Chapter 2:
Exploring the Library
ALTHOUGH XIE JINGLAN might have been a young master in name only, he was arrogant by nature. He wholeheartedly believed that he would one day crush the main courtyard’s young master beneath his heel; it was only a matter of time. As soon as he rode his horse through the streets after conquering the imperial examinations, members of the Xie family would kneel before him, weeping and begging for his forgiveness.
When he was abused, he choked down his mouthfuls of blood and broken teeth and envisioned the glorious future that lay ahead. His anger unappeased, the teeth and blood roiled inside him, sparking a slew of twisted daydreams. It was not Mencius’s teachings of “conquering others with virtue”2 that filled his head but the words of Sima Qian: “A gentleman does not fear serving his revenge ten years cold.”3
If Xie Jinglan wished to stand above all others, the imperial exams were his only option. The Xie family descended from a long line of scholars; the family had served as officials for generations. Alas, the family’s talents had waned by the time the current patriarch, Xie Bingfeng, took over. Despite a lifetime of tireless effort, Xie Bingfeng rose only to the sixth rank within the Censorate. Nevertheless, he followed the teachings of the esteemed Confucian scholar Dai Shengyan, serving as an honest, upright official whose extensive knowledge and integrity earned him a commendable reputation.
In the current dynasty, a person’s character was thoroughly scrutinized; reputation alone could keep one fed. Xie Bingfeng possessed no practical skills yet still managed to become a leader among scholars; the literati and Confucians took pride in associating with the Xie family. Since the family had been scholars throughout the generations, upholding that ancestral scholastic tradition was paramount. Thus, the Xie family prioritized the education of their descendants, enlisting their most esteemed scholars to manage the clan’s school.
The first wife’s son, however, was a fool beyond saving. Fearing that Xie Jinglan would overshadow him, Lady Xiao forbade Xie Jinglan to attend the clan’s school and refused to provide him with writing materials. Left with no other option, Xie Jinglan resorted to scavenging in the storeroom for old books that had been used by the eldest young master, Xie Jingtao. He hid in corners to eavesdrop on the clan teachers’ lessons, writing in the dirt with twigs. Despite the clumsiness of his efforts, he managed to grasp most of the Four Books and Five Classics, surpassing even the classroom’s most earnest students.
Ignoring Xiahou Lian, Xie Jinglan sat at a table, meticulously picking through the heap of paper scraps. Slowly, he began to glue the shreds back together.
These books weren’t tomes of mystical wisdom, merely his stepping stones. Only through these banal, inane precepts could Xie Jinglan climb above all others.
Just looking at the scraps, Xiahou Lian felt his head spin. He picked up a few at random; while he recognized the characters, the contents eluded him entirely. Aunt Lan had asked him to help, but all he could do was stand there and stare.
The sun set, and night descended. There were no oil lamps to illuminate the room, just a few flickering candles. Xie Jinglan refused to place any of those on the table for fear they’d ignite the scattered paper. Struggling in the dim light, he continued to glue the pages together. The boys’ shadows loomed long against the walls of the rundown room, like two shades adrift in the darkness.
Xiahou Lian eventually dozed off at the table, only to wake and see Xie Jinglan still diligently gluing away.
Xie Jinglan was frail, and although they were the same age—twelve—Xiahou Lian was robust, whereas Xie Jinglan looked as if a mere wind could blow him away. After such a long task, Xie Jinglan’s eyes had grown weary. The boy kept rubbing them, arousing a flicker of sympathy in even the insensitive Xiahou Lian.
A mischievous slacker, Xiahou Lian never practiced swordplay for more than four hours at a time. In the mountains, he’d spent seven out of every ten days chasing rabbits and pheasants, dedicating only the remaining three to memorizing and practicing saber techniques.
He picked up a scrap Xie Jinglan had discarded. It was covered in poorly handwritten words, the ink lines varying in thickness and blemished by a number of unnecessary strokes. The writer’s brush had apparently been of poor quality, coarse and scraggly. Glancing around, Xiahou Lian spotted a thinning brush on the ground, its sparse bristles still stained with ink.
Not bad for someone so girly. Xiahou Lian might’ve been lazy, but he genuinely respected those willing to toil.
“Hey, um, Shaoye,” Xiahou Lian blurted awkwardly, scratching his head. Being a hoodlum, he still wasn’t used to playing a servant. “It’s getting late,” he continued. “If you’re tired, why not go to bed?”
Without even glancing at him, Xie Jinglan replied, “Just go to sleep if you want. You’re useless here anyway.”
The little bastard might not have mastered all the classics, but he’d sure learned how to tick people off. Xiahou Lian, however, was good-natured and didn’t hold it against him. Instead, he said, “At this rate, you’ll be stuck gluing paper until next year. Tomorrow, I’ll steal you a book from the library. I’ve heard that the Xie family’s Xiuwen Hall houses a huge collection of books; the family even prints their own volumes. Their copies are reputedly the finest you’ll find in all of Jiangsu and Zhejiang, with wide margins and large characters so they’re effortless to read. Why waste your time here when better books are practically right in front of you?”
Xie Jinglan finally lifted his head from the stack of paper. “Steal? What kind of life did you lead before coming here? Don’t bring underhanded tricks you picked up elsewhere into this household. If you got caught, you’d drag us all down.”
“Fine—since you’re so high and mighty, just keep on gluing,” Xiahou Lian said, feeling snubbed. He rose from the table and walked away. “It’d just be a couple dumb books. Yet here you are, a young master of the Xie family, cowering like a turtle and gluing paper scraps, too scared to take what belongs to you. If that fat kid finds out, he’ll sure laugh his head off.”
“Wait.” Xie Jinglan glared at Xiahou Lian, sneering.
“What?”
“You have no right to mock me, no matter how low I’ve fallen.” Xie Jinglan stood, seizing Xiahou Lian by the collar, and spat, “You’re my servant. I don’t need you lecturing me!”
“Give me a break,” Xiahou Lian said, shoving Xie Jinglan aside. “You’re worse off than even a servant right now. ‘Young master,’ my ass.”
Xie Jinglan suddenly sprang forward and punched Xiahou Lian. His hard, craggy fist—little more than a bag of skin and bones—caught the other boy off guard and struck him squarely in the face. A fresh bruise bloomed instantly, accompanied by prickling pain. Furious, Xiahou Lian swung his fists without another word. The frail, weak Xie Jinglan was no match for him. After they’d exchanged a few blows, Xie Jinglan found himself pinned beneath Xiahou Lian, unable to get away no matter how hard he struggled.
“Do you yield? With that physique, you’d be too little to eat for lunch—and you still picked a fight?!” Xiahou Lian smirked, patting Xie Jinglan’s face triumphantly. “Look at you, trying to take things out on me when you couldn’t even beat that fatso. I may be your servant, but that doesn’t mean I’m yours to kick around!”
Xie Jinglan struggled for a long time to no avail. At last, he slumped to the ground and stared up at the holey ceiling. As a wave of sadness and humiliation washed over him, tears suddenly filled his eyes. He covered them frantically with his hands, gritting his teeth and forcing himself to remain silent. He hadn’t shed a tear during Xie Jingtao’s daytime beating, but now his sorrow flowed out, impossible to stop.
“Why are you crying? Hey, don’t cry!” Xiahou Lian said, flustered. He quickly got off Xie Jinglan and helped him up. “I only hit you a few times! Don’t cry!”
“I’m not crying!” Xie Jinglan turned his head away, refusing to let Xiahou Lian see how red his eyes were.
Xiahou Lian had always known that he was afraid of girls crying, but he’d never expected to find a boy’s tears equally unbearable. With a heavy sigh, he relented. “All right, all right. I’m sorry.”
“Get lost! I don’t want to see you!”
“Hey, don’t be like that! I’m apologizing. I was wrong. I shouldn’t have been so rude.”
Xie Jinglan remained silent, which left Xiahou Lian with no choice but to sit there scratching his head. After a while, the latter said, “I’m heading to bed now, so please stop crying.”
Xie Jinglan turned his head away, unwilling to look at him, and Xiahou Lian could only stand and walk away.