Chapter Two: The Old Man of Cheng Village

As night fell, Tianshui Village was bathed in silver moonlight and a gentle breeze. The grand courtyard of the Li family glowed brightly with lanterns. In the main room, a large table had been set, around which the men of the Li clan had gathered. The village elder sat in the place of honor, with the grandfather and grandmother on either side, and the others seated by rank. For now, only the male members of the family were present; the women remained busy in the kitchen, tending to the evening’s preparations.

With all the men assembled, the eldest and third uncles’ sons sat beside their respective fathers. Both cousins had reached school age, and their manners were polished and courteous. Before taking their seats, they bowed deeply to the village elder, showing proper respect.

Tonight’s family banquet, in part an offering to the gods for the family’s fortune, also served another purpose: testing the aptitude of the children.

During the flourishing Kaiyuan era of the Tang Dynasty, there were few restrictions on girls’ education. Despite the prevailing belief that ignorance was a woman’s virtue, the vast lands of Tang still produced many celebrated and talented women. Girls could attend private studies, though not on equal footing with boys. Their primary instruction was in the biographies of virtuous women and the classic teachings for women, only later moving on to poetry; even then, their learning was considered mere ornament and not fit for the main hall.

Though the Li family had only three boys, there was no shortage of daughters. The eldest uncle had, besides a cousin sister, another second cousin. The second uncle, having no sons, instead had four daughters, and so was seldom favored by the grandmother. During the monthly silver distribution, the second aunt always received less. Grandmother would reason that girls ate less and their needs were not as great as the boys’. The second aunt could only swallow her grievances in silence, and grandfather neither objected nor intervened.

While the elders chatted idly, the dishes soon filled the table. Li Zisheng knew the true purpose of the night had only just begun.

At this moment, aside from the men and the grandmother and aunts, all the female cousins stood by the table, not seated. Grandfather and the village elder recited ceremonial words in honor of the gods, expressing hopes for prosperity and good fortune in the coming year. After the rites, everyone took their places.

The village elder eyed the younger generation with a clear intent to quiz them—a customary part of the family feast. Li Zisheng, watching his eager cousins and the nervous girls, could not help but smile at their excitement—it was, after all, just a round of questions and answers, but children always found it thrilling.

He did not realize, however, that his demeanor caught the notice of the village elder, whose brows creased with faint displeasure as he glanced sternly at Li Zisheng.

“What are you smiling at, boy?”

Li Zisheng was taken aback to be singled out. He had hoped to quietly endure the banquet and slip away to sleep; trouble truly had come seeking him. His father, an honest and simple man, said nothing. His mother, though usually spirited, now watched him anxiously, holding her breath. As the youngest in the family, Li Zisheng was greatly cherished by his grandparents, who now looked on with worry. No one knew the village elder’s temper better than grandfather.

The village elder, surnamed Cheng, was a scholar from the era of Emperor Taizong, originally from Huizhou in the Jiangnan region, who had migrated to Lingzhou. Though not the most learned of men, he had mastered the Confucian rites, and even in this rural place, many officials sought his counsel. His presence tonight was owed to a favor grandfather had done him in years past, which made the neighbors envious, praising grandfather’s ability to invite such a man.

Now that Elder Cheng’s face darkened at Li Zisheng, all in the hall held their breath.

“Though you chose an auspicious date for the offering,” the elder intoned, “the banquet and prayer for blessings are matters of family fortune and livelihood for the year ahead—serious affairs deserving solemnity.”

His meaning was plain: Li Zisheng, a thoughtless child, had shown disrespect during a grave ceremony, mocking the gods with his levity—a serious affront.

Li Zisheng felt as if he had swallowed bitter herbs; the charge was most unfair. He had only smiled at his cousins’ excitement, but to the village elder, this was sacrilege.

He knew that even if he protested his innocence, a childish display of tears would at worst earn him a scolding and he could muddle through. But Li Zisheng aspired to make something of himself in the Tang world. If he wished to leave the village, Elder Cheng’s support would be crucial. His first impression must not be one of irreverence toward the gods.

“Elder Cheng, the child is young and ignorant of proper conduct,” grandmother intervened, unwilling to let her beloved grandson be so maligned. “Let him kneel and apologize at once.”

But Li Zisheng smiled reassuringly at his grandmother, as if to say there was no need for worry, and then addressed the elder with composure:

“Elder, hearing your ceremonial words just now, I found myself enlightened and could not restrain a smile of delight. Yet there are still parts I do not understand, which made me frown in thought. If I have offended you, I beg your forgiveness for my lack of manners.”

“A smile of delight, a frown of thought—well said! To find joy in understanding, unable to contain it—what a clever boy indeed.”

Li Zisheng felt a flutter of panic. He had used an idiom that would only appear in later times, but he decided to let it pass and allow the elder to think him precocious—perhaps it would work in his favor.

“Come then, tell me what you have gained, and what remains unclear? I shall answer your questions.” Elder Cheng’s displeasure melted away, replaced by an irrepressible smile. Now, Li Zisheng’s parents and the others relaxed, marvelling at his quick wit. Elder Cheng, strict as he was about propriety, rarely praised even local officials, yet here he laughed and commended their child.

Seeing their child’s composure, his parents secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

“In your ceremonial words, elder, you said: ‘All the people are blessed, their hearts inclined to goodness; the myriad tribes are nourished, they respond to virtue and are moved by blessings.’ From this, I understood the idea of all people and all tribes, and could not help but rejoice. I hope you will forgive my lack of decorum.” With that, he stood and offered a respectful bow in the manner of a student.

“Oh? Let me hear your interpretation,” Elder Cheng said, looking with curiosity upon the six- or seven-year-old before him, eager to hear the child’s thoughts.

Realizing he had piqued the elder’s interest, Li Zisheng knew that if his answer failed to satisfy, he would lose the chance for Elder Cheng’s recommendation. In the grand Tang society, connections were everything; without an introduction, some might never see advancement in their lifetime. Patronage was the way of officialdom, though true ability was always essential.

And so, he prepared to speak.