Chapter Fifty-One: Proposition—On Buddhism and Taoism (Part Two)

As dawn approached, the rain ceased.

Wang Tong, clad in flowing white robes, made his way to the entrance of the General’s Hall, surrounded by a retinue of young scholars. At the sight of him, the gathered townsfolk burst into a chorus of boos. It was clear that they disapproved of Wang Tong’s apparent bullying of someone younger or less powerful. Yan Shigu, seated in his carriage, could not help but sigh softly.

Wang Tong’s talent was undeniable, yet his actions this time seemed lacking in magnanimity. What displeased Yan Shigu most was that Wang Tong had made public the wager between him and Yan Qing. Yan Shigu had only agreed to the bet in a moment of pique, and though he regretted it afterward, what was done could not be undone.

But Wang Tong had seen fit to spread word of it, dragging Yan Shigu’s name into the fray. Now, not only did Wang Tong appear as a bully, but Yan Shigu himself was tainted by the same brush. The thought soured Yan Shigu’s expression considerably. Wang Tong seemed about to approach, perhaps to speak with him, but Yan Shigu gave a cold snort, turned his head, and feigned ignorance, the message clear: Don’t come near; even if you do, I’ll pay you no mind.

Wang Tong’s face flushed with embarrassment. He was no fool—he knew well enough that Yan Shigu was displeased with him now.

“Brother Wang, let’s go in. The hour grows late,” said the young man beside him. This was Cui Sijing, a member of the Cui clan of Zhengzhou—the elder cousin of Cui Min, and eldest brother of Cui Qianli. Since the matter had started with Cui Min, the Cui family could not simply stand by. Though Cui Qianli’s learning was not yet sufficient for public affairs, the family had sent Cui Sijing to lend support. Over thirty and well-versed in virtue and letters, Cui Sijing enjoyed a modest reputation in the region of Heluo. He too found the situation disagreeable, but as the matter involved his own family, he had little choice but to stand by Wang Tong. Still, Cui Sijing was not blind to Yan Qing’s lack of deference to elders, a point that troubled him as well.

Wang Tong straightened his attire and, amidst a fresh wave of disapproving murmurs, stepped through the grand doors of the General’s Hall. The scholars who had accompanied him took their place by the opposite entrance, listening intently for news from within.

Wang Tong himself was the very picture of courtesy—first bowing to the venerable elders seated in the hall, then cupping his hands in respectful greeting to Yan Qing. He was no fool; though he had been put in an awkward position by Yan Qing’s poem on bamboo, he could not help but feel a measure of respect for his rival.

Presenting a scroll with both hands, Wang Tong spoke: “It was your bamboo poem, my lord, that drew me so near to the true spirit of bamboo. I find myself unable to surpass it. Therefore, I have chosen instead to write on the theme of ‘lotus.’ I present here ten poems, transcribed by Cui Sijing and Wang Ji.”

After all, Dou Wei had already said he could choose his own subject. It was summer, the lotuses were in bloom, and the season suited the theme.

From outside the hall, the crowd jeered again. Clearly, they saw Wang Tong’s change of topic as a trick—a distasteful display. Wang Tong forced a bitter smile; he had expected as much. By conceding the initiative, he had undermined his own credibility. Yet these ten poems were indeed composed on the spot, without a trace of cheating. Still, no one believed him.

Yan Qing felt a pang of anxiety. Du Ruhui had been right—Wang Tong was a scholar of real talent. Had Yan Qing not seized the initiative, he might have lost badly.

He glanced at Wang Tong, observing a man of perhaps one hundred seventy-five centimeters, not tall but possessing a certain presence.

Dressed in white, Wang Tong carried himself with poise and dignity. His features were fair, his lips rosy, a neat beard gracing his chin, exuding scholarly grace.

Dou Wei had invited renowned scholars to serve as judges. Among them was Yu Zhonghua, a master of the Yijing from Luoyang; and Liu Xuan, once a cavalry captain, dismissed for forging the Lianshan and Guicang texts and later famed for persuading Emperor Wen of Sui not to close the state schools. Seated beside Dou Wei was a middle-aged man, resplendent in brocade, exuding an air of dignity tinged with a gentle kindness born of slightly feminine features. Behind him stood a tall, sturdy youth, curiously observing Yan Qing.

“Wang Tong’s lotus poems, though slightly inferior to Yan Qing’s bamboo verses, are nonetheless above average,” Liu Xuan remarked after reading Wang Tong’s work. Naturally, Yan Qing’s poems—borrowed from famous works yet to be written—were indeed beyond Wang Tong’s reach in quality.

The middle-aged man agreed: “Wang Tong’s ten lotus poems do not quite measure up to Yan Qing’s bamboo verses. Still, his prose on the lotus is commendable... Ha, Wang Tong is worthy of his noble lineage and scholarly heritage. He passes.”

On the surface, it was praise, but the undertone was faintly mocking. Wang Tong flushed, but could only step forward and bow in gratitude for their judgment.

“Today’s topic for the essay should be chosen by Master Guangbo,” the middle-aged man said casually, though his gaze flickered toward Yan Qing.

Yan Qing, however, was focused on the elders at the head of the hall and did not notice.

“Yan Qing, let me ask you a question,” Liu Xuan began.

Yan Qing promptly stepped forward. “I am eager for your guidance, sir.”

“In your essay, you cited the story of ‘scripture not taken in vain.’ From whence did this originate?”

“Oh, I found it as a child, leafing through a tattered book,” Yan Qing replied.

“What was the name of the scripture?”

Yan Qing wondered why Liu Xuan was pressing this particular Buddhist reference. He certainly couldn’t admit the story had not yet appeared, being a product of decades yet to come.

He shook his head. “I was young, and cannot recall the name.”

“Haha, it seems you have some affinity with Buddhist teachings... Earlier you mentioned cultivating the seven virtues... Hmm, I have a topic: Buddhism and Daoism.”

With that, Liu Xuan glanced at the others. “What do you all think?”

Buddhism and Daoism? That was a vast subject indeed!

The middle-aged man frowned, about to object, but Liu Xuan continued, “Since the Han and Wei dynasties, Buddhism and Daoism have coexisted. Yan Qing is well-versed in Buddhist lore; surely he has some insight. As his essay referenced Buddhist stories, why not have him write on this?”

“Liu Guangbo, what is your intent? Everyone knows the Wang clan of Hedong practices all three teachings. Yan Qing is but an eight-year-old child—how can he be expected to tackle such a grand topic?”

Yan Qing turned to see who had spoken in his defense, and was surprised to discover it was Zheng Renji.

“Brother Zheng, I must disagree. Does not your Zheng family also cultivate both Confucianism and Daoism? Since Yan Qing can speak of Buddhist anecdotes, who’s to say he knows nothing of the rest? Besides, learning is not measured by age. Wang Tong may have a few years on him, but that does not guarantee greater talent,” Liu Xuan replied.

Ostensibly, Liu Xuan was defending Yan Qing, but in truth, he was excusing Wang Tong. After all, though Yan Qing was young, his reputation was formidable. In scholarship, one should judge by fame, not years. With such renown, he could surely meet the challenge...

Dou Wei’s white brows rose, and he made as if to rise. The middle-aged man, however, gripped his arm and held him down. Dou Wei started and glanced at the man, who gently shook his head, then looked at Yan Qing.

Yan Qing’s face remained calm, his hands folded in his sleeves, as though none of this concerned him in the slightest.

Unable to out-argue Liu Xuan, Zheng Renji retreated with a sullen air.

“How shameless of Liu Guangbo, to stoop so low,” Yan Shigu grumbled, his face dark, patting Zheng Renji’s shoulder. “Do not worry. Let’s see how Yan Qing responds.”

“Yan Qing, what say you?” pressed Liu Xuan, a man of Hejian, closely connected to Wang Chong of the Wang clan of Taiyuan. His seemingly casual inquiry was, in fact, a veiled threat: If you refuse, you may as well concede defeat.

To be honest, Yan Qing cared little for victory or defeat. Yet Liu Xuan’s sanctimonious demeanor stirred his disdain.

“Since you have spoken, sir, how could a student refuse?”

“In that case, you both will have one hour. Compose an essay on the subject of Buddhism and Daoism. Let us judge whose is superior.”

Wang Tong and Yan Qing both gave their assent and took their places at writing desks at the front of the hall.

Meanwhile, the crowd outside fell silent, and a hush settled over the General’s Hall.

———

The third update will come after five o’clock. Please recommend!