The Most Powerful Young Master of the Northern Song Dynasty

Chapter 30: Both Are Sleazy

“That’s it, then. Hurry up and hand over the secret formula you promised,” said Sima Guang. “I’ve already written it,” Wang Bang’s promptness was somewhat surprising; he pulled out a systematically organized treatise on chicken farming and handed it to him. Sima Guang took one look at it—such a lengthy treatise must have taken many days to write. This suggested that the delinquent had planned to submit this material to the imperial court long ago. “How devious,” Sima Guang said, “If you’d had your father submit it, it would have sounded rather improper for a father to claim credit on his son’s behalf—and given Wang Anshi’s character, he wouldn’t have done that either. So all of this was your scheme, wasn’t it? Having Wang Anshi’s political rival personally credit you, Wang Bang, for this achievement—that creates quite the impact. It will make the Wang family’s reputation sound much better, won’t it?” Wang Bang replied, “Your Excellency, you’re reading too much into this. What my intentions were is completely irrelevant. What truly matters is that I discovered these auspicious omens and handed them over to the imperial court.” Sima Guang couldn’t help but pause in surprise. But he wouldn’t be Sima Guang if he weren’t stubborn—even if the argument made perfect sense, he simply didn’t like being lectured by a brat. Raising his ruler as if ready to teach him a lesson, he said, “Aren’t you going to leave yet? Think you’ve got a thick skull, do you?” “I’m leaving, I’m leaving—I’m off right now. I’m not like you with your ‘Iron Head’ skill—you can even smash through a clay jar.” With that, Wang Bang slipped away. Sima Guang felt a wave of embarrassment. Did he actually know I had a head of steel? Shaking his head, Sima Guang unfolded the policy proposal Wang Bang had submitted to read it. That was eye-opening—it was written very systematically, with plenty of details. Although some of the strange terminology and processes left him feeling impressed without quite understanding them, it was precisely this that added to the essay’s air of mystery. Besides, Old Sima had witnessed the kid’s “egg” with his own eyes. The only downside was that the handwriting was a bit messy, and the writing wasn’t concise enough. While the long-winded prose flowed smoothly, it lacked sophistication—it didn’t have that air of elegance typical of orthodox scholars. At the same time, there were some “misspelled characters” he’d simplified—they looked a bit off, but were quite easy to understand; anyone with a solid foundation in the language would, of course, know at a glance which characters he was trying to convey. Sima Guang first frowned, then picked up his brush, intending to copy it out by hand as a way of revising and proofreading it for him. However, upon seeing it, his trusted advisor hurriedly said, “Please wait, Minister. Why not submit it just as it is?” Sima Guang paused for a moment and said, “This is to be submitted to the ministers and the Emperor. Is it really appropriate to use such colloquial language, such an unattractive handwriting style, and these misspellings?” The trusted advisor shook his head and said, “It’s not ideal. But since you have a responsibility to help him report his achievements, and since it’s in his own handwriting, we should respect its ‘authenticity.’ This way, the Emperor and the ministers can get a sense of what kind of person he is through his writing and handwriting.” Sima Guang understood. The implication was to let the Emperor know that he was someone who couldn’t even write properly and lacked any sense of classical literary style. In that era, this was practically a sign of being uneducated and uncultured. A child from a commoner’s family might get away with it, but for the son of a literary giant like Wang Anshi, it was somewhat demeaning. This was, to a certain extent, a way to undermine Wang Bang and give the court a negative impression of him. Sima Guang hesitated slightly, wondering if this might come across as petty or narrow-minded. However, after pondering for a long time, Sima Guang nodded and said, “Very well, I’ll take your advice. This isn’t because I, an old man, cannot tolerate the younger generation, but because I respect the facts. This is indeed his own handwriting; this is simply the kind of person he is. If I were to intentionally help him conceal it, it would make it seem as though I, Sima Guang, were covering for him and deceiving others.” “Exactly, Minister. You are impartial and selfless. Since this is the truth, it must naturally be revealed,” his trusted advisor said with a smile… After Xiao Suan left the prefectural office, he found himself secretly amused. If his guess was correct, Sima Shengren would submit my essay—with its hideously ugly handwriting and entirely in simplified characters—to the Emperor exactly as it was. “That puts my mind at ease. If you want to take me down, Xiao Suan Yang, you’ll have to try a lot harder.” That was exactly the reaction Wang Bang was aiming for. In truth, Wang Bang wasn’t incapable of writing traditional characters—he could at least write some common ones. Coupled with the Song Dynasty literati’s stubborn preference for cursive script, even if some characters were written incorrectly, it wouldn’t count as a mistake; that’s called “playing on ambiguity.” Cursive script was meant for showing off. A few years later, the Song Dynasty would produce a master of cursive script named Zhang Shangying. After getting drunk, he was struck by inspiration and wrote a calligraphy scroll that was hailed as a divine masterpiece. But when he sobered up, he couldn’t even recognize some of the characters on the scroll himself. Seriously, that’s cursive script for you. As for calligraphy, Wang Bang certainly wasn’t any good at it. But as a later-era government employee with nothing better to do, and given the need to show off, he’d occasionally practice a bit. So while his writing wasn’t great, it wasn’t exactly ugly either. The essay Wang Bang submitted to Sima Guang was deliberately made to look so clumsy. The goal was to ensure the emperor and the court officials didn’t set their expectations too high for “Little Wang Bang,” letting them know that “Loyal Wang Bang” wasn’t a child prodigy, but a ten-year-old with a desire to serve his country. That was enough. How important do they think the “child prodigy” label really is? After all, a child prodigy is still just a child, and the Song Dynasty has never lacked them. What it does lack, however, are people who please the emperor and are capable of getting things done. Xiao Suan’gang needs to lay the groundwork right now. After getting kicked in the head by a donkey, I can’t even write classical Chinese anymore—so don’t expect too much from me. Of course, spelling mistakes in Wang Anshi’s writing would be unacceptable, but when they appear in a child who’s earned merit, no one will take them seriously. Once the bigwigs—including the emperor—accept that Da Bang is this kind of person, things will be much easier from then on. No one will actually hold him to the standards of a prodigy with a vast store of knowledge. The day Wang Bang simply writes a little neater and cuts down on a couple of typos—that’ll be considered progress. In psychology, this is called a difference in expectations. It’s a curious phenomenon—there are no absolute values, only relative ones. For example, if Jack Ma wins a 300-million-yuan lottery jackpot, that’s not considered wishful thinking. However, if a female factory worker wins an i Phone in a raffle, that is considered wishful thinking. There’s more than one way to have your name called at Donghua Gate. Aside from studying, you can also cheat, rely on your looks, or just coast through—all of these are acceptable. From now on, Wang Bang needs to create an atmosphere that suggests: “I don’t study, but I’ve got the know-how.” He needs to make those guys think, “It’s only natural for this kid to cheat.” With this mindset, he can boldly get away with anything. It’s exactly like Ouyang Feng, who was a villain his whole life—but the moment he showed even the slightest hint of goodness, almost all readers forgave him. Yet Huang Rong, who was good her whole life, would make the public want to tear up the book the moment she fell even slightly short of perfection. It’s a very curious psychological phenomenon. With my daydreaming done, I pulled out my little abacus and clicked it a couple of times, calculating that Da Bang is about to make an appearance…