Qin's Moon: Yang Shi's Long Song

Han Fei arrived in the evening.

He arrived without wine. This was the first time Yang Huisheng had ever known him—Han Fei entered with only a scroll of bamboo slips, no wine pot. His steps were heavier than usual as he went upstairs, as if something was weighing on his mind. He pushed open the door to the elegant room, placed the scroll of bamboo slips on the table, sat down opposite Yang Huisheng, and said, "Finished. First chapter."

Yang Huisheng looked at the rolled-up bamboo slips. The slips were tied with hemp rope, and there was a trace of ink at the seal—ink from Han Fei's finger after he finished writing the last stroke. He didn't open it immediately, but glanced at Han Fei first. Han Fei leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest, as if waiting for a word.

"You've finished writing it."

"The first chapter is finished," Han Fei said. "There's more to come. But this chapter is the most important. I've been writing it for three years, constantly thinking about what the first sentence should be. Then I figured it out—it's not 'what it should be,' but 'what it can be.' If it can be written, then write it down first."

Yang Huisheng untied the hemp rope and unfolded the bamboo slips. He paused when the first line caught his eye. It read: "The law cannot be abolished because of people." As he read this line aloud, Han Fei's lips twitched, but he remained silent. Yang Huisheng continued reading—slowly, pausing after each line, as if mentally dissecting and reassembling the sentence. Han Fei sat opposite him, neither urging nor explaining. He simply waited.

After about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, Yang Huisheng closed the bamboo slip. He gently placed it back on the table, looked at Han Fei, and said, "You wrote 'The law cannot be abolished because of people.'"

"yes."

"But you didn't write about another question."

Han Fei looked at him. "What's the problem?"

Yang Huisheng was silent for a moment, then said, "If those who enforce the law are corrupt, what use is the law?"

The elegant room fell silent for a moment. Han Fei remained seated, leaning back in his chair, but slowly lowered his hands from his chest. He stared at Yang Huisheng for a long time, then looked down at the scroll of bamboo slips on the table. He gazed at the first line he had written, staring at it for a long time.

Then he said, "You've made me think of something I'd never thought of before."

"You never thought of that before?"

"I've thought about it. But I don't want to get involved." Han Fei's voice was lower than before. "Because if you think about 'what if law enforcement officers are corrupt,' it's tantamount to admitting that 'the law itself is insufficient.' I wrote this book to tell everyone that 'the law is enough.' By asking me this question, you're essentially saying—the law is insufficient."

Yang Huisheng didn't say "enough" or "not enough." He just sat there, watching Han Fei. Han Fei was silent for a while, then reached for a brush on the table, dipped it in ink, and wrote four characters in the blank space at the very end of the bamboo slip. He wrote very slowly, as if he was thinking, "Should I write this or not?" as he wrote these four characters.

He finished writing. He put down his pen and pushed the rolled-up bamboo slips in front of Yang Huisheng. Yang Huisheng looked down—four more characters had been added to the blank space at the end: "The Method of Balance." Below that was a line of very small characters, which Han Fei had just added: "This question awaits an answer. It is left at the end of this scroll, without a signature."

Yang Huisheng looked at the small print. "You wrote 'To be answered.' When do you plan to answer?"

Han Fei stood up, walked to the window, and opened it. The evening breeze blew in, carrying the smell of cooking smoke. Looking out at the rooftops of Xinzheng and the gray-blue sky on the horizon, he said, "Wait until you find the person who can answer."

Yang Huisheng sat at the desk, watching his retreating figure. Han Fei didn't turn around, but his voice came from the window: "I've been writing for many years, always thinking that 'law' was a path I walked alone. But when you raised that question, I suddenly felt—this path might need two people to walk it. One to write, and one to observe."

Yang Huisheng did not answer. He rolled up the bamboo slips again and tied them with hemp rope. He placed the bamboo slips on the corner of the table without returning them to Han Fei, as if to say, "I'll keep this for now."

Han Fei turned around from the window and glanced at him. "Aren't you going to give it back to me?"

"You wrote it. Let me check it for you."

A slight smile appeared on Han Fei's lips—not a smile, but a smile that said, "I understand." He walked back to his desk, tucked the empty inkstone into his sleeve, and then patted non-existent dust off his robe. "Keep an eye on this for me. I'll bring the next chapter in a few days."

He walked to the door, paused, turned his head, and said, "That question you just asked—what if the law enforcement officers are corrupt—I might have to think about it for a long time."

"Take your time to think about it."

Han Fei nodded, pushed open the door, and left. Yang Huisheng sat in the elegant room, hearing Han Fei's footsteps descend the stairs, pass through the main hall, and leave. After hearing the door close, he looked down at the scroll of bamboo slips on the table. The law cannot be abandoned because of people. He picked it up and weighed it in his hand. It wasn't heavy. But he felt that Han Fei had put something very heavy inside—it was still loose and hadn't yet taken shape.

He silently repeated the words "method of checks and balances" to himself. Then he put the bamboo scroll into his bosom and placed it close to his body, next to the scroll of the Heavenly Secrets Technique. The two scrolls were stuck together, one thick and one thin.

He stood up and opened the window. Evening in Xinzheng fell earlier than in summer; the outline of autumn was beginning to emerge. The first row of torches lit up in the direction of the city wall, like beads on a string lighting up one after another. He stood there, thinking of Han Fei's words: "This road may require two people to walk."

It's not just two people. There might be a third, a fourth, or even more people needed. And the words he heard on the boardwalk down the mountain, "Keep going forward, don't look back," were perhaps meant for this very path.

He closed the window.