Just after dawn.
The lingering echoes of the morning bell from the palace had long faded, and the streets of the capital began to stir with the noise of the marketplace.
The stone slabs in front of the Xu mansion were bleached white by the morning light.
Two gatekeepers were sweeping up the locust leaves that had fallen the previous night, their large brooms scraping against the stone with a rustling sound.
A green felt sedan chair turned the corner of the street and came to a steady halt at the inner gate.
Butler Xu Zhong hurried forward to meet it, lifted the curtain, and reached out to support a thin, withered arm that emerged from within.
Xu Jie stepped out of the sedan, his steps heavy.
He had stood through an entire morning audience in the Hall of Golden Bells, listening to the officials from the Censorate and the Six Ministries argue endlessly, and his old bones were already weary.
"Master, how did things go at court this morning?" Xu Zhong asked with his usual concern, taking a hot towel from a servant.
On any other estate, a butler might not dare to ask such a question, but after decades of companionship, Xu Zhong had truly become a member of the Xu family.
Xu Jie wiped his hands with the towel and waved dismissively as a servant removed his black gauze cap.
"The noise in the court was too great—my ears are ringing," Xu Jie said, tossing the towel back into the brass basin. "Let's go to the study."
Xu Zhong followed behind him, turning to instruct a nearby servant: "Go to the kitchen and tell them to remove those greasy breakfast dishes. Bring two bowls of plain congee and a dish of pickled bamboo shoots to the study."
Xu Jie stopped at the corridor.
In the courtyard, an old locust tree grew thick with leaves, its canopy covering half the yard.
The summer sunlight filtered through the gaps in the foliage, casting dappled shadows on the ground.
What a rare moment of leisure!
"This tree has grown too fast," Xu Jie remarked, gazing at the canopy. "As the years pile on, some things become clear, but reaching out to fix them isn't always easy. When the branches stretch too far, they catch the wind."
Xu Zhong gave a flattering smile, trailing half a step behind: "Master, don't overtax yourself. You have so many disciples and old friends at court—they'll handle things for you.
Xu Jie didn't respond. He stepped over the threshold into the study and sat down in the Taishi armchair.
A servant brought in warm tea.
Xu Jie lifted the teacup, using the lid to push aside the leaves floating on the surface.
One leaf, nudged away, spun around and floated back up.
Xu Jie mused to himself: This tea leaf is just like life.
When a man grows old, his thoughts easily drift.
Just then, a gatekeeper hurried into the courtyard, stopped outside the study door, and handed in a name card with both hands.
"Master, Li Changgeng, Director of the Imperial Academy, requests an audience."
Xu Zhong stepped out to take the card, glanced at it, and read aloud: "Your disciple, Li Changgeng, respectfully greets you."
He turned and presented it to Xu Jie.
Xu Jie's hand, stirring the tea leaves, paused.
"What clothes was he wearing?" Xu Jie asked the gatekeeper.
"Lord Grand Secretary, Lord Li was wearing a green informal robe, not his official attire," the gatekeeper replied carefully.
Xu Jie set down the teacup.
"Changgeng is a man who strictly follows the rules, not one to use backdoor channels," he said.
Xu Jie leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping lightly on the armrest.
"Coming here without even changing into his official robes means there must be something stuck in his throat that he can't swallow on his own."
He turned to look at Xu Zhong.
"I'll see him here in the study, not in the parlor. Clear away the idle tea and snacks. Keep a censer of aloeswood incense and a pot of warm tea."
"Send everyone from the corridor to outside the courtyard gate."
Xu Zhong nodded and went to arrange it himself.
Before long, Li Changgeng entered the study.
He walked up to the desk and performed a formal disciple's bow.
After rising, his hands remained at his sides, showing obvious unease.
“Have a seat.” Xu Jie gestured to the guest seat beside him.
Li Changgeng perched on the edge of the chair, extremely uneasy. His bloodshot eyes kept darting toward the writing desk.
“How are the lectures at the Imperial Academy going these days? The autumn exams are approaching—are the students behaving?” Xu Jie asked casually, taking a sip of tea.
Li Changgeng leaned forward slightly: “In response, Teacher, everything is normal at the academy. It’s just…”
He paused, his Adam’s apple bobbing twice as he swallowed the second half of his sentence.
“Just what?” Xu Jie set down his teacup.
“It’s just that I recently came across an essay,” Li Changgeng said, his voice tight. “The words are too dangerous—I fear they will corrupt scholarly morale.”
Xu Jie blew on the steam rising from his tea: “Dangerous in what way?”
Li Changgeng raised his head boldly to meet Xu Jie’s eyes: “What if someone does not take the bonds between sovereign and subject, father and son, as the foundation of heavenly principle—but instead says that farmers, craftsmen, and butchers can all understand that principle, even equating such common affairs with the great Way of the sages? Teacher, how do you think such an essay should be handled?”
Xu Jie took a sip of tea.
“If it is reckless without evidence, it is no more than street-corner gossip—let them talk.” Xu Jie placed the teacup back on the table, his tone level. “But if it is reckless with evidence, then we must ask where that evidence came from.”
Li Changgeng stood up, pulled an old book cover from his sleeve, and presented it with both hands.
Xu Zhong walked over, took the cover, and opened it.
Inside was a sheet of scrap paper stained with oil spots, the writing on a discarded sheet of Xuan paper.
The edge still bore the deep crease of having been folded into a funnel, and it gave off a faint scent of five-spice melon seeds.
Xu Zhong spread the paper on the desk, smoothed out its curled edges, and placed a bluestone paperweight on one corner.
His gaze fell on the paper. The room was so quiet that only the faint crackle of burning agarwood could be heard.
“Heaven has its constant way, earth has its constant laws—this is called heavenly principle,” Xu Jie read aloud.
Li Changgeng stood nearby, not daring to breathe.
He knew that the weight of these few sentences could stir up a storm in the imperial court.
Xu Jie’s eyes followed the ink down the page.
“Principle lies in tools, in affairs, in infallible measurements and undeceiveable implements.”
When he read this line, Xu Jie’s voice fell silent.
Xu Zhong, standing at the side behind the desk, felt his eyelids twitch the moment he heard it.
He turned, walked quickly to the study door, waved away a servant who was about to bring in a bowl of congee, and closed the door behind him.
As the door shut, the light in the room dimmed.
Li Changgeng’s knees went weak, and he dropped straight to the floor.
“Teacher! This drags the principle of the sages down to the level of tools and petty crafts—it is nothing short of treason!”
His voice trembled.
“If the students of the Imperial Academy start passing this around, scholarly morals will surely be corrupted! The foundation of our Great Qian civil officials will be severed by such heretical talk!”
Xu Jie ignored Li Changgeng’s accusations.
He leaned in closer, examining the paper carefully.
“Though even ordinary men and women can understand and practice it.”
Xu Jie finished reading the final line, then asked:
“Where did this come from?”
Kneeling on the floor, Li Changgeng told him everything—about the melon seed stall in the Eastern Market, and how Lu Huaijin had identified the handwriting. He added not a single extraneous word.
Xu Zhong, standing nearby, leaned in and spoke in a low voice:
“The Xu family has been too prominent lately. The Ministry of Revenue’s accounts, the grain barges, the army provisions in the north—all are in their hands. If this essay also comes from the Xu household, then this is no longer just a dispute among scholars.”
Xu Jie did not look at Xu Zhong. He picked up the fragment once more, and read it over from beginning to end.
The handwriting on the paper was wild and unrestrained, the ink penetrating through to the other side.
Each character struck like a chisel, hammering hard against the centuries-old monument of Neo-Confucianism.
“You said just now—who wrote this essay?” Xu Jie stared at the paper, his voice flat.
Li Changgeng pressed himself lower in deference.
“In reply, Teacher—it was a retainer of the Xu Estate, one Xu Zijin.”
Xu Jie’s fingertip paused on the grease stain near the edge of the crumpled manuscript.
He looked up at Li Changgeng, still kneeling before him, and let out a soft breath from deep in his throat.
“Oh?”
At that single syllable, silence settled over the study.
Li Changgeng knelt there, waiting for the Grand Secretary’s order: “Put him to death,” or “Seize the document.”
He had already resolved that if Grand Secretary Xu gave the word, he would return to the Imperial Academy and lock down the writings of all three thousand students.
But after a long moment, the answer came as a different question.
“Besides you and Lu Huaijin—who else has seen this essay?” Xu Jie smoothed the grease-stained draft flat again and pressed the endstone paperweight onto its corner.
Li Changgeng started. This wasn’t a question about the essay’s content—it was a question about the heads of those who had seen it.
He thought quickly and answered: “In reply to Teacher—that scrap was found at a melon-seed stall in the Eastern Market. Granny Zhang who sells seeds, and the old ragman—ordinary market folk who can’t recognize a single character. Only your student and Lu Huaijin have examined the handwriting in full.”
Xu Jie picked up his teacup, paused, then set it down again.
“Where is Lu Huaijin now?”
“He… he is waiting just outside the residence,” Li Changgeng replied, still a little flustered. “This morning, he came to the Imperial Academy to consult me on the classics, and it was he who recognized the handwriting. I felt this matter was of great importance, so I brought him along.”
“Has he spoken of it to anyone else?” Xu Jie asked unhurriedly. “Mentioned this fragment to anyone along the way?”
Li Changgeng shook his head. “No. I strictly warned him to keep silent.”
Xu Jie gave a soft “Mm,” and asked no further.
But Li Changgeng assumed the Grand Secretary was weighing how to deal with that retainer of the Xu Estate. He shuffled half a step forward on his knees and poured out what had been pressing on his mind all night.
“Teacher, this essay must not be allowed to remain!” His voice tightened. “Look at those lines—‘the farmer understands principle, the artisan understands principle, even the butcher slicing bones is said to grasp the Way.’ This drags the teachings of the sages down to the level of peddlers and porters, trampling them underfoot!
If copies of this circulate through the Imperial Academy, every one of the three thousand students will possess it—the spirit of the scholar-officials will surely collapse. The very foundation by which our Great Qian civil officials shepherd the people on behalf of the Son of Heaven will be dug away, inch by inch, by heresies like this!
I, your unworthy student, presume to beg you, in your position, to issue an official order censuring the Xu Estate and banning this essay. If you, Lord Grand Secretary, will take the lead, this root of calamity can be strangled in its cradle by this very day.”
Having spoken, he knocked his forehead heavily against the floor, his brow pressed to the brick.
Xu Jie looked at his aged disciple’s white-flecked hair, but did not respond right away.
He understood this old student’s plan all too well.
What Li Changgeng wanted was a single word from the Grand Secretary, a handoff to relieve him of this blazing-hot issue. The essay was heresy, the Xu Estate was overbearing—Li Changgeng was defending the orthodox way. He held the high ground and the righteous name, with no risk to himself.
But Xu Jie did not intend to follow that course.
“Changgeg, rise,” Xu Jie said, waiting until his disciple had returned to the guest seat before speaking slowly. “I will ask you this: You say this essay corrupts the spirit of the scholars.
Does it corrupt through ‘wildness’—or through ‘truth’?”
Li Changgeng opened his mouth to speak.
Those two characters were as far apart as ten thousand miles.
Calling him arrogant—that’s just a bookworm driven mad by his studies, spouting nonsense at random. A few scolding words would suffice to brush it off. But if his words actually held any truth…
