7. Rising at the crow of the rooster, one must strive to improve oneself

It wasn’t exactly an unpleasant parting; at most, the old lady still clung to those Confucian notions of ruler and subject, father and son. Zhang Xun couldn’t care less. If it were about loyalty to Zhao Da, maybe Zhang Xun would consider it—after all, Zhao Da still had hopes of restoring the entire Xia, something resembling a real ambition. But after Zhao Er, which Zhao lord had such hopes?

Don’t judge a man by his words, but by his deeds.

After all, the old Zhao family once produced a renegade like Chen Gou; he paid me my wages, and I fired his guns, nothing more. If he falls, I won’t go down with him.

That afternoon, Zhang Xun went again to hand out reward money to the archers who had joined the tiger hunt, taking the chance to practice some volley shooting. Sharpening one’s skills at the last moment—though unpolished, the bow still shines. These archers were just what the name implied: local militia and rural troops who drilled in times of peace and marched when war called.

Though called local archers, they were really the villagers and tenant farmers loyal to the Zhang family, many of whom had been relatives for over a century. Since the Yang Wu era, when the family rose as junior officers, first serving the Southern Tang and later passing the imperial examinations under the Northern Song, over four hundred years had passed. Their branches and descendants spread throughout the countryside, filling entire districts with Zhangs.

Before he knew it, evening was near. He instructed the archers to drill for two more days, then join the group heading to Beigang to capture the monstrous flood dragon. Zhang Xun swung his arms as he walked back.

By chance, he met Lu Xiufu and Li Rang, who had returned from the county seat after official business. How could they not be invited to the city officials’ banquets?

Seeing Zhang Xun, the two called out greetings. After all, they were comrades of the same generation, all members of the ruling class—naturally close. And even if not close, they were connected by marriage.

Seeing them, Zhang Xun stopped. They left their boat and came ashore, smilingly asking what he had been up to that day. Li Rang had an attendant fetch a small box.

Opening it revealed five or six folding fans imported from Japan. Most fans used in the Central Plains were round, but the Japanese had innovated the folding fan. Around the Song-Ming transition, Japanese merchant ships trading with China often carried thousands, even tens of thousands, of these folding fans.

As the weather grew humid and warm, a folding fan was quite welcome. Li Rang explained that his family had brought them back from Mingzhou on a fast ship as a novelty.

Opening a fan, one saw a robust pine branch painted upon it. The Japanese style of painting was actually quite interesting—not to be dismissed lightly. Lu Xiufu’s fan displayed the sun rising over Izumo with vibrant colors.

Some enthusiasts said that the more a folding fan unfolds, the wider the path of life becomes—highly auspicious. People like good omens, and so these fans gradually gained popularity in China.

Along with the fans came silk bags with strings, convenient for tying to belts; Li Rang’s thoughtfulness was evident.

The men chatted as they walked home, where food and wine awaited, ready for their return. Li Rang casually pulled out a fan painted with lush peonies and chrysanthemums, rich and splendid, and presented it to his aunt. Zhang’s mother was naturally pleased; old age rarely favors solitary austerity.

Seated around the table, fanning herself with the peony fan, Zhang’s mother asked if Lu Xiufu had mostly handled the affairs concerning the white armor. Lu Xiufu, of course, replied yes; if things weren’t settled, how could he sit down to eat? He surely remained in the city, negotiating with those feudal bureaucrats.

Since that was so, Zhang’s mother bowed slightly and spoke directly: she earnestly requested Lu Xiufu to say a good word for Zhang Xun before Li Tingzhi, to recognize his contributions with a recommendation document.

This was no favor, but official business.

In the Song Dynasty, for lower officials to be promoted, they needed endorsements from officials at the level of circuit commissioners or above.

Circuit commissioners included high-ranking officials like transport commissioners and pacification commissioners. Among them, Li Tingzhi was a leading figure whose recommendation could quickly secure Zhang Xun’s appointment.

The moment she spoke, Lu Xiufu turned to look at Zhang Xun. Zhang was munching on lamb when suddenly hearing they spoke of him, and he choked on a spring onion, stars flashing in his vision.

“No official position, no official position, no official position!”

No way!

For such a straightforward matter, Lu Xiufu was bound to agree. But seeing Zhang’s obvious resistance, he put down his chopsticks and said they would discuss it more thoroughly tonight with his brother-in-law.

“Ah? Oh, sharing a bed then?” Zhang thought of his own surprisingly large bed, custom-made in Hangzhou, and didn’t dare refuse.

He glanced at his eldest sister urging the children to eat, who showed no displeasure; clearly, Zhang Xun was the one with the muddled mind in the room.

“I see you have the will to rise. Why refuse to become an official?” Lu Xiufu naturally asked once they lay down.

“No, no, no,” Zhang Xun replied, “I’m just bound to my hometown, it’s my duty.”

He wasn’t thinking of becoming a model citizen praised by all, but simply because Changzhou was his home. As a local gentry representative, and with the court unable to organize a tiger hunt, he took it upon himself. After all, the court was far away in Hangzhou, but the Zhang family was tied to Changzhou.

If Changzhou flourished, so would the Zhang family.

“Oh!” Lu Xiufu, a man of insight, clearly sensed Zhang’s words were insincere.

“My brother-in-law, please don’t trouble yourself. I have no grand ambitions to save the state.” Zhang spoke honestly: you save your kingdom, I’ll mind my own business.

To put it bluntly, betting on both sides has always been the way of great families through the ages. If you win, you take my son. If I win, I protect your family. A thousand years ago it was so, two thousand years ago as well.

“Not so,” Lu Xiufu turned sideways, patting Zhang on the shoulder, inviting him to talk face to face.

“Not so where?” Zhang turned.

“To protect your homeland and hold official office are not mutually exclusive,” Lu Xiufu pointed out plainly.

By now, in the Southern Song, locals could serve as prefects and magistrates in their own regions. If Zhang’s goal was to safeguard the land and its people, what harm in being recommended to govern Jinling County briefly?

It would make protecting the homeland all the easier.

Yet Zhang Xun’s lack of interest in officialdom was intriguing.

“Ah…” Zhang didn’t know how to answer.

Lu Xiufu smiled gently, not pressing for a reply, turning away to close his eyes and rest. Zhang, however, found no sleep and kept pondering.

Before long, the rooster crowed outside. Lu Xiufu opened his eyes and noticed Zhang’s uneven breathing; a flicker of concern crossed his gaze as he reached out to pat Zhang.

Sure enough, Zhang had spent the night lost in thought, dozing off and waking repeatedly, barely sleeping.

“The rooster has crowed; brother Xun, you must encourage yourself,” Lu Xiufu said as he rose, donned his clothes, took down the treasured sword hanging on the rack, and gave Zhang a reassuring smile.