Chapter 37: Master Ruan Takes His Leave

Time flew as swiftly as a white horse passing a crevice, and in the blink of an eye, it was already May in the sixth year of the Taikang era (285 AD).

At this moment, the summer heat was intense, and all things were thriving. The deafening chirping of cicadas mingled with the occasional bell-like calls of orioles and sparrows, while mountain breezes swept through the forests from time to time, causing the waist-high wild grasses and lush foliage to sway as if chanting wildly. Accompanied by the croaking of frogs in the shallows and the calls of foxes echoing from the caves, the sounds of all creation blended together like an unpaced, powerful symphony, making the mountains and their surroundings exceptionally lively.

Yet this liveliness sprang from nature, failing to make Liu Xian feel perturbed or noisy; instead, a profound inner peace allowed him to appreciate the vitality and beauty within it. For his own life had also returned to tranquility.

Following the death of Prince Qi, Sima You, the once-fierce factional struggle surrounding the Prince of Qi finally came to an end, and Crown Prince Sima Zhong's position on the throne was thoroughly secured. Overnight, the political strife in the imperial court of Western Jin vanished like smoke, bringing back the peaceful lives of the capital's commoners. Luoyang's curfew was lifted, the markets reopened, trade caravans from Liangzhou and Bingzhou flowed freely once again, and the streets and alleys in the suburbs resumed their vibrant glow of willow trees and lanterns. Even Liu Xian's place of mourning on Bian Mountain began to receive visitors.

Roughly a month after the Prince of Qi passed away, Zhang Hua was recalled to the capital by the Emperor and appointed as the Minister of Ceremonies (Taichang), with Zhang Wei returning in his wake. Soon after, one after another, the children of meritorious officials who had been sent back by their parents to their ancestral lands returned to Luoyang. Shi Chao was among them. Upon his return, hearing that Liu Xian was in mourning alone, he rode his horse to Bian Mountain at the earliest opportunity to visit him.

Seeing that Liu Xian lived in such rudimentary quarters and subsisted on little more than vegetables and fruit, Shi Chao first furrowed his brows deeply, then smiled and said, "When your period of mourning is over, I will invite you to my sixth uncle's estate to experience some peerless delicacies." From then on, Shi Chao came to check on him every few days.

Next came his childhood friends, Xi An and Zhang Gu, who had also returned to Luoyang. Around the age of eight—just when Liu Xian began studying under Chen Shou—they had been summoned back by their respective families to begin their foundational education. Nearly five or six years had passed since then. Xi An's father was Xi Zheng, and Zhang Gu's father was Zhang Tong; both had been loyal retainers who followed the family of the Prince of Anle to the capital after the fall of Shu Han. Now that both fathers had passed away, their sons inherited their roles to serve as retainers in the Anle Prince's estate, effectively becoming Liu Xian's personal attendants in the future.

Having not seen each other for several years, both childhood companions had undergone dramatic transformations.

Because Xi Zheng had previously been employed by the court and served as the Administrator of Baxi, his family standing had risen. Coupled with the fact that Sima Yan had once specially praised Xi Zheng's steadfast loyalty, remarking, "Zheng formerly remained in Chengdu, holding fast to righteousness amidst adversity without violating his loyal integrity," the Grand Administrator of Yizhou held the Xi family in exceptionally high regard. Consequently, the Xi clan had transformed into a prominent local gentry family in Baxi. When Xi An returned, he carried with him the refined, aristocratic air characteristic of the gentry. As soon as he opened his mouth, he wanted to engage Liu Xian in metaphysical discourse, and his eloquence possessed much of the character possessed by ancient strategists.

Meanwhile, Zhang Gu's father, Zhang Tong, had served in his early years as the Palace Commandant of Shu Han and was renowned for his physical strength and valor. At Liu Xian's coming-of-age testing ceremony, Zhang Tong had even expressed a desire to train him in martial prowess, though that wish had not materialized. After Zhang Gu returned home, Zhang Tong painstakingly trained him, toughened his physical strength, and taught him archery, horsemanship, and various martial arts involving sabers, spears, and staffs. When Zhang Gu rode over to visit Liu Xian, this childhood playmate had grown to over sevenchi in height, developed a broad chest and sturdy limbs, and mastered an impressive spear technique. At a glance, he appeared to be an exceptional warrior capable of charging through enemy lines.

Joking with Liu Xian, they said, "Biji, with both of us—one skilled in letters and the other in martial arts—attending your side, you should be out making glorious achievements! Why are you wasting your years lingering here?"

Liu Xian smiled and replied, "There is still plenty of time. I am merely a fierce tiger lying low in the barren hills, concealing my claws and fangs while I endure."

Thus, they often came to Bian Mountain to keep Liu Xian company. Sometimes they would lie side by side in the thatched cottage, listening to the wind and waves of the world while discussing the heroic deeds of figures past and present. Their hearts would surge with passion and their minds would race with myriad thoughts, rarely allowing them to fall fast asleep the moment their heads hit the pillow.

Of course, aside from these peers, Little Master Ruan would occasionally visit Liu Xian. First, to check on his recent progress; second, to test his studies; and third, to bring along some of his close friends specifically to build a reputation for Liu Xian. After all, since Liu Xian had resolved to enter official service and had the Duke of Juancheng to guide him, the necessary preparations could begin now.

Therefore, by the fifth year of the Taikang era, the period of mourning—which Liu Xian had anticipated would be desperately lonely—did not prove tedious at all. When he was bored, he had friends to accompany him; when he felt lost, he had a teacher to guide him; when he felt empty, books consoled his emotions, alongside a clearly defined future goal and hope. Even the Prince of Anle had reined himself in considerably. Upon returning to the estate, although Liu Xun relapsed into his old ways after only a few days and remained addicted to wine and women, at least there were no longer any shocking acts of violence.

All of this brought joy to Liu Xian. The only thing that saddened him was that his mother could not witness any of it with her own eyes. Every night, he could only pray before her tomb, hoping that if his mother had awareness in the netherworld, she might feel somewhat comforted.

On this particular day, Liu Xian was weeding in front of the thatched cottage. He intended to clear an open patch of land among the mountains to transplant some pleasing flowers and plants—orchids, chrysanthemums, or whatever caught his fancy. This was a sudden inspiration, reminiscent of the chores Zhang Ximiao had loved during her lifetime.

Just as he was turning the soil, Liu Xian heard the familiar sound of a long whistle echoing from the foot of the mountain. He immediately put down his wooden spade and looked over, spying an ox cart. Driving the cart in front was a young man slightly older than himself, while reclining lazily in the back was an old man with his hair unknotted and robes draped loosely, leaning against the cart and whistling long and clear. It was none other than Ruan Fu and Little Master Ruan. Catching sight of Liu Xian high up on the mountain from afar, Little Master Ruan stopped whistling and waved his horsetail whisk back and forth to express his delight at seeing his prized disciple.

Liu Xian hurriedly threw on his outer robe and ran down to greet them. Then, he respectfully took the reins of the ox, leading them to a flat patch of ground surrounded by water on three sides and shaded by bamboo groves. Because the sunlight was blazing and the summer heat felt like a steam bath, the original thatched cottage—though situated in an open area—was exposed directly to the blazing sun, making it far less refreshing than this shaded spot.

Once Little Master Ruan had settled in, Liu Xian brought out two jugs of fresh water, seated himself respectfully below them, and asked Little Master Ruan, "Teacher, shall I begin by playing a few tunes as usual?"

Little Master Ruan clapped his hands, closed his eyes, and said, "Alright, let us start with 'The Exotic Bird'!"

The piece titled "The Exotic Bird" mentioned by Little Master Ruan was one of the "Poems of Expressing Inner Feelings" written by his uncle, Ruan Ji. Liu Xian had long since mastered it. He nodded, drew the bamboo flute from his bosom, took a deep breath, pressed his fingers over the holes, and slowly channeled his breath into the flute.

The melody began with a tranquil and vast tone, as if one were suspended amidst primeval chaos: looking upward it seemed dim and murky, looking downward boundless and vague, with only an elusive, spiritual energy washing through it. Yet in the blink of an eye, the music soared like the stunning call of a bird, and the chaos blossomed with the fleeting beauty of a transient flower, transforming in a finger-snap into a clear and distinct world. Clouds dispersed across the azure firmament, endless waves of pine trees rolled across the mountain wilderness, and a sparkling river meandered through it all, rushing toward the radiant brilliance of the sun.

At this moment, Ruan Xian beat time with his hand and sang:

"In the forests dwells an exotic bird, singing by nature as a phoenix. At dawn it drinks from the sweet spring, at dusk it roosts upon the mountain ridge.

Its loud cry reaches across the Nine Provinces, its neck stretched high gazing toward the eight wildernesses. Just as the trade winds rise, its wings and feathers are broken and concealed.

Once it departs to the west of Kunlun, when shall it soar in flight again? I only grieve that it is not in its rightful place, a sorrow that wounds the heart with anguish."

Little Master Ruan was approaching sixty, and his voice was hoarse—qualities that initially clashed with the soaring, melodious flute music. Yet as the song progressed to the middle section, the flute notes grew lower and quieter, serving instead to imbue the singing with a profound sense of desolation and vicissitude, reminiscent of a vast desert under the setting sun where all sounds of nature had fallen silent save for the howling of yellow sands.

Then, the flute notes suddenly surged upward like a violent whirlwind rolling backward, sweeping across the earth and mountains. Little Master Ruan's voice soared in tandem, cracking with desperation like the Yangtze River rushing eastward. In an instant, the melody became hazy and the singing faded into the distance, as if the preceding chaos, heavens, earth, mountains, wilderness, and rivers had all vanished into nothingness, leaving behind only an inexpressible sorrow...

When the song ended, Liu Xian lowered his head, awaiting Little Master Ruan's critique. No matter how skillfully he practiced his tunes, it was merely a matter of technique; lacking true musical sensibility, he always fell far short of Little Master Ruan's realm. To his surprise, however, Liu Xian waited a long time, but Little Master Ruan uttered no sound at all. Looking up, Liu Xian saw that Little Master Ruan was gazing up at the sky, momentarily lost in a deep, wistful reverie.

Having no choice, he spoke up, "Teacher?"

Little Master Ruan snapped back to reality, picked up his horsetail whisk to scratch his back, and smiled, "Biji, you played this piece strictly according to the rules. I have nothing left to criticize."

"Really?" Liu Xian was somewhat doubtful. He lowered the flute, picked up his Zhaowu sword, and stood up, intending to demonstrate his swordsmanship for his teacher. Unexpectedly, Little Master Ruan waved his horsetail whisk back and forth, signaling him to sit down immediately.

Perplexed, Liu Xian knelt upon the mat and asked respectfully, "Does Teacher have any instructions?"

Composing his expression, Little Master Ruan suddenly asked, "Huaichong, how many years have you been following me?"

Startled for a moment, Liu Xian replied, "I began studying under Teacher in the first year of Taikang, and this is the sixth year of Taikang. Counting it up, it has been a little over five years."

Little Master Ruan nodded, gazed down at his own fingers, and sighed, "Five years... Now I have nothing left to teach you. It is time for us, master and disciple, to part ways."

This statement came entirely without warning, leaving Liu Xian profoundly shocked. He quickly bowed and asked, "Why does Teacher say such a thing? I am only fourteen years old; there are still many questions I have yet to ask, and many skills I have yet to learn. Could it be that I am unworthy and have angered Teacher?"

Little Master Ruan waved his hands repeatedly to reassure him, finally revealing the reason: "It has nothing to do with you. The imperial court has summoned me to take office as an official, sending me to the western borders to serve as an Administrator."

So that was it. Wasn't this a joyful occasion? Liu Xian let out a sigh of relief, yet a question arose in his mind: logically speaking, for someone of Little Master Ruan's long-standing virtuous reputation, serving as an Administrator was merely a matter of going through the motions. Typically, after lingering for half a year, he would be summoned back to the capital to enter the Imperial Secretariat (Shangshu Tai) for a prestigious post, and a few years later he might even advance to the Three Ducal Ministers or Nine Ministers. Why, then, did Little Master Ruan look so displeased?

Ruan Fu perceived Liu Xian's confusion and explained from the side, "The Duke of Juancheng has received word that this summons has nothing to do with the Emperor, nor is it out of a desire to put 大人 to heavy use..."

In fact, for many years prior, Shan Tao of the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove had repeatedly recommended Little Master Ruan, but the Emperor had consistently rejected the proposals. The ostensible reason was that Little Master Ruan was fond of wine and lustful, rendering him unfit for heavy responsibilities. Yet stripping away the pretense of political attacks, even if those claims were entirely true, they were hardly sufficient grounds for exclusion. Across the court and the country, there were more than a hundred men fond of the cup and women—how could anyone be barred from office for that reason? It was simply that the Emperor detested Little Master Ruan.

As for why Little Master Ruan was being summoned by the court now, there was no other reason than this: the Prefect of the Masters of Writing (Shangshu Ling), Xun Xu, fancied his own mastery of musical pitch to be peerless under heaven, yet he was frequently considered inferior to Little Master Ruan. Harboring a grudge, Xun Xu plotted to drive Little Master Ruan out of the capital by issuing an official appointment. Once banished to the western borders, he would likely never be able to return to the east for the rest of his days.

This rationale left Liu Xian dumbfounded. He had heard of scholars belittling one another, but he had never imagined it could manifest in the official bureaucracy in such a manner. For a time, he did not know what to say, let alone how to console his teacher.

Little Master Ruan, however, took the matter in stride. He took a sip of the fresh water Liu Xian handed him and smiled lightly, "It is hardly strange. Years ago, when the nation fell into the hands of these men, I anticipated as much." Pausing here, he suddenly asked Liu Xian, "Huaichong, have you ever wondered why I—a vagrant who spends his days drinking and playing the qin—would teach you horsemanship and sword dancing?"

This was indeed a question that had puzzled Liu Xian. He nodded, and immediately heard Little Master Ruan explain, "The world says that we, the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove, are recluses who pour our emotions into mountains and rivers, unfettered and transcendent, holding rites, laws, fame, and fortune in contempt. In truth, that is not the case at all."

"Back in the early years, the reason the seven of us gathered together was precisely because our hearts were filled with a burning desire to serve the country. Either we wished to gallop across the battlefields and achieve glory in the desert sands, or we dreamed of governing a region and petitioning the heavens on behalf of the people. Whenever we gathered each day, if we were not discussing the rights and wrongs of current politics, we were comparing swords and practicing archery—when would we ever have had time to discuss poetry and drink wine?"

Little Master Ruan paused here, then sighed mournfully, "Who could have known that in the blink of an eye, the Sima clan would seize supreme state power through the Gaopingling Incident, plot to usurp the throne, and establish their own dynasty? Did we train ourselves in these civil and martial arts merely to sell them to the likes of them?"

"Later, when Sima Shi and Sima Zhao held power, they went even further against human ethics, purging political dissidents and actually committing the crime of regicide. To let such men govern the country—men with power but devoid of virtue—how could their dynastic rule possibly endure?"

"Therefore, the seven of us friends turned instead to metaphysical discourse, expressing contempt for ritual laws and feigning eccentricity. Our very purpose was to mock men like Sima Shi and Sima Zhao, and they knew it full well. The years have flown by so quickly; among our group, some have died, some have left, some have become officials, and some have retired into reclusion, each following our own path. That I am only now being transferred out of the capital is, if anything, a testament to the current Emperor's magnanimity. And having lived in carefree leisure for decades, it is high time I did some practical work for the common people."

With that, Ruan Xian stopped, looked earnestly at Liu Xian, and said, "Therefore, Huaichong, my visit today is specifically to bid you farewell."

Farewell? A myriad of emotions welled up in Liu Xian. Judging by his teacher's words, this trip to the western borders would likely be a journey of no return. Yet Little Master Ruan had clearly promised his mother that he would treat Liu Xian like an adopted son—how could he simply leave now?

Liu Xian felt both a lingering reluctance and a sense of melancholy. Yet having experienced his mother's death, he had grown somewhat accustomed to partings, knowing moreover that at such a moment, he ought to display the fortitude of a man so that his teacher, who disdained conventional rituals, could feel gratified.

After pondering for a moment, he looked down and said to Little Master Ruan, "Before we part, I must ask Teacher to teach me one final skill."

Little Master Ruan asked curiously, "What skill?"

"Teacher's whistle! When I first met Teacher, this was the very thing I most desired to learn."

Little Master Ruan widened his eyes, then burst into hearty laughter, rocking back and forth until his robes were disheveled. After a long while, he said, "Where is the need to teach this? Whenever you wish it, you will know how."

"Really?"

"Really. You already know how; you can try it right now."

Under Little Master Ruan's encouraging gaze, Liu Xian still felt a trace of bashfulness. Little Master Ruan did not say more, but instead began to chant a poem—another of Ruan Ji's "Poems of Expressing Inner Feelings," though Liu Xian had never heard it before. He chanted:

"The scorching light stretches for ten thousands of li, the mighty torrent churns the rushing rapids.

Bend the bow to hang upon the Fusang tree, rest the long sword beyond the outer skies.

Let Mount Tai serve as a whetstone, let the Yellow River be a sash and girdle.

Behold that Zhuangzi—of what reliance are glory and decay?

Cast aside the body and abandon the Central Plains, leaving crows and kites to wreak havoc and harm.

How can that compare to the heroic gentleman, whose achievements and fame grow great from this day forth?"

Hearing it recited to the end, Liu Xian was instantly awestruck by the majestic spirit contained within the verse. The old master had placed his innermost aspirations entirely above all things in creation!

In the poem, he claimed he would hang his bow upon the mythical Fusang tree, lean his sword against the cosmos beyond the heavens, use Mount Tai as a grindstone, and the Yellow River as his girdle. As for the boundless and unrestrained Zhuangzi, in his eyes, he was merely a noisy crow that neither cherished its own life nor cared for the suffering masses under heaven—how could such a creature compare to a true, heroic gentleman of the state?

For one's famous name to endure for all eternity, and one's achievements to be revered by tens of thousands—this was the truest, greatest meaning of life.

What a heroic gentleman!

Who would have imagined that Ruan Ji, who wept at dead ends and cast cold glances at ordinary mortals, actually harbored the ambition of a hero? Liu Xian slowly rose to his feet. Once again, he heard the symphony of heaven and earth, saw the infinite vitality of the mountains and wilderness, and the endless waves of pine trees. At the same time, a sudden flash of enlightenment welled up from within his heart:

Sitting day in and day out to observe the breath of heaven and earth, how could one's breast not breed lofty ambitions? Meeting the kindred spirits of one's lifetime, how could a hero's resolve not sprout within one's heart?!

A heavy surge of vital energy rushed toward his throat. Liu Xian let out a long exhalation—deep, rich, and resonant. After rolling through his throat and nasal passages a few times, the sound was finally gathered between his lips and teeth, transforming into a whistle as sharp as a lightning strike, fluttering with supreme elegance and clarity amidst the evening mist of the mountains. Yet Liu Xian could no longer hear it; for a moment, he lost all sensation of his own chest and flesh, feeling only as though he had been reborn, thoroughly integrated into the vast universe.

When Liu Xian finally recovered his composure, he saw Little Master Ruan gazing at him with an approving smile. He bowed deeply and said, "Thank you, Teacher, for your guidance."

Little Master Ruan waved his hand and sighed, "It is your own innate comprehension that is high, child. Ah, if my third uncle were still alive, he would surely have become a soulmate across the generations with you!"

Before departing, Little Master Ruan stopped by the front of the cart, looked at Liu Xian, and said, "Huaichong, I forgot to tell you some good news."

"Hmm?"

"I have received word that Chen Shou has finished visiting the various clans of Jiangnan and is now on his way back to the capital."