Chapter Sixty-Eight: Words Spoken Without Thought

The first day of the lunar year, also called Yuan Day or New Year's Day, is known among the people as the New Year. The very last day of the twelfth month is called the Day of Waning Month and Year's End, or more commonly, Chúyè, also known as New Year's Eve. On this night, exorcisms are performed and people stay up to see in the new year, making it a significant occasion for welcoming the coming year. In fact, the festivities begin from this very day.

As Yuan Day approached, the citizens of the capital city, Kaifeng, were busy sweeping their courtyards, replacing door gods, hanging images of Zhong Kui, nailing peach wood charms, performing exorcisms, setting off firecrackers, bathing with fragrant water, displaying lanterns, drinking Tusu wine, donning ceremonial dress to honor ancestors, and so on—everyone was bustling about in joyful anticipation of the New Year. Every household prepared for the celebration, and even the imperial palace in Kaifeng was no exception, adorned with lanterns and colored banners, the festive atmosphere permeating both inside and outside the palace walls.

The streets of Kaifeng were packed with throngs of people, shoulder to shoulder, and the major restaurants, taverns, teahouses, and theaters were all filled to overflowing, alive with excitement.

At this time, countless candidates from across the country had gathered in Kaifeng for the imperial examinations. These scholars, calling upon friends and acquaintances, assembled in restaurants, taverns, teahouses, and inns, discussing state affairs, speculating on examination topics, and exploring scholarly questions in preparation for the triennial spring examination.

Ye Mengde, Li Sanjian, Ran Yunbiao, and Zeng Gongming were debating the politics of the day, drawing the attention of the many scholars around them. As time passed, more and more gathered around Ye Mengde and Li Sanjian, cracking sunflower seeds and peanuts, sipping hot wine, and each voicing their own opinions, the conversation growing ever more lively.

"Boiling beans with bean stalks, the beans weep in the pot; born of the same root, why such haste to harm each other?" Ye Mengde, always one to thrive in the crowd, grew all the more animated as the gathering grew. "We are all people of the Yuanfeng era—why can we not get along? This endless strife only weakens our Song dynasty's strength."

"Well said, brother," remarked a candidate from Xiuzhou. "But your statement is not entirely fair. If the Yuanfeng faction should not fight among themselves, does that mean the Yuanyou faction is fair game? Both Yuanfeng and Yuanyou are of our dynasty, not foreign invaders, all loyal subjects of the Song—why must we be divided, driven to mortal enmity?"

"Those of the Yuanyou faction are all conservative and inflexible—how can such men be allowed to hold power?" retorted a candidate from Wenzhou. "Our glorious dynasty faces northern barbarians without, western tribes to the west, and rebel bandits in the south. In such times, only bold reforms can save us. If we continue to delay, the problems will only grow worse. Eventually, we will be unable to defend against the northern and western threats, nor ensure peace within. Calamity—even destruction—may follow. Now is not the time for half-measures. How can the country prosper and strengthen the army by employing men of the Yuanyou faction?"

"And can the Yuanfeng faction truly enrich the nation and strengthen the military?" the candidate from Xiuzhou shot back, bristling with anger. "They claim to love the people, but in truth they harm them; claim to benefit the state, but end up wounding it. It is nothing but choosing between harm and profit, discarding the good for the bad."

"Brother, that's a grave misjudgment," another candidate argued. "True reform depends on the right people. Use the wrong men, and all efforts are wasted; choose wisely, and results will come with half the effort..."

"You are all mistaken..."

The scholars continued to argue, voices rising, faces flushed with passion, nearly coming to blows in their fervor.

Li Sanjian, too, grew more excited as he listened, marveling at the remarkable freedom of speech in Song times. Such candid discussions of government, such outspoken words—how was it that no secret police had come knocking?

Little did Li Sanjian know that the Song dynasty had no such "secret police." If anything, the closest equivalent to the Ming dynasty's Embroidered Uniform Guard was the Imperial City Department, but it was not nearly as fearsome.

Previously, Li Sanjian had only vaguely heard of the rivalry between the New and Old Parties at court, but now it was becoming much clearer. Currently, the New Party—those of the Yuanfeng era—held power, while many of the Old Party, or Yuanyou faction, had been demoted and removed from central government.

At this very moment, Su Shi had been exiled to distant Qiongzhou on Hainan Island, marking him unmistakably as a Yuanyou partisan—at least in the eyes of the current government.

Wait a minute. As Li Sanjian pondered, a thought struck him: he recalled how Su Shi had expelled him from his tutelage, and still could not fathom the reason. Could it be that, with the New Party in power, remaining Su Shi's disciple would have spelled disaster for him? Might his ambitions for the imperial examinations have died before they even began? Was it possible Su Shi had cast him out to protect his future?

Was that really Su Shi's intention? The more Li Sanjian considered, the more convinced he became that his guess was likely correct.

This realization made him feel increasingly uneasy, and he longed to rush back to Qiongzhou and ask Su Shi directly.

"What are your thoughts?" Ye Mengde noticed Li Sanjian's discomfort and asked.

"Neither is acceptable!" Li Sanjian, preoccupied with thoughts of Su Shi and his fate, blurted out.

His voice was loud enough to draw the attention of all the scholars around, who turned to look at him in puzzlement.

"This..." Li Sanjian was suddenly embarrassed under their collective gaze, his face reddening—whether from drink or another cause, he could not say.

"Speak frankly, Hanren," Ye Mengde encouraged.

"Yes, Brother Hanren, your insights must be truly unique," Zeng Gongming echoed.

Ran Yunbiao nodded at him as well.

Li Sanjian was young and only half-understood court matters. Facing scholars all older than himself, he had not intended to speak, but could not withstand the weight of so many expectant eyes, nor the hope of his friends that he, a candidate from the south, would make a strong impression.

Moreover, with wine warming his veins, he finally spoke: "Internal strife is the root of all disaster! It has always been so. As Brother Shaoyun said, such conflict only exhausts the strength of our Song. In the late Han, the struggle between factions led to the calamity of proscription, wounding the very foundation of the dynasty; in the Western Jin, the rivalry of empresses and royal factions sparked the War of the Eight Princes, ending in ruin; in the Tang, the power struggle between Li Linfu and Yang Guozhong brought on the An-Shi Rebellion, from which the dynasty never recovered; and the bitter conflict between northern and southern officials triggered the incident of the Two Kings and Eight Marshals, as well as the Sweet Dew Coup.

"Such precedents are countless, and now our own dynasty is caught in partisan strife, with disaster not far off."

Though his knowledge of history was limited, Li Sanjian had read enough under Su Shi and at the county school in Lingshan to recount some of these events, though his books covered only dynasties prior to the Song.

His words, spoken with unvarnished candor, left the crowd stunned into silence. For a long time, no one spoke.

"Hanren... Hanren, be careful, be careful what you say..." Ye Mengde finally recovered, exclaiming in alarm.

Li Sanjian, too, snapped out of his daze, anxiety flooding him. He quickly stood, bowed to the company, and made a hasty escape from the Zhaixin Residence...

For all the Song's freedom of speech, to liken the present to the twilight of the Han, Tang, or Jin dynasties was still a shocking thing.

...

Bang... bang... bang... New Year's fireworks now blossomed above the majestic walls of Kaifeng, lighting up the night sky in a riot of color. The brilliant displays, like fairies descending from heaven, danced gracefully, baskets of flowers on their arms, plucking blossoms, or cradling lutes, gently plucking their silver strings. The crackle of firecrackers shattered the silence of the night, turning the sky above Kaifeng into a dazzling spectacle.

It was New Year's Eve, and every household was busy with preparations for the festival.

Li Sanjian's family was no exception, all gathered in the small, shabby lodging he had rented.

This was their first New Year in Kaifeng, and though the family was poor and had only the barest essentials for the holiday, their spirits were high, filled with joy and excitement to experience a New Year so different from those in Qiongzhou, and so unlike the customs of the Li people. The novelty made the occasion all the more thrilling.

"Sanlang, are you tired? Rest a while. It's almost New Year—come eat the dumplings I've made," called Fu Erniang, who was busy chopping vegetables, to Li Sanjian, who was pasting paper over the windows.

Though Fu Erniang was of the Li people, Li Sanjian's father Li Qing was a true Han, so she had learned to prepare Han dishes.

"Mother, I'm fine, nearly done," Li Sanjian replied, kneeling on the floor, pasting coarse paper over the drafts in the wooden window frames.

Their rented earthen house had once belonged to a soldier. After receiving a reward, the soldier had moved elsewhere, renting his two shabby huts to Li Sanjian at a low price, given their dilapidated state.

The dwelling was low and draughty, the biting north wind carrying snowflakes in through the many cracks, making it bitterly cold inside.

Shankui was robust, and Li Sanjian, once sickly, had grown stronger through years of effort and was now in the prime of youth. Together, they could just manage the cold.

But Fu Erniang and Little Bean Sprout were different—both women, and the latter still frail from a serious illness in Lingshan, which worried Li Sanjian greatly.

So in addition to keeping the fire burning, he was determined to seal the windows against the north wind.

"Brother, brother, paper... for you..." Little Bean Sprout, dressed in a coarse floral jacket, her cheeks rosy—perhaps from cold, perhaps from the fire—bounced about, excited beyond measure. One moment she helped Fu Erniang, the next she clutched the paste bowl or handed paper to Li Sanjian as he patched the windows.

Li Sanjian gently pinched her soft, rosy cheek, smiled, accepted the coarse paper, dabbed it with paste, and prepared to cover another draft.

But before he could finish, the battered wooden door suddenly swung wide, and Shankui entered, carrying a sack of white flour.

The open door let in a blast of cold wind and snow, making the flames in the stove gutter and flicker.

Several sheets of paper Li Sanjian had just pasted were blown away.

He shot Shankui a reproachful look.

Shankui, oblivious, brushed the snow from his coat, grinned at Fu Erniang, and said, "Erniang, I'm back."

Shankui, feeling the pinch of poverty, often wanted to take odd jobs for loose change, but Li Sanjian forbade it. They were strangers in a strange city, and Shankui, unfamiliar with the ways of the world, could easily be cheated. Moreover, though he now held his own manumission papers, those papers had been destroyed by Li Sanjian himself to show he no longer regarded Shankui as a servant. Yet, the slave tattoo remained on Shankui's face; if he sought work, he might be mistaken for a runaway slave and handed over to the authorities. Li Sanjian couldn't be expected to accompany him everywhere with the contract in hand. He decided to wait for a chance to have the tattoo removed before considering anything else.

"You must be tired—have some hot soup and rest," Fu Erniang said, brushing the snow from his coat as she spoke.

"Not tired at all," Shankui replied cheerfully, but he gladly took a bowl of broth and drank it down, the warmth spreading through him.

Li Sanjian treated Shankui as an elder brother and Little Bean Sprout as a younger sister; Fu Erniang saw them both as her own children, and they in turn regarded her as their mother.

Once the windows were patched, Li Sanjian washed his hands and helped Fu Erniang knead dough, asking Shankui as he worked, "No trouble buying the flour, I hope?"

"Master, none at all. Everything went smoothly," Shankui replied between sips of soup.

Li Sanjian nodded, kneading the dough with extra vigor.

Shankui still insisted on addressing him as "Master," no matter how many times he was corrected. Li Sanjian had long since given up trying to change his mind.

Let him call me what he wants, he thought. In his heart, Li Sanjian never saw Shankui as a servant.

After the bustle of preparations, Fu Erniang at last finished boiling the dumplings and cheerfully called everyone to gather around a battered wooden table, preparing to celebrate their first New Year in Kaifeng together.

"Jian'er, eat more dumplings," Fu Erniang said, placing one in his bowl. "Your father always said, 'In the coldest days, eat dumplings for the New Year.' Eating dumplings not only brings good luck, but wards off misfortune as well. Eat up, my boy, and you will surely have smooth sailing ahead."

She added another to Little Bean Sprout's bowl with a smile. "You too, Bean Sprout. Eat up, and you'll grow into a beautiful young lady, and find a good husband someday."

"Erniang, I don't want to get married," Bean Sprout mumbled around a mouthful of dumpling, her lips shiny with broth. "I want to stay with you forever."

"Silly child," Fu Erniang said, stroking her head. "Every girl marries one day. That's the way of the world."

"I don't want to..." Bean Sprout insisted, "But if I have to, I'll marry brother..."

Everyone paused in surprise, then burst out laughing.

Li Sanjian, dumpling between his teeth, was thoroughly embarrassed.

"Is Sanlang at home?" Just as he squirmed in his seat, a knock sounded at the door.