Finding The Way Page 9

  I briefly explained my plans for expanding the building and enlarging the cellars. King Jing and Prince Meng were showing more than a casual interest, but then Prince Chao interjected:

  “At what cost to the state treasury? Heavenly Father, one archivist has already robbed us. Now another proposes to burden the state with extra spending and building projects. Who is to say what else has already been stolen? It unsettles me how such valuables are being managed and guarded. I propose we double the guards here to have all those with access searched daily, as well as their homes.”

  Again, Prince Meng demonstrated his maturity, ignoring Prince Chao’s provocation.

  “Father, you have expressed concern over whether history will recognize and remember your greatness. Perhaps the answer lies in the degree of care and management of this dusty collection of forgotten treasures.”

  The King stroked his long beard and looked at me. “Show me what more you have.”

  I led them through the collection, passing by the mundane to focus their attention on shelves of tablets of official homages, poems and acknowledgments from foreigners and nobles, and silk paintings depicting the divinity and courage of King Jing, as well as that of other previous Kings holding court or in peaceful outdoor scenes.

  “Why have I not seen these before?” he asked.

  “Many Sons of Heaven in the past have preferred more practical tributes such as rolls of silk, slaves, bronze vessels, gold, jade and weapons. They may have had little interest for items that were less immediate and more… thoughtful.”

  The King nodded, his eyes alight. “There is much value here. These Archives should not merely be a warehouse. They will be a gallery of my greatness, and that of my forebears. Scholars and nobles will flock here and be astounded by the richness of my reign and of the Zhou dynasty.” His eyes bore into me. “You will see this is so. But first, what is this ‘Way’?”

  His question sought a simple answer, as if knowing the color of the sky could foretell all there was above. I explained that it was both simple and complex, obvious yet obscure.

  “I am the Son of Heaven of Zhou. There is little I am not capable of knowing or understanding. Need I repeat my question?”

  “I beg the Son of Heaven’s forgiveness. One of the basic principles of the Way is that it cannot be adequately described in words, and to do so would be insulting to its unlimited power. Still, its nature can be understood, and those who value it understand it best. If it pleases the Son of Heaven, there was something formless yet complete that existed before heaven and earth without sound, without substance, dependent on nothing, unchanging. Its true name we do not know; the Way is merely the name I have come to give it. But in the tablet we just saw of Yu Huang, I interpret his failure to be an inability to enjoy the simple and the quiet, the natural and the plain. That is how he failed to forecast the rainstorm that altered the shape and placement of man. That he had been distracted by going to scold a new slave shows adherence to an artificial division among brothers. Yu Huang’s allegiance to such a fabrication set the boundaries for the caste of human divisions. He ultimately failed to live within his inner self and in accordance with the laws of Nature.

  “All this in a painting?” the King asked.

  “If it pleases the Son of Heaven to see this otherwise, let his own eyes be his guide.”

  “Heavenly Father, the scholar’s interpretation appears sound,” Prince Meng said. “I would be pleased to hear more.”

  But the King’s curiosity was not long sustained. He chuckled and wondered why so many scholars spoke in riddles. The King then declared that they had other pressing matters and would like to hear more, but at another time. Then he walked away, exiting the Archives with the others following.

  I knelt and thanked him. As they departed, I could hear Prince Chao’s slight chortle.

  Not long after the Heavenly Family left, Yi Ban walked briskly into the Archives, short of breath. “Forgive me Lao Tzu, the King often toys with people, in this case with a sudden change in my schedule. He sent me to a conference with the Minister of War on the most trivial of matters. Thus you were left without the support of my presence. I am most distressed.”

  “Your concern is welcomed, Minister, but may not be necessary. The Royal inspection went well. It would appear we have the King’s support, and perhaps that of the elder Prince as well.”

  “Excellent, excellent! That is a tremendous relief.”

  I shared more detail about the inspection. Then Yi Ban asked my thoughts on the Princes and the King.

  “It was as I sensed when I was initially presented at court—that there is a tension between them,” I said. “It is unclear whether it is the mere rivalry of siblings or a contest of power. It would also appear the King either purposely baits their rivalry or is oblivious to its adverse potential. As for the King, he is an uncomplicated man, likely appeased with strategic reminders of his greatness, however inflated they may be.”

  “Undoubtedly,” said Yi Ban. “How the Princes’ rivalry bodes for the court remains to be seen. The King has at times encouraged this division, but for those such as myself who are more interested in good governance, a clear and unequivocal succession is needed. Until then, we must all be attentive as to who stands with whom.”

  “Is this necessary, Yi Ban? These are matters beyond my knowledge.”

  “You must learn to re-make them so.”

  “But I have already accomplished much without playing the game of the sycophants.”

  “I am not asking you to be anyone’s toady,” Yi Ban sighed. “I respect your candor and value its freshness. But you are my appointee. Should you act improperly or unwisely, it is I who will suffer. Learn the craft of court and you will accomplish much, to the benefit of us both. You must be aware of your place, Lao Tzu, and what it requires of you. Your performance today suggests an ability to bend with the political world here. And have no doubt, this is a different world.”

  After Yi Ban departed, I returned to the tablet of Yu Huang, the Jade King, the one that Prince Chao thought to be ugly. I realized that what he saw to be ugly was merely a reflection of how he chose to see the world.

  8

  Mei

  Some months later, I sensed that the Royal Guardsmen had ceased to shadow my every movement. At this point, I began my wanderings. I sought to escape the strain of work within the Palace. I would borrow the garments of one of my scribes and quietly leave the Palace, shuffling through the Gate of Divine Purity into the heart of the city. It was on one such occasion that I encountered someone who would play a role in the history of Zhou.

  When I had first arrived in Chengzhou, I was too overwhelmed by its enormity to gauge all that it was. Its perfectly squared city walls surrounded nine east-west streets and nine north-south streets. Each was wide enough to accommodate nine carts in parallel, whereas the main streets of most villages can barely accommodate a single wagon hauled by a bony donkey.

  Between the main streets were dirt roads, but always straight and intersecting at right angles to form a perfect grid. The districts closest to the inner city of the Palace were walled and reserved for lower nobility and officials living in homes made of mud and wood. The wealthier and more powerful had lavishly-furnished homes of brick with tiled roofs, courtyards and walkways lined with jugs of wine. The air was scented with flowers from the gardens and from spices in pots of food steaming on stoves. While I lived near the Palace, my own abode was of no such opulence. I was assigned a two-room dwelling that was attached to a smithy. The previous archivist’s home was apparently rather lavish, but Prince Chao had seized it after that archivist fled.

  Within this perfect delineation stood the centre of the world, the Son of Heaven’s Yellow Palace. Just outside its west wall stood the most important shrine in the kingdom, the Temple of Heavenly Worship. Traditionally this was where Royal ancestors were buried an
d worshipped, though subsequent rulers such as Jing’s father built their own tombs on grounds further away. Nevertheless, it continued to be a place for making offerings to the gods. Anything of importance, whether it was ascending the throne, a Royal marriage, the bestowal of great honors or blessings for going to or returning from war, occurred within this temple.

  There was a time when the King’s mandate as heaven’s representative on earth was absolutely revered. He possessed supreme power among mortals, and embodied the will of the gods. But now, as if to show their preeminence among the clans and above religion itself, the Zhou Royals boldly broke with tradition and built their own places of worship outside of the Palace.

  The temple remained an impressive sight, with seven halls and thirty chi in height —a dizzying height equivalent to more than five grown men atop one another. Tradition stated that mausolea for dukes could have no more than five halls that were twenty-seven chi in height, those for a senior official three halls and fifteen chi, and for a junior official a single hall nine chi high. But I had seen many self-proclaimed kings in breakaway territories who had built even larger and more elaborate temples, as if to imply the Zhou’s moral authority was irrelevant. In different times, this boldness would have incurred the wrath of a powerful King and central government.

  To the east of the Palace wall was the Sheji altar for worshipping the God of Land and the God of Grain. In front of the Palace was the Central Square, often used as a market catering primarily to the servants of nobles and government officials. On this particular day, a number of vendors who had traveled some distance were hawking farm equipment, tools and weapons, silk robes, textiles and ornaments.

  A man dressed in farmer’s clothing but looking too well-kept to actually be one, stood by wagons ladened with strange-looking metal tools. “Stronger than brittle wood ploughs, your farmers will triple your yield with these new metal ploughs!” he shouted. “And they are guaranteed to last forever.”

  Nearby a soldier modeled body armor made of metal similar to that of the farm tools shaped into square plates, riveted then tied together. A stout merchant beside him put a finger to his lips as if whispering a secret. “Bronze is yesteryear’s metal. No one can feel safe without these new inventions.”

  He swung a tree branch against the armor, hard enough to split the wood. “These suits were built by the finest craftsmen in Qin and acquired at tremendous cost. Imagine the respect competing warlords will show when they see your militia in them. I can offer them at a special price, but today only. I have many interested parties only a short ride away.”

  The largest gathering centered on a fierce-looking warrior showing off a horizontal bow with an intricate bronze trigger that could fire short arrows accurately in quick succession. The arrows flew true into a distant outline of a man drawn on the side of a building, drawing gasps of delight from the onlookers. I failed to share in their excitement and moved on.

  Several merchants hawking vessels inlaid with gold and silver received little attention whereas the jade vendors drew much interest in their display of intricately carved discs, hairpins, candle holders and ornaments.

  “What a waste of time and money,” I overheard one merchant say to another. “We travel hundreds of li but we’ll be lucky to break even. These noblemen and bureaucrats are a bunch of old ladies, sitting on stories of glories long forgotten by everybody else.”

  I understood their disappointment. They likely had families to feed. But to profit from the machinations of war, and to help maintain the opulence of those already hoarding money was offensive. It created and maintained divisions among men, the very antithesis of the Way.

  Thus I generally avoided the congestion of the main streets with their fine shops, exclusive merchants and artisans catering to the elite. Instead I threaded my way through narrow side lanes, even though they passed cramped hovels, brothels and gambling parlors with teams of pickpockets often evident. City planners once had the foresight to construct proper water distribution channels but these had long since turned into cesspools.

  But outside the city gates, I found places where plainness and simplicity flowed, where the common people, however ignorant of the formal teachings of the Way, led uncluttered lives with unhindered purposes. I strolled the markets of the ordinary people, walking among the villagers and enjoying the freedom of anonymity, though it came with some risk. Roaming about outside imperiled one’s standing as well as safety. Bandits roamed freely, and spies were said to be everywhere, watching for opportunities to advance their interests even at the cost of besmirching the good names of honest people.

  My favorite destination was a quiet inn on a hill just outside the city, overlooking a village by the Luo River. They served millet porridge with preserved duck eggs. It reminded me of the days, seemingly a lifetime removed, when I lived in the mountains at my Academy. For a moment, I could not reconcile my new status within the Palace with the memory of my past. But the calm of the meandering river, the unpretentious conversation of fellow customers at the inn and the uncomplicated ruckus of people passing by made the hours disappear easily and soon my ambivalence dissipated.

  On this particular occasion, the peace was broken by several soldiers who entered the village below, questioned, searched and hit some of the young females. They then moved on to ransack several houses and overturned baskets and wagons. I spied someone covered in a cloak creeping up the hill from the village towards the inn. The soldiers hadn’t noticed this figure, but they began making their way up the path toward the inn and the person crouched behind the surrounding wall of loose stones. I looked closer and our eyes met. It was a young female.

  At the first sign of trouble, the locals in the inn had fled, leaving me alone there.

  “Old man!” one of the approaching soldiers called out to me. “Why are you still sitting here? Could it be you are hiding something?”

  I stood and gave a cursory bow as they surrounded me.

  “Good soldiers of our Son of Heaven, I am Lao Tzu. I work in the Royal Archives. I sit so here because the world is best viewed from such a position of ease. Perhaps you would care to join me?”

  One of the soldiers overturned my table, sending my bowl of porridge crashing to the ground.

  “You lie old man,” he said. “Remove your tunic before we make you crawl like a maggot.”

  The soldier untied a whip from his waist. From the corner of my eye, I could see the young woman still cowering behind the wall. She shifted, causing a stone to topple. One of the guards overheard and turned in that direction.

  “Stop, my good soldiers!” I cried out to distract them. “It is cold for an old man and my tunic serves best on these bones. Perhaps if I knew what it is you seek, I may be of service?”

  The officer ripped my tunic and pushed me about. The soldier moving towards where the woman was hiding turned his attention back to me.

  “We have reports of thievery from the Royal kitchen. Perhaps you are a part of it. You wear the tunic of a Royal servant and look well-fed, yet you are a quite a way from the palace.”

  His gnarled face and tangled beard were in contrast with the orderliness of the Royal Guardsmen serving directly within the Palace. He tightened his grip on my tunic and sneered.

  “For one who is so close to death, you show neither fear nor anger. Only a spy could be so cool.”

  “If I am a spy then my fate is sealed, whether I beg for mercy or resist. Perhaps there is wisdom in the words of our King whom I have heard say, ‘Truth above all else shall prevail, in my time or in heaven.’”

  “Falsely invoking the name of the King is an act of desperation.”

  “Do you sense desperation?” I asked. “Do you believe our Son of Heaven lacks such wisdom?”

  He blinked at me. I continued.

  “Yet I sense compassion in you. For compassion is the finest weapon and the best defense. If you establish h
armony, you would surround yourself with compassion like a fortress. Then a good soldier need not rely on generating fear, just as a good fighter need not display aggression. Honorable officer of the Royal Guardsmen, I would submit to you that a good leader does not engage in unnecessary battles and a good leader does not exercise authority where none is required. This is how you may best win the cooperation of others. This is how to build the same harmony as exists in Nature.”

  The officer’s face slackened. He relaxed his grip, letting me go.

  “What you say is full of riddles. If it is trickery, I will find you out, Lao Tzu, and you will be treated no better than a wild dog taking its last breath.”

  He ordered his soldiers to move on towards some nearby farms.

  I picked myself up and re-tied my torn scribe’s tunic. When we were truly alone, I beckoned to the young woman.

  “You may come out now,” I said, but she barely stirred at first, probably because the voices and movements of the soldiers were still audible in the distance. Then she stood up, stepped over the wall and walked into the inn. Her hair was braided like a man’s, and her shirt and trousers made her appear as would a farmer. But there was no mistaking that diamond-shaped face, the milky skin, and the dark, small, inquisitive lacquered eyes. She had been the King’s purchase at the slave auction on my very first day in Chengzhou.