Finding The Way Page 5

  My father was not there to see how his ‘little shar pei’ strove to honor his name. In my wanderings over these many years, I have often wondered whether my life would have met with his approval. Perhaps in my death, it may become clear.

  I came to see the world as utterly parochial, a feeling that continued to gnaw at me. Despite the world’s unceasing misery and conflict, I had come to a place of much clarity and precision. It discouraged me that others were drawn into complications when simplicity was all that was required. In all the places I had lived, under all the masters I had served, and in all the places I traveled, I could see that those who were the least troubled and most placid shared certain commonalities. They possessed an unexceptional and uncomplicated manner. They seemingly had little organization, yet also little chaos. There was a natural rhythm to their lives and they lived in harmony with that which heaven blesses our world. Over time, these observations festered. No degree of success as an administrator or as someone else’s servant could contain or satisfy my longings to expand upon my contemplations.

  After some years, a grateful nobleman left me a small plot of land in the mountains, at a place called Sword Hill. I used it to establish a retreat of my own where I could reflect upon my thoughts without the encumbrance of duty. I hoped that one day it would become a place for myself and others to clear their minds and ruminate on the Way. My first impression of the refuge, however, left me somewhat disappointed. The main structures required much labor to make them habitable and I had neither the tools nor the fortitude necessary. Then an orphaned boy wandered by with a bundle of kindling. His clothes were no less ragged than a worn mop and his face, hands and bare feet were as blackened as the grime on a pig’s trotters. His stench made the most odious of outhouses smell floral. He stared with a piqued curiosity.

  “Are you the new Master of Sword Hill?” he asked.

  I nodded. “But ‘Master’ is a title I have neither earned nor seek.”

  “Then what will the Wizened One of Sword Hill do with this place?”

  Here was a boy who had already learned the art of sycophancy or had himself become wise beyond his years. I looked at the fallen doors, the leaking roofs, the broken pieces of furniture, the leaves and branches that had drifted in, the scattered animal feces.

  “It is a shambles,” I said. “It would appear that there is far more to be done than I am able to do. And you are…?”

  “People call me many things, but I especially like to be called Li Su. But this place is not a shambles, my Lord. It is a very popular place. Look, a clan of mice in that corner call this home, a family of pigeons above us have rebuilt their nest, and of course the colonies of spiders over there are the envy of the hill. There also used to be a family of red squirrels who could not stop fighting with each other, but they were tasty.”

  I eyed him cautiously. “So you have been calling this home as well?”

  He nodded guiltily.

  “Creatures big and small all dwelling together,” I chuckled. “But with room for more.”

  “I hope there is still room for me,” he said. “I can hunt, I can start a fire in the rain, I can swing off trees, I can…”

  I didn’t require much more convincing. He reminded me of when my father gracefully polished me into what I would become. I could not ignore such potential.

  As fate would have it, Li Su was a diligent and tireless worker and pupil. Highly resourceful and practical, though prone to rashness, he was unquestionably loyal. Somehow he was always able to obtain materials needed or assistance required and together we removed much of Nature’s debris that had crept into the building and was scattered throughout the grounds.

  Neither of us was skilled in building and repair, but after two years of painstaking work, and with some help from the former owner, we turned the crumbling manor into an academy with multiple sleeping chambers to accommodate up to twelve scholars. One room was enlarged specifically for quiet study, another for silent contemplation. Another room was re-constructed to carefully store and maintain a growing collection of writings and tablets. The grounds were landscaped to include several small interconnected ponds surrounded on one side by large river stones, and on the other by small trees and shrubs.

  Over time, we began to quietly attract scholars who journeyed from all realms to join us. I was never comfortable with their praise and reverence, but it was most satisfying to see the retreat that others referred to as the Sword Hill Academy prosper. Few scholars made the sacrifice to live according to my teachings, that is to liberate themselves from the artificial divisions we had constructed. But those who did achieved a fulfilling contentment. Even Li Su, who never could sustain the focus necessary to be a scholar, still found a place as an indispensable aide. He seemed to love the Academy and the life I had offered him.

  One evening, as I gazed at a gentle sunset, Li Su approached.

  “Sorry to disturb such a peaceful moment, Master Scholar.”

  “Ah, but all our moments are peaceful, would you not say, old friend? For I believe I have vanquished the yoke of order. It is most satisfying.”

  “Indeed, Master Scholar. But even here and now, we cannot entirely remove ourselves from the mundane happenings of society.”

  “Have we not accomplished this already? Do we not dwell on an island of our own contentment?”

  “Master Scholar, we have sustained ourselves well over the years. Yes, we have sown much. But whether it is meat for our bellies, fuel to light our lamps, or cloth for our garments, we have lived off the benefaction of others. This has become a challenge for our coffers. We have ideas that can stir the world yet we sequester ourselves like hermits, all but begging for scraps from nobles, forever disquieted about their own lives.”

  “What are you getting at Li Su?”

  “I have heard that our Academy has been referred to in a positive light among some of the elite of Chu and even Qin. Perhaps we can take advantage of this?”

  “Advantage? Whatever are you speaking of?”

  “I believe there is material value to be gained from our counsel.”

  “Hmmm. I have little interest in that.”

  “How can you have so little ambition?”

  I looked carefully at him. “What have you heard?”

  He looked away. “The King of Chu is looking for scholars.”

  “They are always looking for scholars. They are regarded there as fashionable trinkets.”

  “Many are highly valued and regarded. I have heard they are well-clothed and fed, some even live among the nobles.”

  “You would sell your acumen and all I have taught you for some hot porridge and a warm fire?”

  “You have taught me ideas. I would promote the Way in another manner, for I want to see it in action.”

  “The Way is not a commodity,” I said. “It cannot be exchanged or bartered. I have been in many noble houses where scholars yielded to such influences. But to covet such power is to debase yourself and to risk becoming dissolute. The Way shall ingratiate itself among those who allow it. The Way requires no more clout than the sun needs color. But you know this already, Li Su. You disappoint me.”

  “Master Scholar, I believe I can do more for the Way by extending its reach into the state of Chu.”

  I looked at him with uncertainty for a moment and then shook my head. “This is shallow thinking. I have come to expect more. Much more.”

  But Li Su would not relent.

  “Master Scholar you have always spoken of remaining open to possibilities,” he continued.

  “Yes, but when have I ever ceded our beliefs for opportunity? It is absurd; there will be no further discussion.”

  I dismissed him. Feeling angry, I made haste to the nearby village to indulge myself in some preserved egg in congee. I had given up eating meat years ago and the first crunchy bites of pickled turnip atop the velve
ty salted egg made me forget Li Su’s words.

  Shortly afterwards, I saw smoke drifting from the direction of my Academy. Before long, flames could be seen shooting upwards. I rushed back, but by the time I arrived it was too late. Flames had engulfed a lifetime’s work. I was stunned. It all happened so fast. I was not one to accumulate or to give regard to material wealth, but I felt some pain as years of writings disappeared with the flames. But they were insignificant compared to the lives that were lost in the fire, many of them people I had known for years. I had lost much in my life already, but nothing in my teachings or experience prepared me to face the loss of friends, companions and scholars who so revered me. I had always shunned tears, but now I wept—for them, for my father and mother all those years ago, for Shun who was very much the elder brother. I had taught others to not fear an absence of order and to embrace the spontaneity of life. Yet Nature had dealt me another blow so unkind that it exposed how cruel its impartiality could be to anyone, from the scholarly to the simple-minded, from the rich man to the beggar. We are all equal in death. Many died that day while I had a childish tantrum and filled my belly with rice porridge.

  Li Su survived the fire and supervised the clearing of the debris, salvaging what little that was left. Curiously, all his possessions survived. But I could barely face him or anyone. I had become a false master, filled with vacant ideas. I alone deserved to have perished in place of the others.

  Thus when a Royal messenger arrived with word that Yi Ban, Minister of Rites within the Royal territory of Zhou was to visit the following day, I was ill-prepared. I assumed that he was coming to arrest me at my weakest hour for spreading provocative ideas. What I taught had never endeared me to most of those with a privileged station and perhaps this was a visitation of ironic justice. I waited for him in my garden amidst the wreckage and rubble of the Academy. If I was to be arrested, I wanted to see his Royal nose itching at the smell of cold ash and cinder as he performed his duty.

  Until I met the Minister, I had never before set eyes on Royalty of such rank. Yi Ban was responsible for social and diplomatic matters, court etiquette and rites, as well as religious and educational affairs. Even so, he walked in alone, without any soldiers or attendants. I bowed and he greeted me with reverence and a sympathetic smile. Both his manner and his attire startled me. I had not left the mountains for some time so I had not seen anything quite as elaborate or ostentatious as his Royal yellow robe with wide blue hems on the sleeves and base, and a wide blue silk sash hung from his lapel. The robe was richly embroidered with silk threads patterned into blue orchids and red cranes, an ironic choice really given his tall, thin frame and long neck. A black leather belt with jade adornments suspended from silk ribbons completed his attire. I wondered how many families could be fed for the price of such an ensemble.

  I did not know it at the time, but he was on his way back with the King from the annual paying of respects at the Royal tombs for the Qing Ming Festival. Yi Ban had left the Royal entourage to personally come to speak with me. He inspected the charred remains before we sat to share a pot of sweet and sour fermented apple cider.

  “Forgive me, my Lord Minister, for being so direct,” I said, “but why would someone of such importance as you grace someone as unworthy as me with your presence?”

  The Minister sipped his cider. “But it is you who graces me with your presence. The works and teachings of Lao Tzu are recognized for having much practical value.”

  “You jest, my Lord.”

  “Not at all, dear scholar. Your treatise from many years ago on the re-organization of several minor Royal houses is a model still copied. You created systems of classification, you organized structures that safeguarded treasures, and you gave rise to whole new areas of study. While you also espoused ideas contrary to the current state of governance and society, they circulated among the literati and some of the nobility. Yes, they were not widely embraced, but they merited discussion and are often cited. At the very least you have sparked much-needed debate.”

  I bowed to the Minister. “I am pleased to hear that my efforts have eased the work of others.”

  “But I did not come to praise you, Lao Tzu. I need you. Zhou needs you.”

  “My Lord?”

  “The Royal House… how can I say this? It would benefit from your creativity. The Royal Archives require your organizational expertise; the court itself could use fresh ideas, new and trusted faces.”

  His candor was startling and, again, his presentation was surprising. Most of the court ministers and many of the nobles throughout the Zhou dynasty were bound to the King by blood relations, though ambition might dilute it as surely as water does wine. At first, I had judged Yi Ban to be no different. Now, he asked that I travel with him to re-establish the Royal Archives in the capital, Chengzhou.

  I looked at him as I gestured at the ruins surrounding us. “My Lord, you can see where my work has taken me. My dreams have perished, ideas have gone up in flames, and lives were lost. I am humbled by your words, but I do not see how I am deserving of such an honor. Why would I even be considered for such a responsibility so soon after this disaster?”

  “How does one burn an idea? For a scholar, you have much to learn still and you underestimate yourself.”

  The truth was that I was ill-prepared for such a purpose. I was already an old man and I had fully expected to die in the mountains.

  I sought to discourage his interest with some of my thoughts on leadership. “Most rulers practice a form of rule that is heavy handed. They demand love, compliance and obedience among their subjects. Yet the best rulers are scarcely known, the next best are loved and praised, the next are feared, and the next despised. These latter ones are rulers who have no faith in their own people, and their people become unfaithful to them. When the best rulers achieve their purpose, their subjects claim the achievement as their own.” I paused to allow my words to bite. “Where do you suppose King Jing falls?”

  Much to my surprise, Yi Ban laughed, almost spilling his cup of cider. It was refreshing to see such an unrestrained response from a man in such a position.

  “Bold words, Lao Tzu. But you have answered your own question. You are more likely to be trustworthy for having no personal ambition. The King can be unyielding, and bronze-fisted. But even he will eventually come to understand that his maturing sons need to be among men of the modern world.”

  I could not see a place for myself amidst shifting palace alliances and intrigue, and told him so.

  “I would not argue that the Palace has challenges,” Yi Ban acknowledged. “But remember that above all else you are a scholar. A thousand years of history is scattered within the shambles of the Archives. I know these to be irreplaceable riches and relics there. Unless they are salvaged into presentable form and their value demonstrated, I fear they will be forever lost. Already there is discussion of turning the space into part of the armory and selling off its contents. As a learned man, as a man who has made a life of providing method and order where unruliness existed, how can you allow this opportunity to pass? My dear scholar, you are precisely the man for this task. If that alone were not enough to persuade you, let me make my appeal more personal: I need your fresh eyes, your un-jaded ears and your voice within my Ministry.”

  I confess I was tempted, but still not convinced. I had heard more than a sliver of perfidy about the Royal Court. As I looked at the ruins about me, I could not forget my role in the death of friends and colleagues who had just perished. I could imagine their alarm at my leaving for Chengzhou. Yi Ban sensed some reservation and suggested I take until the next morning to decide.

  I wanted to seek out Li Su’s thoughts. I found him tying up several bundles. I told him of Yi Ban’s offer, and he seemed relieved to hear it. Then I noticed that one of the bundles he was tying was a blanket.

  “Li Su, what’s going on? Where are you going?”

 
“Master Scholar, I had tried to tell you before the fire, but you were most angry. I am leaving. I am going to Chu. Now I am more resolved than before to go. The Academy is finished. Now you can make your way to Chengzhou.”

  “This is unbelievable! Is this what I taught you, to run when a challenge presents itself?”

  “No, Master Scholar, but you never said anything about stagnation and wasting away. I have given you an opportunity. Take it. Take the Way wherever you wish. But remain here, and you will die with it alone.”

  “What do you mean, you have given me an opportunity?”

  Li Su looked at the scorched ruins. “One must follow the path laid before him. You have always said that. But I believe we must also create our own destiny. The world is out there, Master Scholar.”

  Li Su tried to return to his packing but I grabbed him by the arm.

  “What are you saying? Did you have something to do with the fire?”

  He looked at my hand then flung it off. “I regret that lives were lost. But I recognized some time ago that acquiring wisdom and knowledge are pointless if they are not used. It is time for you to go as well. Stay if you wish. But do you really want to rebuild atop the ashes of those who perished? Do you have the will, the strength? Now you can leave without any guilt.”

  He returned to his packing, all but oblivious to my protests before quickly departing along with another scholar. For twenty years I had given him a life, nurtured him and mentored him, tried to teach him the meaning of the Way. Where had I failed? Had I expected the impossible?

  By the next morning, I had made a decision. I had few options left, and so I resolved to view Yi Ban’s offer as a legitimate and honorable path. Here was a man who had sought me out, who had praised me and shown me respect when it wasn’t required. He knew that my thoughts on governance were clear. I had long preached that when opposing things such as ill-willed governments, it is best to begin to reduce the ruler’s influence through expanding it; that is to say, by subtle means from within. I had always expounded the view that change whereby the weak overcome the strong should be handled delicately. Fish should not leave their depths, and swords should not leave their scabbards.