Volume One: Flames on the Frontier Chapter Seventy-Seven: The Cui Clan of Qinghe

Qingyun was born into the Chen family of Yingchuan, a notable clan. She was by no means of humble birth and, having managed the affairs of the manor since childhood, was resolute and decisive—a woman of rare strength. After marrying He Yu, love softened her somewhat, making her more tender, but even so, she remained far more formidable than most women. By modern standards, while other women were little more than housewives, Qingyun was a true career woman—a white-collar executive, no less.

Witnessing Qingyun’s solemnity, He Yu suddenly realized he might have underestimated the weight carried by these clans and noble families. The mere invitation by Cui Liang was enough to make a woman of Qingyun’s background act with such gravity; it was clear what kind of presence the Cui family of Qinghe commanded in the north of China.

“My lady, you are truly beautiful today,” He Yu praised, seizing Qingyun for a kiss. Qingyun was used to her husband’s sudden affection. Since they were in the inner chambers, she didn’t mind and simply laughed before busying herself with selecting jewelry. Once she had finished dressing and helped her husband tidy his attire, the couple left the inner quarters together.

He Yu, mindful of etiquette, chose a pair of couplets he had written and found satisfactory as a gift to bring along. Ever since deciding to seek his fortune in the south, he spent his leisure practicing calligraphy. He had some foundation, but without the model calligraphies of later generations, he could only rely on memory and improvise. While his skill was not extraordinary, his writing had a distinctive clarity.

The Cui family’s carriages were lavish—two were sent, one curtained, the other open. It was almost excessive. He Yu had planned to ride with Qingyun, but it seemed they would have to travel separately. Each boarded a carriage, and at the servant’s flick of the whip, they set off toward the northern city.

The journey was short; before a cup of tea could be finished, they arrived. Cui Liang was not at the gate; instead, it was Cui Hao who welcomed them. He Yu and Qingyun alighted, straightened their clothes, exchanged formalities with Cui Hao, and entered the main hall.

Today, Cui Liang’s attire was different from the previous evening—he wore a high crown and broad robes, exuding an elegant demeanor. Upon seeing He Yu, he clasped his hands in greeting. Just as Qingyun had predicted, after the exchange of courtesies, a maid arrived to invite Qingyun to the inner chambers for the banquet.

Cui Liang had invited only He Yu and his wife; there were no outside guests, only the leading figures of the Cui clan. The introductions alone took considerable time. Once guests and hosts were seated, Cui Liang clapped his hands, and servants brought out fresh seasonal fruits while music and dance began.

He Yu was startled—he knew little of music and dance. If Cui Liang were to test him on this, he might struggle to respond. These aristocrats excelled at posturing, often engaging in sophisticated conversation; to be caught off guard would be embarrassing. Stealing a glance, he saw Cui Liang and the others appreciating the performance with graceful composure, far surpassing the troupe at the Chen family manor. Bold and thick-skinned as he was, He Yu imitated them, nodding and swaying as if utterly enraptured.

“Cui Liang is here to lead troops into battle—what’s the point of bringing musicians and dancers? Perhaps they were borrowed, but judging by the performance, most likely they were brought by Cui Liang himself. To seek pleasure even in war—such a mindset is admirable.”

When the song ended, the dancers withdrew.

From the west came the voice of a white-haired elder: “I’ve heard from Brother Ziming that Master He hails from Jinling in the south of the Yangtze. It’s said that in the south, regardless of talent or character, even the children are versed in literature. Is this true?”

This was Cui Liang’s peer, surnamed Cui, named Mo, styled Zi Mo. His abilities were unremarkable, and he was never entrusted with important matters. He was not originally meant to join the campaign against Later Yan, but he volunteered for the excitement, much to Cui Liang’s annoyance. Yet he could not refuse him outright, for Cui Mo was his elder brother, and though incompetent, he had committed no grave faults. Now, he had inserted himself into the gathering uninvited.

Cui Liang, considering the family’s interests, saw He Yu as a rare talent with boundless prospects; befriending such a man would not only reflect well on himself but also benefit the entire Cui family’s future.

Cui Mo, ever envious of Cui Liang’s status and influence in the family, always sought to stir up trouble at any opportunity, causing Cui Liang endless headaches. He had not wanted Cui Mo at this banquet, but somehow word had leaked, and Cui Mo had shown up uninvited. Cui Liang secretly cursed his luck, fearing he would cause offense and make their family a laughingstock. He had already witnessed He Yu’s capabilities; though young, he was shrewd in action, and his intelligence and martial prowess were both astonishing. Such a man was best befriended, never made an enemy.

The moment Cui Mo opened his mouth, Cui Liang knew trouble was brewing. He replied coldly, “The flourishing literary atmosphere of the south is well known; why press the question, Second Brother?” His brows knitted, his face darkened with anger.

As a scion of a noble family, Cui Liang was trained to keep his emotions in check, but Cui Mo’s words were openly provocative. It was clear he intended to cause a scene, and Cui Liang deeply regretted not having barred him from the banquet. Cui Mo, born of a concubine, was of questionable character and ability, and ordinarily did not deserve much consideration.

The current head of the Cui family was Cui Hao’s father, Cui Hong, styled Xuanbo, famed since childhood as a prodigy, skilled in calligraphy and strategy, respected by all. In his presence, Cui Mo dared not make a sound, but now, with Cui Hong absent, he acted without restraint.

He Yu, unaware of the family dynamics, was inwardly furious: “If Cui Liang had tested me a few days ago, that would have been one thing; but now, having invited me as a guest and treated me with courtesy, to attempt to overawe me is truly outrageous. The Cui family may be powerful, but I, He Yu, have nothing to lose—why should I fear you?”

He was always calm and composed, and though tempted to retaliate at once, he reconsidered: “Cui Liang may be pretentious, but he has shown me respect. Why would he, after treating me well before, now lure me here only to insult me? If such rumors spread, it would only make the Cui family look petty and ridiculous, far more damaging than a few words or blows. Even a mediocre man would not behave so foolishly.” Moreover, with Qingyun at the inner banquet, any reckless move might involve his wife—something he could not risk.

Thus, He Yu remained silent, glancing at Cui Liang for a cue. Cui Liang’s face was full of embarrassment, his brows tightly drawn, clearly wanting to speak but unable to find the words.

He Yu was pondering the meaning behind Cui Liang’s expression when a soft voice behind him said, “Master He, please forgive him. He is my second uncle, always acting absurdly. He was not invited today but forced his way in unbidden.”

The voice belonged to Cui Hao. Though young, he was quick-witted and highly regarded by He Yu. Seeing his fourth uncle in difficulty, he had circled behind the seats to explain the situation.

He Yu suddenly understood: “So, the grand families are not so different from commoners—this is simply family strife made public. If Cui Mo insults me, as Cui Liang’s honored guest, he insults Cui Liang as well.”

With this realization, he no longer held back, focusing his mind to deal with the situation. The Cui family of Qinghe commanded respect far greater among the Han than even the courts of Later Yan or Northern Wei. If he made a name for himself here, his reputation would spread quickly, even reaching the south. In those times, reputation was everything—the higher one’s fame, the smoother one’s path and the richer one’s life.

Cui Mo, seeing He Yu remain silent, raised his cup and laughed boisterously, “My fourth brother is always exaggerating, believing every rumor. Not to mention the children of the south—take this young Master He, a so-called hero of his age, how many characters can he truly recognize, what learning does he possess?”

His words were aimed at He Yu but also veiled barbs at Cui Liang. Within, Cui Liang was seething but could not find the opportunity to retort.

Cui Hao, seeing things go awry, rose and bowed, “Second Uncle, that’s unfair. Let’s not discuss other matters, but as for Master He’s martial skill—among those present, any who have witnessed it, please speak up. Is it really an exaggeration?”

Among the guests, some had indeed seen He Yu’s prowess—drawing four bows in succession, slaying a commander before a thousand men—and they stood to testify, “Second Uncle, I witnessed Master He’s archery with my own eyes; it was truly extraordinary.”

With supporters speaking up, Cui Mo grew furious. In the clan, he was looked down upon—even juniors did not respect him. Today, intent on causing a scene, he gulped down a large drink and barked, “Tao Jian, Tao Jian, you learn nothing good, only to imitate your fourth uncle. My fourth brother, with no real learning or virtue, loves nothing more than putting on airs and playing tricks.”

“And you, boy—so young and already boasting of being a prodigy, comparing yourself to Guan Zhong and Zhuge Liang! It’s laughable that anyone listens to you. My elder brother Cui Hong, your father, claimed to be a famous prodigy since childhood—do you think you surpass even your father?” (Tao Jian was Cui Hao’s childhood name.)

Ranting and raving, wine in hand, Cui Mo jabbed his finger at Cui Liang and Cui Hao, his words thick with mockery. Cui Liang, furious beyond words, had intended this banquet to be a gesture of friendship and a display of his family’s grandeur, yet here was Cui Mo ruining it all. Shaking with rage, he could only point at Cui Mo, stammering, “You… you… you… you…” but could get no further. He was not skilled in verbal sparring, and, mindful of his noble status, could not resort to curses, so was at once at a disadvantage.

Cui Hao, though articulate and clever, faced two obstacles: first, Cui Mo was his elder; second, he had invoked his own father to silence him. Even if Cui Hao disregarded decorum and bested Cui Mo in debate, it would appear unfilial—competing with his father for renown was contrary to the Confucian ideal of filial piety, a sacred principle since the Han dynasty. To violate it was ruinous.

Cui Hao, good intentions backfiring, found himself under fire. Young and thin-skinned, he flushed bright red, unable to retort.

Cui Mo, seeing his advantage, pressed on gleefully, “What’s this? No one speaks? Perhaps I do have a point. Our ancestors built this family with hardship, only to have it ruined by the likes of you—idle talkers and dubious companions, filling our ranks with the unworthy. The reputation of the Cui family of Qinghe is being sullied by you unfilial descendants.”

He turned on He Yu, shouting, “And you, young upstart, all bluster and no substance—what learning could you possibly have? Even if you started studying in the womb, how many characters would you know? You’re nothing but a fraud, living off others.”