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Naturally, Fan Xian could not tell her of his conjecture. He simply took in an involuntary breath of cold air, as if he had a toothache. Haitang looked at him, said nothing, and carried on along the Yuquan River. After a short walk, they came to the edge of a small garden with a bamboo fence and a gate. There was a well on one side of the courtyard, and a stone table under the shade on the west side. Yellow, fuzzy-feathered chicks pecked silently at the ground.

This was where Haitang planted her vegetables.

Fan Xian couldn’t help but shake his head. “You can’t compare one person to another. To tell the truth, you always give the impression of being close to nature. But when you compare such a refined and elegant place as this to those stinking pigpens in the countryside, I’ve finally realized that planting vegetables and rearing chickens is something you have to pay careful attention to.”

Though Fan Xian appeared to be praising her, he was actually disparaging her. All Haitang could do was laugh. “Did you think I would be satisfied hanging around Shangjing? I have commands from my master and demands from the palace, so I had to find a quiet little garden for myself nearby.”

Fan Xian laughed. “I’m just concerned that Shen Zhong planned to give you some land to plant vegetables just to cause trouble for the local gentry.”

“I don’t know about that,” said Haitang, “and I’ve no way to find out.” She spoke calmly, and Fan Xian listened calmly. This was something he admired about Haitang. She was an extremely important figure in Northern Qi, and yet she didn’t rigidly put on this fairy-like manner. She wasn’t bitter, she wasn’t dry, and she didn’t take pains to remain indifferent to everything. She simply acted as she pleased.

Before the Empress Dowager’s birthday banquet, it was difficult to carve out some free time. Fan Xian had also temporarily dispelled his gloomy mood of the past few days. He pulled up his sleeves, rolled up his pant legs, took his tools from the grindstone, and begun helping Haitang turn the soil. After dividing the fine yellow earth in two, he took up a bowl of millet, and like the avaricious Dragon King, he stingily sprinkled the grains onto the ground, leaving the chicks chirping away, running behind him all around the garden.

Haitang crouched down and attended to the fruit trees. She smiled at Fan Xian’s tomfoolery, and as she did so her gaze was drawn to his left leg.

Fan Xian had tired himself out and was feeling rather warm. He took up a bucket of water from the well and stuck his head in, taking a great big gulp from it. As his face made contact with the water, he saw Haitang out of the corner of his eye and found that she was indeed proficient in tending to her garden. He presumed that this had been her livelihood for many years.

Ever since Fan Xian had left Danzhou, he hadn’t worked the soil. Holding a hoe in his hand wasn’t quite as comfortable to him as holding a dagger. When he watered the plants, he wasn’t as efficient at it as he was at sprinkling poison powder. In all his clumsiness, he was eventually reduced to the position of spectator. Even so, he was still tired and drenched with sweat, steam rising from the top of his head.

The sun rose to its peak at midday, and Haitang dragged along two reclining chairs and put them beneath the trellis. Some sort of fruit hung from the canopy, with its great big lush green leaves blocking out the sunlight completely.

Fan Xian exhaled a breath of warm air. He sat down on the reclining chair, casually accepting the iced tea that Haitang offered him. He took a sip and then put it down. The chair gave a creak. He closed his eyes and began to take an afternoon rest, relaxing just as he would at home.

Haitang looked at him and smiled. She wiped away her sweat with the cloth she tied around her head, and then lay down too.

The two bamboo chairs sat under a canopy, and a cool breeze made its way past the resting pair.

After some time had passed, Haitang suddenly broke the silence. “You’re an odd one, you know.”

“You’re pretty weird yourself,” said Fan Xian, his eyes still closed. “Up until now, I couldn’t figure you out.”

They had already dispensed with all the formalities in talking to each other. Haitang felt rather more comfortable. She smiled. “Why do you want to figure people out? And what does ‘figuring someone out’ mean?”

“There are some things that people do for clear, defined goals.” Fan Xian’s lips curled into a slight smile. “And I don’t know what your goal is.”

“My goal?” Haitang fanned herself with her patterned head-covering. “Why does living need to have a goal?”

Fan Xian closed his eyes, stretched out his fingers and shook his head. “Life doesn’t have to have a goal, but all the things that we do, all the goals that we wish to achieve, are done in order that we can live.”

“I’m not used to all this talking in circles,” said Haitang.

“Oh, I’m just talking nonsense,” said Fan Xian, stretching out his entire body. “I like talking nonsense with you. It makes me feel like I’m really alive, and not just controlled by my goal of staying alive.”

“You’re still talking nonsense,” said Haitang dismissively.

“I just... like the way that you do things.” After he’d said it, he couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “People like you and I who have no friends always want to find somebody to talk to.”

“Master Fan, your talent is unparalleled and you are known throughout the land. How can you have no friends?” For some reason, she had gone back to addressing him as “Master Fan”.

Fan Xian was silent for a moment. “I really don’t have any friends, and you’re beloved all throughout Qi. I’m in the middle of the enemy camp, and yet I feel like you could be my friend. After all, you haven’t been able to kill me while I’ve been in Qi.”

Haitang shot him a glance. This handsome southern official was a rascal indeed. “You are from a rich family, Master Fan. Ever since you entered the capital, things have gone easily for you. You’ve had no setbacks in your career, and the leaders of two nations both think highly of you. Who wouldn’t be satisfied with that kind of life?”

“It’s lonely.” Fan Xian didn’t seem to think that his response was pretentious in any way.

Haitang laughed, mocking him slightly. “You have someone as formidable as Yan Bingyun under your command, Master Fan. You are a powerful official of the Overwatch Council of the south. You have a beloved wife at home, your sister is a woman of some renown herself, your father is in a high position, and for now you have various friends in high places. How can you say that you are lonely?”

“My father is my father, my wife is my wife, my sister is my sister, Yan Bingyun is my subordinate, and all the people I am friends with have tangled themselves up with my own interests.” Fan Xian didn’t know why he was being so magnanimous with Haitang. “If you think I’m only pretending to be lonely or in despair, then fine. To sum it up, I can never relax as an official... I’m just unhappy.”

Haitang’s eyes were as bright as the sunlight. “Do you want to be my friend, Master Fan?”

“Let’s not talk of friendship for the time being,” said Fan Xian. “At least, when I’m with you, I feel at ease. It’s hard for me to find that.”

“What if I want something else of you?”

“You wouldn’t try,” Fan Xian answered confidently.

“You seem to have forgotten the enmity that exists between us.”

“No matter. At least if someone comes to kill me right now, you’ll help me out.” The audacious nature that Fan Xian had hidden for so long had finally slipped out.

“Master Fan, I’ve always been curious... about just why exactly you wanted to come to the north.” Haitang laughed and looked at him. The affairs of the southern bureaucracy were not exactly a secret in the north, so of course she knew of the goings on involving the Emperor’s family.

Fan Xian laughed. “...I can’t tell you.”

Haitang sighed. Fan Xian got up from the chair and stretched. “I’m hungry.”

“There’s rice in the house, there’s water in the well, and there are vegetables in the garden,” replied Haitang. “Help yourself.”

Fan Xian sighed. “When a man says he’s hungry to any woman who’s not his wife, what he means is... he could do with some wine.”

Shangjing’s most illustrious, quietest, and most dignified restaurant was the Century Pine Inn. Today, it had a distinguished guest. The visitor was rich, so the proprietor of the Century Pine Inn was waiting outside, having respectfully asked all of the restaurant’s patrons to depart, leaving behind three quiet and empty floors.

The staff of the restaurant were naturally rather surprised, but the boss gave them no explanation. He had informants in the very highest levels of the royal court, and he knew the identity of the man and woman who were coming. The man was the immortal of poetry from the south, and the woman was the Emperor’s own teacher. Together, they could have easily walked around the palace itself, let alone a restaurant.

In a private room facing the street, Fan Xian squinted at the road outside while he drank from his wine goblet. Having drunk three cups, he was still frowning, and he called for the innkeeper to bring him a fresh cup.

The innkeeper saw that he was in a foul mood, and immediately decided against his original plan of asking for an autograph from the immortal of poetry, handing him another cup of Northern Qi’s finest rice wine.

Fan Xian took a gulp and nodded.

“That was Five Grain Liquor,” said Haitang, “the finest liquor in the world. And you’re still not satisfied, Master Fan?”

“I like strong wine,” said Fan Xian, turning his head to look at her, a strange look on his face. “But I don’t want to drink Five Grain Liquor right now, because there’s a certain taste to it that makes me feel like I can’t relax.”

Five Grain Liquor tasted like Qingyu Hall, like the Ye family. It was a taste that had something to do with Fan Xian personally. He didn’t want to drink it today.

Haitang was silent once more. She just watched Fan Xian drink it all down. Her eyes got brighter and brighter, as if she were watching something she found interesting.

As he became gradually more intoxicated, there was a blurred look in Fan Xian’s eyes. His smile became brighter. “Funny, isn’t it? I live such a charmed life and yet I appear to be drowning my sorrows.”

“The youth knows not the taste of worry...” Fan Xian tapped his bowl with chopsticks as he sang. This was the first verse he had “copied” after his reincarnation. When he thought back to that time, his feelings became even more complicated.

He sang softly once more. “Leave a legacy, leave a legacy, and you will come across a benefactor; treasure your mother, treasure your mother, and amass your hidden merits. Spend your life aiding the needy and supporting the poor. Do not love money as I once did, and forget your flesh and blood. For Heaven decides what is given and taken, what is multiplied and divided.”

This was the song sung by Jia Qiaojie in Dream of the Red Chamber: “Leave a Legacy”.

Haitang’s eyes lit up.

Fan Xian let out a long sigh, and drained his goblet. “Haitang, you’re not listening to me. Get drunk with me.”

Why did he want to get drunk? There were a great many reasons why men got drunk – the greatest was sadness, feeling under attack from life’s pressures. On his trip to the north, Fan Xian had obtained the secret of the temple, he had fostered friendship between two nations, and he had successfully assembled the spy network in the north. Any way you looked at it, he should have been happy. But for some reason, he was sad. Where had this pressure come from?

The truth was simple. His sadness was because of his restless heart. In that mountain cave, he had told Xiao En that he was a traveller in this world, so he had always looked upon this world with the eyes of a temporary visitor. Even after going through all the vicissitudes of the past 18 years, he still felt a certain distance from this world. If he didn’t have Wan’er, or his sister, or Wu Zhu, then Fan Xian wished he could throw caution to the wind and live happily in this world.

And yet the pressure came from the conversation he had in that cave. Chen Pingping had made Fan Xian set his sights high. And now that Fan Xian knew of the temple’s whereabouts, he realized that he had to bear that burden alone. The secret that had weighed on Xiao En for decades would weigh upon Fan Xian for many decades more.

If he went to the temple, his life would be in danger. And what would happen to the people he wanted to protect? If he didn’t go, then he would never know what had happened all those years ago. Fan Xian was frustrated. Before, when he didn’t know, he wished he could have dug a hole into Xiao En’s skull to get at his secrets. Now that he knew, he wished he had never found out.

For his own safety, what he probably had to do was return to the capital and continue enjoying many years of success in business and in the bureaucracy, keeping the secret of the temple forever buried deep inside himself. But he would always feel somewhat apprehensive about it. He hated how he could never forget his mother Ye Qingmei, his own flesh and blood. So he didn’t want to drink Five Grain Liquor. He even had an urge to take the glass goblet in his hand and throw it to the floor, smashing it to pieces.

It was as if Qiaojie’s words in Dream of the Red Chamber were written specifically for him.

He had had the fortune of being reborn, of meeting with benefactors, of having a mother who had amassed hidden merits, allowing him to live an easy life, easily obtaining a vast fortune with her great help.

Leave a legacy, enjoy one’s remaining years. What was he meant to do for his remaining years?

Haitang’s bright eyes seemed to see right into his heart. “Spend your life aiding the needy and supporting the poor,” she said slowly.

Fan Xian suddenly snapped out of his thoughts, frightened. He knew that even if he was completely drunk, he still could never reveal the secret to anyone. But... why had Haitang said that?

In fact, she hadn’t said it for any particular reason at all. She looked at Fan Xian’s somewhat demented-looking expression, and then thought of what she had heard of that night in the palace hall banquet in Qing, when the immortal of poetry had appeared mad and unruly to the entire world. She presumed that Fan Xian had already set upon his way on the path of life, and yet he had become world-weary and dispirited, his endless success being simply by the by.

It was a common thing to see in the lives of scholars, so Haitang had said those words simply to speak her mind, wanting to urge Fan Xian to think of the people of the land... because Haitang had always believed that deep down, Fan Xian was a scholar.

“There is always so much happening in this world, where each man comes and goes, driven by his own interests.” Fan Xian laughed mockingly. “Haitang, you walk the path of Heaven, close to nature, cherishing the people, and yet you do not know that they simply act in their own favor. I have no desire to capture new territory, and I want the common people to live a little easier, but I must live easier myself first... If I want the common people to live better lives, then I must capture power for myself. But in the bureaucracies and royal courts of this world, if you have a high position, then how can you live comfortably?” [1]

Hearing his bitter words, Haitang was taken aback. “You hold significant authority, Master Fan. Never forget that morality must be your watchword.”

“What nonsense.” Fan Xian noisily struck the porcelain bowl with his chopsticks, and yet it did not break.

“There is little that distinguishes man from the animals,” said Haitang, still frowning. “Only our sense of righteousness. You and I are from different countries, but whether the people are from Qing for from Qi, they are all unique, living beings. If you revere righteousness, Master Fan, then do not forget to do your utmost to prevent war from breaking out again once you return to your home country.”

For all people to lay down their arms – this was Haitang’s goal, as Fan Xian imagined it. It was a lofty goal. If anyone else had said it, he would feel uneasy. But when Haitang spoke of it, it appeared nonchalant and natural, and it gave him confidence.

Fan Xian laughed, a hint of mockery in his voice. “So was Xiao En not a living being?”

“Killing Xiao En would save the lives of thousands. What choice does one have?” If Xiao En had escaped from prison and met with Shang Shanhu, their power would be greatly increased. If the secret of the temple were ever revealed, then the grand ambitions of the young Emperor of Qi could plunge the world into decades of war. So she had a point.

Fan Xian had the awareness of neither a politician nor a Taoist sage. He sneered. “If a hundred people were to die, and by killing 49 you could save 51 of them, then would you kill them?”

Haitang was silent for a long time.

“So we’re both heartless.” Fan Xian suddenly didn’t want to think about such boring things any more. Somewhat stiffly, he changed topic. “There is little that separates man from the animals? Man is simply better at asking for help from others.” [2]

Haitang looked up, somewhat surprised.

“My fighting skills are nowhere near yours,” said Fan Xian. “But if it were a true fight to the death, you could not kill me easily.”

Haitang nodded.

Fan Xian drank another cupful and looked at her. “Why?” he asked gently. “Because I’m good at making use of all means I have to hand.”

“In following the path of a warrior, one must first steel one’s heart, for the strength of others cannot be relied upon forever,” replied Haitang quietly.

Fan Xian shook his head. “The righteous man does not necessarily display his righteousness. But one who seeks to take advantage of others may not necessarily be an immoral man. The righteous man stands to gain much. If his goals are proper, then what does it matter what method he employs?”

Having said this, Fan Xian felt somewhat dumbfounded. Their idle talk had digressed somewhat, but had accidentally touched upon his own innermost thoughts. It was as though a ray of sunlight had struck his heart, and he suddenly understood his own true feelings. Was he empty inside? Or was he filled with emotion?

He had been given another chance at life, but he had never known what to do with it. Until today. At that moment, his mind felt clear and sober, though his eyes still clearly looked drunk. He looked at Haitang. “Thank you,” he said gently.

Haitang’s words had mostly fallen on deaf ears, but she wasn’t angry at all. Hearing those two words, she felt somewhat at a loss. She looked into Fan Xian’s drunken eyes and saw a trace of persistent determination. She suddenly felt slightly uncomfortable. She was lost in thought for a while, and it showed in her clear eyes. “In days to come, the south will be a great stage for you to prove your talent, Master Fan. Since you do not desire war, then you are my friend. I hope that one day you will come to renounce glory, and act conscientiously on behalf of the common people. The correct path can only be walked without an ounce of complacency.”

Fan Xian placed his wine goblet gently upon the table. “Do not worry. I will follow the path.”

Save for Ku He, Haitang was the greatest fighter in all of Nrothern Qi. Having such a wonderful woman protecting him dispersed all the doubts in his mind. Fan Xian had been drinking with abandon. Although he had childishly turned away the Five Grain Liquor, he had still drunk plenty of rice wine. Now his throat was dry and burning and his mind was sluggish and muddled. Airy and cheerful, he slumped on the table.

This was the first time he had drunk himself into a stupor since he had opened the box, and yet it was in a restaurant in the enemy city of Shangjing. It was perhaps a strange and stupid move to do so in front of Haitang, when he did not truly know whether she was an enemy or a friend.

“I really can’t figure you out,” said Haitang, looking at the drunken Fan Xian as he slept like a baby on the table. She smiled. “I’d always wanted to meet Cao Xueqin.” [3]

[1] Fan Xian quotes from Records of the Grand Historian by Sima Qian.

[2] Fan Xian quotes from On Learning by Xunzi

[3] Cao Xueqin was the author of Dream of the Red Chamber.