Chapter Thirty-Seven: Dwelling in the White House, Burying Ten Thousand

After leaving Comb Alley, Zuo Wen suggested they return to the Yuan residence. Xu You chuckled lightly and said, “There’s no need to be so cautious. An Yao took a palm strike from you and is seriously wounded—she likely won’t trouble me again for another two or three days. Besides, I’ll be setting out for Qiantang tomorrow. There’s still an unfinished matter that I must settle before I can have any peace of mind.”

“What matter do you mean, my lord?”

Xu You sighed. He suddenly realized that ever since leaving Yixing, he had been sighing more and more often. This habit, he thought, made him feel prematurely aged and was something he needed to change. He said, “Those thirty-odd retainers who died protecting me—they too had parents, wives, and children. Imagine how deep their sorrow must be at this moment… Fenghu, where do their families live? Take me to see them.”

Zuo Wen, still concerned for Xu You’s safety, tried to persuade him, “Since they served in the army, dying in battle is simply part of their duty. From the first day as a retainer, one is prepared to die by the sword at any moment. Even I am no exception. Your heartfelt sincerity, my lord, would move them deeply, even if they knew of it in the afterlife. But An Yao still lurks nearby, and we don’t know when she might strike again. For safety’s sake, it would be best to return to the Yuan residence for now.”

“If we return today, won’t I have to leave the city tomorrow anyway? There is no such thing as a thousand days of guarding against a thief!” Xu You shook his head and said, “My mind is set. No need to say more.”

A look of emotion flickered in Zuo Wen’s tiger-like eyes. He too was a man of generous spirit; since he could not persuade Xu You, he said no more, and promptly led Xu You and Qiufen to the southern part of the city, where the retainers’ families lived. This was a vast quarter laid out in a grid pattern like a chessboard, with every fifty households forming a block. Each block had four gates, open by day and closed at night, much like a modern residential compound. Most of the houses were built from a mixture of earth and wood, their appearance largely uniform: earth for the lower level, wood for the upper, with three or five bays, simple and unadorned, lacking in decoration or bright color. The beams were painted brown or black, the outer walls mostly white and pale blue. The Spring and Autumn Annals say, “Red pillars in the palace are not according to ritual. According to ritual, the Son of Heaven uses red, nobles blue, officials yellow, and commoners are not permitted such colors—these are called white houses.” Song dynasty scholar Cheng Dachang also wrote, “In ancient times, official houses had standards. If one’s rank did not permit, the rooms would show bare material, never allowing excessive painting or ornamentation.” Thus, it is clear that ordinary dwellings were predominantly white, reflecting the strict social hierarchy of the era.

Upon entering the block, it was obvious that Zuo Wen was well acquainted with the residents; people greeted him frequently, their words respectful yet tinged with warmth. Xu You said little, but his eyes were busy taking in his surroundings. For him, as for the Xu You of this body’s past, what was most lacking was an understanding of the ordinary people at the lowest rungs of this society. If he had no great ambitions, it would not matter; but if he wished even a little to rise, he needed to know not only the rules of the upper class, but also the demands and mindset of the common folk.

Only by understanding this era could he truly integrate into this world.

“Fenghu, in times of war you’d make a fine general—you know how to treat your soldiers like your own children!” An elderly man approached, leaning on a staff, and saluted Zuo Wen. After he left, Xu You teased, “Just from the way these retainers’ families treat you, it’s clear why you command such loyalty. Never underestimate this quality. If a commander cannot win over his men, the army’s morale is useless; no matter how clever the strategy, battle will end in defeat!”

Zuo Wen replied, embarrassed, “My lord flatters me. I have never risen higher than a mere military officer, commanding a thousand men at most; how dare I call myself a general, let alone a famed one? The reason these people are close to me is simply that we are all of humble birth, struggling to survive in chaotic times. If we do not help each other, how could we even get by? Though my rank is a little higher, I treat my men as brothers, with sincerity, and they return it in kind.”

“With sincerity? Fenghu, your insight is already close to that of a true general. But sincerity alone is not enough—there are many in this world with wolfish hearts. Treating others sincerely does not guarantee they will treat you the same.” Xu You wished to give guidance, and continued as they walked, “Do you know what it means to be a general?”

Zuo Wen thought for a moment, troubled. “I thought this would be easy to answer, but when it comes to it, I don’t know what to say.”

“Haha! It is neither difficult nor easy. There are three aspects to being a general. First, the General’s Courtesy: when the soldiers’ wells are not filled, the general must not speak of thirst; when the camp is not set, the general must not speak of weariness; when the soldiers’ meals are not cooked, the general must not speak of hunger. In winter, he does not wear fur; in summer, he does not use a fan; in rain, he does not put up a canopy. This is courtesy. Second, the General’s Virtue: wisdom, faith, benevolence, courage, strictness—when all five are present, this is virtue. Third, the General’s Authority: severe in punishment, precise in reward, commands must be obeyed, rewards and punishments must be trusted, as unwavering as heaven and earth, so that the entire army follows. Possess one, and you can be called a general; possess two, you are a battle general; possess all three, and you are a peerless general!”

Though Zuo Wen could not fully grasp the depth of Xu You’s words, something within him was stirred, as if he had touched a realm he had never imagined. He said with heartfelt sincerity, “Your words, my lord, surpass a thousand from others. Yet I fear I am too dull to achieve even one of these in this lifetime.”

Xu You smiled. “That may not be so…”

As they spoke, Zuo Wen stopped, looking at the yellow-and-white mourning paper hanging at a doorway. “This is the home of Li Qi, a leader of ten. In the battle with Shao Yao, he was the first to lead his men forward, but Shao Yao shattered all his bones… Do you wish to go in, my lord?”

Xu You nodded, his expression turning solemn as he straightened his robes. Zuo Wen went to knock. A child with a fringe answered the door, his eyes large and innocent. Clearly recognizing Zuo Wen, he called back, “Mother, Uncle Zuo is here.”

Rapid footsteps sounded, and a young woman emerged, no more than seventeen or eighteen, her complexion a little dark but her features gentle and clear. Her face was haggard, her eyes swollen and red as drums—a testament to the piercing pain of widowhood these past days.

She wore mourning clothes of rough hemp, unfinished at the edges, the heaviest mourning allowed only to children for their fathers and wives for their husbands. Coming forward, she bowed, saying, “Commander…” but her voice caught and she broke down, unable to continue.

Parting from loved ones by death is the hardest thing for the human heart to bear, and there are no words of comfort, only time to dull the pain. Some survive it, some do not, and their lives wither away.

“Lady Li, this is a noble lord from the Yixing gentry, who has come to see you upon learning of Li Qi’s death,” Zuo Wen said, keeping Xu You’s identity vague as he wished.

The woman was startled to realize the man before her was of high status, and immediately fell to her knees, pressing her forehead to the ground, too frightened to move.

Given the difference between men and women, Xu You could not help her up, but said, “Please rise. We come to pay our respects to the departed; today, there’s no need for such formalities.”

She stood, head bowed, visibly tense. Xu You knew that social hierarchy was ingrained and could not be changed in a moment, so he let the matter rest and stepped into the main room where the spirit altar had been set up.

There, a thick cedar coffin stood. To its right, a bamboo pole held a crimson mourning banner, inscribed: “Coffin of Li Qi, leader of ten under the Yuan clan of Imperial Chu, died at twenty-one.” Xu You, as tradition required, performed the ritual bow, then approached the coffin. The body inside, though washed and combed, still bore traces of its violent end. He was dressed in fine burial robes, with pearls and jade in his mouth—a “mouthful of rice”—his feet fixed in position for the shoes. Usually, the body would lie in state for three days before burial, to allow friends and relatives to pay their respects.

The woman wept and thanked them, and Zuo Wen let the child help her up and asked softly, “Are you managing with household expenses?”

“The three thousand coins you sent the other day are nearly gone. The items needed for the funeral are not yet ready… I really don’t know what to do…”

“The household will certainly grant more aid, but you must wait a few days.” But if they waited, the funeral might be delayed. And with more than thirty families in mourning from the same company, who could they borrow from?

Zuo Wen said firmly, “Don’t worry. As long as I am here, Brother Li will not have a mean burial.”

Xu You turned to the widow and her child. Though he could not approve of the excessive focus on the dead at the expense of the living, he could not bring himself to criticize. Since Qin and Han times, the Chinese had placed great importance on funerary rites, and lavish burials were the norm. The trend towards simple burials began with Cao Cao, who, as early as the Tenth Year of Jian’an, decreed that no private revenge or extravagant funerals were allowed. He himself chose a barren site for his tomb, ordered that only the bare ground be used, no mounds or trees raised, and prepared four sets of clothes for each season so his body could be appropriately dressed no matter when he died. Cao Pi, his son, followed suit, forbidding tomb mounds, shrines, gardens, sacred paths, or burial of gold and jewels. Fearing his descendants would break his will, his decree threatened dire punishment for any who disobeyed.

Thus, regardless of later slander, the two Caos were, as rulers, well ahead of their peers. After the fall of Wei, chaos reigned for decades, and the old customs declined. With the founding of Great Chu, the gentry’s extravagance revived grand funerals.

It was said that at a certain Lanling Xiao clan funeral, over ten thousand mourners in full mourning garb filled the streets, while the offerings, stone beasts, pillars, and steles required over a hundred ox-drawn carts to carry them to the tomb. Yet this was only average among the noble clans; officials and aristocrats competed to see whose tomb was more splendid. If dissatisfied with a tomb, they would leave the coffin above ground until it could be rebuilt to their liking.

As the saying goes: what the upper classes favor, the lower classes soon imitate. The wealthy could afford extravagance, but even poor families, swept up in the trend, would exhaust all they owned for an impressive funeral. Xu You recalled reading in the Book of Liang about Zhang Mian’s mother, Lady Liu, who, being poor, could only give her father a simple burial, and felt such shame all her life that she refused to live in the main room or enter her son’s official residence. This showed how deeply funerals mattered to the people.

“Fenghu, how much money do you have? Enough for one household, but not for ten! Leave this matter to me.” Xu You bowed again to the coffin and said to the widow, “You need not worry about money. Tomorrow someone will come with funds: half for Li Qi’s funeral, the rest for you and your son to live on. Do you have any other family?”

She shook her head in sorrow, drew the child close, and wept, “He is only five… and now has no father. What will become of us…”

Xu You crouched down and looked into the child’s pure black-and-white eyes. “What is your name?”

The boy tilted his head and answered softly, “My name is Tun Nu.”

Tun means pig; people often gave humble names in hopes the child would be easy to raise. Nu, meaning “servant,” was also common, as with Pan An’s childhood name Tan Nu, Liu Yu’s famous childhood name Ji Nu, and Chen Shubao’s little-known childhood name Huang Nu.

“Tun Nu, what do you like best?”

The boy chewed his finger and thought. “I like eating lamb the most…”

“From now on, you’re the only man in your family. You must live well, not only taking care of yourself but also your mother. When you grow up, if you have nowhere else to go, bring this to me, and I promise you’ll eat lamb every day. Is that alright?”

The boy looked at the coin in Xu You’s hand, a coin with a notch in the upper left. He didn’t understand, but looked at his mother, who nodded in tearful surprise. He took the coin in his little hands, bowed with the gravity of a grown man, and said, “Thank you, my lord!”

Xu You stroked his head and smiled, then bowed to the widow and left.

In this era, the rich grew ever richer while the poor grew poorer. Ten thousand coins was but a single meal for a noble family, but for those of lowly status, it was the sum total of all they struggled and grieved for, in life and death.

There has never been true fairness in the world, but as Xu You stood in the alley, gazing up at the sky, he still wanted to say:

This is not fair!