Chapter Thirteen: Ode to the Goose (Part Two) Revised Edition

Is this youth truly Xu Shiji?

The name Xu Shiji may sound unfamiliar, but if one mentions Li Ji, or the famed Xu Maogong, then it is a name of great renown. In the tales of the Sui and Tang, Xu Maogong is depicted as a Daoist, adept in tricks and strategy, serving as the military advisor of Wagang Stronghold. Yet in true history, Xu Shiji was one of the most celebrated military figures of early Tang. Alongside another illustrious figure, Li Jing, he established formidable achievements, earning the title of War God of the early Tang. He was greatly favored by Li Yuan; after entering the Tang, he was granted the imperial surname and renamed Li Shiji. Later, due to naming taboos, he became known as Li Ji. He rose through both civil and military ranks, counted among the Three Dukes, and served three emperors—Gaozu, Taizong, and Gaozong—without ever falling from grace.

No wonder, when Zheng Shian first mentioned the name Xu Gai, Yanqing found it familiar.

Indeed, that’s right! This Xu Gai was none other than Xu Shiji’s father.

“Yanqing, Yanqing?”

Du Ruhui gave Zheng Yanqing a gentle nudge, pulling him from his reverie.

At that moment, Zheng Shian was just introducing him.

“This is my grandson, Yanqing. He will be studying with the young master in the days to come, and will attend lessons alongside Young Master Xu. I hope you will look after each other.”

Xu Shiji stepped forward with a slight bow.

Yanqing quickly returned the gesture, formally meeting Xu Shiji.

“The feast is prepared; let us take our seats and talk further... Master Sun, please, after you!”

Xu Gai stepped aside, making way.

Sun Simiao did not stand on ceremony and strode into the pavilion.

Though Du Ruhui held no official post, as a scion of the gentry, Xu Gai could hardly show him disrespect. Zheng Shian and Xu Gai followed behind. Unwittingly, a hierarchy formed—the learned leading, the officials next, followed by merchants and attendants. Yanqing and Xu Shiji, meanwhile, fell to the rear, entering shoulder to shoulder, almost by happenstance.

Xu Shiji was four years Yanqing’s senior and taller by not a little.

Walking beside him, one could tell from his bearing that Xu Shiji was trained in the martial arts.

Yanqing found this unsurprising; in the Kaihuang era, martial pursuits flourished. For a wealthy youth like Xu Shiji, such training was hardly out of reach. What puzzled him was why Zheng Renji would take in Xu Shiji.

There were scant records in the histories regarding the relationship between Xu Shiji and the Zhengs.

Yanqing cast a curious glance at Xu Shiji, who was, at the same time, sizing him up.

Their eyes met, and the two exchanged a sudden smile and a nod, but spoke no words.

Inside the pavilion, all had taken their seats. Sun Simiao and Du Ruhui were placed at the position of honor, with Xu Gai and Zheng Shian seated to either side.

“Yanqing, come sit by me,” Sun Simiao beckoned, then glanced at Xu Shiji. “And you, young friend, come join us as well.”

Xu Gai was visibly surprised, casting a look at Yanqing.

To be candid, he had not thought much of Yanqing before—after all, the boy was of lowly birth, and even as Zheng Shian’s grandson, Xu Gai had little reason to value him.

But now, things were different. Although Sun Simiao also called for Xu Shiji, it was clearly for Yanqing’s sake.

What virtue or talent did this child possess to draw Sun Simiao’s favor?

These thoughts began to weigh on Xu Gai’s mind.

Yanqing, delighted, stepped forward and took his seat beside Sun Simiao. Xu Shiji hesitated a moment, then followed.

“Many thanks to Master Xu for hosting this banquet,” Sun Simiao said, raising his cup in gratitude.

Xu Gai and Zheng Shian quickly stood partway and drained their cups in respect.

Du Ruhui then raised his cup in turn, and Xu Gai and Zheng Shian drank once more. Thereafter, the hosts offered toasts again.

After several rounds, Xu Gai clapped his hands, and singers and dancers ascended from below, performing with gentle song and graceful dance.

Yanqing, sitting to the side, took no interest in the performance.

He turned to gaze out the window, where below was a small pond, and several white geese played upon the emerald water. A few patches of duckweed floated on the surface, reflecting the lantern light, adding a touch of charm. The noise of the banquet was subdued by this tranquil scene.

“Hey...”

Yanqing felt someone give him a nudge. Snapping out of his reverie, he saw Xu Gai holding a cup and looking at him.

It was Xu Shiji who had nudged him, likely noticing his distraction.

“What so enthralls Young Master Zheng?” Xu Gai asked.

“Ah!” Yanqing apologized, “Forgive me, Uncle Xu. I was simply watching the white geese outside and lost myself for a moment. I hope you will pardon me.”

“Think nothing of it!” Xu Gai laughed. “The owner of Shouyang Pavilion is a man of refined taste. Many guests are drawn to the view outside these windows. Long ago, Wang Youjun loved geese so much he would have exchanged a copy of the ‘Huang Ting’ for them, and even built a goose pond at home—a tale oft repeated. Today, you are so captivated by geese; you’ll surely be a man of taste in time... My friend, you are fortunate indeed.”

Wang Youjun, of course, is the illustrious Wang Xizhi.

His love for geese found its way into his calligraphy.

It is said that one morning, he and his son Wang Xianzhi set out in a small boat to enjoy the scenery of Shaoxing. As they approached a village, they saw a flock of white geese on the shore, waddling adorably. Wang Xizhi was taken with them and wished to buy them. Their owner, a Daoist, said, “If the esteemed Wang will copy the ‘Huang Ting’ for me, the geese are yours.” Wang Xizhi, eager for the geese, agreed at once.

Later, he built a pond for them at home and planned to erect a stele by it. But as he finished writing the word “goose,” he was summoned by the emperor. His son, Wang Xianzhi, seeing the unfinished work, wrote the word “pond.” Thus, the father and son’s calligraphy stood together, and the story became a delight among scholars.

Du Ruhui said with a laugh, “If in the past Wang Xizhi and his son raised a stele for geese, why shouldn’t Yanqing do the same today? It would be a fine thing.”

“Me?” Yanqing looked at Du Ruhui, shaking his head. “How could I compare myself to Master Wang?”

“How would you know unless you tried?” Du Ruhui’s eyes twinkled.

Sun Simiao added, “Why not give it a try, Yanqing? Perhaps it will become a story in its own right.”

As the two bantered, Xu Gai was inwardly astonished. He could dismiss Du Ruhui’s words as a jest, but Sun Simiao was another matter—surely he would not speak nonsense. His tone seemed to place Yanqing on par with Wang Xizhi. Xu Gai was taken aback—what skill did this child possess to earn such praise?

Nor was Xu Gai alone in his surprise. Xu Shiji, ever confident in his own intelligence, was deeply curious. Without such ability, how could he have caught Zheng Renji’s eye? Was this boy, who seemed even younger, truly so gifted?

Zheng Shian, meanwhile, simply smiled.

“Well then... shall I try?” Yanqing, caught up in the encouragement of Sun Simiao and Du Ruhui, felt a stirring of enthusiasm.

Ever since the Wei and Jin, literary culture had flourished. Most taverns kept ink, brush, paper, and inkstone on hand for their patrons to express their sentiments.

Indeed, even many tavern servants, though illiterate, could distinguish good writing from bad.

A fine piece would be preserved with a knowing smile; if poor, it would be gently erased.

As Yanqing prepared to show his skill, the music and dance ceased at once.

A songstress hurriedly fetched writing materials, setting them nearby, casting a curious glance at Yanqing.

But what to write?

Yanqing gazed at the white geese in the pond outside, hesitating. He fell into silent thought, while all in the room held their breath.

Sun Simiao rolled up his sleeves and gently ground the ink beside him, making no attempt to hurry.

At that moment, the white geese in the pond craned their necks and sang aloud. Inspiration struck Yanqing, and a Tang poem sprang to mind.

Forgive me, master—necessity has forced my hand!

Yanqing lifted his brush and walked to the wall.

After a moment’s silent reflection, he began, letting the brush sweep unrestrained across the white wall.

“Goose, goose, goose...” Xu Gai read aloud.

But after the third “goose,” his brow furrowed, and he glanced at Du Ruhui and Sun Simiao, seeing both with knitted brows.

What could this possibly be? Was the boy going to fill the wall with the word “goose”?

Yet, truth be told, his calligraphy was bold and powerful, full of vigor. Still, the style was unfamiliar.

Xu Gai was lost in thought when Du Ruhui, barely suppressing his delight, suddenly exclaimed, “Excellent!”

Looking up, he saw that beneath the three “goose” characters, a line of verse had appeared: “With curved necks, they sing to the sky.”

Yanqing was now in full flow.

“White down floats on emerald waters, red feet stir the clear waves...”

“Splendid poem, splendid calligraphy!” When Yanqing finished the final stroke, Du Ruhui could not help but clap in praise. Sun Simiao’s brow also relaxed; he smiled and nodded gently.

Goose, goose, goose, with curved necks singing to the sky. White down floats on emerald waters, red feet stir the clear waves!

Xu Gai recited the poem aloud, then broke into loud applause.

Yanqing’s face flushed bright red—not from wine, but from embarrassment... To have borrowed Yan Zhenqing’s calligraphy style was one thing, but now he had also taken Luo Binwang’s “Ode to the Goose.” He wondered if Luo Binwang had even been born yet—what a mortifying thought.

Nearby, the singers and dancers pointed and marveled at the poem on the wall.

“Someone, quickly... Make a rubbing of this poem for me! The first copy is mine; don’t anyone try to take it!” Du Ruhui shouted, waving his arms in excitement.

A songstress rushed over to carefully make a rubbing.

Sun Simiao stroked his beard and smiled, “With Yanqing’s poem, I doubt anyone will dare compose another on geese from now on!”

Zheng Shian was left dumbfounded.

He had known his grandson’s calligraphy was fine, but had no idea he could compose poetry as well. When had the boy learned such skills? Was he truly a prodigy?

Xu Shiji could not help but ask, “Yanqing, whose style did you follow for this calligraphy?”

Before Yanqing could reply, Du Ruhui interjected, “Young brother, Yanqing’s script is not a mere imitation. He created it himself, drawing on Cai Zhonglang’s Stele of Liu Xiong and Wang Xizhi’s ‘Mourning for Chaos,’ blending in the movements of swordplay to forge a style all his own.”

“What?” Xu Shiji, confident in his own talent, could not restrain a gasp.

As for Xu Gai, he was utterly dumbstruck.

An original script? Heavens, this child was nothing short of extraordinary... Just moments ago, he had thought Master Sun’s praise excessive. But now, not only did Yanqing excel in poetry; when he came of age, who would dare compete with him in calligraphy?

Sun Simiao asked solemnly, “Yanqing, have you thought of a title?”

“Ode to the Goose!” Yanqing replied without hesitation.