in a single word.
He was thinking about Feng Yan.
He was thinking about the old man's predicament: students throughout the realm, yet not one he could entrust with anything.
His only son was mediocre and sought nothing but security. His own health worsened by the day, yet he still had to tread on thin ice at court.
Suddenly, Wei Nisheng lifted his brush and wrote a line on the paper.
"Feng Half the Court, Wei One Corner: united, both gain; divided, both face peril."
Just then, Qu Niang asked softly from outside the door, "Young master, will you be retiring?"
"Yes." He blew out the lamp and left the study.
That night, the light in the Feng Residence's study also burned until very late.
One old, one young, separated by half the Capital, they were thinking about the same thing.
--
A note from Salted Fish: Only one update today. I have family matters to attend to and have requested leave.
Before you continue