Chapter 95 Fusu: Feng Menglong, I'm coming to take you away...
Who's thinking about me?
After rubbing his nose, Fusu frowned. He immediately thought of the court. Good heavens, what had the Emperor said to make him sneeze so many times, and how much hatred had he incurred?
The thought of having to attend court and personally face those who disliked him made Fusu shudder involuntarily.
That won't do.
Fusu thought to himself, although he didn't attend court to make friends, he certainly didn't come to make enemies either. He had to think of a way, otherwise whatever solutions he came up with in the future would be met with overwhelming resistance. If his decrees couldn't even get three steps beyond the capital, what would become of him?
What should I do?
"I think you've offended the ancients, and they're talking about you now!" The sudden words interrupted Fusu's thoughts. Turning his head, he saw Su Shi's head already close to his paper and pen: "If I were alive in heaven and knew what you wrote, I would be so angry that I would sit up straight from my grave."
"Feng Menglong molded you into Su Xiaomei out of clay, but I didn't see you do anything to him." Fusu silently retorted in his heart.
But...
He looked at the article in front of him and asked those around him with some doubt, "Did I really write something that outrageous?"
Zhang Zai: "Hmm."
Fan Chunren: "Hmm!"
Fusu: "..."
"See? See? I told you so." Su Shi nodded solemnly. "Or is it that you simply dislike Prime Minister Zhuge?"
"No way!" Fusu immediately retorted, "I admire the Prime Minister very much, okay?"
With the examples of Huo Guang, Wang Mang, and Cao Cao, powerful ministers in the Han Dynasty were already a hot potato. But Zhuge Liang, for his ideals, still took on the responsibility of restoring the Han Dynasty. Even more miraculously, he broke the silent spiral of distrust between the emperor and powerful ministers, neither usurping the throne nor being purged by the emperor, dying a clean death before achieving his goal.
Thinking of the unfortunate crown princes who, after his own suicide, were all suspected and met tragic ends, Fusu wanted to sigh and rub his forehead. He had really set a bad precedent.
"Then why did you write him...like a sorcerer?"
"Isn't that because the people like it?"
As one of the biggest victims of unofficial histories, Fusu was more than qualified to speak on this issue: "Otherwise, which of you writes a similar story and we'll see who's more popular?"
Su Shi seemed eager to try, but ultimately backed down: "Then let's forget it. If my father finds out I'm making up stories again, he'll definitely beat me."
"But will this really be popular?"
Fusu: "Hmph."
"If you don't believe me, just go and see for yourself."
The other three expressed great interest and followed closely behind Fusu. To be honest, although they were well-read, they knew very little about the common folk and slang of the marketplace. Could it be that the writings circulating in the theaters and brothels were all like those of Zhao Xiaozhuangyuan? And how did he know that?
Knowing the backstory of "the beauty adding fragrance to the sleeves," Zhang Zai touched his nose, thinking he knew some incredible inside story.
Sanyuanlang's parents are really going too far. What kind of nonsense have they been feeding him? Or is it that only by reading these kinds of things can an extraordinary child prodigy be raised?
The three of them left the Imperial College and headed straight for the Xiangguo Temple.
"Are you looking for Master Jingjue?"
"For matters of everyday life, who else can you turn to if not him?"
Fusu felt that his decision back then was absolutely right. Jingjue was like a jack-of-all-trades; people could ask him for help with anything related to everyday life.
Sure enough, as soon as he arrived at Xiangguo Temple, he randomly grabbed a young novice monk and said he wanted to see Jingjue. He was treated as an honored guest and respectfully invited into the room. The young novice monk then served him four bowls of fragrant tea before leaving to call someone else.
Su Shi knew in his heart: this young monk Jingjue was probably one of the few people like him who knew Zhao Xiaolang's true identity.
But he still wouldn't let it go: "It must be that Master Jingjue knows that you, Zhao Xiaolang, don't come to the Three Treasures Hall without a reason, so he specially instructed that as soon as he sees you, he should lead you into the room."
Fusu: But I think it might not be Jingjue, but rather the abbot specifically instructed him to do so? After all, last time even the Eighth Prince's personal guards were mobilized. But he couldn't say this in front of others, so he could only glare helplessly at Su Shi.
Su Shi laughed even more wildly.
Zhang Zai was the only one unaware of the inside story: "Who is this little monk Jingjue?" He seems to have quite a story behind him.
Before the others could answer, Jingjue himself arrived. He entered and immediately said, "Amitabha," then asked, "Young Scholar Zhao, what brings you here?"
Su Shi immediately said, "Haha! It's because you've lived in Buddhism for so long that you understand human nature so well. Knowing that Sanyuanlang's status is no longer what it used to be, he must have come to you specifically to ask for your help."
Jingjue glanced at Su Shi helplessly.
Fusu: "...Why do you make me sound so heartless? Well, alright, I have something to discuss with you, little master."
Under everyone's gaze, he pulled out his draft from his sleeve: "Take a look at this, see if it will work in a brothel?"
Jingjue: "This is..."
Upon reading the contents, he immediately fell silent as if he had understood. Under the tense gaze of everyone, he read the entire text line by line, his expression shifting between admiration and a smile, completely absorbed.
Seeing how engrossed he was in his tea, Fusu knew that the outcome was likely certain. Ignoring the others' focused concentration, he leisurely began to sip his tea. But after only one sip, he stuck out his tongue – the tea leaves had been steeped for too long; oh, how bitter!
“Of course it will work!” Jingjue finally finished reading and gave an absolutely affirmative answer: “People in the entertainment district love this the most.”
He paused subtly, his voice softening: "I wonder which of you wrote this manuscript?"
He followed everyone's gaze and looked at the little boy in the center of the table: "Uh...why, it's you?"
Fusu asked innocently, "Huh? Am I not good enough?"
Jingjue: "No, no, no, you are a genius who passed the imperial examinations with top honors in all three levels, of course you can write anything."
The others burst into laughter.
It's common knowledge that gossip from the entertainment districts was considered vulgar and unworthy of serious consideration by the literati. Only poor scholars struggling to make a living would write such things. Sanyuanlang must have been careful to conceal his identity when writing this. Jingjue's compliment sounds more like a clumsy attempt at flattery.
Fusu glared at the others, feeling even more helpless. But he quickly became serious: "Please pass this notebook to someone you know well who might be speaking on it. Make sure they spread it as quickly and widely as possible."
"Then, you teach them to say it like this..."
As he spoke, Jingjue's expression shifted from surprise to bewilderment. However, he could sense the solemnity in Fusu's words and knew that this was an extremely important matter, even involving the imperial court.
"Tomorrow, no, I will go and find my acquaintances who know people who tell stories, and give each of them a copy. Within three days, this story will spread throughout Bianjing."
Fusu nodded emphatically: Yes. This is what he wanted.
"By the way, are Third Sister and Apu still there?" He suddenly remembered something: "Little Master, could you take me to see Apu and the others? I have something to tell them."
“Yes, yes. Apu asked me the other day when I could see you,” Jingjue said.
Because of Apu and the others' special status, Fusu made an excuse to avoid Fan Chunren and the others, and went alone to the quiet courtyard of Xiangguo Temple to meet them. The cotton planting was now complete, and he should fulfill his promise to find suitable jobs for the three of them.
"Apu, Third Sister, Ayu, I've found you some jobs. Would you like to take them?"
-
Fan Zhongyan traveled a long and arduous journey to Bianjing.
When people are happy, they are in high spirits. Being demoted and then reinstated is another kind of triumphant return home. Moreover, as he traveled south, the post roads were filled with lush and vibrant life.
The moment he stepped through the gates of Bianjing, despite days of travel, he felt no fatigue whatsoever. Looking at the bustling crowds in the city, so different from the desolate borderlands, he found them incredibly endearing and charming.
"From the past to the present, everything in Bianjing seems to remain the same."
Fan Zhongyan was filled with emotion.
The once-glorious prosperity we once saw is now something we realize we should cherish, because it could easily vanish in the blink of an eye.
He ordered his entourage to return to the mansion to make arrangements, and then led his horse alone onto the bustling street, trying to clear his mind of his myriad thoughts. He saw that a large crowd had gathered not far away, like a whirlpool sucking up most of the people on the street.
Fan Zhongyan had never witnessed such a scene during his many years as an official in Bianjing. Perhaps only the sugar paintings at the night market of Daxiangguo Temple mentioned in a letter written by his eldest son, Fan Chunren, could have achieved such popularity.
Could it be the legendary sugar painting stall that is so rare and sought after that even Mei Yaochen wrote a letter to him to boast about it?
Fan Zhongyan's curiosity was piqued, and he quickly walked towards that place.
During this time, he also overheard two people who seemed to be friends jokingly saying to each other, "Why did you listen to it again?"
"Aren't you one of them? You come to join in the fun as soon as you hear someone's going to talk."
"There's nothing I can do, I can never get enough of hearing the story of Prime Minister Zhuge Liang."
Fan Zhongyan: Prime Minister Zhuge? Could it be a script for conversation?
It's virtually impossible for a civil official not to admire Zhuge Liang, and Fan Zhongyan was no exception. He was even more curious, wanting to know what kind of script could make the people of Bianjing linger there. And what kind of demeanor of the Prime Minister was described in it?
Was it the "Longzhong Dialogue on the World"? Or the "Entrustment of the Heir Apparent" at Baidi City?
Or was it the six expeditions to Qishan that ended in the fall of the star at Wuzhangyuan?
Fan Zhongyan leaned closer and heard a loud and resonant voice that struck his ears directly:
"No sooner said than done! Prime Minister Zhuge waved his hand towards the sky, and the overwhelming snowflakes turned into balls and fell into the city. The soldiers of Shu quickly collected the balls and discovered that they were made of a novel fabric."
The Prime Minister then said: This is a way to relieve the distress that he borrowed from Heaven. The soldiers were all in awe and kneaded the cotton balls to weave them into warm cotton-padded clothes and coats, which they distributed to the soldiers and civilians in the city...
"In this way, Sima Yi's insidious plan to seal the city with heavy snow was easily thwarted!"
Fan Zhongyan: "???"
Just then, as the speaker finished speaking, the crowd erupted in a thunderous cheer, which quickly dissipated into continuous exclamations of praise. This puzzled Fan Zhongyan, a scholar well-versed in the Records of the Three Kingdoms and the Book of Wei: Was the problem with him, or with everyone else?
When was Zhuge Liang ever besieged in a city by Sima Yi?
When did he become like a sorcerer?
...No, more important than fabricated history is the question of what exactly that so-called "relief" cotton ball was. If it was a creation made up out of thin air, why not create something that actually exists in reality so that the listener could relate to it more?
Or is it...?
Fan Zhongyan suddenly asked in a loud voice, "May I ask if that cotton is real or fake? Is there really such a magical thing in the world?"
He thought that by raising a question, he would surely attract followers, or at least spark some thought in others. Unexpectedly, everyone around him looked at him as if he were a country bumpkin.
"Why are people still asking? It's right in front of the government office. They've touched it and looked at it. How could it be fake?"
"Old sir, you seem to be very well-read, so why don't you know?"
"Sigh, he's become stupid from staying indoors all the time studying. He might not even be hearing the Prime Minister's story for the first time. How pitiful."
"The government has already distributed seeds. My neighbor was lucky enough to get a few, and he plans to plant them in his front yard next year. I'll ask him for a few seeds then, but I don't know if he'll be willing to give them to me..."
Fan Zhongyan decided to retract his initial assessment.
...The people of Bianjing are really unlovable!
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A note from the author: I apologize to all the history fans who have been offended.
Little Fusu thus stole Feng Menglong's job, adding another 1+1+1 to Luo Guanzhong's material.
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