Chapter Thirty-Seven: If You Speak Like That, Don’t Blame Me for Retorting

Chapter Thirty-Seven: If You Speak Like That, Don’t Blame Me for Retorting

“You old man, my young master doesn’t even know you—how dare you slander his reputation the moment you open your mouth?!” In Zijuan’s eyes, Zhang Qian was ten times kinder than everyone in the world combined, and she could not tolerate outsiders maligning him. Without hesitation, she turned and confronted him loudly.

“Zijuan, let’s go!” Having been unjustly accused of a heart of darkness, Zhang Qian was somewhat irritated. Yet he was unwilling to let Sun Anzu lose face, nor did he wish to stir up trouble. He reached out, took Zijuan by the hand, and strode away.

“But young master, he’s slandering you!” Zijuan, full of fighting spirit, craned her neck and shouted her warning.

“You’re a loyal girl, aren’t you!” Sun Anzu’s friend, unwilling to let matters rest, watched Zhang Qian and Zijuan’s retreating figures and mocked loudly with a sneer. “Your master sold ten pills for a hundred thousand strings of coins—who in Chang’an doesn’t know it? How dare you claim he isn’t black-hearted?!”

“You’re talking nonsense! Those are life-saving medicines—the last ones left in the world…” Zijuan turned back once more, flapping her arms like a fledgling bird, protesting. But Zhang Qian pulled her away again, dragging her stumbling along.

“Why bother speaking so much to him? We don’t even know him,” Zhang Qian chided her with a smile as he pulled Zijuan toward home. “If I truly had a black heart, even if he didn’t slander me, I wouldn’t be clean. If I’m innocent, his slander only shows the pettiness of his own mind. Sooner or later, those words will fall back upon his own face. By arguing, you’re only helping him save face. We don’t know him—why be so kind?”

“Guiweng, Guiweng, you’ve misunderstood young Zhang!” Sun Anzu, slow to react, finally grabbed his friend’s arm and complained loudly. “If he truly wanted to profit, he wouldn’t have used the miraculous medicine to save Master Ren’s life. When he fed the medicine to Master Ren, he never mentioned money!”

“It’s not that I misunderstand. It’s that you, Imperial Physician Sun, are too benevolent and fail to see through his tricks!” The elder Sun Anzu called “Guiweng” retorted, frowning. “It was precisely because you witnessed the miraculous effect of the pill that he could sell the other ten at a black-hearted price. In military strategy, this is called ‘to take, one must first give.’”

Satisfied he’d grasped the crux of the “young Zhang’s deceit,” he shook his head and preened with triumph. Yet he was met only with Zhang Qian’s refusal to engage, who continued to walk away, dragging his sharp-tongued, beautiful maid, and quietly admonishing her, “Some people are born unable to recognize truth. Even if you put mountains of reason before them, they’ll ignore it. It’s better to fight with the clever than argue with the foolish. You’re not his teacher; you don’t owe him wisdom. Besides, you won’t win. If you argue, he’ll drag you down to his own level of stupidity, then beat you with his wealth of experience at being foolish!”

This was a common saying in twenty-first-century forums for dealing with online trolls, but in the Tang Dynasty, it proved unexpectedly effective. The so-called “Guiweng” was rendered speechless, his face darkening, beard trembling, his body shaking as though seized by a fit.

Sun the Imperial Physician and his other two friends wanted to laugh but dared not disrespect “Guiweng.” Each covered their face, shoulders shaking, struggling to contain their mirth.

As for Zhang Qian, what was meant to be a peaceful outing to gather wildflowers had become a running battle with a stranger’s insults, filling him with suppressed ire. Still holding the reluctant Zijuan, he continued, half in jest, half in warning, “When out in the world, there are two types of people you must never provoke: the muddled and the elderly. If someone is both old and muddled, avoid them all the more. Even if he chases you, don’t respond. If you do, and he runs out of arguments, he’ll simply collapse to the ground. Then, even if you jumped into the Yellow River, you couldn’t wash yourself clean!”

“You brat—stop right there! Who are you calling an old fool?!” The “Guiweng,” knowing he couldn’t outwit the ‘young Zhang,’ could not bring himself to retreat, and pointed at him, stumbling forward as if to pursue.

“Don’t look back, Zijuan, Ren Quan, don’t look back. If we do, he’ll surely throw himself to the ground next!” Zhang Qian, seasoned in verbal sparring from years of being bullied, was not to be outdone. He pulled Zijuan with one hand and Ren Quan, who was laughing so hard his tears flowed, with the other, warning them loudly.

No sooner had he spoken than the so-called “Guiweng,” unable to bear it any longer, saw darkness before his eyes, his legs faltering, and indeed he toppled over. Fortunately, two quick-witted attendants caught his arms from the side, preventing him from landing face-first in the mud.

“Guiweng, Guiweng, calm yourself! Please, there’s no need for this!” Fearing the man might expire from fury, Sun Anzu hurried forward, massaging his back and chest. “If you find the pills expensive, don’t buy them—but why must you trouble young Zhang? I’ve told you, he comes from a famous lineage and possesses unique skills…”

“Old man, old man…” Guiweng, nearly spitting blood from rage, stubbornly refused to yield. He struggled to stand upright, cursing between gasps, “I refuse to believe he’s from any renowned family. What kind of master could produce such arrogant and harsh disciples? Which teacher has so little discernment, so little discernment…”

“I’m now convinced he truly comes from the School of Mo!” Sun Anzu’s friend, called “Jiweng,” led his horse forward, smiling as he interrupted. “At the very least, his eloquence is reminiscent of the famed disciples of Mo.”

“Brother Ji Zhen, this eloquence should belong to the School of Diplomacy, not the School of Mo!” The third friend, whom Sun Anzu had called “Shiweng,” quickly followed, laughing in rebuttal, showing no sympathy for the nearly bewildered “Guiweng.”

“Whether he is of the School of Mo or the School of Diplomacy, a test will tell!” The one called “Jiweng” or “Ji Zhen” didn’t dispute further. He tossed his horse’s reins aside and hurried after Zhang Qian. “Young friend, please wait. I have a question to ask—could you enlighten me?”

“Please, sir, speak. I dare not claim to enlighten, but I will answer with all I know, withholding nothing.” Having bested the provocateur “Guiweng,” Zhang Qian’s irritation dissipated. Hearing this elder’s courteous tone, he decided not to deepen their enmity and stopped, politely clasping his hands in greeting.

The self-styled “Jiweng,” though only in his fifties, had phoenix eyes and silken brows, an aura of an immortal sage. Seeing Zhang Qian stop and return the greeting, he halted as well, cupping his hands in return. “I have long heard that Mozi said, ‘See others as yourself.’ Yet you set a price of a hundred thousand strings for ten life-saving pills—why is that? If someone is poisoned and lacks the wealth, must they die with eyes closed? And if a rich family buys the medicine and stores it away, does that not betray the maker’s intent to save lives? Sun the Imperial Physician told me you never mentioned money when saving Ren Qiong’s life, so I know you are not greedy. But since you are not, why act as though you are? This puzzles me endlessly—so I humbly ask you to explain.”

With that, he bowed again, disregarding that he was at least twice Zhang Qian’s age, and earnestly sought his guidance.