Chapter 56#
Wu Zhiheng hurriedly followed.#
It was still morning, but the sky had already darkened, as if it would start snowing again by nightfall. The wind grew increasingly bitter and sharp, scattering ashes everywhere and lifting the garments of both men.
The small lamp hanging before the twelve-paneled screen in the study hall remained lit. Once they stepped inside, everything seemed to take on the color of dusk. The interior was as tall as three floors of an ordinary house, with two sections, bookshelves lining all four walls, and haphazardly stacked scrolls and volumes piling all the way up to the ceiling. They had been going back and forth all morning; Pei Dan had already cleared away some of it, but judging by the state of things, it was merely a drop in the ocean.
Pei Dan had Wu Zhiheng bring over a tall ladder. After rummaging through the piles of books for a long time, getting a face full of dust in the process, he found a dusty, unassuming book case, upon which was written in ancient seal script: “Zhouyi Bawei, Case Three.”
He opened the case at the desk. The Zhouyi Bawei comprised twelve volumes in total, and this case contained three. The papers inside were scattered and untidily stacked, quite aged. Flipping it open, he read aloud: “Not knowing summer, not knowing winter, not seeing father, not seeing elder brother — gazing upon it, all is silent; looking at it, all is blind… Its ruler, if remonstrable, survives; if unyielding, perishes.” He smiled faintly in silence, then snapped the case shut with a crack. He climbed up the ladder again, took out all four cases of the Zhouyi Bawei, and tossed them one after another into Wu Zhiheng’s arms. He then waved his hand through the clouds of flying dust. “These — give them to Li Fengbing.”
Wu Zhiheng fumbled to catch them and exclaimed in surprise: “Send them now?”
Pei Dan said coldly: “Send them now.”
A moment later, he glanced around, snatched up the rabbit that had at some point struggled onto the ground, and threw it once more into Wu Bohai’s arms. “This too — send it away.”
Wu Zhiheng, however, did not move.
The wild rabbit burrowed silently into Wu Zhiheng’s embrace, nuzzling its soft fur against his palm, which was slick with cold sweat.
Pei Dan looked at him.
“You…” A crack finally appeared in Wu Zhiheng’s voice. “Why won’t you go yourself?”
Pei Dan scoffed: “Foolish talk. Should I go to him and say, ‘Let’s flee the world together’? You think this is a stage play?”
Wu Zhiheng said: “Then you mean to just sit here and wait for death…”
Pei Dan raised his hand, tapping the hard cover of the book case with his curled fingers, a faint, unrestrained smile glimmering in his eyes. “Who said anything about waiting for death? As long as he’s alive, I’m not waiting for death.”
Wu Zhiheng walked out of the study with the book cases and the small wild rabbit, but before he had even reached the back gate, a commotion had already arisen in the front courtyard.
It was none other than the imperial messenger delivering the Emperor’s decree. Just as his master had predicted — he had arrived.
Wu Zhiheng wanted to turn back, but through the moon gate he glimpsed his master already stepping out of the study to greet the guest in the front courtyard. The sky was clear and bright, like a great mirror overlooking the mortal world, a layer of still, white light settling over the trees near and far. He could faintly hear the eunuch’s shrill voice, along with the clatter of iron boots and the sound of water being splashed — it seemed someone was in a hurry to put out the fire that had been burning for an entire day and night.
Wu Zhiheng finally understood what his master had been waiting for.
He clenched his jaw, tensed his expression, and retreated one step, then another. Then he spun around abruptly and ran toward the back gate.
The ice atop the small pond, layered a thousandfold, finally seemed startled by human voices, cracking open with a sharp, grating sound.
Pei Dan was dressed in white, his hair pinned with a camellia wood hairpin, sitting composedly beside the pond brewing tea. After the water reached its third boil, he drew his sleeves back and served the tea. He worked with such focus that even his upturned brows and eyes grew still.
Meng Chao’en had never seen this man wear such plain, modest clothing, and nearly lost his eyesight when he stepped in. But the sky was growing darker, the wind and frost biting cold; he had no wish to stand outside for long, and the Shence Army guards at his side stepped forward to surround Pei Dan. Then Meng Chao’en also spotted the stack of firewood on the small pavilion, and the faint glow of flames emerging from the study —
His expression changed drastically. He turned to the soldiers behind him and urged: “Send a group — go put out the fire, quickly!”
A detachment of soldiers rushed off. Under the encirclement of those who remained, Pei Dan’s expression was still affable and amiable. He stood up and bowed to Meng Chao’en: “Eunuch Meng’s honored presence — this humble minister neglected to welcome you at the gate. Would you care to share a cup of tea?”
Meng Chao’en slowly unfurled the imperial decree written on bright yellow silk, his face cold, and said: “Pei Dan, receive the decree.”
Pei Dan brushed off his lapels and knelt to receive the decree.
The decree was exceedingly long, its tone earnest and didactic, like a father or elder brother instructing a younger one. It first stated that Pei Dan had served as chancellor for two years with no achievements whatsoever, betraying the earnest trust of the late emperor and of the throne. It then said that the great disturbances at the New Year gathering had already been Heaven’s warning, and that days ago the Censorate had submitted a memorial impeaching Pei Dan for favoritism toward his family — purchasing land and bribing officials. The throne had originally cherished talent and been reluctant to be harsh, who would have thought that Chen Qiu, the tribute envoy from Hediang, had died unjustly in prison, connected with Pei Dan, and the circumstances were most suspicious… Near the end, it read: “Since ascending the throne, I have trembled with caution. Yet memorials submitted, matters reported, crisscross the roads; treacherous men and factional cliques conceal one another for mutual benefit. I truly find this perplexing — where does the fault lie? Observed: your governance, holding a craven and compliant policy, lacking any loyalty or steadfastness — how then shall you assist me in leading and guiding the subordinates below? And yet you desire to long remain in this exalted position — is this not difficult for you? Is this not difficult!”
Meng Chao’en’s voice rose sharp and high: “Be it decreed: Pei Dan is stripped of the title of Tongzhongshu Menxia Pingzhangshi; his household estate is confiscated; Pei Dan shall go bareheaded in plain clothes to the Ministry of Justice for interrogation and trial —”
In the freezing air, Pei Dan’s spine was ramrod straight. He did not move an inch.
“Favoritism toward his family — purchasing land and bribing officials” — this likely referred to the matter in which his cousin-in-law had once come to beg him. True, he had written to the Prefect of Taiyuan requesting him to handle matters impartially — but when a charge is wanted, what excuse is lacking?
The Pei clan of Hedong had abandoned him, just as they had abandoned his seemingly promising father all those years ago.
Pei Dan shook out his sleeves, extended both hands, raised them high above his head, and declared in a clear voice: “This humble minister receives the decree.”
But Meng Chao’en did not hand it to him. His gaze shifted to the side, where two young eunuchs stood holding poisoned wine and white silk, waiting patiently.
“Chancellor Pei — no, Scholar Pei,” Meng Chao’en said in a thin, delicate voice, “the customary procedures are all here. You mustn’t break with the rules set by our forebears.”
The so-called “rules of the forebears” meant that punishment does not befall ministers; one who had reached the rank of chancellor could not possibly be subjected to trial at the Ministry of Justice. A decree calling for such trial was therefore tantamount to an order to die. How could Pei Dan not understand this? But he simply raised his head, and even smiled a little.
Before the assembly of eunuch attendants, he spoke with unhurried ease: “This humble minister fears neither death — but I should like to venture one question of Eunuch Meng: after I die, if the Emperor cannot find what he seeks, will you be able to bear the consequence?”
The imperial decree in this chapter is taken from the Book of Han, “Biography of Zhai Fangjin” — Emperor Cheng of Han’s edict bestowing upon Zhai Fangjin — with slight modifications.