Chapter 28: Geniuses Are Always Alone
Under Zhuge Xuan’s arrangement, the elders of Huangmen Pavilion were temporarily settled in the eastern part of the city.
River trade between the southlands and Jingzhou was bustling; throughout history, many traveled between the two regions by boat, and when wars were fought, they were most often battles upon the Yangtze River.
Yet, Huangmen Pavilion housed over a thousand people, with abundant supplies. Gathering so many vessels in a short time was no small feat.
Moreover, Zhuge Xuan had only just taken up his post as Prefect of Yuzhang and had yet to fully command the authority of the entire prefecture.
Thus, his plan was to act as an intermediary, seeking out a prominent merchant bound for Jingzhou, with Huangmen Pavilion providing the shipping fees and entrusting the merchant to ferry their people and goods.
In the days that followed, Deng Hong and Shen Chen made frequent visits to the prefectural office. Deng Hong met with various merchants to discuss prices and terms of cooperation.
Shen Chen, meanwhile, went to the inner courtyard, marking his second meeting with Zhuge Liang. That day, Zhuge Liang was reading beneath the eaves in the rear courtyard. It was late autumn, approaching September; the autumn wind was gentle. Clad in loose robes, thirteen years old, he was dignified and striking, like a celestial being fallen to earth.
The attendant escorting Shen Chen introduced him to Zhuge Liang: “Young master, this is the son of a friend of the Prefect. The Prefect says you are close in age; he hopes you might become friends, and that you might gain a companion.”
Zhuge Liang frowned slightly but nonetheless rose and saluted Shen Chen with utmost courtesy. “I am Zhuge Liang.”
“Shen Chen.”
Shen Chen returned the bow. “Brother Zhuge, we have met before.”
“Oh?” Zhuge Liang looked surprised. “We have?”
“The other day, on Mount Niqiu. Do you recall?”
Shen Chen smiled.
“Niqiu Mountain?” Zhuge Liang pondered, his eyes widening in recognition. “I remember now. You were on horseback then.”
“Yes.”
“What a coincidence. Please, sit.”
“Thank you, Brother Zhuge.”
Shen Chen moved to kneel beside Zhuge Liang on the same mat.
Truth be told, Zhuge Liang did not particularly care for the children of his relatives. He was mature beyond his years and found no entertainment in childish games. But at least, from Shen Chen’s demeanor, he seemed polite and well-mannered, not the sort to be mischievous or troublesome.
Once they sat, Shen Chen noticed a phrase inscribed on the bamboo slip in Zhuge Liang’s hand: “Jizi’s Enlightenment—Benefit in Perseverance.” It was from the Book of Changes.
“Are you studying the Book of Changes, brother?”
“I am,” Zhuge Liang nodded, setting the slip aside. “There are many parts I do not understand.”
Shen Chen was puzzled. “Jizi’s Enlightenment—Benefit in Perseverance. Have not all scholars already annotated this? Except for Zhao Bin’s interpretation, most consider it wisdom in concealing one’s talents.”
“Not that line. This one: ‘Regret disappears, do not worry over gain or loss. Going forth brings fortune, nothing is unfavorable.’ I wonder whether it should be parsed as: regret disappears, gain or loss is not to be worried over; going forth brings fortune, nothing is unfavorable. Or perhaps: regret disappears over gain or loss, do not worry; going forth brings fortune, nothing is unfavorable. Or even: regret disappears and loss, gain is not to be worried; going forth brings fortune, nothing is unfavorable.”
Zhuge Liang pointed to another line on the bamboo slip.
Shen Chen had read the Book of Changes. It was part of the Classic of Changes, which in the Han dynasty version comprised over a hundred thousand characters, as the texts Lianshan and Guicang were still extant—making it a critical Confucian classic.
But the full Classic of Changes was too voluminous to carry. The Book of Changes, in contrast, contained only about five thousand characters, enough to fill merely three bamboo scrolls.
Thus, when the Deng clan fled from Nanyang, they brought only the most concise texts. Books like the Book of Rites or Zuo’s Commentary, each ninety or even a hundred and eighty thousand characters, would require dozens or even hundreds of scrolls—not counting the annotated versions. Transporting such on a wagon was impractical, so they had to be left behind.
Shen Chen’s own reading had been limited: the Book of Changes, the Analects, the Classic of Filial Piety, and small portions of the Documents and Book of Rites—most incomplete and without annotations by great scholars.
Yet, having been shaped by the information age of later generations, Shen Chen had a deeper, more immediate grasp of these works, often able to distill their key insights quickly.
Observing the passage Zhuge Liang indicated, Shen Chen smiled. “I’m not sure how you see it, brother, but I think it should be parsed: regret disappears, gain or loss is not to be worried, going forth brings fortune, nothing is unfavorable.”
“Oh?” Zhuge Liang asked, “Why so?”
Shen Chen shook his head. “It’s just my opinion. The Book of Changes is, in essence, a book in which our forebears summed up the principles of all things. How a passage should be interpreted ought not depend on previous interpretations, but on one’s own.”
“On one’s own thoughts?”
“Exactly. Consider the first line: regret disappears, gain or loss is not to be worried, going forth brings fortune, nothing is unfavorable. How would you explain it?”
“One should not regret, not fret over gain or loss, but boldly advance toward good fortune; nothing will be amiss.”
“And if, in divination, you interpret it thus, is it not encouraging? But what if you read it as: regret disappearing over gain or loss, do not worry; going forward brings fortune, nothing is unfavorable?”
“Then it would mean regretting one’s gains and losses, worrying over ill luck ahead, and finding nothing favorable.”
“You see, different interpretations lead to diverging outlooks. Some see a fish and think only of its delicious flesh, but Zhuangzi saw a fish and understood its joy—it’s all a matter of perspective.”
“That does make sense, but I still don’t quite understand. Could you elaborate?”
“Suppose someone is about to travel far and first consults a divination, receiving this hexagram. Whether he should go depends on his own will. If he is journeying to see a beloved, the explanation should be not to worry about gain or loss, but to go boldly forth; all will be well. If he has been conscripted to war against his will, he will see only misfortune. That is the interpretation.”
“So one’s fortune or misfortune depends on one’s own will?”
Zhuge Liang lowered his head, recalling the horrors he had witnessed just over three months earlier while passing through Xuzhou.
If, one day when he was grown, someone sought his aid against that butcher who had slaughtered all of Xiapi, and he divined this hexagram—would he see good fortune, or disaster?
No need to ask; it would surely be disaster.
That man was even crueler than Bai Qi, the Butcher of Men, who had only slaughtered four hundred thousand surrendered soldiers. This man spared not even the old, the young, nor the common folk; his humanity was utterly extinguished.
If, one day, such a situation arose, would he have the courage—not to regret, not to weigh gain or loss—but to step forward bravely?
Shen Chen said softly, “Indeed. The Book of Changes tells us to act in accordance with Heaven, but sometimes, even knowing something is impossible, one must defy the odds, even if it means going against fate. As with my parsing: ‘regret disappears, gain or loss is not to be worried, going forth brings fortune, nothing is unfavorable.’ Only by not regretting, not calculating gain or loss, can one advance without hesitation. Even in death, there is no regret.”
“To do what one knows cannot be done...”
The young Zhuge Liang savored these words. For reasons he could not name, they were as comforting as sweet dew in summer or a warm brazier in winter.
He smiled, bowed formally to Shen Chen, and said, “Your words have enlightened me. Perhaps the world is indeed full of injustices, but it is precisely because the enemy is formidable and the world cowers that brave souls must defy fate.”
“I believe you are a man of great benevolence, courage, and wisdom.”
Shen Chen, too, smiled. “Back in my village, I was known as a child prodigy, always having my own insights when reading. But whenever I shared them, no one understood—except with you, brother. With you, I feel free.”
The two exchanged a glance and laughed heartily.
Though still children, their minds were as keen as adults’. At times, a word, a look, or a gesture was enough to convey their meaning. This was not just rapport; it was the sense that, in their solitary youth, they had each found a kindred spirit.
Geniuses are solitary, for they are seldom understood by the masses. Back in his home village, many of Shen Chen’s words or insights were met with puzzled looks.
People of later generations might not grasp why.
But we must remember: in the modern world, information is abundant. A work like Zuo’s Commentary, with its 190,000 characters, can be found online, complete with translations, annotations, and explanations—clear, simple, and easily accessible. At most, it takes a few keystrokes.
But in the Han dynasty?
Of the more than a thousand villagers at Huangmen Pavilion, the literacy rate might not have exceeded one percent.
They did not know why rain fell from the sky, why the sun and moon rose in the east and set in the west, where they were in the world, or even the geography of the Han Empire.
Many believed the land they lived in, or the Han’s thirteen provinces they’d heard tell of, comprised the entire world.
Even among the great clans, knowledge was largely limited to historical works like Zuo’s Commentary or the Spring and Autumn Annals, and philosophical texts like the Analects or Mencius.
When it came to breadth of knowledge and modes of interpretation, the people of Han were in no way comparable to those of later generations.
More crucially, acquiring knowledge was an arduous ordeal.
Bamboo slips were fragile, books were easily lost, there were no phonetic alphabets, no punctuation marks, no explanatory notes. Even if one possessed books, learning without a teacher or the guidance of predecessors was nearly impossible.
And even when books and teachers were available, a single ambiguous sentence could, due to differences in punctuation or phrasing, yield divergent meanings.
With such abstruse texts, Han scholars could only puzzle out the meaning word by word, interpret for themselves, and write their own commentaries—giving rise to various schools.
A single disputed sentence could spark academic debates—just as later generations would endlessly quarrel online over their interpretations of Dream of the Red Chamber, with no one able to convince another.
Thus, from the Western Han onward, scholars began writing commentaries and explanatory texts for the Confucian canon. In time, more than a hundred schools arose: Ouyang’s Documents, Fusheng’s Documents, Shi’s Changes, Meng’s Changes, Fei’s Changes, Mao’s Poetry, Lu’s Poetry, Qi’s Poetry, and so on.
Even the Zuo, Guliang, and Gongyang commentaries were all written to annotate the Spring and Autumn Annals, clarifying its content.
It could be said that any modern high school student, if versed in secondary mathematics, would be considered a famed Han-dynasty mathematician upon traveling back in time!
If, by chance, you brought a laptop loaded with translations, annotations, and explanations of all the Confucian classics, then congratulations—you’d be a greater scholar than Zheng Xuan himself. So long as your fame spread, every scholar of the Han would seek you as their teacher.
In this sense, there was a vast gulf between the average commoner and Shen Chen. They had too little knowledge; to a time-traveler like Shen Chen, even a single sentence might be incomprehensible to them, making conversation tedious.
But now, with the appearance of Zhuge Liang, Shen Chen found joy and stimulation, for Zhuge Liang could comprehend his meaning—even if he did not understand at first, a hint was enough to enlighten him.
One genius may be lonely, misunderstood by the world. But when two geniuses meet, true delight is found.
Is it not so?