Chapter Twenty-Three: Benevolence and the Enlightened Ruler

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“What do you think of the weather today, Brother Zilong?”

“The sky is clear and boundless, neither hot nor cold. Even though it is the height of autumn, such fine weather is rare indeed.”

“I quite agree. The air is bright and pure, the breeze gentle and mild. Is it not as if this tranquil beauty was crafted solely for the two of us?”

“You are most deserving, Yulang.”

Zhao Yun smiled reassuringly, his expression utterly genuine. “The renown of Young Lord Yu of Zhongshan is now known to all in Hebei. As for me, Zhao Yun, what virtue or ability do I possess to stand beside you?”

“Brother Zilong, perhaps the world does not know your worth, perhaps even you yourself are unaware. But I, Zhang Yu, know it well.

There is a request I wish to make, though it may be bold. I hope you will grant it,” Zhang Yu said earnestly.

“Whatever it is, pray speak your mind, Yulang.”

“Do not belittle yourself any longer.” Zhang Yu’s bright eyes met Zhao Yun’s, and he saw surprise there slowly settle into gravity. “To disparage yourself is to show me disrespect as well. If a hidden dragon of your talent can call himself unworthy, then what am I, Zhang Yu, but less than those petty thieves and tricksters?”

“This…”

“My lord!” Han Long called from outside the pavilion. “If my lord is less than thieves and tricksters, then what does that make me—”

“Silence! I’m only advising Brother Zilong, don’t butt in.” Zhang Yu tossed him a peach, which Han Long caught and ate with a sheepish grin.

Zhao Yun looked at the youth before him, his mind surging with thoughts like rolling clouds in the sky.

They had known each other only a few hours, yet it already felt as if they were old friends. Though still so young, this boy carried a maturity and steadiness far beyond his years. His manner was free and unrestrained, yet he showed just the right degree of respect.

His heart was sincere and kind, just like the virtuous lords Zhao Yun had always admired. When he spoke of the suffering of the refugees, his sorrow and concern were so genuine that even Zhao Yun was moved. Perhaps this was why the common folk praised him so warmly.

Time spent with him was effortless and congenial; their conversations were lively and full of tacit understanding. The occasional words of insight that slipped from his lips earned Zhao Yun’s deep admiration.

And his looks, his bearing…

It was a pity, though, that he was still so young, and only the son of a merchant.

If only he might encounter a sovereign or confidant who recognized his worth as this youth did—what would it matter if he had to risk life and limb in service?

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“What are Brother Zilong’s thoughts on the current state of the realm?”

Unaware of Zhao Yun’s musings, Zhang Yu peeled two grapes and popped them into his mouth, savoring the sweet and sour juice before turning to pose his question.

“I am but a humble warrior,” Zhao Yun replied modestly. “How could I presume to comment on such weighty matters? In truth, I would much rather hear your thoughts, Yulang.”

“I am but a commoner,” Zhang Yu said with an air of mock pride, “how dare I discuss such grand affairs?”

Zhao Yun could only smile wryly. “As for the world, I dare not say. All I know is that the people of Changshan do not have it easy. I have no great talent, but I am willing to use my martial skills to keep my homeland peaceful and safe.”

“And then?”

“What do you mean, ‘and then’?”

Zhang Yu stood, dusting the creases from his robes and drawing the sword at his waist. “Brother Zilong, don’t hide from me. With your abilities, do you truly have no greater ambition?

The people of Changshan are resilient, but there are countless ‘Changshans’ in the world. Heaven and earth are merciless, treating all living things as straw dogs; the sage is merciless, treating the people as straw dogs—how many straw dogs there are! Now, treacherous ministers corrupt the court, the imperial family has lost its prestige, warlords carve up the land, and the people suffer terribly… These are the signs of a world descending into chaos.

A true man should have aspirations beyond his home. With your extraordinary martial skill, Brother Zilong, you are like a great roc awaiting the rising wind—when your moment comes, you will soar high, earn fame across the land, and help the world. How could you be content to remain a mere sparrow guarding its nest?”

As he listened, Zhao Yun’s eyes grew ever brighter, and he spoke with respect, “Yulang, you are wise indeed. I do have a heart willing to serve the realm, a burning patriotism. Yet the world is just beginning to unravel, and it is hard to know which lord is truly virtuous and worthy. That is why I am still waiting and watching.”

“A virtuous and worthy lord—such men are rare indeed… Whether my own uncle qualifies, I will have to see for myself.”

“In Hebei, there are truly only two who might be called worthy of ruling: Gongsun Zan of Baima, and Yuan Benchu of Bohai. Judging from the people’s word and the preference of martial men, I imagine you lean more toward the White Horse General.”

Yuan Shao was of noble birth, his family having produced three grand ministers in four generations, and his followers stretched across the realm. Yet in the end, he was a man of the gentry, of that privileged few at the very top—he was far removed from the common people.

To most, especially those on Hebei’s borders, the fame of the White Horse General far outshone any titled noble. Who the Grand Commandant was, who the Grand Marshal might be, or whether the Minister’s family had beauties—none of that mattered. In their eyes, when the savage Hu tribes invaded, only the White Horse Cavalry and the Gongsun clan’s sharp blades could protect them.

“Exactly! But General Gongsun’s valor is paired with a tendency toward violence; he possesses great public spirit, but lacks compassion. He often exterminates entire tribes, rivers run red with blood, and that is at odds with my ideals. So I am still undecided. Might you advise me, young lord?” Zhao Yun was thoroughly convinced, and stood up to ask sincerely.

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“Brother Zilong, what do you think of my sword?”

Zhao Yun was unsure of his meaning, but examined the sword in Zhang Yu’s hand and answered seriously, “The sword and scabbard are perfectly matched, the blade sharp but without a murderous air—a weapon of the highest quality.”

“And now?” Zhang Yu placed the sword in its scabbard.

“Hidden in its sheath, its quality cannot be seen.”

With a sudden flourish, Zhang Yu drew the sword. “And now?”

“In the instant it leaves the scabbard, its brilliance is dazzling.”

With a deep thrust, Zhang Yu drove the sword into the earth outside the pavilion, then pulled it free—the blade was now coated in dirt, its shine gone.

“Talent is like a sharp sword. To realize its full potential, one must find a worthy lord—someone who can employ and appreciate talent to its utmost, or even beyond. If you choose your master carelessly, your abilities may not only go unused, but might wither away, a pearl cast into dust.

In chaotic times, harsh measures are needed. Pure benevolence, in an age so cruel that even children are eaten, will not suffice. In my humble opinion, to chase after a so-called benevolent lord in such an age is to mistake the means for the end.

Confucius once said, ‘Only when the granaries are full do people know propriety.’ Only when the people have enough to eat and survive can you teach them about ritual and virtue. And relying solely on benevolence is not the path to ending chaos.

Benevolence is akin to small favors, something even ordinary men like myself can bestow—a value that should be common in the world, a quality every person ought to possess. It is not the standard by which a true sovereign should be judged.

In my view, the measure of a worthy lord, especially in times of strife, lies in his ability, his ambition, and his character.

The lord I would serve is a hero of grand vision, who can campaign far and wide, sweep the world clean, and pacify chaos with thunderous resolve—that would be the greatest mercy to the people.

Benevolence… is what should be practiced once peace has been restored.”

When his lengthy discourse ended, Zhao Yun furrowed his brow in deep contemplation, falling silent for a long time.

“I have some business to attend to here in Changshan, Brother. I shall take my leave for now, but hope to speak with you again soon. Please do not take offense.” With a word of apology, Zhang Yu led Han Long away from the pavilion.