Chapter 12: Who Is the Master of Chaos
Everyone had endured a long day of travel, and after the ordeal of the attempted horse robbery at dusk, none had eaten until now. Having finally enjoyed a hearty meal, they each planned to retire to rest. Zhang Chi rose to leave the tent, but Miss Wang softly called out, “Please wait, sir.”
When the others had dispersed, Miss Wang poured Zhang Chi a cup of wine and smiled. “Did you encounter anything unusual tonight?”
Zhang Chi knew that Miss Wang was keenly intelligent, as if nothing could escape her notice. He answered her directly, “Tonight I met someone named Emei. She asked me to thank you on her behalf, for the kindness of gifting her a horse.”
“I only knew they would come, but I hadn’t expected Emei herself.” Miss Wang murmured to herself.
“You know Emei?” Zhang Chi asked with curiosity.
“The ‘Humble Gate’ always acts in secrecy. I have only heard of Emei, never met her.” Miss Wang replied calmly. “But whether we have met is unimportant; what matters is that she truly managed to steal away the horses.”
She paused, then continued, “In truth, even if no one had tried to rob the horses on the road, I would not have allowed them to reach Jiankang. Do you know why?”
“Why?” Zhang Chi had long wondered about this.
“You are second to none in knowledge, yet why are you so indifferent to the affairs of the world?” Miss Wang replied with a question of her own.
But she did not wait for his answer, and continued, “This is no longer a world ruled by the Sima clan alone, but by great noble families. With such power amassed by the aristocratic clans, how could the Sima royal house act without caution? Thus, they support Sima Daozi, Prince of Kuaiji, to counterbalance the others. My father holds the high post of Secretary of the Left and advocates for reducing the power of the great clans.”
“Fragmented authority is never good for the people,” Zhang Chi reflected.
Miss Wang gave a faint smile. “It is not wrong to curtail the power of the great clans, for unchecked, their influence will surely bring disaster. But haste makes waste. Among the powerful families, the Wang, Xie, Yu, and Huan are the foremost. Before the Battle of Feishui, the Xie family was most influential at court, but afterwards, Xie Xuan, despite his achievements, was sidelined. Now the Xie’s influence has waned, and the other clans are well aware of it. For now, things appear calm, but if the balance is ever broken, do you think the great families will accept being trampled?”
She sighed. “The court’s policies shift rapidly. Sima Daozi, Prince of Kuaiji, grows ever more powerful, yet the emperor views him with suspicion. The emperor has secretly ordered Wang Gong to command the Northern Army and to serve as governor of two provinces, probably intending to use the Northern Army to check Sima Daozi.”
The intrigue of the court was indeed severe, Zhang Chi thought.
“The Northern Army has earned its reputation through countless victories. With only eighty thousand men, they once annihilated Fu Qin’s force of eight hundred thousand. Though the great clans are powerful, they lack the strength for open rebellion. Thus, only the Northern Army could plunge the realm into chaos—or restore order. If the Northern Army were to rebel, the other clans would surely follow, seizing the chance to fish in troubled waters. That would truly bring disaster upon the land.”
After this discourse on the fate of the world, Zhang Chi could not help but nod in agreement. Truly, these were turbulent times, with shifting and tangled allegiances.
“But what does this have to do with the horses?” he asked.
“My father is building a new army to counter the Northern Army, and these horses were meant to equip it.” Miss Wang continued, “Wang Gong is a man of exceptional talent; he would not let this opportunity slip by. The moment these horses arrived in Jiankang, the Northern Army would strike first.”
“How could a newly formed army resist the battle-hardened Northern Army?” Miss Wang answered as if she had foreseen every move. “Now the great clans, especially the Yu and Huan, are doing all they can to sway Wang Gong. If these horses make it to Jiankang, it may not be Wang Gong who is won over by the clans, but rather he who is driven to rebellion by the court.”
Hearing this, Zhang Chi suddenly understood why the formidable Du Ximing, once a general of the guards, obeyed Miss Wang without question.
Miss Wang could be called a female strategist of the highest order. Though within the thick of the game, she saw the entire situation with striking clarity—how many in the world could claim the same?
Miss Wang sighed, “I foresaw this situation years ago, so I established a horse trading route for times of need. But who would have thought the court would be so impatient to raise a new army? Now is hardly the right time to move the horses, which is why I went to such lengths to ensure they were intercepted on the road, and never reached Jiankang.”
“In that case, why not simply hand over the horses to those who came to steal them, instead of fighting?” Zhang Chi, now understanding the situation, voiced his final question.
Miss Wang countered, “Do you know the origins of Daoism?”
Zhang Chi had heard a little, but thought it better to say nothing, so he shook his head.
“Daoism has existed since the late Han, nearly three hundred years, and the land has been in turmoil for just as long,” Miss Wang said calmly.
Zhang Chi had never considered this point. “What has Daoism to do with the fate of the world?”
“Everything,” she replied. “Since its founding, Daoism has been viewed with suspicion by wise rulers and rejected by heroes. Daoism bewitches the people and incites rebellion. Ever since Zhang Jiao’s Yellow Turban uprising, the land has known little peace.”
“The authorities have always suppressed Daoism. In the Yellow Turban rebellion, all the lords moved against Zhang Jiao. Later, Cao Cao drove out Zuo Ci in the north, Sun Ce killed Yu Ji in the south—all because Daoism persistently encouraged its followers to seize power by force.”
Zhang Chi had heard of Zuo Ci and Yu Ji, both lauded in the stories of the Three Kingdoms, but Miss Wang’s account was quite different.
“When Cao Cao unified the north, he suppressed Daoism, and for a few decades, the Jin dynasty enjoyed a brief peace. But only for a few decades. Then Daoism rose again—Li Xiong declared himself King of Chengdu, founding the state of Han; Liu Yuan proclaimed himself King of Han, establishing Han-Zhao. Thus chaos returned.”
“Daoism, whenever it finds opportunity, seeks to carve out its own realm, but has never succeeded. Its founder Zhang Ling’s lineage ruled Shu for thirty years, only to surrender to Cao Cao in the end. Li Xiong and Liu Yuan met similar fates, paving the way for the Five Barbarians to ravage China. Half the Han population perished—by war or plague—leaving the land desolate and the rivers choked with corpses.”
Zhang Chi was surprised by Miss Wang’s harsh view of Daoism—perhaps her status shaped her perspective. He remained silent, listening intently.
“Daoism once spread among the refugees, but now it has seeped into the great southern clans. Half the people and officials of the south follow Daoist teachings. I fear…” She fell silent for a moment, then continued, “If I am not mistaken, those who attacked the horses tonight were followers of the Five Pecks of Rice sect, an orthodox branch of the Celestial Masters, whose influence in the south is growing daily. If chaos erupts, the south will suffer. The Five Pecks of Rice sect has been gathering strength for years, plotting rebellion. On learning of these horses, they immediately planned the raid. How could I allow them to succeed?”
“Before the convoy set out, I knew that the sect would secretly feed the horses croton seeds to cause dysentery, all to delay our journey and buy time to gather their numbers before we crossed the river.”
“If you knew of their plot, why not prepare more thoroughly? If they had sent more men, wouldn’t they have succeeded?” Zhang Chi asked.
Miss Wang smiled faintly. “The sect’s stronghold lies along the southern coast; they have few people to mobilize here. Most of their followers are ignorant peasants, easily swayed but untried in battle. Their numbers matter little.”
Zhang Chi was left in awe, increasingly admiring Miss Wang. “But how did you know Emei would be the one to take the horses?”
“I had never met Emei, nor could I know who would ultimately take the horses. But I intended to let them go. Feeding the horses salt, then releasing them, meant the raiders needed only to wait at the watering place to retrieve them without bloodshed. It was clever—I hadn’t expected the ‘Humble Gate’ to use such a method.” She smiled. “Who but the ‘Humble Gate’ could read my mind so thoroughly and execute such a plan?”
Hearing her mention the ‘Humble Gate’ again, and recalling how Emei herself had brought it up, Zhang Chi asked, “Miss Wang, what exactly is the ‘Humble Gate’?”
But Miss Wang only smiled mysteriously. “Some things are better left unknown—they may bring you harm. But I think it won’t be long before you find out for yourself.”
Seeing her unwilling to explain, Zhang Chi asked no more. Since Emei had said his fate would be entwined with the ‘Humble Gate,’ what was meant to come would come. So he changed the subject, “I am glad I met Master Daoyuan and joined the caravan, or I would never have met you and learned the state of the world.”
Miss Wang said, “The Buddhist order is far more gentle. They seek support and protection, but never incite rebellion. That’s why in the north, the great clans honor the Buddha while the common people turn to Daoism. Now, the two faiths are bitter rivals.”
“That explains it. I had wondered why Master Daoyuan, just a humble monk, was so highly respected.”
“Don’t underestimate Master Daoyuan. Without him, Qin’s defeat at Feishui might have been the end, but his influence allowed the Murong clan to restore Yan. The influence of a great monk is no small thing, though Master Daoyuan hides his true abilities—who can say how deep his wisdom goes?”
Zhang Chi was shocked anew. In the time-travel tales he once read, people of the past seemed simple. Yet here, everyone he met was more astute than the last—even a silent old monk proved to be extraordinary.
“There can be few in this world who see things as clearly as you, Miss Wang,” Zhang Chi said with admiration.
“What of it?” Miss Wang sighed, a look of melancholy on her face. “Alas, my abilities are too meager. I can only try to delay the chaos I know is coming—but in the end, the world will still descend into turmoil.”
As she spoke, sorrow clouded her expression.
“In peace, the people suffer; in chaos, the people suffer. If, as you say, turmoil is inevitable, it is always the people who bear the pain,” Zhang Chi sighed as well.
At this, Miss Wang suddenly laughed. “Don’t you wonder why I kept you here tonight to speak at such length about the state of the world?”
It certainly wasn’t because of his looks, Zhang Chi thought. “Why did you tell me all this, then?”
“When chaos comes, that is when heroes emerge. Have you never thought, perhaps you could rise in such times, become a ruler amid the turmoil?”
“I’d never considered it,” Zhang Chi replied with a laugh. Until tonight, his greatest ambition was to become a scholar; what did he know of the fate of nations? He had always been content with a simple life, never one for grand designs, happy to drink and enjoy himself.
“Fate is a strange thing. Some plot all their lives to become a king in troubled times, only to find it was but a dream. Others never give it a thought, yet destiny chooses them.” Miss Wang smiled and shook her head. “Perhaps that is Heaven’s will.”
In truth, Zhang Chi cared more about what he would eat for breakfast than the fate of the world, but Miss Wang’s stories were fascinating, so he listened as if to a tale. He sensed there was a reason for everything she said to him tonight, and could not help but ask, “Who are the dreamers, and who are the chosen of Heaven?”
“The Huan clan has plotted for two generations and is determined to rebel; its current head, Huan Xuan, may be the dreamer. As for you, sir, perhaps you are Heaven’s chosen.” Miss Wang smiled. “Who can say what Heaven intends?”
Zhang Chi naturally thought she was joking and waved his hand with a smile. He knew his own worth—Huan Xuan was a powerful lord, while he was just a scholar, without even a name to his own. “Miss Wang, please don’t tease me.”
“Whether it is a jest, only time will tell,” Miss Wang said thoughtfully.