The sound of the watchman's rattle pierced the third watch of the night.
By the time it reached the study of Li Changgeng, Vice Minister of the Imperial Academy, only a few muffled echoes remained.
Li Changgeng sat rigidly at his desk.
Spread before him was a crumpled sheet of wastepaper, stained with a few greasy spots.
Along the edges, deep creases remained from where the paper had been folded into a funnel, still faintly carrying the smell of spiced sunflower seeds.
His hand, holding a corner of the paper, trembled uncontrollably.
The candle flame flickered. Li Changgeng leaned closer.
In his mind, he ran through those words he had condemned so harshly at the Eastern Market earlier that day.
"The principle is one, but its manifestations are many—even common men and women can know it and practice it…"
Reading this, cold sweat trickled down the corners of his eyes.
These few short lines cut like a boning knife, slicing open the Confucian orthodoxy he had guarded for forty years.
The sage’s subtle words he so often recited had become, in the face of these crude yet airtight arguments, nothing more than a paper facade, ready to burst at the slightest touch.
According to what this paper said, a farmer knowing when to sow was "principle." A butcher knowing how to bone meat was also "principle."
Then what was the worth of scholars like him, who had spent decades in bitter study, their minds stuffed with classical texts? Where would their authority to govern on behalf of the Son of Heaven come from?
Li Changgeng shot to his feet, his armchair lurching backward.
He paced circles around the room.
Stopping before a bookshelf, he yanked out a dog-eared copy of the Four Books and held it close to the candle, searching.
He urgently sought the sage’s profound insights, determined to refute the mad words on that paper.
"Ruler and subject, father and son—the natural order ordained by Heaven…" he muttered, his finger tracing wildly across the pages. "The Sage said, ‘What Heaven commands is called nature. Following nature is called the Way…’"
But when his gaze drifted back to that greasy scrap of wastepaper, his recitation faltered.
The reasoning in that draft began with something as mundane as "water flows downhill," building layer upon layer, as tightly sealed as an iron barrel—there was no crack to exploit.
It didn’t invoke the Mandate of Heaven or yin and yang. It spoke only of things visible to the naked eye.
It brutally dragged the lofty "principle" down into the muddy realm of peddlers and laborers.
"Absurd! Utterly absurd!" Li Changgeng slammed the book onto the desk, panting heavily.
He had spent a lifetime reading the classics of the sages, and it was this very scholarship that had secured his position as Vice Minister of the Imperial Academy.
If the words on that paper became accepted truth, wouldn’t the learning of his whole life become worthless trash?
And the three thousand students at the Imperial Academy—wouldn’t they become a laughingstock?
Impossible! This thing must not be allowed to remain!
Li Changgeng reached for the paper, intending to throw it into the brazier and burn it to ashes.
But just as his fingers touched the paper, he stopped.
This wasn’t just mad rambling. This was heresy capable of uprooting the very foundation of the Great Qian civil service.
If the man who wrote this essay was still alive, secretly spreading these ideas, what use would burning a single sheet be? The mind behind this deserved death!
Li Changgeng took a few deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down.
He smoothed out the oil-stained wastepaper and placed a heavy inkstone on top of it, pressing it down firmly.
At dawn tomorrow, he must go to see Grand Secretary Xu Jie, the head of the Cabinet.
Years ago, when he first arrived in the capital as a failed scholar—an old, impoverished man—it was Grand Secretary Xu’s one word of advice that opened the door for him to enter the Imperial Academy.
Relying on this old bond, he had to deliver this paper.
Grand Secretary Xu was the leader of the court, the chief of all scholar-officials under Heaven.
Such subversive heresy could only be stamped out by the Lord Grand Secretary’s hand.
With his mind made up, Li Changgeng blew out the candle and went into the inner chamber.
He lay down on the hard wooden bed, pulling a thin quilt over himself.
The moment he closed his eyes, his mind filled with those arrogant words.
"Principle lies in concrete matters…"
He turned over, staring at the pitch-black bed curtain. The crude talk of the butcher from that day echoed in his ears.
"Even common men and women can know it and practice it…"
He turned over again, feeling a great stone crushing his chest, making it hard to breathe.
That night, Li Changgeng tossed and turned, unable to sleep. By the time the pale light of dawn seeped through the window lattice, he hadn’t managed a single wink.
The next morning, as the sky was just beginning to lighten.
Li Changgeng, his eyes bloodshot from sleeplessness, dressed early in a crisp, dark-blue official robe.
He smoothed his official hat’s wing-shaped ornaments before the bronze mirror, ensuring his appearance was dignified.
He then walked toward the study to retrieve the paper and his calling card.
Just as he reached the courtyard, a knock sounded at the front gate.
The old servant opened the door. Outside stood a young scholar in a moon-white gown.
His features were clear and handsome, his manner respectful—indeed, a fine-looking scholar.
"Lord Li, your humble student Lu Huaijin has come to seek your guidance on the classics."
Li Changgeng paused mid-step, looking toward the doorway.
Ah! It was Lu Huaijin, the somewhat famous young talent in the capital.
Not long ago, he had written a piece called "Rhapsody on Deriding Water," tearing into that so-called retainer of the Xu Mansion, Xu Zijin, and had gained considerable face at the Imperial Academy.
Li Changgeng had initially wanted no visitors, but recalling that Lu Huaijin was a promising defender of orthodox learning, he nodded. "Huaijin, come in. Let’s sit in the study."
The two walked into the study, one after the other.
"Sit down first. I need to go to the inner chamber to fetch a calling card. I have to go out later." Li Changgeng pointed to the guest seat and walked toward the inner room.
Seeing this, Lu Huaijin could only bow respectfully. "Please, go ahead, Lord Li. Your humble student will wait here."
Once Li Changgeng had entered the inner chamber, Lu Huaijin sat down in the guest seat.
With nothing to do, his eyes wandered casually across the desk.
In the very center, a heavy inkstone pressed down on a crumpled sheet of paper stained with grease.
Lu Huaijin was puzzled.
Lord Li usually abhorred clutter; his desk was always spotless. Why would he use a paperweight on a waste sheet that had wrapped food?
He rose, walked to the desk, and looked down.
After only a glance, Lu Huaijin frowned.
The handwriting was wild and unrestrained, the brushstrokes brimming with undisguised sharpness.
Slightly repulsed, he avoided the greasy spots, gently pulled the paper out, and held it up for closer inspection.
"The principle is one, but its manifestations are many… Investigating things to rectify the mind…"
Lu Huaijin murmured the words on the paper, his face full of confusion, and read on.
"…Therefore, the Heavenly principle does not hang high above the nine heavens, but lies within the daily and ordinary."
"The farmer knows the seasons, the craftsman knows the mortise and tenon—these too are understanding the principle. This principle is not the exclusive domain of scholar-officials…"
Reading to this point, Lu Huaijin’s face filled with anger and shock.
"This… What arrogant nonsense is this! To compare the base trades of farmers and craftsmen with the sacred books of us scholars?"
His hand holding the paper trembled.
This style of writing, this brush technique…
Just then, Li Changgeng emerged from the inner chamber, holding the completed calling card.
"Huaijin, you said you wished to consult me on some point of the classics?"
Lu Huaijin turned, raising the wastepaper in his hand, and blurted out:
"Lord Li, this handwriting is wild and unbridled, and it looks very familiar… It is clearly the same as the brushwork of Xu Zijin, that retainer of the Xu Mansion!"
Li Changgeng’s foot, just crossing the threshold, froze in mid-air.
The calling card slipped from his hand and fell to the floor.
"What did you say?" Li Changgeng’s voice went hoarse. "Say it again. Whose handwriting is this?"
Lu Huaijin stared at Lord Li’s ashen face, confused by his reaction.
He quickly stepped forward, pointing at the characters on the paper.
"Your Lordship, while writing the 'Rhapsody on the Indignation of Water,' I carefully examined Xu Zijin's discarded drafts. He had a habit in his calligraphy: the three dots beneath the character 'heart' were always connected in a single stroke."
Lu Huaijin's tone was resolute.
"Look at the characters on this paper—there can be no mistake. This is indeed the handwriting of Xu Zijin, a retainer in the Xu residence!"
