Chapter 79: The Seedless Pomegranate

When officials of the Song Dynasty went out, especially those holding the highest offices, the streets had to be cleared beforehand. Then came the official sedan, preceded by yamen runners carrying placards inscribed with “Quiet” and “Make Way.” As they walked, they shouted warnings, clanged gongs, and announced the dignitary’s approach as if entering a battlefield.

Today, however, the Minister of the Left, Acting Deputy Prime Minister, Zhang Dun, arrived at Cai Jing’s residence in a simple, light sedan.

“Young Cai Jing respectfully welcomes the Grand Chancellor.” Dressed in plain attire, Cai Jing had been waiting with his eldest son, Cai You, at the side gate for some time. He greeted Zhang Dun with a humble salute.

“No need for excessive courtesy, Attendant Cai.” Zhang Dun nodded and, glancing at Cai You, inquired, “And this is…?”

“My son, You.” Cai Jing replied with a smile.

“What a handsome young gentleman,” Zhang Dun praised.

Cai You, though somewhat frail in appearance, had inherited his father’s refined features—delicate brows and clear eyes, with an air of elegant poise.

“Thank you, Grand Chancellor. Please, won’t you come inside?” Cai Jing expressed his gratitude, then ushered Zhang Dun into the house.

Zhang Dun was about sixty, Cai Jing around fifty; both had passed the prime of youth. Yet, as scions of noble families, learned and eloquent, they had once been striking in appearance and stature. Even in their later years, the vigor of their youth lingered in their bearing.

The two walked side by side, neither hurried nor slow, their movements graceful and composed.

What a pair of charming, distinguished old ministers, the Cai household servants thought to themselves.

Once inside the main hall, after the customary pleasantries, host and guest took their seats. Cai Jing lifted a bowl of tea and asked, “May I inquire what brings Lord Zhang to my humble abode today?”

“I was in good spirits this morning and, on a whim, thought to pay a visit to Attendant Cai. I hope my coming is not too abrupt?” Zhang Dun replied with a gentle smile.

“You flatter me, my lord!” Cai Jing replied quickly. “For the Grand Chancellor to grace my humble dwelling amidst his myriad affairs is the highest honor—it could never be a presumption.”

Zhang Dun chuckled softly. “I have heard Attendant Cai has produced new works recently. I have come to request a piece of your calligraphy, if you would be so gracious.”

The literary world of the Song Dynasty was ablaze with talent, sparking a trend that fused painting and calligraphy; from the Emperor to the common folk, all delighted in the study of these arts. It was said, “No skill is ever wasted.” Endowed with intelligence, Cai Jing had practiced calligraphy and painting alongside his classical studies, with his cousin Cai Xiang imparting all his knowledge.

Now, Cai Jing’s regular script was restrained, his running hand bold and untrammeled; his brushwork both elegant and sturdy, with a vigor that set him apart.

Not only was his calligraphy exceptional, but his painting was also renowned. Whether depicting mountains, rivers, flora, or figures, he could capture the spirit of his subjects with ease, his brush conjuring nature’s wonders at will.

Cai Jing’s works were coveted by all in the capital; to obtain one was to possess a treasure. Even princes and ministers vied to acquire them, sparing no expense.

“My humble works are mere idle scribblings,” Cai Jing demurred. “Yet since they are so highly regarded by Lord Zhang, I shall not refuse to display my meager talent.”

Without needing to be told, Cai You left the room, and soon had attendants prepare brush, ink, paper, and inkstone.

It was said that Cai Jing lived with exquisite taste, and now Zhang Dun saw it for himself. As he sipped his tea, watching father and son bustle about, he mused privately.

Though Cai Jing did his utmost to conceal it, his clothing was as plain as could be, but from his scholar’s tools, one could discern the truth.

His brush was a deer-hair pen crafted by the Zhuge brothers of Xuancheng—the finest in the world, each one worth dozens of ordinary brushes. Not just the brush, but even the brush rest was fashioned from gold, adorned with several “Suihou” pearls the size of longan fruit.

The ink was the famed “Suanni Ink,” scented with dragon musk, made by Pan Gu, the “Immortal of Ink.” Even before Cai Jing and his son had begun to grind it, Zhang Dun could detect a faint, refreshing fragrance in the air.

The paper laid flat on the wooden table was “Chengxin Hall Paper” from Shu, renowned as the “King of Papers.” The inkstone was a rare Ge Xian inkstone from Fangcheng County in Tangzhou, its surface lustrous as jade, reflecting the sunlight streaming in through the window. When ground, the ink did not slip but spread evenly, never bubbling with heat.

Beside the Ge Xian inkstone lay another inkstone of jade, but it was used only for display. Connoisseurs knew that jade inkstones, being too hard, did not produce ink efficiently and were better admired than used.

Cai You, having finished grinding the ink, poured it gently into the jade inkstone.

Though their brush, ink, paper, and inkstone were all of extraordinary quality, the censors could find no grounds to accuse the Cai family.

Scholars often spent all they had to acquire such fine tools—this was common enough, especially for the brother of Vice Minister Cai Bian.

This was one of Cai Jing’s subtle talents, and Zhang Dun could not help but marvel inwardly.

Cai Jing took up his brush, and after the time it takes an incense stick to burn, a painting entitled “Welcoming Guests with Green Pines” was completed. He then retrieved his private seal and stamped the work.

“I fear my offering is unworthy,” Cai Jing said, setting down the brush and washing his hands with a smile.

“A true masterpiece! Attendant Cai’s art is indeed exceptional, worthy of immortals,” Zhang Dun exclaimed, genuinely admiring the work despite his reservations about Cai Jing’s character.

“I am overwhelmed by Lord Zhang’s praise,” Cai Jing replied, bowing with a smile. “Since you favor it, I will have it mounted and sent to your residence.”

“In that case, I shall accept it with gratitude.” Zhang Dun stroked his beard and smiled. “Since it is not proper to receive without giving in return, I too have brought a gift. Bring it in.”

Now comes the true purpose, Cai Jing thought. He was certain Zhang Dun’s visit was about more than requesting calligraphy; he must have another motive.

Yet to the surprise of father and son, the gift that was carried in was a chest of fruit.

As the Cai family regarded the fruit in puzzlement, Zhang Dun explained, “This chest of produce comes from the Western Regions—a rare seedless pomegranate, said to be extraordinarily sweet. I did not wish to enjoy it alone, and thought to share it with Attendant Cai.”

Seedless pomegranate? Pomegranates were common enough, but seedless ones neither of the Cais had ever heard of, let alone tasted. Though Cai Jing was still mystified, he could not refuse a gift from the Grand Chancellor, so he accepted the exotic fruit with pleasure.

The two conversed amiably for another half-hour before Zhang Dun took his leave, and Cai Jing respectfully escorted him out the gate.

“Father, what is the meaning of this?” Cai You asked, examining a pomegranate from every angle, unable to fathom Zhang Dun’s purpose.

Apart from being somewhat larger, the fruit differed little from ordinary pomegranates, leaving Cai You completely baffled.

“Let’s cut one open and see,” Cai Jing suggested after a moment’s thought.

Obeying, Cai You fetched a knife, sliced the pomegranate open, and examined it, then said, “Father, it looks perfectly ordinary.”

Not only was the exterior identical, but the inside, too, was filled with seeds—no different from any other.

Cai Jing stood, pacing back and forth, his expression grave, as though weighing a matter of great consequence.

“Father, what is it?” Cai You asked, puzzled.

“Eldest son, what color do you see inside?” After a pause, Cai Jing asked in return.

“Crimson… ah?” Cai You seemed to realize something, and stammered, “Crimson?”

“Exactly,” Cai Jing nodded. “In our dynasty, who may wear crimson? None but His Majesty himself.”

“Father, do you mean… he is referring to His Majesty?” Cai You asked in astonishment.

“Indeed.” Cai Jing nodded again. “A seedless pomegranate—he means the Emperor has no heir.”

In truth, Emperor Zhaoxu was not without children—he had one son and four daughters—but his only son, Zhao Mao, died at three months old, and since then no more sons had been born. It was a source of constant sorrow for the Emperor, and indeed for the whole Song Dynasty.

“What does he mean by this?” Cai You asked in a trembling voice. “Even if His Majesty currently has no son, he is still in his prime—surely there will be one in time. What is Zhang Dun’s intent?”

“It is not so simple,” Cai Jing replied softly. “The Emperor’s health grows weaker by the day. Should the worst come to pass… Zhang Dun is reading the signs and making plans before the storm. I cannot but admire his foresight.”

“Father, if that is so, does he wish you to…” Cai You, worried, pressed the study door closed and lowered his voice.

Matters concerning the imperial succession were as perilous as dancing on the edge of a blade—one misstep could mean the destruction of the entire family, though it might also bring unprecedented favor.

Thus, the voices of father and son dropped lower and lower, until scarcely a whisper.

Cai Jing nodded.

“If this is truly the case, who do you think could take that place? And whom does Zhang Dun favor?” Cai You continued.

“I cannot yet say what is in Zhang Dun’s mind,” Cai Jing replied. “But as I see it, there are only three possible candidates: Prince Shen, Prince Duan, or Prince Jian.”

Emperor Zhaoxu had no surviving son. Emperor Shenzong had fourteen sons, of whom eight died young. Including Zhaoxu, six remained: the Ninth Son, Prince Shen (Zhao Bi); the Eleventh, Prince Duan (Zhao Ji); and the Thirteenth, Prince Jian (Zhao Si), among them. Prince Shen, apart from Zhaoxu, was the eldest.

“Father, if so, what should we do?” Cai You asked.

“We must cultivate relations with all three princes,” Cai Jing decided. “You and your brothers must each approach one prince, but do so with utmost secrecy.”

“I understand,” Cai You replied.

“I do not yet fully grasp Zhang Dun’s intentions,” Cai Jing went on, “but for now, the most urgent matters are within the palace. I will handle these myself.”

“And regarding Zhang Dun, Father, what will you do?” Cai You asked.

“I have my own plans,” Cai Jing answered.

Cai You nodded, then asked, “Father, why did you deliberately use such extravagant scholar’s tools today?”

At this, Cai Jing smiled faintly. “He thinks me a man greedy for wealth. What do you suppose he makes of it?”