Chapter 58: Knowing My Brothers Climb High Places from Afar

A third of the liquor was steeped with wild chrysanthemum, a third with dried tangerine peel, and a third with osmanthus blossoms. All were poured into a copper pot and shaken until well blended, then served into four white porcelain cups. A single drop of rose-pink floral dew was added to the surface of each, brightening the drink, and a slice of orange was placed on the rim of every cup. Thus, the very first cocktail in the Great Tang was freshly prepared.

As for why wild chrysanthemum, tangerine peel, and dried osmanthus were mixed into the liquor, the reason was simple. After filling the wine gourds brought by He Zhizhang, Zhang Ruoxu, and Sun Anzu, Zhang Qian’s supply of spirits was nearly exhausted. Yet the three old gentlemen still had a thirst for more, forcing him to offer up the alcohol he had used that very morning for fragrance extraction experiments with various blossoms and herbs.

Still, this was hardly a waste. Although his concocted cocktail fell short of the true art of mixed drinks in later ages, and the porcelain cups he used were somewhat out of place, fortune favored him. His improvised creation won universal acclaim.

Tang people disdained sweetness in their spirits. Whether the grape wine imported from the Western Regions by foreign merchants or the local yellow wine of Chang’an, the sweeter the wine, the lower its status in the eyes of connoisseurs—especially these three masters of the drinking world. Fortunately, Zhang Qian’s estate possessed neither honey nor fruit juice, so he had, by accident, struck upon just the right balance.

Unlike later Chinese banquets, which would require dozens of elaborate dishes to accompany drinking, in Tang times the fare was far simpler: candied fruits, nuts, or sometimes nothing at all, as long as the conversation was lively. Moreover, the host personally mixing drinks echoed the esteemed custom of brewing tea for guests. Thus, as they praised Qin Mo’s profound learning—evident even in a mere cup—He Zhizhang and Zhang Ruoxu found themselves increasingly fond of this younger man.

And as always, when elders take a liking to their junior, the latter’s ears must soon endure a barrage of advice. Zhang Ruoxu, after swirling his cup and savoring the lingering notes of chrysanthemum and tangerine peel, smiled and asked, “Thirteenth Young Master, by your appearance, you must have come of age. Has your revered teacher bestowed a courtesy name upon you? If you reside here for long, you will surely make friends. Without a courtesy name, addressing you could prove awkward.”

“Oh, thank you for asking, Elder. I am already twenty-three this year,” Zhang Qian replied, having prepared for such questions during his nearly month-long stay in Tang. He set down his cup and presented his well-rehearsed answer. “Three years ago, when I underwent the coming-of-age ceremony, my teacher gave me the courtesy name ‘Zhao.’”

“To be named Qian and granted ‘Zhao’—your teacher sets high hopes for you!” In the presence of true literary giants, there was no possibility of hiding one's intent. Zhang Ruoxu immediately discerned the meaning behind the name. “Your leaving the mountains is not, as you claim, due to your own dullness. In my view, it is more likely that your master wishes for the Mohist school to reemerge in the world, so that the wisdom of the ancients might shine once more.”

‘I just made that up! That name belongs to a magistrate from the Ming dynasty—a real Confucian scholar, with nothing to do with Mohism!’ Zhang Qian lamented inwardly, but outwardly he could only follow the elder’s lead. “My teacher has always acted on his own whim. I dare not presume to guess his intentions. But, since I am here, I will settle in for now and consider other matters later.”

“Well said! To settle where fate brings you, and to be so steady of heart at your age—rare indeed!” When one favors another, even their scars seem to bear an air of distinction, all the more so when they share a surname, as did Zhang Ruoxu and Zhang Qian. The elder smiled, taking up the young man’s words in praise.

“Rice must be eaten a grain at a time,” Zhang Qian replied, blushing at the compliment. “Besides, the Confucian teaching is to first rectify one’s heart, cultivate oneself, then manage one’s family, and only then govern the state and bring peace to the world.”

“Excellent! First rectify the heart, then cultivate oneself and manage one’s family!” Zhang Ruoxu applauded gently, all the more convinced of the young man’s promise. “Many newcomers to Chang’an wish to leap to the top at once, and even those who retire to Zhongnan Mountain do so in hope of a higher price for their service. In my opinion, they have forgotten the importance of righting the heart, self-cultivation, and family management, thinking only of assisting the sovereign to rule the world.”

This remark cast a wide net, even implicating Lu Zangyong, who had accompanied him the day before and who had indeed drawn the court’s attention by his retreat to Zhongnan Mountain, selling his service at a premium.

Fortunately, He Zhizhang, ever tactful, noticed the sharpness of Zhang Ruoxu’s words and quickly intervened before Zhang Qian could reply. “Shi Weng, to harbor concern for the world is no fault! We study and train in arms for the day we may aid the sovereign and bring order to the people. Besides, as you have said, perhaps Zhao’s master sent him forth with precisely this aim. Though the court now prizes Confucianism, our tradition has always valued inclusivity. No true man of insight would reject Mohist learning simply because it has not flourished for some time!”

“Indeed,” Zhang Ruoxu nodded, realizing his earlier words may have burdened Zhang Qian, and took another sip, his tone growing mellow. “The world esteems the peony, but Ji Weng and I both favor the understated elegance of the chrysanthemum. Since purchasing the estate beside yours, I have planted hundreds of chrysanthemums in my garden. With the Double Ninth Festival approaching, the blossoms will soon be at their peak. Ji Weng cannot bear to see them bloom in vain, so he has invited some friends and juniors to the estate for wine and chrysanthemum viewing. Since you live nearby, and are the only living heir to Qin Mo’s legacy, you must join us if you are free. I would be glad to introduce you to some talented young men.”

“Thank you for the invitation, Elder, but I am new here and my Tang speech is still halting…” Zhang Qian, even in the twenty-first century, was not fond of making friends or flower viewing, and instinctively wanted to decline.

But before he could finish, He Zhizhang set his cup down with a laugh, cutting him off. “When you are invited, you go! At your age, where did you learn to put on such airs?”

Giving him no chance to explain, he continued in a kindly but firm tone, “Whether you wish one day to enter government service or live as freely as you do now, meeting more peers can only be to your benefit. In the past, Tao Yuanming would not bow for a mere measure of rice and spent his days gathering chrysanthemums by the eastern fence. But in his old age, he lamented that his son suffered for his reclusion. You may choose solitude for yourself, but you must not let your children bear the cost!”

This reproof was weighty, invoking the examples of Tao Yuanming and Wang Zhongru, both renowned hermits whose children paid dearly for their choices. Zhang Qian could not but bow and accept the lesson.

Wang Zhongru had been so shamed by his son’s awkwardness when visited by the children of his former colleagues that his lifelong convictions crumbled, and he soon died of grief. Tao Yuanming’s children, too, suffered for his lofty aspirations.

“Zhao is just worrying about how to find enough flowers for essence extraction now that autumn is here,” Sun Anzu interjected cheerfully, more practical than scholarly. “Shi Weng’s garden is full of chrysanthemums, and once the festival is past, the blossoms will be gone. Better you gather them to preserve their fragrance for the world, than let them fall to the autumn wind and rain.”

With that, Zhang Qian had no grounds to refuse. He could only clasp his hands in thanks, promising to bring fine wine and not let the autumn beauty go to waste.

“That’s the spirit! Young people should act young, not talk of gathering chrysanthemums by the fence before they’ve even braved the tides of officialdom,” He Zhizhang said, pleased at his change of heart. “Also, since Zhao was taken by his master in childhood, he must still have family in the world. My connections are broad, and I have time on my hands. If you would write down your parents’ names, hometown, and any childhood memories, I will ask among my friends and acquaintances. With time, I am sure I can help you find your family and restore you to your ancestral home!”

He thought that, however talented Zhang Qian might be, he was still alone. Without the backing of a clan, his future would be arduous. If he could find his kin and return home, it would ease his path greatly. Even if he had been born a tenant’s son before joining his master, once he made a name for himself, some local notable of his clan would surely seek him out with a family genealogy in hand.

But this generous offer startled Zhang Qian. After a long pause, he bowed deeply and sighed, “Thank you for your concern, Elder, but I fear the hope of finding my family is very slim.”

He sighed again, ignoring the three elders’ shocked faces, and added, “These days, I have tried to recall my childhood and compare it with the customs of the Great Tang. Yet the clothing, language, and ways here are utterly unlike my few memories from youth. It seems that, though I spent eighteen years with my master, it might not have been only eighteen years in the world outside. The story of watching a game of chess until the axe rots is much admired by writers, but for the one who watched, it may not be a blessing.”

“Watching chess until the axe rots? Do you mean, Zhao, that you are not truly only twenty-three?” All three elders were so stunned their cups nearly slipped from their hands.

“I am twenty-three, but who knows how many years have passed outside the mountain,” Zhang Qian replied with a wry smile, full of melancholy.

“Ah—” The three men’s hands trembled, spilling drops of wine onto the floor.

Taoism flourished in the Great Tang, and though all three had families and positions, they considered themselves men cultivating the Way within the world. The tale of watching chess until the axe rots was not just familiar to them—they believed it wholeheartedly. (In this story, a woodcutter watches a game of chess in the mountains, and when the game ends, a hundred years have passed and his axe has rotted.)

Moreover, Zhang Qian’s demeanor, speech, and even the way he met others’ eyes were entirely different from the young men of Tang they knew. He had none of the arrogance of the elite, nor the meekness of commoners. Whether speaking to officials like Lu Zangyong or his own retainers, he seemed to treat everyone as an equal, with no distinction of rank.

Comparing the two, the story of watching chess until the axe rots fit Zhang Qian perfectly—he was not originally a man of Tang, and so his behavior was unlike anyone else.

Given this, Zhang Qian’s fate seemed all the more pitiable. If he had only been separated from his parents as a child, there would be hope of reunion. But if he had watched chess until centuries had passed, how could he ever find his family again?

A chilly autumn breeze drifted in through the window, stirring the faint scent of wine and deepening the sense of intoxication in each heart.

The Double Ninth Festival was nearly upon them.

On this day each year, the people of Tang would climb to high places together to admire the autumn colors.

Travelers far from home would tuck cornelian cherries behind their ears and gaze from mountaintops toward their distant homeland, longing for reunion.

The cornelian cherry was easy to find, growing wild everywhere.

But as for Zhang Qian’s homeland and kin—where could they be found?