Ox-cart musings: reader review highlights VIII, reader Shukhov on the "Humble Scholar" trio

Chen Caozhi was a man of free-flowing grace.

Zen Buddhism says that free-flowing grace means drifting without wind, going wherever the heart wishes, neither drawn to things, nor obstructed by them, nor dwelling on them: a certain very special girl possesses great beauty; it is not that you fail to see her-you see her from far away. It is not that you have never encountered her-you encounter her and pass beside her, but you do not stop, simply passing on. You receive her beauty, but you do not linger or possess it.

-Xiao Chan, Xie Daoyun, the Princess of Xin'an, Su Hui, Princess Qingyue: the reason San Chi lavished ink on them was, of course, that he liked women. There was a writer once, whose name I have forgotten, whose novels had one prominent theme: loving and praising women. He said that if a few beautiful things still existed in this world, one was nature, and the second was beautiful women, women. Older women were very maternal and caring, while younger ones could easily stir a man's soul. For instance, when someone's ideas dried up while writing a novel, he would invite some girls to his home to sit there for him to look at; after looking for several hours, inspiration would come, and he would resume writing. But if looking at a girl's beauty is not enough for you, and you then develop the desire to possess her, that is dwelling. Pursue her and obtain her, and you dwell with her, never able to advance again, because when someone develops a desire for something, an attachment forms. You fix that attachment in your heart, while the desire it engenders fixes you in place as well. That is no longer free-flowing grace.

Apart from Liu Shangzhi, none of Chen Caozhi's close friends had concubines. Xie Xuan, Fan Wuzi, Kong Wang, and Ding Chunqiu all came from aristocratic clans; even leaving aside taking concubines, having a personal maid warm their beds ought to have been quite ordinary. Yet the text never mentioned this aspect, perhaps because these great families were relatively strict, or perhaps because it simply was not worth mentioning. Such was the broader environment: apart from the formal wife, concubines and maidservants stood so far below her in status that there was no comparison. Thus, although Mother Chen Lady Li liked Lu Weiwei, she still arranged for Xiao Chan to attend her son in bed; in her understanding, she had no awareness that this would hurt her future daughter-in-law. Chen Caozhi could, of course, have ridden the slope down and dismounted conveniently, but he did not. On the other hand, reputation mattered greatly in that society, and Chen Caozhi scorned even more the idea of exploiting Xiao Chan's closeness and feelings toward him to win a reputation as a gentleman indifferent to feminine charms. And so Xiao Chan continued to serve as his maid.

As for Xie Daoyun, she was, after all, two years older than Lu Weiwei. Lu Weiwei had no power to resist her whatsoever; after hearing just a few words from her, she impulsively offered up her feelings for Chen Caozhi with both hands. Fortunately, Xie Daoyun was a remarkable person herself. She liked Chen Caozhi, but liked the feeling of secretly loving him even more. As Socrates said, the god does not stand on the beloved's side. Xie Daoyun gained a strength from her secret love that protected her sense of self. Even when she watched Chen Caozhi and Lu Weiwei being affectionate together, she mistakenly believed that her present attitude of silently watching over him was the deepest, most special love, the one closest to an ideal state. She might even secretly believe that those two owed their love to her willing blessing. Thus she told herself there was no need for envy, much less jealousy.

Finally, the review section often criticized Chen Caozhi for not being man enough, or argued that he could have multiple wives provided there was an emotional foundation, distinguishing ** from ** conceptually to lend polygamy a certain legitimacy. I believe that people, especially men, should be introspective and confident, acting according to their own hearts rather than seeking reasons and excuses in the surrounding environment. Those who want multiple wives can naturally strive to have them, without shrinking in embarrassment. But Chen Caozhi's original wish was to spend a lifetime with Lu Weiwei, becoming an Immortal Couple of Shuihui. As for not being man enough, precisely the opposite was true. Although Chen Caozhi seemed capable of doing anything well, rational and wise, routinely carrying Mount Tai under his arm and leaping across the North Sea, making it easy for others to trust him, he too had moments when he could not think things through clearly. For instance, Xiao Chan had been in his arms and within reach several times, and the atmosphere had been very pleasant when he was alone with Xie Daoyun. Yet he did not use his confusion as an excuse to follow the current. That was man enough.

Xie Daoyun, walking her own path

People in the review section often believed that Xie Daoyun's feelings for Chen Caozhi were principally an admiration for his talent, and that, in choosing a husband at the Pure Conversation Gathering, she would probably have married another talented young man had she encountered one who could win her over.

The fact was that, counting from the death of Mother Chen and Chen Caozhi's period of mourning, Xie Daoyun had gone three years without worshipping the Heavenly Grandmother, who governed mortal marriages. Xie Daoyun was both proud and self-respecting. When they reunited three years later, she never once mentioned this to Chen Caozhi, nor did she grow coy when her personal maid Liu Xu asked about it. Choosing a husband at the Pure Conversation Gathering could ease the pressure to marry; it was better than letting her elders fashion a cart behind closed doors and settle her lifelong marriage for her. Xie Daoyun's intelligence verged on the uncanny, and she reacted extremely quickly. Great skill bred great courage; she was not afraid to take this road.

When Xie Daoyun first appeared, her words spared no one's pride. She always looked down quite bluntly on those inferior to her, never making false, accommodating gestures, and when she disagreed with someone, she dispensed with polite words. The brightest white was easily stained, the most delicate growth easily broken; lofty spring snow found few voices to join its song. There was reason behind the many claims that Xie Daoyun lacked femininity. She often could not be bothered to take a roundabout approach, instead confronting people face-to-face, leaving no room for anyone else and no retreat for herself. Her stance was resolute, rather like an assassin of antiquity: when an assassin sprang up, blood would surely flow within five paces; when Xie Daoyun opened her mouth, her words would surely wound. Whoever she caught, she blasted, blasting you until you could find no step down, no escape, and could only endure the onslaught.

Mi Heng, the foremost mad scholar of the Wei-Jin eras, was a similar example, making everyone afraid of him. When Mi Heng went away on official business, the colleagues seeing him off simply sat by the roadside in collective silence. Mi Heng burst into tears on the spot. Helpless, Xun Yu stood up and asked why he was crying. He answered, "All these corpses by the roadside frightened me." Wild arrogance was a disposition; Mi Heng was not truly ignorant of human dealings. The official documents he drafted were "appropriate in every respect, in weight and emphasis, spareness and detail," expressing exactly that layer of meaning his superior Huang Zu wanted to convey but could not put into words. Delighted, Huang Zu took Mi Heng's hand. "This captures precisely what I mean, as though speaking what lies within my own belly." In the end, Mi Heng died very young. At a banquet, Huang Zu wanted Mi Heng to flatter him. He neither humored him nor compromised, instead directly blasting Huang Zu as a crude fellow made of clay and wood. Enraged, Huang Zu rebuked Mi Heng, who cursed back, "Shut up, you old bastard who won't die!"

Xie Daoyun was a little better than Mi Heng. After studying at the thatched cottage, the eighteen stages of farewell, and three years of defeating countless sons of great families at the Pure Conversation Gatherings, perhaps she really had grown older and was no longer such an angry young person? She had to consider the future. She wanted neither to hurt Lu Weiwei nor to stifle herself; she wanted a free life, to be "friends for life." She had made considerable preparations toward that end, but it still seemed unachievable, plugging one gap only to expose another, with more and more people seeing through her identity. Xie Daoyun had gained freedom, entering official service disguised as a man and thereafter participating in state affairs, yet she had also become constrained, bearing the pressure of an identity that could not see daylight. Could freedom and constraint cancel each other out? That was hard to answer; one could only ask the person concerned. Perhaps Xie Daoyun herself was uncertain, perhaps she had not yet considered it, or perhaps she dared not think too deeply.

But no matter when, women always cared so much about their own uniqueness. Love had turned Lu Weiwei into a tender little woman, and a tender little woman was the most lovable kind of woman in love. How many such women there were in the world, while there was only one Xie Daoyun who walked her own path. What existed between Xie Daoyun and Chen Caozhi was another kind of feeling unrelated to romantic love; she tried to make herself believe this firmly. Unfortunately, her younger brother did not believe it, her third uncle and third aunt did not believe it, her personal maid did not believe it, Huan Wen and Xi Chao did not believe it, and that household registration official surnamed Jia did not believe it. No one in the book who knew her identity believed it, and readers believed it even less. It seemed only Chen Caozhi believed it somewhat. His sister-in-law Ding Youwei was half convinced and half doubtful, while her fourth uncle had become muddleheaded from being a celebrated scholar and had not thought that much about it.

If the three people's sexes were reversed, and Young Master Lu and Madam Chen had pledged their love first, while Young Master Xie declared, "We live fewer than a hundred years; if you like someone, you must fight for them," there would be no problem. In the ingrained mindset of Chinese culture, a man drawing his sword to steal another's love was simply no great matter. Some might call him immoral, but the man himself would probably not care. Women, however, could not do that; they simply cared about such things. At its essence, a man's marriage was a move from one woman to another—mother → wife—while a woman's marriage was a move from one family to another—the family in which she grew up → the family she established herself.

San Chi's book was relatively serious: he would not lower the heroine's intelligence, and Chen Caozhi was not the kind of male lead who put on a coy show of resistance while inviting advances. I do not know how the plot will be arranged from here.

Everyone loves Lu Weiwei

Traditionally, historical fiction often featured parents with exceptionally muddled judgment in choosing a son-in-law, a sheltered young lady bravely pursuing love, and a young gentleman of matching family standing who was an embroidered pillow stuffed with straw. Then the protagonist's appearance supplied the sole answer to this insoluble vicious circle.

In the Eastern Jin society San Chi depicted, aristocratic sons sank into decadence in lives where they saw no cause for concern, becoming holders of prestigious sinecures who attended to no affairs, incompetent and ridiculous celebrated scholars serving as generals, and enthusiasts of metaphysical discourse who merely echoed others. Yet within small circles, that noble bearing rooted in their bones and blood, then steeped and nurtured through upbringing, had not disappeared. Every great clan still had one or two young people it could proudly present. What was aristocratic grace? It was Fan Ning attacking your shield with your own spear; it was Gu Kaizhi's marvelous brush adding the pupils that brought a painting to life; it was Kong Wang and Chen Caozhi independently agreeing that a gentleman won others over through virtue. Being well read in books and documents, possessing literary brilliance and grace, and excelling in skills were all secondary. An elegant, unhurried bearing and freedom and independence of spirit were more precious: "Everyone is his own king." Chen Caozhi could only attribute his thousand-year advantage to Ge Hong's book collection and ancient sages visiting his dreams, while never forgetting to hone himself every day, not daring to slacken in the slightest. Otherwise, standing among such a group would have been deeply unsettling.

If Lu Weiwei's parents and contemporaries had all been vulgar people, and the environment in which she grew up had been like a vat of murky sauce, then however much natural spirit she possessed would have been worn away. Lu Weiwei was a winged flower fairy in this lush forest, endowed with the concentrated loveliness of creation. She probably left the impression of a girl who loved flowers and painting, boundlessly kind. She could not even scold or complain; when upset, all she could do was cry, and she never even raised her voice.

For now, Lu Weiwei's circumstances were still relatively easy. Her parents, Lu Na and Zhang Wenwan, had shouldered much of the pressure for their daughter. Everyone in her future husband's family liked her, and even her rival in love had withdrawn with great grace, leaving sincere blessings. What did it matter if Xie Daoyun moved into the Daughter-in-law Tower before Lu Weiwei? Lu Weiwei would be its mistress in the future, while Xie Daoyun could only move in as a guest under a false name and identity. People often said that what must come would always come, and what must leave would always leave. From the author's technical perspective, stories of suffering were easier to write than happy stories, because there was more room to maneuver. Xie Daoyun was always being put through suffering, naturally requiring more ink. But besides cheering Chen Caozhi on and waiting for him to marry her, what did Lu Weiwei have to worry about? Thus, to keep Lu Weiwei's character from sliding into formula and becoming a mere symbol, San Chi racked his brains for scenes that were unexpected yet reasonable, sifting them out bit by bit to build the plot. That was quite difficult.