Volume One: Flames at the Border Chapter Sixty-Two: The Four Maxims of Hengqu

Seeing He Yu so unsettled, Chen Qingyun grew worried: “What has happened to my husband? He was perfectly fine just now—could the mere presence of the patriarch of the Fanyang Lu clan have rattled him? But he doesn’t look frightened in the least.” She sat on pins and needles, unable to come to her husband’s aid, her heart burning with anxiety. She even thought, “With such a disparity in strength and being looked down upon, had I known it would be like this, it might have been better not to come at all.” Unlike Deng’er, Chen Qingyun did not blindly place her faith in He Yu; she was accustomed to managing affairs herself and had her own judgments.

After the laughter had died down, He Yu stood and spoke in a clear voice, “May I ask, gentlemen, why do we study? Is it to benefit the world, to cultivate ourselves, or merely to show off with literary flourishes before others? Do books exist for man’s use, or does man exist for the sake of books?”

“I have always studied only to grasp the essence, to see the broader picture. Thus, though still young, I have read no less than a thousand volumes.”

He paused, then went on, “Moreover, I believe that since books are written by men, and men are wise or foolish, good or bad, it stands to reason that books too differ in worth. To believe everything in books is worse than having no books at all. The elder Lu, by judging a man solely on the number of books he has read, is being hopelessly pedantic—such childish views are hardly worthy of a gentleman’s laughter.”

He continued, “Besides, we have come from afar to offer our support, and Her Highness has graciously seated me at the place of honor, which is a sign of hospitality. I would be remiss to refuse. As the saying goes, in great matters one should not quibble over trifles; in grand ceremonies, one does not decline minor courtesies. What matters most now is to unite against the Yan invaders, not to waste our energies bickering over seating arrangements.”

Though his words wandered between the elegant and the plain, and he spoke at length, every point was sound and irrefutable.

Lu Yi, having been addressed as “Old Lu” by He Yu and seeing the others fall silent, grew inwardly furious. He had wanted to flaunt the name of the Fanyang Lu clan and make a show of himself, but was struck down the moment he raised his head. At a loss for words, he was left standing or sitting awkwardly, stammering incoherently.

“Master He, you certainly have a sharp tongue,” someone interjected, “but to my mind, it is merely glibness, not true wisdom. You just said you only seek the essence in your reading and grasp the general meaning. Then tell me: what, in your view, is the true purpose of study? Could you enlighten me?”

He Yu looked up. The questioner sat at the head of the western row, directly across from him—a man of about forty, dressed as a Confucian scholar, stroking his long beard, possessing considerable dignity. He introduced himself as Cui Liang, courtesy name Ziming, of the distinguished Cui clan of Qinghe.

He Yu thought to himself, “The Cui clan of Qinghe is the preeminent noble family in the north, wielding great influence at the Northern Wei court, far above the other great houses. Following the principle of making distinctions among those present, I must treat him differently.”

With this in mind, He Yu quickly assumed a look of sudden realization, wiping the arrogance from his face, and respectfully rose from his seat to bow. “Thank you, Master Ziming, for your question. In my humble opinion, the essence of study lies in these four phrases: ‘To establish the mind for Heaven and Earth, to establish life for the people, to continue the lost teachings of the sages, and to bring peace to all generations.’ I am ignorant and offer this private interpretation. If there is any impropriety, I beg Master Ziming’s kind correction.”

These four phrases originated from the great Song dynasty scholar Zhang Zai, known as Master Hengqu, and thus called the Four Declarations of Hengqu—words that have echoed through the ages and stand as the highest ideals.

Cui Ziming, steeped in the learning of his house, recognized them at once. Seeing He Yu’s sudden humility and particular respect toward himself, he was delighted. He rose to return the bow, saying, “Master He, you possess true depth of learning. I am deeply impressed. Someday, I must invite you to share a drink and instruct me further.”

The Cui clan of Qinghe was the foremost family in the north, and Cui Ziming was a leading figure among them. His high regard for He Yu was tantamount to a final verdict in the earlier debate.

The assembled guests began to murmur among themselves, but their attitudes had completely changed. Now they exclaimed, “The talents of the south are as exquisite as jade and snow—truly, their reputation is well deserved.”

Watching her husband handle the gathering with such composure, outshining all with his poise and wit, Chen Qingyun became ever more enamored. Overcome with emotion, she left her seat, took up the wine jug, and poured He Yu a cup herself.

Tonight, He Yu was the center of attention, his vanity thoroughly satisfied. He took the cup, about to drink, when Yuan Hui, the most fastidious of the guests, gave a cold snort and said with biting sarcasm, “Master He, your talent is admirable, but Lady Chen is herself a regional leader. That she should humble herself to serve you wine seems beneath her station. We are all of equal standing, and Master He does not even decline—how… how very difficult to understand…”

Having been slighted by He Yu earlier, Yuan Hui now seized the chance to target Chen Qingyun and, by extension, to embarrass He Yu.

“What a fool,” thought He Yu. “What business is it of his if Qingyun pours me wine?” He was about to retort when Chen Qingyun, with a graceful bow and a hint of pride, replied, “Master Yuan is perhaps unaware—Master He is my husband, and Lianyun Stockade and the Chen family are now as one.”

At her words, the room erupted in laughter.

Someone remarked, “Master Yuan is really being ridiculous. What quarrel can he have with a wife pouring her husband a drink? He is worrying far too much.”

“Exactly, exactly,” others chimed in.

Fawning on the powerful is a national failing; with the shift in momentum, everyone now rallied to He Yu’s side. Yuan Hui, lacking prestige and now making a scene, was left utterly humiliated.

He Yu and Chen Qingyun had arrived with no troops, empty-handed, which had left Tuoba Yan disappointed and inclined to test their abilities by allowing the others to challenge them. Now that the contest was settled, further argument would only breed discord and harm the greater cause.

Tuoba Yan, reflecting on this, raised her cup once more. “Master He is a young hero, and all of you are elders of great virtue. Today, our acquaintance began with a clash, but henceforth, we must unite against the Yan traitors. For my sake, let us all drain this cup together.” At her signal, musicians and dancers entered from either side, their graceful performance accompanied by the sound of strings and pipes.

Though her words were courteous, Tuoba Yan’s raised brows and commanding presence left no room for dissent, and even He Yu was moved by her authority.

No one dared refuse; glasses clinked throughout the hall and toasts were exchanged. The banquet properly began.

He Yu mused, “The Tuoba clan, once the most backward and barbaric of the Xianbei tribes, has become so thoroughly sinicized. Their manners and conversation are now little different from the Central Plains—testament to the might of Han civilization.”

Finding a moment, He Yu and Chen Qingyun returned Tuoba Yan’s toast, and then toasted the neighboring guests. Where before there had been scorn, after tonight’s contest the guests realized that this young He Yu was not only quick-witted but also fiercely independent, uncompromising—doubtless, the stories of his bloody battle at Xiemaling and his night assault on Tianxiong Fortress were true.

Thus, when the couple came to toast, none dared slight them.

He Yu smiled inwardly: “The gentle are trampled, the meek are ridden—if you want respect, you must earn it. A single display of force, and all problems are swept away.”

Coming from the modern era, he found the elaborate formalities of the time exhausting. “This is only Pingcheng, a so-called barbarian land—what would it be like in the south?” he thought. “No matter. A true man is free-spirited. Let the world gossip as it will.”

After so much small talk, he was famished. Having resolved to set himself apart, after the rounds of toasts he simply dug into the food with abandon, eating voraciously and piling up a small mountain of bones.

The guests exchanged glances, astonished: “What kind of man is He Yu? His speech is that of a dragon among men, yet his manner at table leaves much to be desired.”

Chen Qingyun, raised in the cultured Chen family of Yingchuan, felt some embarrassment at her husband’s manners, thinking, “He came from humble origins, often went hungry or cold, so he eats crudely. I must treat him even better in the future. Still, we have lived in comfort these past months—his behavior tonight is hard to fathom.” Yet with her husband so much in the spotlight, she felt only pride; his lack of table manners was hardly worth worrying about.

Suddenly, Cui Liang raised his cup with a hearty laugh. “Once, Ruan the Infantryman said, ‘Were these rites devised for me?’ Young He, following the sages of old, I salute you!”

Only then did the assembly grasp his meaning: “He Yu’s way of eating proves he is a true eccentric, a man of genuine character—not mere gluttony. It takes the discerning eye of Cui Liang to recognize it. Indeed, he is a scion of a great house.”

If one intends to put on airs, it’s best to have someone ready to flatter. Since he had established his reputation, He Yu decided to elevate it further. Holding a plump drumstick, his mouth greasy, he mumbled, “I live my days in wild song, bold and unruly—who else can claim such spirit? Forgive me for making you laugh.”

“Excellent! ‘I live my days in wild song, bold and unruly—who else can claim such spirit?’ We should all be like this! For these words alone, let’s drain our cups!” someone cried, eager to join in the praise.

“Yes!” “Indeed!” “How true!” Voices rose all around.

Cups clinked, and the mood became exuberant. Only Chen Qingyun remained puzzled: “Why is it that others would be mocked for such behavior, yet my husband is praised? What is the reason for this? I must ask him later.” Though she did not understand, her joy at her husband’s triumph, even being addressed as “young friend” by Cui Liang, was beyond words.

The banquet drew to a close, the music and dancing ceased, and attendants brought forth a pitch-pot set, placing it in the center of the hall for amusement. He Yu mused, “The Later Yan armies will soon attack and the city is on the brink, yet these people still find time for games. Truly baffling.” Then again, “Ancient people differ from modern; war then was not as it is now. No need to overthink it—just go along with them.”

As host, Tuoba Yan could not participate. Cui Liang, as the presiding noble and judge, abstained. Qingyun, being a woman, was left to watch from the sidelines.

Tonight’s pitch-pot game had prizes for the top three: pairs of golden, silver, and bronze goblets.

The game began, each participant receiving eight zhe wood arrows. He Yu thought it would be simple, much like shooting. Yet after five throws, not a single arrow found the pot—one barely grazed the rim before bouncing out. Meanwhile, Yuan Hui, Lu Yi, and the others each managed to land two or three arrows in the pot.