Chapter 5: An Unexpected Turn

Early the next morning, Cai Cong rose before dawn. He brushed his teeth and washed his face with a pained expression, then took his book and sat in the courtyard, reciting aloud as if yesterday’s events had been nothing more than a dream.

His mother, Lady Cai, was a woman entirely without her own opinions, adhering strictly to the Confucian codes of conduct: obeying her father at home, her husband after marriage, and her son after her husband’s death. If it had been the previous Cai Cong, she would have managed everything, but the present boy was far too independent; she could no longer stop him from doing what he wished—a typical woman of the feudal era.

When she saw her son could read and study, she was so moved her hands trembled. While cooking, she deliberately boiled two extra eggs, insisting her son needed nourishment. Cai Cong couldn’t understand how such a small child could possibly consume two eggs and a large bowl of porridge.

Thus began a gentle struggle between mother and son, and in the end, they split the two eggs between them. The neighbors were all curious. Hadn’t they said yesterday they were going to the yamen to press charges? Why was everything so quiet today?

It wasn’t until noon that Cai Cong finally helped his mother out of the house. Just as they boarded the ox cart, they saw an old man in the distance, leaning on a cane and slowly approaching, surrounded by a group of villagers.

Lady Cai hurriedly jumped down from the cart, knelt, and respectfully greeted him, “Greetings, Clan Elder. Forgive me for disturbing you, I am truly at fault.”

“Cough… Stand up, now. Cough… How many times have I told you, don’t be so hasty in your actions—you’re a mother yourself.” The old clan elder’s throat was thick with phlegm, and he couldn’t help but cough as he spoke. Though he scolded her, his fondness was unmistakable.

“Granduncle, I pay my respects. Your health is frail; you should be resting. Why have you come all this way?” Cai Cong knelt and kowtowed respectfully, then straightened and voiced his concern.

In his memory, the old man was the only one who truly cherished him—a child whose father was unknown, often bullied—yet this elder alone would tell him stories and guide him. That very night after buying rice, he’d asked Cai Gang to deliver a stone of rice to the old man’s home.

“With such a serious matter, how could these old bones not come and see for myself?” The elder looked at Cai Cong with deep affection, especially after hearing that the boy had taught himself to recite the classics. He felt as though Heaven had granted the Cai clan a prodigious child.

“Don’t go! Zhang Jiao’s sworn brother is a bailiff at the county office. If you go, they’ll devour you and leave not even your bones.” Seeing Cai Cong’s silence, the old man spat out a glob of phlegm and spoke with sorrow. The clan was small, always bullied—Zhang Jiao dared not provoke the neighboring Chen family only because they were numerous and talented.

Cai Cong shook his head firmly. “I must go. Retreating will only embolden them. Please remain at home. Even if the magistrate is in Zhang Jiao’s pocket, I have my own way of handling things.” With that, he helped his mother onto the ox cart, and they set off.

The old man reached out, then let his hand fall. His eyes widened as he turned to the idle villagers, roaring, “Why are you just standing there? Are all the Cai men dead, that a widow and orphan must go alone to the county office? All of you, go and lend them your strength!”

“Let’s go! Grab your things—we can’t lose face!” a young man shouted at once.

“Take what? You want to storm the yamen? Idiots! Go empty-handed and just follow behind them,” the old man snapped, banging his cane on the ground in frustration. Was this half-blood orphan Cai Cong truly the only clever son of the family?

In the countryside, sometimes the clan elder’s words carried more weight than an official’s. With his command, all the men silently fell in behind Cai Cong and his mother’s cart, saying nothing as they made their way toward Chang’an.

Lady Cai was nervous; she rarely left home except in her parents’ company when they were alive.

Chang’an’s layout was peculiar—the yamen was near the Imperial City, which itself adjoined the Palace. Thus, the county office was in a precarious position: right beside the government’s nerve center, every action fraught with caution, for fear of attracting the wrath of some higher authority.

The county magistrate was a man in his thirties with a goatee. Even in plain clothes, he exuded a sense of justice and dignity. His name was Cui Hua, and his surname alone revealed his birth into the illustrious Cui clan, one of the great families of the age.

At this moment, he sat in his study reading, but was clearly distracted.

“Xunxian, do you think that country child will really come? An eight-year-old dares to bring a lawsuit?” After a while, unable to concentrate, he set his book aside and asked his advisor in puzzlement.

“My lord, there’s no need for concern. Whether he comes or not, Zhang’s family has already sent gifts. As the new magistrate, if you resist temptation and uphold justice for this widow and child, your reputation will surely flourish.”

His advisor, styled Xunxian, wore a crimson Daoist robe, speaking calmly, with the air of one in full command of the situation.

“If they come to accuse the Zhang family, then I can win fame. But what if the Cai child doesn’t appear? What am I to do then—the victim is gone.”

“You should consider it thus: under your jurisdiction, a local tyrant bullies a widow and orphan so severely that they dare not bring charges. The tyrant, unrepentant, attempts to bribe you with silver to seize their family’s secret recipe. Yet as a scholar, you possess righteous integrity and would never collude with villains. Therefore, you seek out the victim yourself and uphold justice for the people.”

“A true strategist, Xunxian! That puts my mind at ease,” Cui Hua said, stroking his beard and finally smiling. He had read much, but was still inexperienced in officialdom, yet to be tempered by the ways of the bureaucracy.

Cai Cong gazed at the drum of petition at the yamen’s gate, his heart calm. In the era of Emperor Taizong, the government was well-ordered, corruption rare, and with Li Shimin newly ascended, the blade of authority hung high—any wise man knew to keep a low profile for now.

Even if the Chang’an magistrate were corrupt, he had ways to make him yield. Only last night had he discovered that his family was not as powerless as he’d believed.

He walked up the steps to the drum. The frame was high, but a villager soon lifted him up. He took the mallet and struck the drum, but his strength was lacking and the sound didn’t carry far.

A bailiff quickly approached. “Who strikes the drum for redress? Where is your petition?”

“I did. The petition is here!” Cai Cong produced the prepared document from his breast and handed it over.

“A brat with barely a hair grown dares bring a complaint? Are all your adults dead?” The bailiff eyed him askance, having been tipped off the night before and showing no courtesy.

Cai Cong’s face darkened. Suppressing his anger, he spoke deliberately, “In Great Tang, only those who sue an official and seek an audience with the Emperor must accept corporal punishment. Are you saying the Chang’an yamen is the imperial palace?”

The bailiff’s expression changed. Though public discourse was freer now, who would dare imply a yamen was like the palace itself? That was tantamount to treason.

“Watch your tongue! Stay here while I report this,” the bailiff snapped, flustered, and hurried inside. He was at a loss—this child’s words were too sharp. He’d heard that Zhang’s master was also accused of treason at their first meeting. Next time he saw Cai Cong, he resolved not to let him speak at all.

Cai Cong and his group waited outside for half an hour, the crowd growing ever larger and more restless. Yet Cai Cong remained calm, steadying his uneasy mother as he gazed at the sign above the yamen.

“My lord, the crowd outside grows larger. Seeing the victims so wretched, the curses have begun. Shouldn’t you proceed with the hearing?” Xunxian had slipped out to observe, finding hundreds assembled and growing nervous. If anyone incited them, a riot could erupt at any moment.

“It’s time. Call the court!” Cui Hua’s eyes flashed. Though inexperienced, he was not without cunning. Today he would make his name and establish authority. He needed a surge of public outrage—then a dramatic reversal—to quickly win fame.

The sudden call to court sent the staff scrambling, clerks grinding ink and preparing paper in a panic.

Outside, the crowd surged like a tide: “Why won’t you hear the case? Why won’t you hear the case? Corrupt official, come out!”

People of Guanzhong were fiery by nature, quick to intervene at the sight of injustice—especially when a mute child and a helpless widow had stood so pitifully at the yamen gate for so long. If not for strict laws, the doors might already have been smashed.

“Bring in the complainants!”

Cui Hua’s command rang out, and soon Cai Cong and his mother were summoned to court. Lady Cai had never witnessed such a scene: rows of bailiffs with swords and batons, their faces fierce. Her legs gave out and she knelt, crying out to the magistrate.

Cai Cong’s knees did not buckle. He cupped his fists and bowed. “Cai Cong greets the magistrate.”

“Be at ease. Since you are the complainants, why have you gathered a crowd outside?” Cui Hua rapped the table for emphasis.

“My lord, more than two hundred people are outside. By law, this is an attempt to storm the yamen—they should be arrested and punished!” The lead bailiff, standing at the front with a long sword, called out before Cai Cong could speak.

“This is my court—who are you to interrupt? Stand down!” Cui Hua barked. The bailiff looked confused, then broke into a cold sweat—he realized the new magistrate was eager to assert control.

“Cai Cong, just answer my questions.”

“My lord, I did not gather a crowd. They are merely fellow villagers and passers-by, curious as to why my case has not been heard,” Cai Cong replied calmly, though things were not unfolding as he’d expected.

“Not heard in time? How long has it been since you submitted your petition?” Cui Hua feigned confusion, though he was secretly pleased—the child was playing along perfectly.

“Over an hour. Has my lord not seen the petition?” Cai Cong likewise feigned bewilderment.

“Over an hour?” Cui Hua repeated, then slammed the table, his beard bristling. “Who received the petition? Why was it withheld?”

“It was me. I forgot, my lord. Please forgive me,” the bailiff confessed, sweating profusely.

“Forgot? People come to court in distress, and you neglect them—what use are you? Seize him, strip his uniform, and expel him from the yamen!” Cui Hua shouted, but no one moved.

“My lord, Ma Xiaohu only made a mistake. If you dismiss him over this, you’ll chill the hearts of all the brothers—no one will work hard in future. Please forgive him.” The bailiff leader now stepped forward, threatening in a measured tone.

“Insolence! Do you dare defy orders?”

“No, my lord. But if you do this, the men will lose heart—there will be no one willing to serve.”

“If they refuse, they’ll be dismissed. Do you think the yamen can’t run without you? Defy an official order and you’ll be exiled a thousand miles—do you want to go to Lingnan?” Xunxian now intervened sharply. Though only an advisor and not supposed to be in court, he had no choice but to help, as Cui Hua was too inexperienced. At his words, all the bailiffs’ faces changed; exile meant they’d never return to Chang’an.

“We dare not!”

“Then why aren’t you obeying orders?” After the reprimand, he bowed to Cui Hua. “Forgive me, my lord, for overstepping. You are merciful, but these men require firm handling.”

“It’s nothing. I only wished to give them another chance—they disappoint me.” Cui Hua sighed ruefully, as a bailiff brought the petition retrieved from Ma Xiaohu.

Cui Hua glanced at it, then sprang to his feet. “What fine script! Whose hand is this? I’ve studied the masters, and this is unique—a new style, though lacking in strength. A pity!”

“My lord, I wrote it myself—not strong enough yet, I’m afraid,” said Cai Cong.

“Not at all! One’s script reflects one’s character. Yours is bold and upright, exuding integrity—a style of its own. Bring a chair for him!” Cui Hua’s tone was grave; in this era, scholarship was revered almost to obsession.

“My lord, is it not time to summon Master Zhang, the defendant? The day grows late.” The bailiff leader emphasized “Master Zhang,” reminding Cui Hua of yesterday’s heavy bribe. He cursed the deputy magistrate for falling ill; now, no one could restrain Cui Hua. Inwardly, he seethed—Zhang Jiao, you fool, you said he was a peasant, but he’s clearly a prodigy. I’ve been tricked.

“Of course I will summon him. I’d like to ask him about the hundred taels of silver he sent me yesterday. Bring another chair,” Cui Hua said softly. Seeing Cai Cong help his mother to a seat and remain standing himself, he immediately ordered another chair.

Cai Cong thanked them and sat down with composure, showing no trace of nervousness. Cui Hua admired him all the more—a true scholar, unruffled by honor or disgrace, watching the storms of life with a calm heart.

With the defendant yet to arrive, Cui Hua conversed with Cai Cong, finding the boy surprisingly erudite for his age, which impressed him greatly.

At that moment, a bailiff burst in. “My lord, there’s trouble—an angry crowd has gathered outside, too many to count!”

“What? Send word to the Jinwu Guards at once. Go find out what the crowd wants,” Cui Hua ordered, scared but not flustered.

“The Jinwu Guards are here, but they dare not act. The people are here to see how you judge the Cai family’s case,” the bailiff reported, having already investigated.

“Curse that village chief, oppressing a widow and orphan. Let’s see how the Chang’an magistrate rules.”

“He deserves death! Nine sons died for the Tang, leaving a single sprout, and still they’re bullied. Heaven, open your eyes!”

“If the magistrate dares judge unjustly, I’ll strike on Vermillion Bird Avenue myself!”

The crowd was in an uproar, voices shouting from all sides. By now, Cai Gang and the villagers who’d spread the word had slipped away.

“Should we suppress the crowd? If the general blames us, we’ll be in trouble!” a Jinwu Guard whispered to his captain.

“If you want to suppress them, go ahead. Nine heroes died for the country, leaving only a widow and orphan—if you oppress them, you’ll bear the shame forever,” the young captain replied, his tone icy.

At this, all the guards fell silent. If their own comrades had died in service, and someone bullied the survivors, they would draw their swords without hesitation.

“Keep watch. Tell the brothers not to let anyone cause trouble—in all else, we don’t interfere,” the captain said, gazing at the yamen.

“My lord, hold the public trial now! It’s a golden opportunity for fame—there are over a thousand people outside,” Xunxian whispered excitedly to Cui Hua, trembling with anticipation.