Yatagarasu Series
Volume 9:
The Raven's Loyalty
Author: Abe Chisato
Part 6: Suikan
Prince Natsuka is a little child who is ignorant of the world. You must teach him.
That was all Seiken had written.
Suikan examined this brief message in silence. He couldn’t decide if it was more disrespectful to him or to Prince Natsuka. Prince Natsuka was the head priest of Clear Mirror Temple; he was well-placed to punish Seiken for insolence. Prince Natsuka could easily punish Suikan for the same reason.
What on earth had Seiken been thinking, putting this message directly into Prince Natsuka’s hands? Cold sweat trickled down his spine. He was relieved that Prince Natsuka had not read this. He must never read it.
After destroying the letter in the fire, he asked, “Why didn’t you read it?”
Prince Natsuka frowned slightly. “I said I wouldn’t.”
Suikan nodded to himself. He really is an overgrown child, he thought. Seiken isn’t wrong.
Prince Natsuka could have easily read the letter and then lied about reading it. That was what most people would do. Honesty gained him nothing. Seiken must have known that he wouldn’t read the message because this was how Prince Natsuka always acted.
Seiken was strict with adults and kind to children. Their years as Keisōin instructors overlapped by decades, so he was familiar with Seiken as a teacher. He couldn’t understand why Seiken would put him in Michichika’s path again, though. He knew their history firsthand.
Michichika had chosen to serve Prince Natsuka of his own volition. He’d taken the tonsure and named himself Rokon. Suikan and Rokon hadn’t interacted much in the years since. Seiken had to know that Suikan still hated Rokon, so why was he goading Suikan into taking a position where they would need to work together?
The only explanation Suikan could think of was that Natsuka was in desperate need of instruction and protection. Thinking of Natsuka as a defenseless child who needed him as a shield against Rokon made a lot of sense to Suikan. Seiken must have known that it would, damn him.
Suikan inferred that Rokon was amused by Natsuka, who was a son of wealth and privilege as he’d been. Unlike Rokon, Natsuka had never been threatened with death by his family, but he was still a noble through and through. Rokon would find Natsuka easy to understand and manipulate. Everything Suikan knew about Natsuka painted him as a filial son of Souke—a moral priest and a role model for others. Perhaps that was true, but every noble had a shared set of characteristics that made Suikan shudder. Prince Natsuka might have been a good man if he’d been born a commoner, but nobility always conferred arrogance and blindness to certain kinds of suffering.
Rokon would love Natsuka’s naivete, his blind spots—in short, everything that made him easy to control. Suikan assumed that Rokon was slowly orchestrating Natsuka’s downfall over time, but it had been twenty years and Natsuka was more powerful and well-liked than ever. Natsuka obeyed Rokon’s directives and seemed to value his opinion, which struck Suikan as insane. Why hadn’t they destroyed one another? Rokon was certainly capable of causing Natsuka all manner of harm. Natsuka was more of an unknown, but Suikan doubted that he was lacking resources to deal with Rokon as he saw fit.
Now Suikan understood that Natsuka was one of Rokon’s victims. He was not the same kind of person as Rokon. He steeled himself; he needed to be brave for what came next.
Prince Natsuka… was essentially honest. Suikan had never met a noble like that before. Maybe that was why Rokon had chosen to serve him? But that man’s motives were never so simple. Suikan had a sinking feeling in his gut as he looked across the room to Prince Natsuka.
Suikan had to become his attendant now. There was no other choice.
***
Suikan made his farewells to the other priests and then packed his things. He followed Prince Natsuka back to Yamauchi’s capital. Before he agreed to become Prince Natsuka’s personal attendant, he’d requested a meeting with the true Golden Raven. To his surprise, Prince Natsuka had not objected to this request. In fact, the true Golden Raven wanted to meet Suikan, too.
This revelation was startling. Why would the emperor possibly want to meet him? He was all too aware of the position he occupied in the capital.
Suikan didn’t know what the true Golden Raven thought of him, but he was certain that Yukiya of Hokke despised him. Yukiya was one of the emperor’s most favored attendants, so Suikan expected some sort of interference from him in his immediate future. It was possible that Yukiya would slander him before he had the opportunity to officially become Prince Natsuka’s attendant. Suikan considered this possible, but not terribly likely. Prince Natsuka wouldn’t be pleased to have wasted a trip coming to get him if that came to pass.
As soon as he arrived in the capital, Suikan was forced to reevaluate his position. He’d expected to wait for his audience, but the emperor summoned him almost immediately after he finished unpacking. Moreover, Natsuka was not permitted to accompany him—the true Golden Raven had commanded Suikan to come alone.
Prince Natsuka was perplexed by this command. Suikan interpreted it as a declaration of war from the true Golden Raven. The emperor must want to say something that could not be shared with Prince Natsuka. Suikan immediately distrusted that.
Suikan prepared himself like a man who was going to his own execution. He entered the Imperial Palace dressed in the feather robe he’d worn as a cadet at the Keisōin. His simple attire could be seen as disrespectful, but Suikan didn’t care.
“I’m glad you came,” Emperor Nazukihiko said with a bright smile. He sat with perfect composure on his throne in the Imperial Hall. He greeted Suikan courteously by name and asked him to come closer.
Faced with the true Golden Raven, Suikan felt more confused than anything. Why had he been summoned here? The Imperial Hall was for nobles and high officials. Only people the emperor trusted were permitted to enter it.
Then the emperor dismissed the Yamauchishu guarding the door of the Imperial Hall. That made Suikan terribly nervous. The Yamauchishu didn’t leave the hall, but they stood against the wall in the farthest corners from the throne so that it would be difficult to eavesdrop on the emperor’s conversation.
“Why…?” Suikan swallowed heavily. “Why dismiss them?”
“I don’t want them to hear this,” the emperor said. “It could cause trouble for me later.” He smiled. “I think we should have an honest conversation. First I want to say that I don’t believe you’re a traitor. You’re not built for that. You don’t like me, but you won’t plot against me, either.”
Suikan was taken aback. He forced a smile and said, “You have remarkably poor judgment.”
The emperor dismissed this remark. “Do I? You are a consistent champion of Yamauchi’s common people. I don’t believe someone like you will ever be my enemy.”
Suikan ground his teeth.
“Am I wrong?” the emperor asked.
His insouciance was too much to bear.
Suikan cleared his throat. “We should speak of Prince Natsuka, but before that, there is something I desire to say to you, the emperor of all Yamauchi. I promised myself that if I was ever in your presence, I would say it.”
“Go ahead,” Emperor Nazukihiko said.
“During the great war with the Kuisaru, did you plan to use the Palace Above the Clouds as a soft target to lure in our enemies, endangering countless innocent lives?”
Suikan would never forget that battle. Yukiya of Hokke had used the civilians of the Palace Above the Clouds as bait for the Kuisaru. If anything had gone even slightly wrong, thousands of common people would have died. Yukiya had insisted to Suikan that the plan was sound, but Suikan had never believed him. From Suikan’s perspective, the low number of casualties in that battle was due to luck, not Yukiya’s strategic genius. He’d fiercely opposed the plan and had been locked up to await a military tribunal. He’d escaped during the battle and had distinguished himself well, saving many dozens of people from the Kuisaru.
At the time, it was believed that the true Golden Raven had not planned Yamauchi’s response to the Kuisaru threat. Suikan had always believed this to be a lie. He knew that the true Golden Raven had spent time in the human world and the mountain god’s realm during the war. Fleeing Yamauchi in its time of need struck him as cowardly. If the emperor had planned to use the civilians of the Palace Above the Clouds as bait, then he was malicious and contemptible. If he hadn’t, he was an absentee ruler who fled from the problems of the people he ruled.
Suikan was not predisposed to like or understand Emperor Nazukihiko. He felt compelled to speak truth to power even if he was executed as a result. Who else had the opportunity to lay charges at the emperor’s feet? Who but Suikan knew about the secret war plans that had nearly doomed thousands of Yamauchi’s common people to death during the great war with the Kuisaru?
The true Golden Raven blinked. “What a biased way to phrase that question. However I answer, you shall denounce me. Tell me, then: am I a monster or a coward?”
Suikan was surprised, and somewhat pleased, at the emperor’s level of self-awareness. He knew that he had done something worthy of condemnation.
“The true Golden Raven and I never wished for that to happen, but you understand that I am ultimately responsible for such decisions. The question shifts, then, to why I would allow Yukiya to do such a thing. Right?”
Suikan frowned. Emperor Nazukihiko was speaking as if he and the true Golden Raven were separate entities.
“If you did not wish for it to happen, you should have stopped Yukiya,” Suikan said. “And if it was already too late, then at the very least you should have declared that it was a mistake. Because you failed to do so, Yukiya became even more arrogant.”
The true Golden Raven shook his head. “Let me say one thing in my defense, if I may. Yukiya also did not want to do it. He didn’t want to, but he could, as I could not. He did it because he understood that it had to be done.”
Suikan was briefly speechless.
Yukiya had always been an insufferable noble. Ruthlessly practical and entitled, he was the kind of person that Suikan was born to hate. He recognized Yukiya’s intellectual brilliance—Yukiya was practically born an adult—but he’d never liked the boy. Suikan thought that Yukiya’s easy manipulation of people and resources was a net negative for Yamauchi. Even if circumstances had conspired to shape Yukiya into who he was, Suikan would never stoop to sympathize with him. His hatred was too ingrained to shift.
Perhaps that emotion showed on his face. The true Golden Raven gave him a wry grin. “Yukiya often does the things that I cannot,” he said. “To rule well, I must make use of him.”
“Because Yamauchi won’t change its ways,” Suikan said bitterly. “It makes me sick.”
The true Golden Raven’s face became a dispassionate mask.
Suikan had intended to hurl insults at him next, but his voice failed him. He felt like the temperature in the room had dropped several degrees. “You understand him, but you let him do what he wants anyway, don’t you?” Suikan asked.
“Indeed. I understand him, and I permit him to act.” He nodded. “However, I am always concerned about the circumstances that compel him to act. It is better to prevent such circumstances from arising in the first place. I believe we agree on that point.”
Suikan had no idea what to say. He shook his head to clear it and then ventured, “If you continue to condone Yukiya’s methods, then one day I may very well put Prince Natsuka in your place.”
The true Golden Raven remained unruffled. “If you managed that, I would have made any number of mistakes. I’m glad that you are here in Yamauchi. We need more people like you.” He smiled. He was so much younger than Suikan, but he seemed older somehow, more world-weary and wise. There were dark circles under his eyes and his movements were stiff. Exhausted and unsure of himself, he sat before Suikan and spoke as honestly as he could.
Suikan wondered if the true Golden Raven knew what would become of him in the future. Perhaps he’d already resigned himself to his fate.
“What did Yukiya say about my serving Prince Natsuka?” Suikan asked.
The true Golden Raven’s smile twitched at the edges. “He said that you have talent, but that you lack the perspective to play the political games required.”
“That’s all?”
That bastard. But that does sound like something he would say, Suikan thought.
“He said he finds Rokon more frightening than you. He worries that you’ll prevent him from calling on Natsuka when he feels it’s prudent, but he’s already planning around that.”
“It sounds like he underestimates me.” Suikan laughed before he could get angry. “But I’m sure that’s the truth as he sees it.”
The true Golden Raven gazed down benevolently on Suikan and said, “You don’t ask yourself whether or not you must do something before you act. You first ask whether you can endure doing that thing. That is where you differ from Yukiya. It’s not that one of you is right and the other is wrong. Yukiya calls that quality naïveté, and he is right. You are naïve, and reality is harsh. But I think a world where your perspective is true is more desirable than reality.”
Suikan looked into the true Golden Raven’s eyes. The true Golden Raven held his gaze.
“Do you understand what I mean? What we’re really talking about?” Nazukihiko asked.
Suikan swallowed. “Yes,” he said softly.
They were speaking about how Yamauchi would change in the future. The true Golden Raven was interested in Suikan’s guidance. That was surprising.
The Golden Raven exhaled and leaned on the armrest of his throne. “Regrettably, even if I were to speak of this to my elder brother, he likely would not understand. He thinks he understands brutality, warfare, and bloodshed, but to him, Yamauchi is beautiful and perfect in its current state. He does not comprehend a need for change. For reform.”
Something about the way he said this caught Suikan’s attention. “Beautiful and perfect, you say?”
“We see the world too differently. Even if I were to demonstrate my own perspective, I don’t know if he would understand it. Perhaps you can help me with that. By sharing your own thoughts with him, he might be prompted to take a closer look at the things he believes he already knows.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
“My elder brother can easily recite the Wen Xuan, yet he does not know how a melon grows. I would like you to teach him such things. You probably believe I am likewise ignorant, but even when you compare him to me, my brother is ignorant and lacks experience. It’s not his fault; he was raised to be as he is: a good and proper son of Souke. His family shaped his development, but it is never too late to learn.”
Suikan listened and didn’t interrupt.
“The true Golden Raven is similarly constrained by tradition and public perception,” the emperor said. “I once thought that was fine, but now I feel differently.”
“Because Yamauchi will soon perish?”
“That is one reason I changed my mind, but it is not the only reason. In any case, I cannot leave things as they are, nor do I intend to. It would trouble me if my elder brother were to remain unchanged. We must be aligned in our goals and our thinking. I wish to borrow your strengths so that my allies can see things the same way that I do.”
What a sad request, with so much essential misunderstanding behind it. The true Golden Raven sat alone on his throne, but that didn’t mean his way of thinking should be isolated from others. If even his closest allies and friends couldn’t understand him, what did that say?
He does not despair despite the fact that he is misunderstood, Suikan thought. He could respect that about the man. The emperor knew that he wasn’t understood and wished to change that. Suikan deemed that a worthy goal.
Suikan nodded his head. “Understood.”
The true Golden Raven’s tone softened when he said, “Then I entrust my elder brother to your care.”
***
Suikan spent some time thinking about everything the emperor had said to him. Upon reflection, he decided that the first thing he would do was make Prince Natsuka eat a melon.
“How is this supposed to help me understand Rokon’s true intentions?” Natsuka asked.
Suikan brushed this question aside. “You will understand in time,” he said in his most authoritative teaching voice.
After Prince Natsuka ate the melon, Suikan instructed him to plant the melon seeds in the garden of Clear Mirror Temple. He told Natsuka to water the seeds every day.
After that, he made Prince Natsuka weave feather robes.
To his astonishment, Natsuka had scarcely any experience weaving feather robes. He was a nobleman who never transformed; he’d spent his whole life wearing beautiful garments and had no need to create a feather robe for himself.
Watching Natsuka struggle with something that even a commoner child could do with ease, Suikan despaired of teaching him anything important.
Suikan braced himself to teach the method in a different way. He feared that Prince Natsuka would reprimand him for strictness or a failure to teach him the skill, so he needed to tread carefully.
“What’s this? You look like you’re having fun,” Rokon said. He came over to them with a spring in his step.
When Rokon heard that Suikan would be serving under Natsuka, he was overjoyed. He’d been hoping for that outcome all along. He kept bothering Suikan at random times, so Suikan finally snapped at him. Whenever Rokon got in the way, Suikan would unceremoniously drive him off with a kick. In this way, he managed to secure quite a bit of time alone with Natsuka.
After Natsuka could properly weave feather robes, Suikan took him out into the city with a small guard detail. He made Natsuka walk down the main street in his feather robes and gave him some coins to buy bamboo shoots.
Natsuka bought an entire basket of bamboo shoots and didn’t bother to check the quality of them. After that, Natsuka ate bamboo shoots with every meal for more than a week.
“What were you thinking?! Are you an idiot, spending all the money you have?” Suikan shouted, exasperated.
“Uh, you told me to buy bamboo shoots,” Natsuka protested.
“I told you that the money was your allowance for today, and you spent it all on bamboo shoots.”
“What is an allowance? No one would think those few coins were all the money I had.”
“I gave you enough to purchase dinner in the city as well as the bamboo shoots. Besides, you didn’t even try to bargain, so you got ripped off.”
As the two grown men argued by the side of the road, a lady passed by and giggled behind her hand.
“How would I bargain?” Natsuka asked. “Haggling about the price is an insult to the merchant, is it not?”
“That’s a very admirable way of thinking, but that only applies when you’re dealing directly with the person who grew the bamboo shoots, not the person selling them. The shop where you bought the bamboo shoots sets their prices with bargaining in mind.
“But haggling is disgraceful,” Natsuka said. “It’s disrespectful.”
“Ordinary people manage their household finances by doing disgraceful, disrespectful things. They eat anything, even the tips of turnip leaves. Even a five-year-old is more capable of running errands than you. Next time, I’ll go with you. And when we get back, we’ll cook as well.”
“Why must I do these things?”
“Because you went and bought so many bamboo shoots. This is part of your education. Stop grumbling and learn how to cook.”
“Commoner men don’t cook,” Natsuka muttered, but when the time came, he peeled bamboo shoots clumsily and didn’t utter a word of complaint.
Natsuka kept being sent on errands into the city. He had no idea why. What does he expect me to do? Natsuka thought. These skills are useless.
Natsuka frowned at the ground as he carried provisions home from the market.
Suikan gave him a pointed look. “We’re not playing around here. You should take all this seriously.”
He decided to have Natsuka visit the Valley next. He thought that Natsuka would be shocked by this suggestion, but he’d visited the Valley before.
“I’ve been to the Valley many times.” Natsuka explained that during the height of his political struggle with his younger brother, he went there for secret meetings with the faction that was trying to put him forward as the crown prince. When Suikan pressed him for details, he was oddly reluctant to speak more. It seemed like he didn’t get along with the bosses or the King of the Underground and feared to encounter them again.
“This is not a place someone like me should go,” Natsuka said primly.
Suikan decided that Natsuka absolutely had to return to the Valley. “If you pretend to be a low-ranking nobleman who’s going out for a bit of fun, you’ll be fine.”
“And what will happen when people find out who I am?”
“They won’t kill you because you were rude to them in the past,” Suikan said. “You got in trouble with the bosses because you acted like you were more important than them and made demands of them. If you don’t behave like that, nothing bad will happen.”
When Natsuka had gone to the Valley before, he’d been surrounded by guards and hadn’t so much as set foot in a brothel or a gambling den. Believing that he understood the Valley from that limited exposure was laughable.
Suikan arranged for Natsuka to dress as a lesser noble and visited one of the Valley’s gambling dens with him. There was no real trouble; Natsuka was seen as an easy mark and lost all his money, but that was commonplace in a gambling den. Natsuka was thrown out into the street when he ran out of money. He stood there gaping like a fish as he absorbed what was happening. Never in his life had he been treated as anything less than an imperial prince. Everyone’s attitude toward him completely changed when they believed that he was a lesser noble. They’d taken everything, even the coat he’d worn.
When he was dressed like a noble, the people of the Valley had treated him with a kind of obsequious rudeness, but once he was down to his underclothes, their attitude turned rough. When he had been all dressed up, people had called out to him from all sides and tried to drag him into gambling houses and brothels. After he’d been stripped of anything of value, people stopped paying attention to him, but he had more leeway to observe the Valley as it was.
Natsuka walked slowly down the crowded streets of the Valley. He saw stinking cesspits full of garbage, sick and injured people left to die on the side of the road, and people without limbs performing hard physical labor. Natsuka was so stunned by everything that he didn’t know how he was supposed to react. He pitied the injured and the sick, but he could do nothing for them.
A thin child tugged at Natsuka’s sleeve, and then he was led to a shabby, ill-lit gambling den. The moment he entered, men tried to strip him of the few clothes he wore; he barely managed to escape their clutches.
“Do something about this, Suikan,” Natsuka snapped.
He was pathetic, standing there in the half-darkness wearing nothing but his underclothes.
“Uh, sorry. I’m out of money myself.”
“Liar. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
The gambling den refused to let them leave until Natsuka agreed to wash dishes to pay his made-up debts.
“This is a learning experience,” Suikan said as he helped Natsuka wash dishes.
He wasn’t joking.
The child who’d led them there made an appearance to pat Natsuka’s shoulder sympathetically. He grinned, showing off missing teeth.
Suikan was assisting Natsuka because he was a nobleman and it wouldn’t be fitting for him to wash dishes by himself. He also wasn’t practiced at it; his technique required correction.
His hands were unaccustomed to such work, but Natsuka was diligent in his own way. He wanted to get this over with, but he didn’t want to do a shoddy job. When the child said things like, “You missed a spot,” and “That’s not how you dry the dishes,” he accepted these corrections without rancor. He also never stopped working. If he was frustrated with the current state of events, he didn’t show it.
Suikan admitted to himself that Prince Natsuka had at least a few praiseworthy qualities.
The child was also impressed that Natsuka didn’t run away. “You’re very serious,” the child said, vaguely awed.
When the work was done and they were about to go home in disgrace, the child handed Natsuka a green cucumber and said, “Good job.” He smiled again, gap-toothed.
Suikan felt a wave of nostalgia and grinned. “You should eat that.”
“How could I? It hasn’t been tested for poison.”
Suikan shrugged and then bit off one end of the cucumber. “Now it has,” he said after he swallowed. “This was picked recently and cooled in one of the wells. It’s nice. Eat the rest of it quickly before it gets warm.”
Natsuka nervously bit off the cucumber’s stem. He realized that he had nowhere to spit it out and despaired. Resigned, he spat the stem onto the ground and then bit into the cucumber. He took so long to eat it that Suikan became bored.
When the cucumber was almost gone, Natsuka looked down at the remainder in amazement.
“What is it?”
“This… is actually good,” he said.
“I’m glad you like it.”
After that night, Natsuka resisted less when they went out into the city and to other places. They visited the city’s pleasure district, the theaters by the lakeshore, and the areas around the city’s security checkpoints next.
In the pleasure district, Natsuka dressed in tattered clothes and was given no money to spend. After watching a play in one of the theaters, Suikan guided him into a tavern to eat with the local drunks. At the checkpoints, Natsuka posed as a temple servant who’d come to shop for dried sweetfish, which he had to barter for, not buy with money.
Natsuka struggled on these outings, but not as much as before. Sometimes he even managed to enjoy himself.
By the time small melons began to grow in the garden of Clear Mirror Temple, Natsuka had learned to spray them with a diluted solution of bamboo vinegar when they were attacked by insects or mold, and he also knew the sorrow and resentment of having ripe fruit ready for picking eaten by birds. In the city, when he saw vegetables sold by street vendors, he would often say things like, “That’s a good crop.”
Suikan observed Natsuka’s usual work in the temple and suggested that it might be better to look at the petitions he received before the other priests examined them in detail.
“Why?”
“I believe there must be things that you can learn from them.”
Natsuka appeared skeptical, but he did as Suikan suggested. He visited the places that the petitions came from to gain even greater understanding. Just as Suikan had thought, most of the petitions sent in by common people were completely unreadable.
The petitions that reached Natsuka clearly differed in quality. The prince discovered that there were priests who only sent properly formatted petitions up to him and discarded the unreadable ones. Some priests rewrote the unreadable petitions themselves, making a fair copy based on what they could read. One priest dictated requests directly from commoners.
When Natsuka summoned the priest who had taken the trouble to dictate commoner petitions, the priest said that he was not following regulations; he’d come up with this idea because he felt pity for poor commoners who couldn’t read or write.
When he investigated further, Natsuka found out that other priests gossiped about this priest and said he’d never be promoted.
Natsuka was visibly shocked to learn all of this. “You have an admirable mind,” Natsuka told the priest. “I have been negligent, and I owe you an apology for how things have been run up until now. I will make sure you are rewarded for your efforts.”
The priest, who had come in trembling and expecting to be reprimanded, fell to his knees and bowed. Tears streamed down his face as he rejoiced at his good fortune.
Natsuka watched him, his expression thoughtful. “If I had only listened to gossip and reports, all I would know was that he was slow with his work. How strange.”
Suikan decided to offer a few words of caution. “Such men are rare,” he said. “It is impossible for you to verify every aspect of every priest’s work in Yamauchi. Even in Clear Mirror Temple, your influence is limited. But there are things that you, and only you, can do. Focus on what you can control, and concentrate your efforts on where you can do the most good.
“Delegation is also critical,” Suikan continued. “You must identify those who understand your intentions. You must trust them and their judgment, but not too much. You will inevitably disagree with those you delegate tasks to at times, even if there is no ill will between you. You must strive to work through these disagreements and find the best solution.”
“Hmm,” Natsuka murmured. “I feel like I’ve begun to understand a little of what you are having me do.”
That was true. Suikan’s tasks had seemed arbitrary at first, but now Natsuka saw the design behind them.
***
“He’s lucky,” Suikan said that night at dinner. He was speaking of the conscientious priest that Natsuka had rewarded that day.
Natsuka’s chopsticks stilled.
It was customary for Natsuka and Suikan to take their meals together. At first, they had only shared the table because they needed to eat the bamboo shoots, radishes, and other such things that they bought and cooked each day. Before long, they started using meals to discuss their days and what Natsuka was learning.
“It is not correct to say that he is simply lucky,” Natsuka said. “He works hard every day. That’s deserving of praise.” He piled some simmered vegetables onto his plate.
Suikan considered his response carefully. “Prince Natsuka, do you think that I am here now because I worked hard every day?”
Prince Natsuka swallowed his food and then asked, “Didn’t you? You’re quite capable. I assume it took consistent effort for you to become that way.”
“No,” Suikan said. “I am here because I am lucky.”
There was a subtle shift in Natsuka’s expression. He set his chopsticks down.
Suikan also set down his chopsticks. “I was born in the Valley,” he said. “When I was little, I didn’t even know who my parents were. My father turned out to be a wealthy merchant from the city. He took me out of the Valley, but he eventually threw me out of his house. Then I became a temple attendant, but I caused too much trouble and they kicked me out, too. By chance, I was taken in by a powerful noble family, and I was given the opportunity to earn a noble title and free myself from my circumstances. If even one thing was different about my life, I wouldn’t be here.”
Natsuka listened intently.
“There are many people more capable than me,” Suikan said. “For someone like me to be plucked out of the Valley, educated, and rewarded for my efforts takes absolutely absurd luck. I was born at the lowest rung of society. My upbringing was poor, and my character is likewise poor. I am here because of luck. The priest you praised also occupies his role because of luck.”
Natsuka considered Suikan’s words carefully. He still thought that the priest was worthy of praise, but he was also lucky that Natsuka had noticed his diligence and rewarded him. Other priests were doubtless also worthy of his admiration, but Natsuka didn’t know about them. If Suikan had not drawn attention to luck as a factor, Natsuka would never have even thought about it. The priest’s life was now changed because of luck.
Prince Natsuka was clever enough to realize that luck cut in two directions. He was not experiencing a heartwarming tale where virtue and hard work were rewarded. For every lucky priest, there were a hundred unlucky ones. For every fortunate orphan rescued from the Valley, a thousand suffered poverty and deprivation. Yamauchi was a profoundly unfair place. Far more opportunities were given to those who were already fortunate than to those who were not.
“My mentor, Instructor Seiken, puts this problem in a similar way. We have physicians who can cure many illnesses and treat many injuries. Some people know that and decide that inflicting suffering is justified, because a remedy exists. Seiken opposes this point of view, of course. Inflicting harm is not justified just because that harm can be mitigated later. The harm is unjust, even if it is later cured or erased.”
“What harm are you speaking of?” Natsuka asked.
“Consider the Valley,” Suikan said. “The Valley takes in criminals, true, but they also take in those who have been cast out of the world above for unjust reasons. The nobles in the world above justify their actions because the Valley exists. The Valley’s existence is the mitigation of the harm that is caused by their unjust punishments. The nobles tell themselves that those who end up there are suffering the consequences of their own actions, so their consciences remain clear. In reality, they use the Valley and its resources to continue their unjust policies, and the cycle continues. The claim that those who work hard are elevated by nobles and that lazy criminals fall into the Valley is a blatant lie.”
Seiken had no great liking for the Valley, but he understood why it existed and sympathized with the innocent people living there. He had recently been made Vice Commandant of the Keisōin, the Commandant’s second-in-command. He was committed to running the Keisōin in accordance with the wishes of Emperor Nazukihiko. His leadership spurred significant change to the Keisōin’s curriculum, mostly for the better.
“In Yamauchi, there are people whose circumstances cannot be helped and people whose natures cannot be changed,” Suikan said to Natsuka. “Most people who suffer do not deserve it. I do not want those who take their misfortune for granted to stand above them. I want you, as the head priest of Clear Mirror Temple, to be a voice for the less fortunate.”
“Their voice?”
“You stand in a place of privilege. Those who need aid do not. Lend them your privilege and let them make use of you.”
“I am to be used?”
“What is wrong with being used?” He laughed. “It means you’re useful. You’re too wealthy and have too many advantages. There’s a difference between sharing what you have and being exploited.”
Natsuka didn’t appear entirely satisfied by this.
“The human heart does not bend to one’s will,” Suikan said. “You are in a position of authority. If you seek to impose your will by force, those under you will inevitably lie to gain a better position for themselves. The more those lies pile up, the more difficult it will become to see the truth.”
“Then what should I do?”
“Approach the problems you face with a sincere heart, and solve them honestly.”
Natsuka tilted his head. “But what if the problems I face are false, or the people who come to me lie? You’re always saying that I am naive. How can I be sincere and honest if I must worry about deception?”
“It is not wrong to be sincere and honest,” Suikan said. “Quite the opposite. It is possible to make use of others, and to be useful yourself, without being false or deceptive.”
Natsuka folded his arms. “That sounds difficult. Using people is manipulation, and that seems inherently deceptive to me. Is it possible to be honest and manipulative at the same time?”
“It is,” Suikan said. “It is a mark of maturity to realize this truth. If you insist that you cannot make use of others while remaining true to yourself, then you have not grasped the nature of reality.”
Natsuka lapsed into silence.
“Idealism does not create plans,” Suikan said. “If you wish to create your ideal world, you must work within the limitations of that world. I am encouraging you to be practical and realistic, not dishonest.”
Natsuka appeared troubled. Suikan didn’t know if the prince had fully understood his reasoning or not.
After that day, Clear Mirror Temple became less hostile toward commoners and priests of lower rank. All the priests were commanded to dictate fair copies of the verbal petitions made by illiterate commoners. The priest who began this practice was appointed to lead this effort.
As a result, the number of petitions increased, and Natsuka became busier each day. He never complained.
The true Golden Raven was highly pleased by the changes that Prince Natsuka was implementing in the temple.
“Once, you said to me that you would make up for what I lack. Do you remember? Now that I’m the emperor, my field of vision keeps narrowing. Things I used to see are no longer visible to me. I’m sure I am deficient in many areas.”
He said that Natsuka had done well to shore up his weak points.
Two or three years passed, and Natsuka devoted most of his time to the activities of Clear Mirror Temple. He saw his brother less and less as they each became busier in their respective roles.
***
The true Golden Raven had no sons and only one beloved daughter. There were whispers of making her a ruling empress and her father’s heir. Emperor Nazukihiko greatly desired this, and Prince Natsuka supported him wholeheartedly.
The princess was raised in Shion Temple, so she was called Princess Shion.
Suikan learned that the emperor had given his young daughter authority over one of the temple’s herb gardens and smiled. I see, he thought. He wants his daughter to know how to grow melons, too. He knew that the emperor seriously intended Princess Shion to rule after him.
Prince Natsuka cherished Princess Shion as if she were his own daughter. He looked forward to the day when she would rule. He barely noticed that Nazukihiko had started watching him more closely than ever—he was practically spying.
Suikan noticed, of course, and he was more than a little agitated by the true Golden Raven’s attitude. He didn’t have a good understanding of his role as Prince Natsuka’s attendant; he had no idea if he’d done what the emperor wanted in Natsuka’s service or not. But he couldn’t believe that he and Natsuka were on the wrong path—not when he saw how earnestly Natsuka responded to the petitions of people who needed his help.
Natsuka was growing as a person day by day. Suikan didn’t know what the true Golden Raven was doing, but the presence of spies or informants suggested that he was trying to figure something out about his brother. A secret, perhaps? Suikan couldn’t figure it out, but it did no harm to let the emperor spy on them. Perhaps the emperor would come to understand that Prince Natsuka shared his ideals and his hopes for the future.
Suikan discovered what the spies were doing—too late.
The true Golden Raven, Nazukihiko, was assassinated that year in the month of cool sunsets, when the hydrangeas were in full and glorious bloom.
***
The death of the true Golden Raven was a shock, and yet it felt strangely inevitable.
On a rainy evening at dusk, Nazukihiko descended into the garden of Shion Temple in raven form, where his wife and daughter were.
By the time Natsuka received the report and rushed to Shion Temple, his brother was dead in his wife’s arms. Blood still flowed from his wounds as his head hung limply from his neck.
Natsuka couldn’t process what had happened right away. It was such a normal day—a normal evening. Nazukihiko should be asleep in the Night Palace or the Golden Raven’s Palace after a day of work. How had he been injured? Had the Yamauchishu allowed this to happen?
Confused as he was, Natsuka knew immediately who had masterminded this terrible attack: the former empress, Shiun no In. His mother. She had been trying to kill Nazukihiko since he’d been a child, and she had finally succeeded. She was convinced that if Nazukihiko died, Natsuka would have to become the next emperor.
When Natsuka confronted her, she confessed her crime gleefully. That was bad enough, but the full investigation revealed that Princess Fujinami—Nazukihiko’s sister—had wielded the knife that had killed him.
Natsuka couldn’t believe that his younger half-sister had done such a thing.
Fujinami had no powerful backers or support. She had a friendless and lonely existence because she’d caused so much trouble during Nazukihiko’s Rite of Ascension. She’d been sent to a temple to keep her out of further trouble. Natsuka had only met her a handful of times before that, and as the years passed, he completely forgot about her.
Grieving and appalled at himself, Natsuka shoved his personal reactions to the side. He loved his brother, but he could do nothing for him now. He owed Princess Shion everything he had to support her.
Princess Fujinami’s motives continued to trouble him. What had she been thinking? Why had she murdered her own brother? Had his indifference driven her to such a reckless and desperate act?
In some ways, indifference was worse than hatred. If he had hated Princess Fujinami, he would have known—and cared—that she existed.
Regardless of Princess Fujinami’s motives, her actions caused a scandal. The former empress was accused and convicted of Nazukihiko’s murder, but Fujinami’s name and her place in the empress’ plot were concealed.
On the day that his mother’s punishment was handed down, Natsuka was utterly exhausted: bone-weary, so tired that he couldn’t force himself to sleep or stay awake. He stood in his room in the temple and considered the idea of becoming the next emperor. That was what his mother wanted. He gasped for breath, his whole body rejecting the idea that he would have to rule.
But then Natsuka’s father legitimized an illegitimate prince—another younger half-brother. Natsuka was tainted by association with his mother, so he would not become the next emperor.
Nagihiko became the next crown prince.
Nagihiko’s mother was none other than Duchess Asebi of Touke—the duchess whose scheming had resulted in Princess Fujinami’s banishment to a temple.
Even an idiot could put these pieces together, and Natsuka was far from stupid. The Touke family had colluded with the Nanke family to assassinate Nazukihiko and put Nagihiko on the throne.
Obvious as this plot was, Natsuka couldn’t stop it. Losing Nazukihiko was a sea change, a profound shift that left Natsuka and his allies without a strong foundation. Without him, his friends and family started fighting among themselves. They had lost their guiding star, and they had no idea where to go from here.
The two broad camps of disagreement were led by Empress Hamayū, Nazukihiko’s wife, and Yukiya of Hokke, his personal attendant and appointed military strategist.
Hamayū refused to cooperate with people who had murdered her husband and the father of their child. She had lived much of her early life as a commoner after her noble parents fell from grace. She and Nazukihiko had been childhood friends, and when they’d met again, they had chosen to marry for affection instead of political gain. She could never forgive her husband’s murderers, and it galled her to see Duchess Asebi, her former rival, as the mother of the next emperor. She insisted that their daughter should be made Yamauchi’s next ruling empress, in accordance with her husband’s wishes. She barricaded herself and her daughter in the Sun Palace, where Yamauchi’s crown princes traditionally resided.
Yukiya argued that they should acknowledge Nagihiko’s claim to the throne and work to rebuild their faction under the new regime. Right now, Nazukihiko’s faction was at a severe disadvantage. If they fought, there would be war—and casualties. He insisted that it was impossible for a ruling empress to ascend the throne without strong backing from Yamauchi’s systems of power. He wanted Hamayū and Shion to be safe, and that meant going along with the corrupt and murderous regime—for now.
Hamayū and Yukiya were too diametrically opposed to agree on anything. Natsuka tried to mediate, but neither side listened to him.
Then the King of the Tengu, who had been Nazukihiko’s friend, produced the emperor’s last will and testament. He carried it in a blood covenant box, which only Nazukihiko’s close relatives could open.
Hamayū and Yukiya both firmly believed that Nazukihiko must have entrusted the future to them. Both of them would abide by his will, whatever he’d decided.
Princess Shion opened the blood covenant box in the presence of Yukiya, Hamayū, Natsuka, the Yamauchishu, and the King of the Tengu, her face tense.
Do everything as the empress wishes.
That was all that Nazukihiko had written as his last will and testament.
***
The great hall of the Sun Palace had been built in imitation of the Imperial Hall. It was used by Yamauchi’s crown princes to conduct affairs of state. Usually an austere and tranquil place, the hall descended into pandemonium after Nazukihiko’s will was read.
Much of the military revered and supported Yukiya, so they were in shock. Several people shouted at each other about what the will meant. Those with more decorum whispered to their friends. Some of the court ladies wept.
Hamayū withdrew from the hall, taking Princess Shion with her. The little princess was pale and upset.
Yukiya spun on his heel and went outside. He’d been convinced that Nazukihiko would trust him, and he’d been proven wrong.
Hamayū watched Yukiya go, laughing hollowly. She was triumphant, but also shattered. Natsuka could scarcely bear to look at her. Both Yukiya and Hamayū were irreparably changed after his brother’s death. He wondered if the same was true of himself.
The King of the Tengu remained silent, his shoulders slumped.
Natsuka knew that he had to do something. This was the time to take command, but he had no idea what he should command. His head hurt. He felt like he was trapped in a nightmare.
“Well then, what shall we do? Shall we follow the Empress and lay waste to the Imperial Court?” Rokon asked. He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “If you command it, it will be done. All the pieces are in place to cause a great upset.” He was slightly flushed and sounded thrilled, like a child who’d been given his favorite toy.
Natsuka’s eyes flew wide. “You… you knew this would happen. You chose to serve me because you knew this day would come.”
“And?” Rokon grinned, baring all his teeth. He laughed. “I hate stupid people; surely you’ve noticed that. People whose actions are directly tied to their desires are excruciatingly dull. People I can’t predict are interesting to watch. You’re incredible in that regard, Prince Natsuka. You’re so powerful, but you don’t want any of it. You’re not stupid, but sometimes you act like a fool. You have managed to balance your circumstances and desires very well so far, but I knew that would have to change eventually.
“There is a canyon of cruel reality between the beautiful things you believe in and the demands that your life and position make of you. You’ve chosen to ignore the yawning gulf beneath your feet until now, but you can ignore it no longer. I knew this would happen, and so I chose to serve you.” His voice was low and lilting, sing-song. “What will you choose now? What will you do with Yamauchi, now that its fate is in your hands? I can’t wait to find out.”
Rokon had no idea what Natsuka would do, and that was so exciting! He’d wanted this day to come for such a long time. “I have told you many times, haven’t I, that I will obey any command as long as it comes from your mouth. Now you know why.” His laugh was high-pitched and semi-hysterical.
Natsuka thought he resembled a wild beast who’d broken free of his cage after a long struggle.
“Choose, Prince Natsuka,” Rokon said. “Entertain me! All of Yamauchi is yours to do with as you wish.”
Natsuka staggered back. He dug his nails into his head and stared firmly at the floor. Someone, anyone, please just kill me, he thought. His brother’s body was barely cold. He wouldn’t submit to this treatment. It was cruel and unjust.
If he seized command, Yamauchi would go to war. Yatagarasu would kill each other.
If he didn’t seize command, Yamauchi would be destroyed. The magic that had created it wouldn’t last now that the mountain god had died and been reborn in a new form.
“There is no time. Decide!” Rokon roared, his teeth gleaming, his smile terrible. His voice boiled out of him like toxic sludge. His glee was evident in every gesture.
And then Rokon dropped like a stone, his head shifting sideways. He landed with a dull thud.
“Shut up, you bastard,” Suikan rasped. There was an empty iron torch holder in his hand.
Natsuka gasped in alarm. “You… is he dead?”
Suikan shook his head. “If he could be killed by something so simple, my life would be a lot easier.” He snorted and then tossed the torch holder away.
It was silent all around. Natsuka and Rokon had drawn the room’s attention.
Suikan knelt before Natsuka and said, “Prince Natsuka, what do you wish to protect? Commoners can barely plan a day ahead. The wealthy among them might plan a month ahead. Nobles can perhaps plan a year ahead. The one who rules them must plan even further ahead. You have an idea of how things should be. How will you work to make that idea a reality? Your younger brother was remaking Yamauchi according to his desires. You understood that well enough. That brat of Hokke and I are merely strategists; we’re not built to rule. You must not be the same as we are.”
“If we act on ideals now, Yamauchi will be destroyed before it can be remade,” Natsuka said quietly.
“True. We must face reality. Irritating as it is, Yukiya is correct. We have lost.” He smiled, but there were tears in his eyes.
Lost.
Suikan was right.
Natsuka felt like he’d just awakened from a long and terrible nightmare. He’d felt trapped by circumstances since his brother’s death. Everyone was watching him now, waiting to see how he would react and what he would do. He saw frightened and angry faces all around him. So many people were looking to him for support. How could he help them all?
Hamayū’s gaze landed on him like a touch. She didn’t want support from him, but something else that he couldn’t identify.
What Natsuka really wanted was to turn back time, but that was impossible. Regrets wouldn’t help him now. He looked around the room and took a deep, cleansing breath.
“I cannot accept injustice,” Natsuka said. “But I also cannot sacrifice people’s lives for the sake of ideals.” He sounded eerily calm to himself.
He could choose force and impose his own brand of justice. Many people would follow him no matter what he decided. But if he chose violence now, he would be no better than the people who had taken his brother’s life.
“Empress Hamayū, please stand down.”
Hamayū glared at Natsuka. “Are you telling me to accept this absurdity? This is not just a matter of justice, but a matter of logic,” she said. “We cannot possibly let them win. They killed Nazukihiko—simply because he was inconvenient for them. It is not reasonable to ask me to accept this. You’re telling me to bow to tyranny because it is stronger than I am, and I will not. It is not just.” Her eyes scanned the hall.
“Empress Hamayū.” Suikan turned to face her. She was breathing heavily. “I believe that I understand your fears. You have already come to the Sun Palace. If you leave this place, you and your daughter will need to run for the rest of your lives. There is nowhere safe to run, so you think that your only logical option is to fight.
The Empress gasped.
Suikan shook his head.
“That is not so. It is all right; the princess can escape. That is why we are here. We are trying to protect you,” Suikan said patiently. “We ask for your trust. Please.” He stepped forward and then looked toward Natsuka.
Natsuka nodded.
Empress Hamayū was still glaring, but she was listening. She retreated a step as if she were afraid.
“You’re not wrong,” Natsuka said. “This situation is unjust, but we cannot change that right now. We must set things right, but that cannot be done here and now. We have lost. If we strike out recklessly now, we will lose more.”
“They killed Nazukihiko,” Hamayū shot back. “Why should we capitulate to the demands of his murderers? We are already harmed, and we’ve already lost. How much more can we stand to lose?”
“Do you think you were the only one who loved Nazukihiko?” Natsuka asked. “He was my brother. I hate his murderers as much as you do. But we are noble, and we govern. We have responsibilities to those we rule. We cannot act out of hatred, pretending to be righteous, when innocent people will surely suffer for it. I can’t believe that Nazukihiko entrusted you with his full authority because he wanted you to avenge him.”
The Empress opened her mouth and then closed it. She looked like a lost little girl far from home.
Natsuka remembered that Hamayū’s parents had been executed when she was very young. She’d spent much of her life fleeing from the people who’d killed them.
“You’re no longer a friendless child far from home,” Natsuka said. “I am on your side. I will support and protect you and Princess Shion no matter what it costs me.”
“But…” Hamayū trembled from head to toe. She was torn between protecting her child and protecting Yamauchi. That choice was impossible for any parent to make.
“What are you doing?”
The question echoed in the stillness of the hall. The voice sounded so much like Nazukihiko’s that Natsuka gasped from surprise.
“Princess Shion?” Natsuka asked.
She was soaking wet. When had she gone outside?
Princess Shion walked into the hall with her usual grace and composure. Her mourning garments hung heavily on her, trailing water, but her posture was perfect. Her black hair stuck to her pale cheeks. Her eyes shone like jewels, their sharp corners slightly elongated like her father’s had been. She was frowning slightly, her lips pressed together in a thin line. She was so young, but very dignified.
“The will of His Majesty the Golden Raven is clear. Obey the empress in all things,” Princess Shion said.
A wave of agitation swept through the crowd in the hall.
Natsuka’s composure wavered only for an instant, when he thought he’d heard Nazukihiko speak through Shion. He swiftly composed himself as he’d been taught. Sons of Souke must always be dignified, righteous, and strong.
Only now did Natsuka realize how grotesque his upbringing had been. He’d been shaped into a very specific tool since he’d learned how to walk. Princess Shion was also in the process of being shaped for a role. He felt like her kindred spirit when he said, “Shion, you must leave this matter to us for now.”
“Do you intend to disobey the commands of the empress?” Shion asked.
“You’re the emperor’s heir, but you’re also still a child. The decisions we must make now do not fall on you. It would be cruel to burden a child with such choices.” He knelt before her and bowed his head. “Ask for my help, and I will give it. This, I swear.”
Shion’s expression crumpled. “I…”
“It’s all right. I’m on your side. I always will be.”
Shion’s dignified mask fell away, revealing the devastated eight-year-old girl beneath it. She shivered. Her hair and clothes dripped onto the floor.
“Help me, Uncle Natsuka. Please.” She stepped forward and clutched at his sleeve. “I don’t care what happens to me. Please save my mother.”
“Shion,” Hamayū said, her voice breaking.
A wave of pain passed through Natsuka, worse than heartbreak. “I understand,” he said. “I will save your mother. I will save you, too. I promise.” He was about to add, “We have to run now,” but Shion’s response surprised him.
“No,” Shion said firmly. She was crying, but the emotion on her face was rage, not sorrow. “I will fight.”
Natsuka was briefly intimidated by the force of this statement.
“All this happened because of me,” she said. “I have to fight. I’ve got to.”
Natsuka looked Shion in the eyes. “I know how you feel,” he said. “I promise we will fix what can be fixed together, but you have to trust me.”
“How?” Shion asked. “How can we fix this, Uncle Natsuka?”
“Someday, you will fight,” Natsuka said. “I will make sure that you can, even if you must fight alone. Until then, it is my responsibility to make you strong. It is my fault that Yamauchi is the way it is now, not yours. Can you forgive me? Will you trust me?”
Shion gave him a skeptical look. “Do you promise? You’ll let me fight someday?”
“I swear it. But right now, you must run.”
Shion nodded firmly. “All right. I will.”
“You’re wasting time,” Rokon said from the floor. “If you’re gonna run, you have to do it now.”
Natsuka had forgotten about Rokon; he’d been unconscious for so long. Now Rokon sat up, blinked a few times, and focused on the princess. He sprang to his feet with ease. Blood oozed from one temple, but if that bothered him, he didn’t show it. He was no longer smiling. He looked a little disappointed, if anything.
“Yukiya made up his mind long ago. His plans will be moving ahead of ours. We have to hurry,” Rokon said.
“I know,” Natsuka said. “Suikan!”
“Yes?” Suikan asked. He came closer to Natsuka and Rokon.
“The princess is the key to Yamauchi’s future. I leave her in your care.”
Their eyes met.
Suikan nodded, hiding his face as he smiled. He finally understood why Seiken and Nazukihiko had gone to such great lengths to make him Prince Natsuka’s attendant.
“Don’t worry about things here. Focus solely on protecting Princess Shion,” Natsuka said.
“Understood, Prince Natsuka.” He performed a flawless bow—the first he had ever given Natsuka. Then he saluted in Yamauchishu fashion, offering his third leg to his lord.
Suikan turned his smile on Shion. “This way, Your Imperial Highness,” he said. She came to him, and then he picked her up. He exchanged a few words with Hamayū and her attendants, and then he fled further into the Sun Palace with Princess Shion in his arms.
The Empress said nothing as her daughter was taken away.
***
Natsuka stepped out into the courtyard of the Sun Palace.
He looked up at the sky and quietly waited for Yukiya to return. It was raining softly, the water droplets forming a mist on the ground.
Rokon snorted. “Your choice was boring. Again.”
Natsuka laughed. He was surprised that he could still laugh after everything that had happened. “Boring paths are often the most difficult and rewarding to follow. If you can’t appreciate that, then you still have the mindset of a child.”
Rokon tilted his head as if he were puzzled.
Natsuka had never found that look endearing before today. “I probably won’t bore you for long,” he said in an encouraging tone. “A new path starts here. I’m sure I’ll surprise both of us before I reach the end of it.”
From afar, he saw the silhouette of a three-legged raven flying through the sky.
Come on, Yukiya. Nazukihiko’s path has diverged from ours, but we live on. I have chosen the path I must walk, and I will never regret it.
Translator's Note
Wen Xuan, or Selections of Refined Literature, is a foundational anthology of Chinese literature compiled by Xiao Tong (501–531 AD) during the Liang dynasty, making it the oldest surviving anthology arranged by genre. It contains 761 pieces of poetry and prose from the late Warring States period to the early Liang dynasty, excluding Confucian classics and philosophical texts.
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