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Even though Ge Yi and Yun Yi had already departed, their brief conversation and the fragments of insight they had revealed lingered in Fei Qian's mind like the visible tip of an iceberg. What floated above the surface seemed modest and unremarkable, yet beneath it lay something vast and profoundly significant.
The relationship between Daoism and Confucianism was far more intricate than he had ever imagined. They were intertwined like lotus roots and threads—seemingly severed on the surface but still deeply connected underneath.
In his previous life and even until recently in this one, Fei Qian had always believed that Confucianism had been passed down directly from Confucius himself. It only rose to prominence in the imperial court when Dong Zhongshu presented his theory of "resonance between Heaven and humanity" to Emperor Wu of Han. That, he thought, was the pivotal moment that elevated it to state orthodoxy.
But now, it appeared that much had been hidden beneath the surface. Certain crucial details had been obscured or deliberately overlooked across the centuries.
Upon returning to Pingyang, Fei Qian dismissed his maids and personal guards. He sat alone in the main hall, deep in quiet contemplation. The weight of history pressed upon him as he tried to piece together the true origins of these philosophical traditions.
At the beginning of the Han dynasty, Liu Bang—the founding emperor—was a rough, uneducated man with little understanding of how to govern a vast empire. Fortunately, Zhang Liang had studied the teachings of the Yellow Emperor and Laozi. His deep knowledge earned Liu Bang's trust. At a time when the entire society desperately needed to heal from the wounds of prolonged warfare, the Huang-Lao school's principle of governing through non-action proved perfectly suited to the moment. This approach ushered in an era of prosperity and stability known as the Rule of Wen and Jing.
Because the imperial court at the time largely followed Huang-Lao thought, Daoism—rooted in the Dao De Jing—experienced a powerful revival. Although it had originated during the Spring and Autumn period and suffered under the First Emperor of Qin, it now flourished once more. Various branches emerged and coalesced: the Yang Zhu school, the Guan Yin school, the Zhuangzi school, the Huang-Lao school, and others. Together, these streams gradually unified under the broad umbrella of Daoist learning.
Yet precisely because of this integration, Daoist thought developed a rich but somewhat eclectic and patchwork character. In the early stages, many scholars viewed it as merely a new variation of the Syncretic school.
The first great peak of Daoist development occurred during the prosperous Wen-Jing era. This period produced one of Daoism's most pinnacle philosophical works—the Huainanzi. Even Sima Qian's monumental Records of the Grand Historian was deeply infused with the spirit and perspectives of Huang-Lao Daoism.
However, after reaching this lofty summit, Daoism began its gradual descent.
The dominance of Daoist thought in the early Han rested on a delicate balance of power among three pillars: the emperor, the feudal princes, and the military merit aristocracy. After Emperor Jing suppressed the Rebellion of the Seven States, the power of the princes was severely curtailed, and the military merit class began to decline with each successive generation. The ambitious and visionary Emperor Wu could no longer tolerate the constraints of Huang-Lao's emphasis on quietude, naturalness, and minimal interference. Sensing this shift, Dong Zhongshu offered the emperor a Confucian doctrine centered on exalting the ruler and emphasizing ritual propriety. From that moment onward, Confucianism became the official state ideology, a position it would maintain for nearly two thousand years.
Fei Qian unconsciously tapped his fingers lightly on the table. On the surface, everything seemed logically consistent. Yet why had Ge Yi claimed that the concept of "unity between Heaven and humanity" had first appeared in the Taiping Jing?
Fei Qian had encountered the Taiping Jing while in the Xiangyang region at Pang Degong's residence. Since it was classified as a Huang-Lao text and his attention had been entirely focused on memorizing the Six Secret Teachings at the time, he had only skimmed through a single volume.
The exact compilation date of the Taiping Jing was difficult to determine. The content consisted of dialogues between "Perfected Ones" and "Celestial Masters," recorded over time rather than authored by a single person in a single period. In form, it resembled the Analects of Confucius. The earliest complete version, known as the Heavenly Palace Calendar's Original Taiping Jing, appeared during the reign of Emperor Cheng of Han. This suggested that the text had taken shape at least before Emperor Cheng's time.
Fei Qian could not reach a firm conclusion on this matter. Perhaps only someone as erudite as Cai Yong would have detailed knowledge of these obscure corners of historical scholarship.
Shifting his perspective, he considered the three main pillars Dong Zhongshu had presented to Emperor Wu: "great unity," "resonance between Heaven and humanity," and "dismiss the hundred schools, elevate the six classics."
Setting aside for now the question of who first proposed "resonance between Heaven and humanity," Fei Qian turned his attention to the idea of "great unity." He knew this concept had first appeared in the Gongyang Commentary on the Spring and Autumn Annals. In the entry for the first year of Duke Yin, it stated: "Why speak of the king's first month? It is because of the great unity."
The Gongyang Commentary was an annotation of the Spring and Autumn Annals. However, the first person to actually implement "great unity" in political institutions was Guan Zhong. Yet Guan Zhong was not a Confucian at all—he was a thoroughgoing Legalist statesman.
As for "dismiss the hundred schools and elevate the six classics," Dong Zhongshu's original wording had been more moderate: "promote the teachings of Confucius and suppress the other schools." But the bold and decisive Emperor Wu was not one for half-measures. He took the policy to its extreme, ruthlessly cutting off all competing traditions with a single stroke.
Suddenly, a startling realization hit Fei Qian.
"Great unity" had been practiced by the legendary Guan Zhong. "Resonance between Heaven and humanity" could be credited largely to Dong Zhongshu. And then there was the policy of exclusive reverence for Confucianism…
Taken together, it felt strangely like picking up a bowl to eat one's fill, then setting it down only to curse the mother who provided it—before smashing the bowl to pieces.
Fei Qian suddenly recalled something his senior sister, Cai Yan, had said back when he was still in Luoyang: "In ancient times there was the literary thief Dong; today there is the martial thief Dong…"
At the time, he had not fully understood the remark and had even earned a bit of teasing from her for his confusion.
Could this be what Senior Sister Cai Yan had meant?
This revelation completely overturned his understanding of history. It shattered his previous worldview.
But something still felt off.
Cai Yan had studied under her father, Cai Yong, who was undoubtedly a great Confucian scholar. As his daughter, she was naturally a inheritor of Confucian learning. Why then would she speak so bluntly and critically, showing so little regard for face or tradition?
New questions surged into Fei Qian's mind. Did this mean that Confucianism during the current Han dynasty had not yet fully solidified into its later form? In other words, were there still significant internal divisions and debates?
Two words suddenly flashed in his thoughts with a sharp "pop," colliding like flint and steel and sending sparks flying through his consciousness.
"Ancient" and "Present."
Wasn't the Confucian world currently embroiled in the fierce contention between the Old Text school and the New Text school?
Cai Yong had briefly mentioned the dispute to Fei Qian before. The controversy had begun during the Jianping era under Emperor Ai, when Liu Xin (also known as Liu Zijun) proposed establishing official scholarly positions—doctorates—for four ancient-script classics: the Zuo Commentary on the Spring and Autumn Annals, the Mao Edition of the Book of Poetry, the Lost Rituals, and the Ancient Script Book of Documents.
Because adding new doctorates essentially meant competing for students and resources with existing scholars, all the current doctors responded with silence, refusing to engage in debate.
Liu Xin, angered by this, wrote the famous Letter to the Erudites of the Ministry of Ceremonies, sharply criticizing them. However, his wording was overly harsh. Not only did it earn the lasting resentment of the doctors, but it also provoked the fury of several high-ranking ministers. The Grand Minister of Works, Shi Dan, submitted a memorial accusing Liu Xin of "altering and disrupting the old institutions and slandering the teachings established by previous emperors." As a result, Liu Xin was demoted and sent away.
Thinking of this episode, Fei Qian furrowed his brow. His teacher Cai Yong had taught him the Zuo Commentary on the Spring and Autumn Annals. Had this been intentional or merely coincidental? If deliberate, what exactly had Master Cai Yong been thinking at the time?